#Vague mentions of past captivity

[sparrowsage]

Revenge, Part One: Ghosts of the Past

Hello! I know I haven't posted in while. I've had some major stuff pop up in my personal life, but things are on the mend! This is the first part in a mini series that takes place six months after the end of Warehouse. It's very far out in the timeline for the Warehouse series, but my brain wanted to write this, so here it is! I'd like to give a special thanks to @oddsconvert and @darkthingshappen for the mention of their oc's Henley Allen from A Taste of Your Own Medicine and Agent Vaughn from Brothers Keeper. And I'd also like to thank them as well as @whumpcereal and @flowersarefreetherapy for their support as I wrote this! I got the inspiration and motivation for this piece from day four of the Merry Whump of May event as well and it was a ton of fun!

TW: Vague mentions of past captivity, vague mentions and implied past noncon, kidnapping, noncon drugging, mentions of past character death, threatened murder (if I missed any, let me know and I'll add them!)

MWoM Prompt: Day 4 “Forgettable, ‘Who are you?’ Lamp, Alleyway” 

If Sparrow would have been asked when he was teen where he thought he’d be when he was an adult, his response wouldn’t be what you’d expect. As far as he knew, he was going to be in the Warehouse facility for the rest of his life, or with some random person who had bought him if he ever got to the point of being sold. Not once did he ever think that he’d be living with a close and trusted friend, free to make his own decisions, able to finally carve out a life for himself of his own free will. 

It had been six months since the Warehouse had gotten raided. Six months since Damon had tried to escape the facility with him in tow. Six months since he was reunited with his friends and finally free from the hell he never thought he’d be away from. 

Sparrow snapped out of his thoughts as he heard his friend giggle, looking over to him as Felix spun around in a small circle, arms outstretched. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been able to go and see a live show like that!” he exclaimed. “Thank you for coming with me.” 

Sparrow gave his friend a soft smile, putting his hands in his pockets as they walked back to their apartment building. “Thanks for offering to take me. I’ve never seen something like that! I’m surprised they have all those lines and stuff memorized, it looked like a lot!” 

Felix nodded, looking up at the clear night sky above them for a moment before looking back at his friend. “It’s their job, and it does take a lot of work, but it’s totally worth it. I’ve often had thoughts of trying to get into theater like that, but I think my stage fright would get in the way of it all.” 

Sparrow chuckled, giving Felix a light nudge as they continued on their way, “With how often I hear you singing in the apartment, I know you’d do great!” 

Sparrow let out a sigh, recalling the memories. It had been a whirlwind to try and get things back on track once he was released from the hospital this time. He still had weekly therapy appointments with Alex, but it had been more difficult to fall back into old routine with Felix this time around. There had been a short period of time where there were awkward conversations when the two interacted, both from Felix’s guilt over the invitation Damon had sent out and Sparrow not showing Felix the invite before he left amongst other things. Over time, they had talked things out and their friendship only got stronger from there. Henley still came by frequently as well, often spending a lot of time with Sparrow when he was free, which Sparrow appreciated. The two of them would help teach Sparrow how to read and write alongside teaching him about other things while also having some fun. 

At the thought of Henley, Sparrow took his hand out of his jacket pocket, looking at the digital watch Henley had given him a few months back. 

“Hey, it’s already 10:43. Do you think Henley would mind much if we moved movie night to tomorrow?” he asked. 

Felix looked at his own watch in return before looking at Sparrow, “I don’t think he’d mind. We did warn him the show may run late and he seemed fine with the possibility of postponing movie night. We’ll text him when we get home.” 

Sparrow hummed in agreement, putting his hand back in his pocket as they continued home, looking around the street as they walked. Due to how late it was, there weren’t any people out and about, the only lights coming from the lamp posts lining the sidewalks and the light up signs in the shop windows, long since closed for the day. 

Being outside at night was something that Sparrow had never realized he’d appreciate so much. Sure, there was anxiety lurking in the shadows, often keeping the man on edge, but nights like this where he could look up at the clear sky and see the glittering stars and enjoy the light breeze and inhale the nightly air, it felt freeing. 

As the two passed by a dark alleyway, some rustling caught Sparrow’s attention. He paused his steps, Felix looking back at him a few seconds later when he realized his friend wasn’t beside him. “Sparrow, you alright?” 

Sparrow stared into the dark alleyway, trying to see what was hidden in the shadows before shaking his head slightly to clear it. “Y-yeah, just thought I heard something is all.” 

Just as he was about to continue walking, a voice called out to them, “P-please help me.” 

The two hesitated, giving each other a look before Felix hesitantly approached the entryway to the alley. “Are you alright sir?” Felix asked. 

“Do either of you have some spare cash, or some change?” the voice asked, his voice sounding rough and raspy. 

Felix squinted as he hovered at the edge of the alleyway, trying to make out whoever was talking to them. “I-I’m sorry, but we don’t have any cash on us.” 

“That’s quite alright,” the voice responded. There was something about the voice that seemed off to Sparrow, but he couldn’t place it. There couldn’t be a way for Sparrow to know that voice, but the fact that it sounded familiar ate away at him the more the stranger spoke. 

“Felix, we should be getting back home,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. He didn’t want to scare Felix just because he felt uneasy. It was probably nothing. 

“Could you just help me up, sir? Before you leave? I have a bad knee.” 

Felix looked back at Sparrow for a moment before he stepped into the alleyway, the shadows swallowing him, “U-uhm, yeah sure.” 

From Sparrow’s spot on the street, he kept an eye on the dark alleyway, expecting Felix to come out seconds later, but all he heard was rustling before a muffled shout came from the shadows. 

“Felix?” Sparrow asked, taking a step towards the alley, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. 

Something was wrong. 

Sparrow heard some more rustling and a bit of muffled cries before he spotted a figure in the shadows of the alleyway. 

“You should teach your friend to be more careful. Helping the wrong stranger is going to get him into trouble,” the figure said. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” Sparrow asked, his body frozen in place on the sidewalk. 

The figure started walking forward towards him, an unmistakable limp to his step that made the blood in Sparrow’s face run cold, further cementing him to the sidewalk. 

This can’t be him, Sparrow thought. He didn’t remember Agent Vaughn telling him about some Keeper’s getting free from the raid. He thought that since his name didn’t get brought up in the court case or the fact that he didn’t see him in court meant that he died during the raid. 

“I bet you’re surprised, aren’t you?” the man asked, the light from the lamp posts illuminating his face as he stepped out of the alleyway. “Because who would have thought that you’d be seeing me, of all people, again after so much time.” 

“What do you want with us, Logan?” Sparrow asked again, his voice low but lined with fear. 

“You’re in no place to be demanding answers here, Sparrow. You should know that. Has living outside the facility for six months really put you back so much on your training?” 

Sparrow’s hands balled into fists at his side as he tried to figure out an answer. Logan took the hesitation of an answer to motion whoever was behind him in the alleyway to step forward, causing Sparrow’s breath to hitch. 

Five more people stepped out of the alleyway, one of which had Felix flush against his chest, a hand clamped over his mouth while the other held his wrists behind his back. Felix looked at Sparrow with a scared expression, his whole body trembling as his eyes started to water. 

“It’s been hard, these last six months, you know,” Logan started, slowly walking towards Sparrow. “Having to hide from the police all because the facility got shut down. They’d arrest us on sight if anyone found us. But you know what kept us going?” 

Sparrow let out a low and quiet growl as Logan got close to him, taking a small step back as Logan leaned in close. “Finding a way to get back at the person who ruined the entire operation.” 

“Felix wasn’t the one who took down the Warehouse, the FBI did,” Sparrow said, his gaze flickering between Logan and Felix. “You have no business with him.” 

Logan straightened himself as he faked a look of thought. “You’re right, it wasn’t the runt who got the Warehouse shut down, not in full. But he played a part in it.” 

“Vaughn was the one who found the place, not Felix.” 

“Yeah, that fucking agent found the place, but you know who went crying to the FBI when you didn’t return home that night you went to that party? Him. And why did he go to the FBI? Because you managed to escape and make friends, connections, something of which you had no right doing. He cared about you so much that he did everything he could to find you and get you back safely. If you hadn't defied orders and escaped the facility ten months ago, then we wouldn’t be here now.” 

This wasn’t good, Sparrow didn’t know what to do! If it were just him facing off against these guys, he’d fight back, but with Felix trapped, Sparrow couldn’t risk his friend getting hurt all because of his actions. 

“Just let him go, Logan,” Sparrow tried, a hint of desperation leaking into his voice. “You have issue with me, not him. Let him go and we can work this out.” 

At that, Logan let out a laugh, as did the other men standing around them, causing Felix to squeak in fear at the sound. “You think it’s that easy, pleading with me to let your friend go? And that I’m here for you? I often forget that you’re not that fucking smart when it comes to how the real world works. We came here for him and you just so happened to be with him. We’ve had our eyes set on this runt for months, we just needed the perfect moment to grab him, and what better night than tonight!” 

Sparrow glared at Logan as he spoke, trying to work out a way to get them both out of here safely, but anything he thought of wouldn’t work. In every idea he thought of, Felix would get hurt and Sparrow couldn’t let that happen. 

Logan looked around the empty street for a moment, turning on the spot to look back at his men and Felix, who stared back at Logan in fear. “Get him ready to transport, we’ve spent enough time here.” 

At the word ‘transport’, Sparrow started towards the men around Felix, anger and fear powering his limbs. “Don’t you fucking touch him!” he shouted, lunging for the closest man that was around his friend. 

Before he could get very far, three of the remaining four men pounced on Sparrow, quickly grabbing onto him as the fourth man grabbed a prepped syringe from his pocket. Felix started squirming the moment Sparrow was grabbed, just about missing the needle headed straight for his arm. He let out a loud but muffled yelp as the needle was jabbed into his arm, causing Sparrow to struggle even harder, but it was no use. The three men holding onto him were too strong and he was very outmatched. 

Amongst his struggles, Sparrow watched as Felix started to grow limp, his eyes slipping shut as the drug he was injected with took hold of him, forcing him into an unwanted sleep. Once he was under, Logan turned his full attention to Sparrow, who only continued to struggle. 

The former Keeper nodded to his men and they forced Sparrow to his knees on the ground. Sparrow let out a hiss as the gravel and pavement dug into his knees as he tried to pull his arms out of the grips that held them, but he slowed his attempts as Logan stepped closer to him, leaning down at the waist slightly. 

“I swear to god, Logan, I’m going to fucking kill you if you hurt him,” Sparrow growled as he glared at the former Keeper. 

Logan chuckled at the sight of the former pet, letting out a short sigh. “Your threats don’t work on me. Over the twenty years I worked to train you, you’ve only come close once, and that’s because I let my guard down. I’m not making any mistakes this time. You’re going to watch as I destroy your friend, bit by fucking bit, til there’s nothing left of him, and you’re going to help me do it.” 

Sparrow tried to jerk one of his arms free, his gaze never breaking from Logan as he let out a grunt at the wasted effort. “You’re fucking crazy if you think I’d willingly hurt him.” 

“Ah, well you see, I know you. You’d do anything to trade places with him, no matter the cost, and I think that seeing you get tortured in more ways than one will do just as much damage to him as if he were the one being hurt.” 

Sparrow stilled as the words registered, his expression falling for a moment. Logan was right, he’d do anything to make sure Felix didn’t bare the front of what they were about to endure, even if it meant sacrificing himself. 

“You’ve been told, time and time again by multiple people that you’re not supposed to form connections or to make friends because it isn’t your place to have feelings. Your job is to serve and please whoever owns you, doing whatever they ask of you with no hesitation. I am excited, if I’m to be honest, Sparrow. You know why that is?” 

“Why?” Sparrow asked through gritted teeth. 

“Because I get to hit you where it hurts. Just because we were going after him doesn’t mean that I won’t be paying special attention to you. You’ve caused me so much trouble ever since you were brought into the facility, especially after Damon took on your case. Now it’s my turn to level the playing field. You remember how you used to protect Jayden when he was alive? How compliant you got all because of a simple threat to his well being?” 

Logan stood then, nodding to one of the men holding Sparrow. “Well, you know that I won’t hesitate to kill your friend here if you step a toe out of line. I highly doubt that you want another one of your friends to die all because of you.” 

The mention of Jayden made the blood drain from Sparrow’s face as a new fire blazed inside of him. This wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened with Jayden, Sparrow couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let another one of his friends die by the hands of this fucking bastard. 

Just as Sparrow was about to start struggling again, he felt the pinch of a needle in his neck and a coolness spread throughout his body. As his vision started to tunnel, he looked up to see Logan start limping back into the alleyway as he started to lose feeling in his limbs.

“Let’s get these guys into the van, and don’t forget to restrain them. The runt will be out for a while, but with this shit’s tolerance, I don’t know when he’ll wake and it’ll be easier to handle him if he can’t move.” 

The last thing Sparrow remembered seeing was a set of headlights turn on far back into the alleyway and hearing an engine roar to life as the drugs dragged him under. 

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows

@flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green (If you want to be added, let me know!)

[fluffylino]

hyunjin will do anything for your attention (psst maid dress ehe)

-contains mature themes

your eyes landed on your boyfriend who was all dolled up. wearing a flimsy little dress. his milky white thighs exposed even more when he crossed his legs.

ignoring him, you walked into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water. you couldn't help but steal a couple of glances.

he had pretty pink bows in his hair. a cute bell around his neck.

quickly pretending to rinse the glass. when you saw how he quietly walked upto you. sitting himself on the kitchen counter. a few inches away from the sink.

right next to your standing figure.

you simply gave him the cold shoulder, walking right past him to place the glass back on the stand.

he let out an almost inaudible whine and you mentally smiled to yourself.

two days ago. the both of you had an argument.

it was pretty petty. yet you were still giving him the silent treatment. hyunjin had been busy. no doubt. however it always felt like you were the only one putting effort to go on dates with him.

of course he too would also. but it had been 2 weeks since their comeback. and he had a lot of free time. and whatever. the point was, it was mainly you getting annoyed to the extent you didn't pay any attention to him. it was mean. and maybe a bit funny. but you genuinely were a little hurt.

you had stuck a tiny note on the fridge the night before. after he had fallen asleep.

it read :

"i'll only talk to you if you actually try to and make an effort for me to forgive you. i don't care if it embarasses you.

- :] "

he seemed to take it seriously.

in the first 24 hours he bought all your favourite dishes and cooked up some spicy ramyeon. adding an egg on top because thats how you liked it.

of course you ate it. eagerly. not leaving a thing behind. you were annoyed.

but your love for him was still stronger. you couldn't possibly hurt him by not appreciating the effort he took. however you hummed casually. not giving him any response. simply brushing him off like he was non existent.

washing your plate and his before walking away to shower. hyunjin sat at the table, head down.

almost like a attention deprived puppy.

today though was different.

you looking forward to his next attempt.

the tv playing on thr background while you sat on the sofa. not a single thought in your head.

except for the images of your beloved boyfriend in that skimpy dress. not to mention thr fact that he was still loitering around in the kitchen.

you stared at your chipped nail. trying your best to make it seem like you didn't see how he carefully trodded across the room. choosing to sit in the space between your spread legs on the ground.

he sat sideways, long legs awkwardly placed on the floor.

his dress riding up his thighs. just maybe a centimeter more and you'd see his panti-

was he wearing pink lace panties?!?!?

you bit your lip subtly, tilting your head to the side, to peek at what was under his dress.

you were right. he really was all dolled up. not to mention the perfume that radiated off his body.

making you want to pounce on him.

shit you were looking. you averted your gaze so fast you felt dizzy. luckily he was too busy pulling the straps of the outfit up his shoulders to notice.

you could feel his gaze on you. so strong. so captivating. you were sure his lips would be jutting out.

was he wearing your lip gloss??!!!?.

the extra shiny pink shade that you'd only wear on extremely special occassions. damn, you were screwed.

you wanted to take him right there and then.

in the corner of your eye, you could vaguely see him looking up at you.

and you finally spared him a glance when he placed his head on the inside of your thigh. rubbing his cheek affectionately.

Sighing, you rubbed your temples. heart shattering upon seeing the way his expression dropped. eyes growing sadder. and slowly he moved away.

like a kicked puppy who was mistreated and ignored.

"come here" you quickly let out before he could get up. he scrambled up to his knees. elbows digging into your thighs.

"where did you get this?" you asked, carefully tucking a strand of his hair behind.

"online" he mumbled. leaning into your touch.

"m'sorry"

you couldn't stay mad at him. honestly you were fine. just driven by curiousity. "i know" you let out, sitting up to kiss him on his forehead. his eyes still closed as you pulled away. lips parted.

god, he was so cute.

.

.

"c-can't i can't hhnggh-" hyunjin cried out. bent over the short table. your strap pushing into him. it was a bigger size. the one that he was begging you to use on him.

"you can." you stated. raising your hand to adjust the cute pink bow that was clipped into his hair. it had come undone.

the sight below you sending waves of pleasure through you. his hole sucking you in.

lube all over his thighs. staining his pretty lace thigh highs. the bows had come undone. hanging down.

his dress pushed up on his back. displaying all his parts to you. dick hanging between his legs. leaking all over the floor.

"you're my pretty maid, aren't you" he panted, shaking his ass onto you. as if agreeing to you.

"y-yes...always at your service"

you smirked, kneading his plush skin. loving the way his lace panties were still on. torn from where you entered him.

"anything for you m-master"

"anything? careful what you wish for baby"

"i can take anything and e-everything you give aahh mhm...m-me"

.

..

.

i wanna write some more...but maybe with j-jisung........?

[juniefruit]

♤ Immortal Rose ♤

♤ Vampire! Hyunjin x Fem! Reader (18+)

♤ Summary: It's never a good idea to walk alone in the woods, especially not when a vampire is on the prowl. Now you're in his mansion; what does he want from you? A companion, a lover, or maybe someone to satisfy his cravings? Hopefully the former. This story is for adult audiences only.

♤ Warnings: Reader held captive, reader wears dresses, possessive hyunjin, vampire bite & blood sucking, mentions of mates, pet names, piv, sexual intercourse, magic. again, MDNI.

♤ Notes: Happy Halloween! in celebration, here's some 'ween' just for you. ; ) No part 2 ya nasties this a kinktober special.

♤ Word Count: 3.3 k

“You’re awake, princess.” A voice above you grumbled, suave and elegant.

“Where am I?” Your eyes were still half shut, body resting across a velvet loveseat. 

“In my home.” This guy sure loved to talk. 

“Oh.” You only had vague memories, brows furrowing at the attempt to recollect them. All you remember was how dark the forest was, you could barely see the trees you were running past under the moonlight. Crows were squawking in the branches above, as if they knew you were distressed. You were torn between making a run for it or hiding quietly. The former won. You heard whooshing noises behind you, and footsteps that were definitely getting closer. Then, everything went black right after you turned your head to look behind you. 

“Can I get you anything?” The voice interrupted your thoughts. You’d turn your head to see him, but the back of the couch was in your way. At least he kept his distance. 

“Will it be poisoned?” You ask. 

“Possibly.” He jokes, but clearly out of practice. You hear the taps of shoes against the hardwood floor, and your ears twitch at the sound. The man walks until he’s stood in front of you, crouching to your level. His eyes, sharp yet laced with the slightest concern, scan over your face. “Do you feel alright?” You should be asking him that. His skin was ghastly pale, only a slight unnatural pink tint to it. He was covered from head to toe in dark layers of fabric, a long, satin black cloak covering his form. Adorned with fine silver jewelry, cascading down his neck to chest; he was magnificent- breathtakingly beautiful in a dangerous, mythical way. He must have noticed how starstruck you are because he smiled gently before you snapped out of it. 

“I feel fine, thanks.” He hummed in response. A hand like sculpted marble came up to brush a strand of stray hair from the side of your face. 

“Say my name if you need anything. I promise, I’ll hear you.” He stood up now, seemingly incredibly tall as he was towering above you on the couch. His figure was slim but filled out, from what you could tell. 

“Uh-” You stuttered.

“Ah, that’s right. My name is Hyunjin. Make yourself comfortable.” He loosed a small smile and a nod before he vanished, just like that. A small cloud of smoke was the only thing lingering in the air to signify he was ever here. You finally had the chance to glance around. You were in a sitting room of sorts, everything carefully carved and crafted from dark oak and ebony stone– with drapes, pillows and carpets of the richest ruby red color. Even the chandelier was grand, twinkling with crystals. The fireplace mantle was detailed with swirling stone and candles atop it. But the fireplace was not lit. The room was chilling, but not uncomfortably so. When you stood up, you remembered that you indeed had no idea where you were, walking quietly to the window. Shit, it’s dark outside. Glancing up at the full moon, it was a little further than halfway, indicating wee hours of morning. Frantically looking to the door, this place looked massive. There was no way you were finding your way out. And even if you did, the north star could only lead you so far. You whined at the fact that you were utterly trapped, no matter how hospitable that man, Hyunjin, was. So, you went to lock the big dark door and plopped back down onto the couch. Not even registering that Hyunjin could just teleport in anyway. Somehow, you drifted off to sleep, and woke up to birdsong from the thick woodlands beyond the walls of the mansion. 

In front of you was a platter of dried fruits, toast and jams of all varieties, a cup of tea and a note. The note, in graceful cursive, read:

I hope you slept well. Eat breakfast, then find me in the library. I’ll see to it that Kkami leads you in the right direction.

-H.H

When you finished, still in your clothes from yesterday, you walked over to the door, creaking as you pushed it open. To your surprise, A raven with feathers of the darkest night was perched atop a lamp in the hallway. It croaked out a greeting, then heaved itself into the air and flew down the hallway. Every minute or so it stopped, waiting for you to follow. The hallway, adorned with grandoise paintings and ornate chandeliers, and doors that led to god knows where. The bird stopped in front of a set of double doors, silently glaring at you to open one. When you did, rows upon rows of books and scrolls invaded your vision. Until you landed on a reading table in the middle of the gigantic room. You softly padded your way down the carpet to where Hyunjin sat, reading glasses placed on the bridge of his nose, engrossed in a book. You couldn’t tell what, though, the cover was too faded. Even the pages were yellowing. As were most books in here, you realized. This place was old. Deep in the pit of your stomach swirled a sizable amount of unease at this strange place. And possibly fear, for the eerie sense of calmness you felt. This place was too quiet to be just a regular mansion. 

“No need to be so scared, princess.” Hyunjin spoke, eyes not leaving his book until he flipped the page and set it down. Today, he disregarded the cloak and outerwear, opting for a crisp men’s dress shirt and slacks in his signature cool black color. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood up and walked over to you, feet cemented into the ground. You couldn’t run. Your body wouldn’t let you, too paralyzed with fear. He kept coming closer and closer, until he was leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You let out a tiny gasp and a squeak. “I picked out some clothes for you. There, on that table. If they’re too outdated for your tastes, or if they need to be tailored, simply let me know.” He gestured behind you. And when you still didn’t move a muscle, he chuckled, and grabbed your arms with a firm grip and turned you around. His hands were just as cold as his lips. At least his lips were soft and gentle, like a lover, a timeless romantic. On a vast table were countless dresses and garb, ranging from puffy, glittering black ball gowns to simple linen dresses (black, of course). Although nearly everything was black, there were a few pieces with accents of dark reds and blues. Fitting, you thought. And yet, you loved it. You loved that he put in the effort. Stepping closer, the fabric was of exceptional quality and design. Every stitch, every button. “Do you like it?” He asks, still clutching your arms, and speaking into your ear from behind you. A lick of fire ran from your head to your toes at his voice. It was addicting. 

“No one’s ever done something like this for me,” You confessed, still in awe. 

“Allow me, then.” His palms ran up and down your upper arms before he pulled away, slinking back into his chair. “Pick something and freshen up, dear.” At his words, you spun around to see the raven, stomping his little feet by the door. You grabbed a simple dress, and the raven led you to a bathroom fit for an emperor– a bathtub that could have qualified as a swimming pool, sauna benches, towel racks and warm candles that enticed you. In the corner was a basket filled with clean undergarments, Hyunjin had really thought of everything, as if he’s been awaiting your company for some time now. The door shut behind you, and you slipped into the bath. Still on high alert, your eyes scanned your surroundings incessantly until you finished, quite enjoying the feeling of cleanliness again. Getting dressed, thus began your walk back to the library. 

Hyunjin seemingly hadn’t moved a muscle. He heard the door open but ignored it until you stood in front of him. He tore his eyes from the book, only to be completely taken aback. The breath was knocked out of his lungs, because when he spoke, he sounded breathless. 

“You look astounding, princess. You’ll fit right in.” He smiled, eyes crinkling. He rarely experienced joy like this. You hummed in response, words not finding you. Fit in where, exactly? “Fancy some lunch?” Despite your inner confusion, you nodded bashfully. 

Thus the days turned into weeks, and then months. You still didn’t know where you were, or if you’d ever see home again. But you couldn’t bring yourself to whine about it too much when Hyunjin was around, offering you light conversations, delectable meals and as much time in the library as you’d wish. Hyunjin, however, was losing his mind. He needed to have you. Soon. or he’d really go insane. He could smell your delectable scent– a fresh, unclaimed body. His patience snapped when you came up to him in his study, in a light linen dress that swayed when you approached. 

“What’s the matter, princess?” He asked, taking off his glasses with an impatient hand.

“Who are you, anyway?” He scoffed.

“A vampire; but that much was obvious, no?” 

You squirmed in annoyance. “How long will you keep me here?” 

His hands hit the table. His shoulders lurched as he stood up. Something was off about him today.

“You dare suggest leaving me?” He sounded offended, brows furrowed. “You’re mine. You are not leaving this mansion. You are too precious, and the world is too dangerous.” 

“But-” 

He surged forward before you could continue. His arms wrapped around you as your heart raced. His heightened sense of smell was making him go haywire at the proximity. His jaw is itching to just sink into your supple unclaimed flesh already.

“Please don’t ask such nonsense. I love you, isn’t that enough?” He spoke into your neck.

Your eyes widened at his confession. 

“I- I love you, too.” You spoke without thinking. You didn’t even know if it was true or not, but the damage was done. At your words, as if there was a magnet in his head, he dragged his cheek from your neck, up your jaw, until his lips were locked with yours. His lips were cold, sure, but his possesion was burning hot. 

“I need you.” He grumbled against your lips. You whimpered in response, but didn’t pull away. In the blink of an eye, you were transported to his grandiose bedroom, with a bed so large you could drown in the satin, blood red sheets. After the first night, he showed you your own bedroom too, but you much preferred this one right now. Wafts of Hyunjin’s dark and masculine yet fruity & saccharine musk drifted through the air, you had never smelled it in such abundance before. Still mute, you let him walk you to the bed where he set you down, the muscles bulging in his arm from restraining himself instead of jumping you like an animal. “Your blood smells so sweet… Run now, or we are not leaving this room until tomorrow.” He groaned, lips ghosting the junction of your neck where your pulse point was strongest. Your palms stroked against his covered biceps softly.

“Are we mates, Hyunjin?” He let out a shaky breath at your question. He was looming over you now, caging you to the mattress with his broad chest & arms. He spoke simply, deep eyes boring into yours.

“Yes.” And then he ravaged you. He started by pressing a searing kiss to your lips, then licking and nipping down your jaw and to your neck. His silky tongue felt so smooth and sensual against your neck, you whined. He was massaging you with his lips, spit-covered and sucking marks onto every curve in your skin. You were so divine, he wishes he could capture the essence of this moment and paint it, just like all the other archaic paintings throughout the mansion. He would put it on full display, surely. Right by the front door, so all his visitors could see what only he gets access to. Sadly, visitors are few and far between. Suddenly, you heard the roar of a fire and the following crackles behind Hyunjin, across the room. Looking over his shoulder, you saw a fireplace with a mantle of gorgeous intricate Victorian design, in his signature ebony black stone. The fact that he held such mystical power turned you on more than you’d like to admit. 

“My apologies, you must be cold, Hm? I sometimes forget that your kind is more susceptible to the cold.” He murmured into your neck. You shook your head, dismissing his guilt. He’s been working at your neck for so long now, the skin was red, raw and sensitive.

“Hyun… jin-”

“Mmm, love? He crooned in response, voice low and smooth like caramel. 

“Bite me,” His knees practically buckled, and a smile that was almost sinister spread across his face. He’s been waiting for this moment. “Isn’t that what you do?”

“As you wish, princess.” He took a deep breath in and you felt his lips spread across the junction of your neck. You had to give it to him, he was very charming. Albeit, his palms held on to your arms for dear life, as he was nervous himself. Bracing yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut when his smooth canines pinch against the first barrier of skin. He hummed in delight, and after that, you didn’t feel much as tingles spread scross the bitten area. His body pressed against your front, magnetized to you. His hips grinded against yours, each drag heavy with need. When he was satisfied, his deft tongue darted out to clean his lips of the ruby red liquid, sharp, lidded eyes piercing through yours seductively. His arm shuffled down to undo the buckle and button of his pants while keeping eye contact with you. His eyes asked a silent question; to which you replied with a hum and a nod. Hastily shucking the fabric of your dress up and over your head, his eyes were glued to the soft curves and planes of your body, drinking you in. He moved a hand up to smooth over your hair in a gentle caress, so jarringly different to the thoughts racing in his brain. The weight of his other palm sent waves of pleasure across your inner thighs, so close to your center. Sensually dragging his palm across your mound, his fingers dip into the fabric slightly. Pulling them off, a wave of chill air on your wetness made you gasp. His smooth and deft fingers played with your pussy, strands of slick stringing together between his fingers whenever he lifted them up to repeat the teasing circles from your clit down to your throbbing entrance. The puddle of slick was spreading into the crevices of your inner thighs now, making his movements glide against your skin and sending bursts of tingles through you.Throughout everything, Hyunjin would hum a simple tune, or make little noises of satisfaction when your thighs squirmed or when your pussy trembled. 

“I think you’re ready, are you?” He tilted his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed and eyes heavy-lidded.

“Mhm-” You whimpered in response, nodding downwards and meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment. He brought his hips in close, his bulge straining until he shoved everything down with one elegant hand and started pushing in with a huff. You could feel your walls stretching to take him in, but the wetness made it pleasurable. His breathing grew deep and staggered right next to your ear, making you arch into him.

“Oh, my good girl. You’re taking me so well,” You couldn’t hold back your smile at his praise. His hips stuttered from how sensitive his cock was, not fully used to the warm and soft walls of you yet. He grunts softly, his eyebrows furrowed and black hair framing his cheeks and occaisionally tickling yours. You sigh in pleasure at the rhythmic beat of his hips against yours, bodies rocking in sync. His thrusts pick up a frantic pace until you’re mewling and gasping, arms taught against his shoulders. As if Hyunjin had a second of clarity, he slows down again, wanting this moment to last as long as possible. He keeps switching every few minutes or so, fast and shallow for a few minutes until he feels shockwaves of pleasure and the urge to release at the tip of his cock. Then, with all his willpower, he slows down to hit deep and sensual thrusts into your squelching core, making you feel warm and satisfied. At every slow push and pull, the base of his length pulsed, making him whine at the feeling of his release tangling into knots in his lower stomach and balls that ached. As if it hurt him to do so, he tore a hand away from your waist to slither down to your clit, applying the slightest pressure to the very tip of it. You moaned at his touch, your oversensitive, swollen clit pulsing with need for more. The sensation made you pull your hips upwards, like you couldn’t take the feeling of his fingertips rubbing circles any longer. 

“You like it here, don’t you, princess? Why are you running away?” He said with a fake pout to his tone. He was only teasing but it nearly brought a frustrated tear to your eye. He slapped his fingers against your clit as a warning, the light sting making you let out an airy moan, music to Hyunjin’s ears. You willed your hips to stay grounded against Hyunjin’s assault at the apex of your thighs. Meanwhile, the ever-present feeling of veins dragging and rubbing against your soft, warm walls sent shockwaves of euphoria to your brain. Every thrust brought you a step closer, massaging against a spot so deep in your vagina you could feel your walls clench around him. It was the sweet spot that made your mouth hang open and eyes roll back. Hyunjin would have forced you to look back at him, only him, but he couldn’t pry his hands off of your heavenly hips and waist. Your lower body made him go feral for something he couldn’t pinpoint, something so primal it set his body ablaze. Maybe next time. Hyunjin’s hips came so close to you that he could feel the faint bulge poking right above your mound, and he gasped at the sensation. When it all became too much, the rope snapped, and your orgasm crashed down like a tsunami, washing through your body and out through your hands and feet. Hyunjin kept rubbing your clit in frantic little circles until your thighs shook, and your name sounded like a desperate prayer spilling from your spit slicked and raw lips. Your screams and moans of pleasure brought Hyunjin to his own peak, shivering with his release as he pushed all the way in and stayed there, rutting his hips in small but powerful movements. He stuffed you full and didn’t pull out until he’d caught his breath, scanned over your face to make sure you were okay, and caressed your waist and arms with gentle hands. The dull pulsing of your core making you squirm. He chuckled softly at your blissed out expression, pressing a chaste but dirty kiss to your lips. He swiped a thumb across the bruise that now surrounded his bite, two incisions at the curve where your neck meets your collarbone.

“You’re mine forever now, my immortal rose.”

♤Thanks for reading! Check my masterlist for more!♤Warning: Everything I post is 100% my original writing & thoughts. This also includes the moodboards at the beginning that I create. Please do not plagiarize or copy. Tag for inspiration or add-ons. Reblogs are appreciated! <3

[yanderelionwrites]

Look at Me Like I’m the Only Star in the Sky - Yandere!Leona x Reader

Content Warning: (soft) yandere, implied kidnapping/captivity

Word Count: 722

A/N: First twst writing on this blog! This man has me by the throat 😩 Enjoy!

You had never seen so many at once before.

Each twinkling ball of light decorating the night sky had you staring up at them in awe. Seeing the stars and moon shining so brightly captivated you; the tranquility in the air bringing a type of peace you haven’t felt in a while. You would never get such a nice view of the stars back home, only able to count on your hands how many you could see. But here…there had to be at least a million of them. A million stars that are foreign to you. No familiar constellation that you could point out.

It was times like these that remind you how far away you truly are from your own world. Your home.

A home that you will never return to.

A home that’s been ripped away from you, and replaced with a suffocating palace.

The Afterglow Savanna stretches far and wide before you, the sun having set long ago. The country really is a gorgeous place, but you know you won’t ever get to explore it. You’re not allowed to leave the palace and you’re not allowed to leave him.

At least you’re allowed out on the balcony. You’ve contemplated climbing down to make an escape, but the risk of being caught by the guards was too high. They’ve been told to keep a close eye on you, and you did not want to scuffle with those intimidating beastwomen guards.

You sigh at the cluster of stars up above. They twinkle back. You vaguely remember Leona mentioning how it was believed the stars were the dead kings from the past. They’d watch over the royal family and guide them whenever they lost their way.

…The one watching Leona must have gotten lazy.

“There you are.”

A voice you once loathed to hear, but now have grown to somewhat tolerate, pipes up behind you. A few steps and he’s leaning against the balcony a comfortable distance away from you.

Great.

The once peaceful air has turned tense now, and you don’t bother to greet or even acknowledge that he is there. The two of you stand in painful silence, waiting for the other to speak.

“Ya look like you’ve never seen a night sky before,” Leona says, his eyes still glued to the stars.

You’re quiet for a moment, debating whether you actually want to indulge him in conversation this time. You take so long thinking about it, Leona huffs and turns to leave.

“…It’s rare for me to see it like this. Only a couple stars are ever visible where I’m from.” Your voice stops him in his tracks, and he returns to his place against the balcony. He hums in acknowledgment, but stays quiet after that.

Leona has always been interested in hearing about your home, but knows better than to ask. Any talk about your world would only put you in a bad mood. You already hate him; no need to keep reminding you why. It was best to just pretend you weren’t from an entirely different universe at all. Maybe with enough time you’ll forget about your world and consider Twisted Wonderland as your forever home.

Instead, he opts for stealing glances at you while your gaze is turned away from him. You look so soft in the moonlight, no one would have guessed you had been spewing insult after insult at him this morning. Proclaiming how much you hate him.

But Leona loves you. So he’ll let you get away with saying just about anything to him. All that matters is that you’re here with him.

You’re completely enamored by the stars. Are they really that amazing to you? They’re just big balls of flaming gas billions of kilometers away. Nothin’ special. 

…Would you ever look at him that way?

Like he was the most important thing you could ever lay your eyes on. Like he was the shining light of your life.

…No, of course not. Why would you? He’s the selfish, second born prince, and he doesn’t deserve that same look of admiration from you.

Leona can’t pretend and he can’t keep hoping anymore. He’s ruined his chances, and now you hate him more than anything.

But at least you’re by his side. You can’t leave him behind.

He’ll settle for that.

For now.

~~~

I like mean yan Leona as much as the next gal, but soft yan Leona?? Where he's desperate for his Darling's love but still patiently waits for them to come around?? That's the good shit 👌

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! Hope you liked this little drabble!

[defectivevillain]

broken vessels

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used. there's one mention of glasses, but that's the extent of my self indulgence.

summary:

You sit down across from Hannibal. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it, judging from the smile pulling at his lips.

You had no idea just how drastically your life would change after becoming Hannibal Lecter's therapist.

word count: 7.8k | ao3 version

author's notes: This fic has been rotting in my drafts for too long. The transitions are a bit choppy, but I just had to realize this into the wild. So... yeah.

The focus of this fic is Hannibal Lecter/Reader; there is no explicit romance, but I am a diehard fan of the inherent homoeroticism that is Hannibal Lecter. If you’re looking for a happy ending or romance, you won’t find it here. Also this won't be canon compliant, since Sam and Hannibal are very different. You have been warned!

And if you aren’t familiar with The Patient… Well, you’re in for a wild ride. For now, all you need to know is that the reader is a therapist and Hannibal visits them for a session. (And you should also watch the series when you get the chance, because it's very good.)

warnings: canon-typical violence, depictions of mental illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, hopelessness, kidnapping, captivity/imprisonment, blood and injury, cannibalism

Hannibal Lecter is an interesting patient. You’re not sure what compels him to come to you one dreary morning, when the sky is muddled with grey and there is nothing but the threat of a storm on the horizon. You just know that your doorbell rings at exactly 10:00 a.m., and you open it to find a fine-dressed man with perfectly coiffed hair and an easy smile on his face. The expression is nothing short of polite, yet you feel as if there is unspeakab;e malice dripping from the corners of his lips. You invite him in and urge him to take a seat wherever he feels comfortable. The man regards the room for a moment, before sitting in the armchair you typically sit in. Unperturbed by the seating change, you move to the couch parallel to your usual chair. 

For a while, there is only silence. You get the feeling the man is surveying you, scrutinizing you in his mind’s eye. You watch him and he watches you back. While you’re content to let the silence settle over the room, after a few minutes, you decide to speak up and ask him why he decided to come for a session with you.

The first session doesn’t prove to be entirely eventful, but it rarely is. Since it’s your first interaction, you spend most of the time trying to get to know him better. You learn that the man—Hannibal—was a surgeon and is now a psychiatrist, rather renowned for his research. Idly, you have to wonder how he came across you—and why he’s giving you a chance. Surely Hannibal has access to any of his colleagues, who are distinguished scholars. Maybe he needs a break from that, you then think. 

Ultimately, your first session with Hannibal isn’t cause for concern. Your attention instead falls to your third session together, when you begin to realize that he’s being deliberately vague with his answers—and that he seems to favor dishonesty over truthfulness. 

“Hannibal,” you remark, your heart thudding steadily in your chest, “I get the sense that you haven’t been quite honest with me.” You feel unreasonably apprehensive, as if this single accusation will ruin the little progress you’ve made with him. Yet, you can’t even call your past two sessions “progress,” can you? You spent the entire time attempting to stay afloat amidst the fluid conversation, feeling somewhat frustrated and confused all the same. 

“I’ve been perfectly honest with you,” Hannibal responds. The look on his face is seamlessly calm. You’re nervous, but you continue. Therapy conducted under pretense is pointless, after all. Besides, this man knows what he’s doing. His behavior has been purposeful. 

“You haven’t been,” you say, “and I think we both know that.” Hannibal looks at you—really looks at you—for what feels like the first time. His eyes are a glittering maroon and a slight smile rises on his face. Somehow, you can’t shake the inexplicable feeling that you’ve just made a grave misstep. 

You continue to recall that third session as you stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your vision slowly growing fuzzy. You’re tired, but it’s taking you a while to fall asleep. Your mind is racing, recalling several different moments scattered across your lifetime that you’d rather forget. You try to focus on your breathing and, eventually, your eyes fall shut. 

Your dreams are weird—which is saying something, since dreams are usually weird. These particular dreams feel like omens for the future and, if that is the case, then your future can’t be very good. You dream of sharp mirrors, harsh corners, and neatly-carved lines. You dream of an infinite winding labyrinth that you can’t escape from, of a puppet-master watching you stumble through a never-ending maze with amusement, of your tattered visage reflected in the jagged shards of a broken mirror.

You jolt awake with a gasp on your tongue, your throat feeling extremely dry. It takes you a few moments to internalize that you’re awake and no longer dreaming. There’s a cup of water on the bedside table and you reach for it, wincing at how heavy your limbs feel. Eventually, you reach the water and take a sip. The glass is cold against your skin and, when you put it back, you nearly miss your nightstand entirely. That’s a little strange—the nightstand has occupied that position for years. Why would your muscle memory fail you now, all of a sudden? 

You swing your legs to the side of the bed, only to hear an ominous rattling sound—almost reminiscent of metal clinking against the ground. You reach down and try to feel your way around in the dark, grabbing your glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. The darkness momentarily sharpens and a sense of foreboding prickles along your skin. Your surroundings look strangely unfamiliar. Unease pulling at your gut, you reach down, down, down—only to find a thick chain secured around your ankle. You tug at it, panic rising in your chest as you realize it’s not coming off. You then push yourself to your feet and walk a few steps, testing how far the chain will go. It doesn’t reach far enough for you to thoroughly explore the unfamiliar space—just barely getting to the small room that looks to be a bathroom. Upon further investigation, there’s nothing in the bathroom that would help you get the chain off. The toothbrush and disposable toothpaste resting inconspicuously on the counter throw you off guard. Was this planned? It’s abundantly clear to you now that you’ve been kidnapped. Did your captor plan this out and configure this bathroom for a captive?

You manage to convince yourself to move back out to the main room, only to find a meal placed on the small plastic table situated past the end of the bed. You don’t recognize the food and, frankly, you don’t want to know what it is. The thought of food right now is enough to make you nearly throw up. You instead decide to continue testing how far you can move with your chain. It turns out you can’t move very far at all: you only have access to the bed, the nightstands, and the nearby bathroom. There are a set of glass doors across from the bed and hints of the morning sun illuminate the room in a hazy glow, revealing polished furniture and elegant decorations. It seems your captor has rather distinguished tastes. 

In hindsight, seeing Hannibal Lecter come down the stairs moments later is more of a shock than it should be. Your eyes widen and you blink a few times, convinced your mind is conjuring illusions. Hannibal stares at you in return, before sending you a small smile—as if sharing an inside joke.

Meanwhile, you’re panicking. There’s a good chance Hannibal is the one who trapped you here. “Hey, where am I?” You ask apprehensively. Seeing Hannibal simultaneously provokes relief and dread within you. You tug at the chain on your ankle, but it doesn’t budge. “Hannibal? Why am I here?” “This is my home,” Hannibal answers. You feel your heart drop to your stomach. It was a foolish thought to think Hannibal would be here by mere coincidence, but it kept your hopes alive. Now, you’re left to the bleak despair that clings to your ankle like a vice. “I need to speak with you.” 

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend that statement, in the wake of all the thoughts running through your mind. “You could’ve called me to book an appointment,” you eventually point out, struggling to keep yourself calm. You’re trapped here, and the chain on your ankle is extremely thick and sturdy. Not to mention, you can’t reach the door; you don’t have your phone; and you have a bad feeling Hannibal is the sole occupant of this house. How on earth will you escape? 

“This is… an ongoing concern,” Hannibal interjects. It takes you a few moments to process that statement. Then, at your disbelieving look, he continues. “Our typical environment was not suitable.” 

“Not suitable?” Panic is beginning to seep through your voice. You know you should probably be maintaining your composure, but it’s rather difficult to do so when you’re faced with the inevitability of your captivity. “What part of this environment is suitable? I have a chain around my ankle and I can’t leave!” You try to take a deep breath and manifest a level of composure that you certainly don’t have at the present moment. You look eyes with him and attempt to get through to him. “Hannibal. Take this chain off my ankle.” 

You don’t expect your attempt at persuasion to work and, indeed, Hannibal is silent. He regards you for a moment before stepping forward, momentarily fooling you into thinking he may genuinely release you. Then, he takes another step and pulls a chair out from the table to take a seat. He motions for you to take the other seat. You shake your head and remain on the bed, opting to keep as much distance from Hannibal as possible. Unfortunately, it still doesn’t feel like enough—as his eyes pin you in place.

You’re not sure how long you spend trapped in your spiraling thoughts, before you attempt to speak to your captor again. “Hannibal,” you say, trying to maintain your composure. You’re grasping at the sheets of the bed with shaking hands. “Whatever you have to talk about, I am willing to listen to you. But not like this.”

There’s a beat of silence. You aren’t deluded enough to think this conversation is getting you any closer to an escape. Instead, Hannibal regards you for a moment, clasping his hands on the table. He holds his utensils in a strangely tight grip, as if they’re weapons. The knife makes you particularly nervous, but it pales in comparison to his next statement. “You would be legally required to share the information I divulge.” Therapists have a firm code of ethics, which dictates that information must be brought to the local authorities if it involves harm to oneself or others. The thought makes an ugly feeling stew in your stomach. You inhale slowly. 

“This is your last chance,” you warn, despite knowing you have no power in this situation. “Let me go, and I’ll pretend this never happened. We can go back to the way things were. I won’t press charges or anything. Okay?” You think that’s a pretty generous offer, all things considered. 

For a moment, the air is entirely still. Then, the expression on Hannibal’s face flickers. “Would you like something to eat?” he eventually responds.

You stare at him in disbelief. It seems you underestimated Hannibal and his cruelty. Your tongue feels ironed to the roof of your mouth, and you take a deep breath before shaking your head silently. You move back on the bed, your back finding the headboard. You pull your knees up and rest your arms, clasping your hands and closing your eyes. Maybe, if you keep your eyes closed for long enough, this scenario will simply… disappear. 

Hannibal takes a bite of his food, ignorant of your internal conflict. The small clinks of his silverware against the plate are the only noises in the otherwise tense air. Even when Hannibal’s gaze is focused on something else, you feel as if he’s watching you. You don’t dare to move a single muscle. There’s an uncomfortable silence settling in the air. 

“I met with many different therapists,” Hannibal remarks, apropos of nothing. He levels you with a scrutinizing gaze. You blink and you see your head on his dinner plate. You shake off the grotesque thought. “I chose you.” Is that supposed to make you feel better? It only makes you feel more uneasy.

After some time eating silently, Hannibal gets up from his seat and takes his empty plate. You watch as he steps towards the hallway from which he came—leaving you suspicious and wary as you wait for something to happen. In the time after his departure, you’re still tense. Will he be back soon? You’re not sure how long you sit there, dreading his return. 

Eventually, after what must be at least two hours, you conclude that Hannibal won’t be returning. You decide to lie down, curling up on your side. Perhaps if you close your eyes, you’ll wake up from this nightmare. 

…But the universe isn’t that merciful, and you wake up hours later with a helplessness that clings to your skin. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare—it’s reality. And your reality is inescapable. You’re a bird with clipped wings, trapped in a gilded cage. 

Hannibal visits in the middle of the day. Your eyes follow him the moment he enters the room; as if recognizing this, he seems to take delight in moving as agonizingly slow as possible. Despite the deliberate slow pace to his movements, you recognize the show for what it is. Hannibal is a predator on the prowl. You are his prey, left baring your bleeding flesh before a salivating maw.

It’s not helpful to think about what you could have done instead of pushing him to be honest. But you think about it anyway. If you had let him have his lies, his understanding but strained smiles… what would have happened? The self-defeating part of you wants to say he would’ve left you alone, but you know that’s a desperate thought. No. Somehow, you piqued Hannibal’s interest from the moment you found him on your doorstep.

Realistically speaking, he could’ve been watching you long before that. You’re not sure if he’s the type to stalk people; then again, you didn’t characterize him as the kidnapping type at first, and look where you are now. The thought drags a wry laugh from your lips, inadvertently drawing Hannibal’s attention towards you. He motions for you to join him at the table, where he’s prepared some sort of meal. Despite your growling stomach, you refuse the offer. Hannibal only raises a brow, as if he sees your fleeting attempt at resistance and views it to be a waste of time. Your refusal does give you an illusion of control. You feel as if you have power—however slight—over this situation. 

You don’t think you’ll cave so quickly, but by the time he returns that night with a late dinner, you’re fighting off the instinct to join him at the table. As if recognizing this, Hannibal stares at you with twinkling eyes. You grit your teeth. Unfortunately, you don’t really have a choice anymore. If you want to navigate his mind games, you need to be completely focused. Your hunger and aching stomach can’t serve as distractions. 

You sit down across from him. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it. 

As you’re eating, you realize you’ve been given a knife. You frown and look at the meal before you. There’s meat on Hannibal’s plate, but not on yours. Why were you given a knife, if you didn’t need one? Initially, you want to think it’s just a mistake. But you don’t think your captor would overlook something like that. Nearly every action of Hannibal's so far has been purposeful, even if that purpose was beyond your understanding. It’s very hard to believe that the knife is a simple oversight. 

But the knife’s purpose doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that you have a weapon. Hannibal is well within striking range, since the table you’re eating at is rather small. You could easily reach out and stab him in the hand, but then what…? You would still have the chain on your ankle. If you dealt him a powerful blow, you could incapacitate him at the very least. You’re not familiar with knives, though, so an attempt to incapacitate him could quickly become a murder. That’s a risk you think you’re going to have to take. You’re not sure when you’ll have another opportunity like this. 

You reach out and take both your fork and knife, pretending you’re going to cross them on your plate to signal that you’re finished with the meal. Your hand doesn’t want to relinquish its awkward grip on the knife, though. Something about the blade’s steady pressure against your palm is grounding. You realize you’re drawing blood when droplets fall to mark the wooden table. Hannibal’s eyes follow the movement, as if he actually heard the sound of your blood hitting the surface of the table. He’s momentarily distracted.

So you strike. 

At least, you try to. When his attention is captured, you slide your grip down to the handle of the knife, winding back and aiming at his neck. But Hannibal is inhumanly fast, and he quickly grabs your wrist with bruising strength until the utensil clatters back to its place on the table. Your eyes meet and you see only raw, unadulterated fury. A shiver crawls down your spine as a bone-deep fear settles past your skin. You’re going to die. 

Seconds drag on and, while Hannibal is still holding your wrist, the strength of his grip slowly fades. The silence is almost more painful than the white-hot irritation of the gash on your palm. With bated breath, you watch as Hannibal lets your wrist fall. Dread churning in your stomach, you’re frozen as he leaves the room. Terror stews in your chest at the anticipation he’s leaving you in. What weapon will he choose to end your life? 

Hannibal returns moments later with a clear container. You bite the inside of your cheek and watch silently as he approaches you, setting the bin on the table before taking your wrist and studying the minor gash on your palm. Something close to disapproval passes over his face for a quick second, before it’s replaced with a clinical gaze. 

Your hand is trembling ever so slightly. If Hannibal notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he obtains ointment from the container of medical supplies and spreads it along your scrape—before wrapping a bandage around your hand and wrist. His movements are precise and practiced; even if you were unaware of his background, you’d know he had experience as a medical practitioner. 

“Don’t try that again.” His voice is deceptively light; you don’t need to look far to see the anger coiled in his tight shoulders. You nod silently, your throat burning as you’re overcome with your own helplessness. With that, he walks back to the table, collects the dishes, and leaves the room. You stare down at your newly-bandaged hand, a renewed anguish promptly replacing any hope for escape. That attempt just now was a colossal failure. You didn’t think you were too obvious about your intentions, but he had reacted as if he expected you to stab him. Maybe that knife was placed there purposefully. Maybe, for reasons beyond your current comprehension, Hannibal wanted you to threaten his life. 

You really don’t know what to do with that information. You settle for reclining on the mattress and closing your eyes, still fighting off that foolish hope that you’ll wake sweat-soaked in your own bedroom, breathing hard from the fictitious nightmare you just experienced. 

Not much is born from your failure to escape, save for a few things: 1) a downgrade to plastic silverware, which makes you laugh in hysterical defeat; 2) pervasive hopelessness; and 3) a need for a new coping mechanism. Planning to escape no longer seems like a productive use of your time—trying to create something out of nothing is just insanity. Instead of maniacally going through every physically possible way to escape—a list which currently has zero items on it—you find yourself meditating. 

You were never the meditative type; you had many therapists who told you to meditate on your problems, and you promised yourself that you would never give that kind of advice to your patients. Mindfulness itself isn’t a bad suggestion, but the suggestion of meditation—crossed legs, pinched fingers—always felt like a slap in the face. 

You were so desperate once that you gave it a try. Predictably, your skeptical nature prevented it from actually working. But, ironically, when you tried it again a few days later, you found that you were able to compartmentalize your thoughts better. It didn’t necessarily make you feel calm in the way everyone claimed it did, but meditation helped you sort out the seemingly infinite tangle of problems in your mental cobweb. And if that cobweb was tangled before, it’s an absolute wreck now. Trapped in a man’s basement with no means of escape is a never-ending fountain of dread, regret, fear, and stress. 

At first, you just try to count to large numbers in your head. It helps you pass the time, in a room with no other form of entertainment. You slowly work your way up to tackling actual thoughts from there, and you find that, with time, you’re able to suppress unwanted feelings slightly. It’s nothing ground-breaking. But coping with your situation is one hell of a difficult task, so you’re proud of yourself for making any progress at all. 

This meditation becomes somewhat of a routine. You find yourself retreating into the depths of your mind at least once a day, if not two or three times. It’s a welcome escape from the unfamiliar room around you. Everything fades away, until you’re submerged in an endless void. Memories flicker before your eyes in brief flashes of light, visible but intangible. 

This meditation has one flaw: it leaves you entirely unguarded and defenseless. You were preoccupied with this notion during your first few attempts, but after you returned to the empty room each time, you began to forget your fear. But losing that fear made you complacent. You soon found yourself entirely ignoring the room around you—ignoring footsteps, ignoring shadows passing across the walls. While you often returned to reality to find yourself alone… that wasn’t always the case. 

When you’re finished with meditation one night, you open your eyes to find Hannibal standing in front of you. You immediately flinch and suck in a startled breath, nearly falling backwards on the bed as you create more distance between the two of you. It doesn’t take much contemplation to understand what he’s doing here. He was watching you, observing you. You never noticed him cross the threshold of the doorway; you didn’t notice him approach you with intrigue in his eyes as he regarded your vulnerable form. You were lost in the workings of your mind palace, your eyes closed and hands clasped in your lap.

“Hannibal,” you say, when you regain the ability to speak. “You scared me.” That’s an understatement. Your heart is positively racing in your chest. Hannibal has that damned smirk on his face, suggesting that your terror only amuses him. You grit your teeth and pretend not to notice the satisfaction practically radiating off of him. 

He finally stops looming over you, turning on his heel and walking over to the table. When he takes a seat, he immediately looks at you expectantly. “Take a seat,” Hannibal verbalizes, when a few seconds pass and you don’t make a move. 

You do as requested, albeit with a lot of restless fidgeting. Whenever the two of you sit at the table and there isn’t any food, you know a therapy session is beginning. Admittedly, your interactions so far barely qualify as sessions—Hannibal has still been frustratingly vague with what he’s experiencing, leaving you with virtually nothing to give to him in return. 

This session is nothing new. His ambiguity is still infuriating, but you find yourself grappling with a newer impatience. When it becomes clear that the conversation isn’t going anywhere, you hear yourself speaking. “I thought we promised to be honest with one another.” You wait with bated breath. Hannibal looks tightly coiled, as if ready to strike at any moment. But he remains silent, which pushes you to continue. “You’re still not being honest with me.”

“Very well,” Hannibal nods. You both know it’s true. Hannibal has only spoken of ambiguous urges that nearly consume him. These urges are evidently negative and almost mirror compulsions. However, from what you’ve seen of Hannibal so far, he has finely-regulated emotional control. Is he really a victim to these negative urges, or is he their puppetmaster? Your instincts gravitate towards the latter, but you aren’t prepared for the verbal confirmation he gives you. “I am a serial killer and a cannibal.” 

You immediately scrutinize him, looking for the signs you’ve grown to attribute to dishonesty. But there is only unapologetic candor… and an almost boundless hunger. You loathe how quick you are to believe such an outlandish statement. But, in the wake of your captivity, you’ve grown somewhat used to outlandishness. After all, Hannibal went so far as to kidnap you indefinitely—it’s been abundantly clear since you woke in this room that he is not a good person. His thinly-veiled fury has always been present—it is only now that you are able to attribute it to something. 

Your gaze is then unwittingly pulled down, past his neatly-ironed suit and to the wooden table before you. You think back to all the meals you’ve been fed and you look back up at him, unable to hide your fear and revulsion. “Have you…?” You’re at a loss for words. 

“I have not fed you anything untoward,” Hannibal answers. You’re briefly grateful, before you chastise yourself for the emotion. Why are you grateful to your captor for showing you the smallest of mercies? You are still trapped here. You have been shown the most basic of human decencies: food and water. Privacy and safety are distant memories, at this point. 

“You’re a serial killer and a cannibal,” you hear yourself repeat. Your voice sounds foreign and unrecognizable, in the wake of this horrifying revelation. “That’s…” You choke out, entirely unsure of what to say. 

Hannibal tries to keep talking, but you place your hands on the table and get to your feet. The chain on your ankle clinks menacingly as you move away from the table and towards the bed. You know better to turn your back on the man, so you instead perform an awkward side-shuffle until you’re seated on the bed. Hannibal finishes his meal in silence and leaves you alone in the basement. You break down soon after. 

Each time you blink, you see eyes glazed over in death; limbs stiff and unfeeling; lips parted but unbreathing. Every morning, you’re brutally torn from your sleep and forced to wake up in a nightmare. You are rotting behind these nondescript walls and no one has seemed to notice. What of your family and friends? Where are they now? Is anyone looking for you, or have you been banished to the uncompromising soil and cold headstones in a barren field? 

You haven’t caught even a trace of happiness throughout your captivity here. Fear, unease, and desperation have forced you into compliance. There’s a constant burning sensation in your throat and behind your eyes, as you mourn for the tragedies of tomorrow. Your life here is dictated by Hannibal’s whims. And, worst of all, your death is completely inevitable. You have no sense of the passage of time, yet the threat of your end seems to come ever closer with each passing moment.

There are only so many mind games you can subject yourself to before you have to face the grim reality: you are trapped here, and you likely will be trapped here for the remainder of your life. Whether that’s several weeks, eight months, or a few years… You will be confined here until Hannibal grows disinterested. Whatever the source of his interest, one thing is certain: this intrigue persuades him to spare you. But, as patient as Hannibal seems to be, you know it will only be a matter of time before he snaps. 

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you can hear your own bones cracking and snapping under his grip. Sometimes, in the light of day, you can see bright patrol lights reaching out to you through the screen door, beckoning you back to your life. But none of it is real. Nothing is tangible, save for the chain suffocating your ankle and the fear that keeps you from acting out or attempting to escape again.

In light of Hannibal’s confession, you feel… empty. A part of you is almost hopeful—even desperate—for an end to your confinement. That part of you longs to test the limits of Hannibal’s patience, in the hopes of breaking it and triggering the final chapter of your life. 

Safe to say, you aren’t sure what to do with yourself anymore. Everything feels completely pointless. You’re just waking up to fall asleep again the next night; eating to put off the gnawing feeling in your stomach; living to die. Each day simultaneously feels like a victory and a defeat. 

One question still begs your attention: why are you here? In your first session, Hannibal had maintained the illusion that he wanted to get better. The same can’t be said anymore: he shows no regret for the things he’s done. There isn’t even a hint of remorse in his answers to your questions, which only confuses you more. He does not want to improve. 

One particular morning, you decide to ask him. After all, you have virtually nothing left to lose. You would welcome an escape from this situation—any violence from him would only provide a merciful end to your suffering. “Why are you still entertaining all of this?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Hannibal is entirely static as he stares at you, no hint of emotion in his eyes. You can only imagine what he’s thinking. “You don’t want to get better. You show no remorse for your victims. Therapy is conducted under the pretense that the client wants something. As you’re aware, that is often support, self-actualization, or even just someone to listen to them… What do you want?”

“I’m glad I chose you,” Hannibal says, his eyes glimmering. 

“You haven’t answered my question,” you frown. 

“Company,” he answers. 

You study him for a long moment. “Do you feel unsatisfied with your current attachments?” You ask, squinting at him. “You once told me you host dinner parties frequently. You’ve never expressed difficulties with making friends, but you also never speak about the ones you do have.” You wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal didn’t have any friends—he doesn’t seem the type.

“Perhaps I think them to be beneath me,” he remarks casually. 

“Sure,” you say. That sounds about right, but you know things are rarely so simple and straightforward. “But then how do you fulfill your basic interpersonal needs? Are you constantly pretending?” You push. 

His silence is enough of an answer. Something ugly stews in your chest. You hate that you’re entertaining this—that you’re even pretending this man is redeemable. Yet what other choice do you have? When it comes down to it, you don’t want to die in this basement. You’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you escape that fate. Even if that means asking questions that you really don’t want the answers to. Somehow, you manage to push the off-putting words from your lips. “How do you choose your victims?”

Hannibal raises his brows, evidently surprised that you asked. He almost looks impressed. The recognition nauseates you: why are you so desperate for his approval? “I exchange business cards with people I meet,” Hannibal responds. That uneasy feeling is only increasing, continuing to prickle along your skin. “The cards of those who are particularly rude… are set aside.”

You force yourself to maintain some semblance of composure, even if you know the effort will be obvious. “And then?” Your voice is deceptively light, despite your pulse practically thrumming with uneasy anticipation. “What pushes you to make a move?”

“Anger,” he answers. His eyes gleam a foreboding crimson in the dim light of the basement. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to stop talking, yet you continue relentlessly. 

“No,” you immediately argue before you can stop yourself. “It’s not anger.” Hannibal raises a brow, challenging you to provide a better explanation. 

You pause to review everything you’ve learned about Hannibal so far. His secretive, elusive nature suggests that he isn’t killing for attention or pride.  Sure, anger could be a motivator, but above that… “It’s boredom,” you realize aloud. “You’re bored. Very little interests you, especially when you have so few genuine relationships. Killing actually makes you feel something—an emotion you’re unable to find elsewhere.”

You’re gripping the arms of your chair hard enough to send bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. One wrong move and he could lash out at you, ending your escape attempt before it can even truly begin. “Try as you might to replicate that feeling… You can’t.”

You’re not sure what reaction you’re expecting. Yet you’re still shocked to see Hannibal smile—a twisted, malicious thing that tears your breath from your chest. You’re immediately overcome with the inexplicable conviction that you’ve just supplied the last nail in your own coffin.

“My whole life, I have been thinking…. thinking… trying to figure myself out so I can help other people understand themselves.” You say some time later, staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers twitch restlessly in the plush brown armchair you find yourself sitting in. The room is warmly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. Across from you sits your old therapist. “And here I am,” you continue wryly, “Talking to my dead therapist.”

There’s a healthy glow to Charlie’s warm brown skin; he looks entirely at ease. “Why do you think that is?” He asks. Irritation floods through you. Charlie is just a figment of your imagination—a device your mind is using to attempt to cope with the trauma of this situation. But even this manifestation of Charlie is unrelenting, just as he once was. 

“Come on, Charlie,” you groan. His expression says, Humor me. You take a slow breath. A thump from upstairs draws you to look up at the ceiling, before you’re returning your eyes to Charlie and the space around him. “Fine. I was kidnapped by a serial killer and I have no chance of escape. No one is going to find me and I’m going to rot down here.”

Speaking on your thoughts ushers in a new sense of finality and it’s greatly unsettling. Charlie, on the other hand, is entirely unaffected. Whether that’s because he’s already dead or simply because he has a firm handle on his emotions, you’re unsure. 

You’re not sure how long you spend falling apart on that armchair, nor how long it takes for you to pull yourself back together. All you know is this unfamiliar feeling that tugs you back up above the roaring waves, pushing you to try again when all feels pointless. “I can’t die here,” you announce. The words linger in the air long after you utter them.

“So don’t,” Charlie replies simply. 

“I wish it were that easy,” you breathe. Faint traces of voices break you from your reverie and you stare at the basement wall intensely, before abandoning the gesture moments later when nothing happens. You look back at Charlie, whose eyes snap back to you as if he was also distracted by the sound. “Hannibal… He’s too perceptive. It won’t work.” You’re forced to think back to the rapidity with which he disarmed you.

You sense what Charlie’s going to say before he says it. “You don’t know that unless you try.”

“There’s no point,” you sigh frustratedly. 

“How long will you perpetuate this cycle?” Charlie asks, a worried frown on his face. “You give yourself hope, only to take it away again. You are the one in control here.” 

That’s not true. You’re not in control—Hannibal is the puppet master. But you suppose your therapist is correct, in a sense: your emotions are your own. “Fine,” you acquiesce. “I need to put an end to this. I can’t be trapped down here for the rest of my life. I need to try, at the very least.”

Somehow, the placating smile on Charlie’s face still looks smug. You put it down to your imagination. “What are your options, then?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. “I could fashion a weapon out of something in the room. But I’ve been downgraded to plastic silverware since the fork incident…”

“I could also try to reason with him. That definitely wouldn’t work, because he’s already convinced and can’t be persuaded. Hannibal shows no remorse for his actions and he will likely spend the rest of his life killing.”

You find yourself faced with the same troubling conclusion that has provoked your inaction. “I have no power, no authority in this situation.” It doesn’t take long for the reality of the situation to set in once more. “He’s not trying to get better.” Only in the depths of your mind, before your conjured visage of Charlie, does your voice betray the defeat you feel. 

“But he brought you here,” Charlie reminds you. You tap your fingers restlessly against the arm of the chair. “He must’ve taken you for a reason, even if it wasn’t for you to help him. What do you think that reason is?” He prompts. 

“He’s…” You break off. “He enjoys being in control and exerting authority.” That explanation sounds flimsy, even to you. The truth of the matter is staring you in the face, but you’re too unsettled to acknowledge it. 

“You’re grossly underestimating your value,” Charlie hums, perceptive as always. “You are valuable to him.” You’re unwittingly reminded of his gentle touch as he bandaged your palm; the intensity with which he gazes at you (especially when he thinks you don’t notice). You can deny it no longer. 

“Somehow, I interest him.” You say. Charlie nods; you’re on the right track. Something pushes you to shake your head and abandon that thought process. Inexplicably, you know you won’t like what you find there if you push any further. 

“I need to focus on how to get out of here,” you announce. Charlie arches a brow, but gracefully allows you to change the subject. Yet the unspoken sentiment adds a tension to the air that wasn’t present previously. You both know just how far Hannibal’s intrigue goes, yet you’re not comfortable with addressing it. 

“You’ve looked around the room,” Charlie then prompts. 

“Many times,” you acquiesce. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look again. There are two padlocks—one on the bedpost and one on the chain around my ankle. The lock on the chain could be picked with a pin. I doubt he has a pin lying around, but a nail or something like that could work…” 

Charlie nods approvingly. You roll your eyes and willingly retreat from your mind palace, returning to the room around you with renewed resolve. That resolve slowly wanes when you don’t find anything in the main room. But when you walk into the bathroom, you realize there’s a landscape painting on the wall. It must be secured with a nail. Surely enough, when you remove it from the wall, a single nail is left behind. It looks bent already, but it’ll have to do. Studying the room, you decide to stuff the painting in the cabinets beneath the sink. You’ve never seen Hannibal use this bathroom and you’ll have to trust that assumption. Hope brews in your chest, but you can’t quite bring yourself to trust it. 

When you leave the bathroom and enter the basement, you sit on the bed in silence—waiting for Hannibal to stalk in and thwart your escape attempts. After an immeasurable amount of time spent holding your breath, you manage to convince yourself to work on the padlock around your ankle. The nail you found is rigid and uncompromising, which forces you to exert an unnecessary amount of strength to manipulate it into a suitable shape. 

The chain is rattling ever so slightly as you attempt to free yourself from it. Your breathing is extremely loud in your ears and you’re frantically fighting off the growing potential for Hannibal to walk in and catch you in the middle of the act. Your heart is thudding steadily and quickly in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’ve waited for this chance and you’re not going to blow it. Your fingers calloused and throbbing, you firmly maneuver the nail and the padlock finally pops open. You place it on the bed gently, before shakily taking off the manacle. Your ankle is bruised and irritated, but it’s not broken and you don’t feel too much pain. After a moment, you decide to hide the padlock under the comforter. It doesn’t really matter if you hide it—Hannibal will notice your absence regardless. 

You take a deep breath and get off the bed, stealthily walking towards the glass doors at the other side of the room. You’ve been staring through them for so long now, but you were never able to get close enough to open them—let alone see your surroundings. Now, you find that it’s afternoon—as the sun casts a warm glow on the sky. You slide the lock of the door and pull up on the interior pin, before gently sliding it. Of course, the door catches on the track and shudders—but you manage to put it back as quietly as you can. 

Your shoes finally meet the pavement and you’re free. You’re actually free. 

You take a deep breath of fresh air and survey your surroundings, only to see a never ending expanse of trees on all sides. You’re in the middle of the woods. 

Fuck. 

You had a clear plan in your mind: escape the house, run down the populated street, and find the nearest approachable stranger to ask for help. The second step of your plan has already failed: there is no street or neighborhood—only forest as far as the eye can see. It takes everything you have not to fall to your knees and cry. Crying won’t do you any good.

At first, you take silent, measured steps away from the house—afraid to make any sound. As the house shrinks in the distance, however, you break into a jog and, eventually, a full-out sprint. You don’t know where you’re going—you just hope to put as much distance between Hannibal and you as possible. (Of course, it’s likely that he knows these woods a lot better than you do. That’s only another reason to prioritize speed over getting your bearings.)

In hindsight, you wish you had attempted to sneak upstairs and steal something from his house: a wallet, a phone, a weapon, anything. But you just couldn’t risk it. Not to mention… you had banked on finding yourself in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, not in the middle of nowhere. 

You’re not sure how long you’re running. You don’t stop until your legs threaten to give out. Then, you brace yourself against a tree and try to catch your breath for a few minutes. The pain in your chest fading and your breath restored, you remove your hand from the tree and stand upright—only to see a figure a short distance from you. You squint and try to make it out. For a moment, it’s stationary and you’re fooled into thinking it’s an object. Then it moves, and you’re forced to come to a nauseating conclusion: Hannibal followed you. 

“No,” you say. “No, no, no, no.” Your shoe slides back as you step backwards, leaves and sticks crunching under your feet. You’re hardly able to believe your eyes—frozen in fear as Hannibal strides towards you. Your survival instincts don’t kick in until he’s far closer, and you immediately whip around and run. 

You don’t get far before he’s tackling you to the ground. The sharp edges of his body press into you and you try to throw him off, bucking underneath him. His grip is insistent and he stares down at you with a blank expression. You manage to pull your knee up far enough to hit him, causing his grip to slacken and giving you an outlet of escape. You shove him off of you and kick at his side, but he manages to maneuver to the side and dodge. 

Something at his side catches the light. He’s holding a knife. You’re holding your hands out in front of you, as if that will somehow stop the killer in front of you from making you another victim. With blinding speed, Hannibal is lunging towards you and sinking the knife into your thigh. You scream and manage to push him away, though your attempt at disarming him is futile. You immediately clamp a hand against your bleeding leg, gritting your teeth as stars pass across your vision. Hannibal continues his pursuit, forcing you to stumble backwards. 

“Hannibal,” you choke out, your voice thick. You think you taste blood in your mouth—probably from biting the inside of your cheek too hard. There is almost no emotion in Hannibal’s eyes, save for one confusing one: betrayal. Did he expect you to stay? “Please.” What are you begging for? Do you want mercy, or do you want an end to this madness? 

Either way, Hannibal extends his hand towards you. You’re shaking, blood dripping from your lip as you stare at him. The gesture is a peace offering of sorts: come willingly, and I won’t hurt you, he’s trying to say. You’re not so easily fooled. You never had a choice. 

You still shake your head, a pained whimper wrenching its way out of your lips. You instinctively step backwards. In the blink of an eye, the world is spinning around you and you’re falling to the forest floor. (If a tree falls in a forest with no one to hear it, does it make a sound?) You blink dazedly, your vision slowly blurring. Leaves crunch near your cheek as Hannibal draws ever closer. You try to reach out a hand to resist, but you can only twitch for moments before your eyes are slipping shut. 

When you can finally fight off the exhaustion seeping into your form, you blink past dry eyes and stare up at an achingly familiar ceiling. You push yourself up weakly, only to find yourself in Hannibal’s basement once more. There’s a sturdier chain around your ankle, and a new, bulkier padlock securing the chain. All you can hear is your ragged breathing and the awful ringing in your ears. Taking a shuddering breath, you bury your head in your hands.

endnotes: Here's some dialogue I couldn’t find a place for:

“I don’t particularly care.” “That doesn’t sound like you,” Hannibal responds. “You don’t know me,” you feel the need to remind him. “And I haven’t felt like myself in quite some time.”

Hannibal's boujee ass definitely has a state of the art security system in his home… Methinks the reader triggered the alarm system in their escape and it sent Hannibal's phone a notification…

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[yanderes-galore]

I'd really love if you did a concept of Aemond Targaryen if you're down! Thx! ^^

I'll try my best, sure! I just hope I get his character right. He's one of my favorites!

Yandere! Aemond Targaryen Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Possessive behavior, Forced betrothal/Marriage, Sadism, Potential Targcest mentions (Aegon/Helaena), Manipulation, Violence, Blood, Murder, Dark themes, Vague punishments implied, Isolation, Biting/Marking, Forced relationship.

Aemond is the more serious one out of Alicent's two sons (in the show).

He takes duty seriously yet doesn't participate in tournaments.

He actually believes himself more capable of ruling than his brother, which may not be wrong.

He tends to his duties as a prince much more than Aegon, often studying history and philosophy.

He's a capable fighter and at a young age managed to have Vhagar under his command.

So, imagine this... Aemond taking you as his betrothed once he hits a certain age.

It's natural his brother is betrothed to Helaena due to his duty as king.

However, Aemond isn't betrothed.

Alicent doesn't plan on marrying him off to anyone until Aemond meets you.

You could be a royal from another family, or maybe a servant he got too close to, either way now Aemond is smitten.

Which would lead to your betrothal, even if you don't even like the prince.

This concept is going to focus on how it's like to be betrothed to Yandere! Aemond.

Aemond is an intimidating man.

If the dragon doesn't scare others off, he will.

Aemond seems like he'd come off as cold most of the time.

There's times he's affectionate with you, but unlike Aegon he's no pathetic yandere.

He's possessive like most Targaryens and often hates others looking at what's his.

He's just more stoic about it.

If he catches eyes on you for too long, he'll squeeze your waist to show you're taken.

Aemond isn't afraid in the slightest to give others a message about taking what's his.

Between Vhagar and his blade, Aemond would shed blood to keep you as his.

He was willing to do it before you were betrothed, he'll definitely do it now.

I wouldn't put it past him to sacrifice others to Vhagar if they got too close.

Ah, it was just an accident.

Shouldn't have been so close to you Vhagar.

However, there's also times I can see Aemond getting personal and finishing off someone with his blade instead of dragon fire.

Blood coating his clothes is a common sight, especially during the Dance of The Dragons.

So why be so worried, dear?

He's a warrior... killing is something he's well accustomed to.

Of course, before he gets bloody he'll give warnings.

Although giving warnings is much less fun to him.

Now let's get onto how he is with you instead of others.

Before you were both betrothed he originally seemed cold and disinterested.

Yet talking to you at a few gatherings made the prince captivated.

He didn't think he'd need a partner, he was fine just performing his duties like usual.

Then Aemond kept finding himself tailing you around, the normally stoic prince itching to know more.

Alicent grew a bit suspicious when Aemond showed an interest in you.

She thought he'd have a similar interest in you that Aegon had... have a night in the bedroom maybe then it's done.

But... no, instead Aemond comes up to her months later and asks for permission to marry you.

Which leads to Aemond dragging you off for marriage.

Afterwards, when you're alone, he's affectionate and teasing.

He isn't cold all the time with you.

There's times he genuinely just wants to show he cares for you not just out of duty.

He also happens to have a twisted adoration towards you.

Your husband never leaves you out of his sight for long.

Aemond is manipulative towards you, often coming off as demanding towards you.

He wants you to listen to him and doesn't want you going off on your own.

Even a walk to the garden has to be accompanied by him as he keeps you attached to the hip.

His grip on your hand is unrelenting even if you just want to see the flowers.

Complain all you want, Aemond refuses to play your games.

While not violent towards you, this is the same man who would slaughter other men for looking at you wrong.

Be that for your honor or his own selfish reasons... well, it's hard to say.

Fire and Blood is the saying for Aemond's house.

Problems for him are dealt with using that phrase.

He isn't very merciful unless it comes to you.

Aemond even holds back during punishments if he's in a good mood.

Unless you wish to run away.

Then that just won't do, right?

Aemond is adamant on the fact he didn't marry you just for duty.

He's married you for personal interest.

Every bite on your skin is proof of such, he takes claim to you and wants everyone to know it.

He is adamant on having you tell him that you're his.

He wants you to say it often, to know you're just his.

He is a terrifying and serious man.

He takes his duty and his love seriously.

You'd be a fool to think you could escape him...

Escaping the one-eyed dragon's clutches is an impossible feat, especially with his brother as king.

[punkshort]

look what we've become - ch.8

Chapter Summary: Your POV from captivity. You learn some interesting information about the Fireflies and run into an unexpected person from your past.

Chapter Warnings: language, graphic depictions of violence, blood, torture, one teeny tiny 'daddy' reference (couldn't help myself, more of a nod to the fandom than anything), infected, reader gets roughed up, description of injuries and pain

WC: 4.7K

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"You said take the girl, so I took the girl!"

"I meant the fucking kid, not her!"

You stifled a groan, your eyes still shut tight, unable to handle the brightness from the overhead lighting. Your head was spinning, and if you moved too much, your stomach heaved, so you laid as still as possible, hoping and praying whatever was going to happen would happen quickly.

The smell didn't help, either. You had no idea where you were, but your cheek was pressed up against a cool, tile floor and the entire room smelled like rot. You heard a muffled, rhythmic thumping against a wall in the corner of the room. It felt damp and humid, like maybe you were in a cabin or a basement. And you definitely were not alone. Once you woke from whatever drug they had slipped into your neck, you did your best to still appear asleep, hoping that maybe you could find out some helpful information while your captors still thought you couldn't hear them.

The two voices continued to argue - a man and a woman - about the mix-up. Ellie. They were after Ellie, not you. That frightened you even more.

How long has it been since you've been taken? Hours? A day?

Joel would have made them leave. He wouldn't have kept her there after he realized what happened. If not to protect her, he would have moved to try to find you. As much as you didn't want him to come looking for you, to put Ellie in harm's way, you knew he would. You had no idea how many people were part of this group that took you, but it was definitely too many for Joel to handle on his own. And he wouldn't waste time going back to Jackson for help.

You needed to get out of there before Joel got himself killed trying to find you.

The voices continued to talk, the volume increasing, the words becoming clearer. They were getting closer to where you were tied up on the floor. Why did the one voice sound vaguely familiar? Did you know these people?

"We sent another crew out to fix your fuck up," the woman said, her shoes squeaking on the tile. "You better hope they find her, or it's your ass."

"Yes, ma'am," the man's voice said weakly.

"I know you're awake," the woman's voice said icily. Part of you wanted to remain still and call her bluff, but her boot was too close to your already tender head, and you didn't want to risk another hit. You allowed one eye to crack open, the light like an icepick in your brain. You brought your hands up to shield your eyes as you struggled to sit upright with your wrists and ankles tied together.

When you finally sat up, you leaned your head back with a sigh, trying to get your bearings and calm your churning stomach before forcing both eyes open to look at your captor for the first time.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you croaked, surprised at how rough your own voice sounded.

Amy laughed and jumped up on a gurney behind her, swinging her legs back and forth over the edge, the motion making you nauseous the longer you watched.

Amy. Joel's ex-fiancée and the woman who helped lead the group of animals who took you both in long before you found Jackson, under the guise of it being a safe community but failing to mention that community ran on a very primitive form of currency.

"Yeah, thought you'd be happy to see me," she said with a chuckle, flicking her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Elated," you said dryly, sliding your eyes back closed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't exactly thrilled to see you, either."

"That does make me feel better, thank you," you snapped, opening your eyes again to glare at her.

"You do realize I hold the key to your release, right? Maybe treat me with a little respect," Amy said, the fake smile slipping from her face.

"You and I both know I'm not getting out of here," you replied, but she shook her head.

"Not necessarily. If we can't find the girl, you're our contingency plan."

You narrowed your eyes, the rage beginning to burn deep in your chest. Knowing you would regret it, you asked the question anyway.

"What do you mean?"

Amy smirked as she slid down from the gurney and bent down to look you in the eye.

"What I mean is, he would do anything to get you back. Including giving up the kid."

Something in you snapped. You lunged forward, swinging your head and smashing it directly into her nose. You heard the distinctive crunch right as the blood began to pour out of both nostrils. She stumbled back in shock, clutching her face while she howled in pain. Even though your head felt like it was splitting in two, you grinned. Worth it.

Once the pain subsided, she dropped her hands, her face smeared with dark red blood, her nose turning purple and swollen, clearly broken.

"You fucking bitch," she muttered. She took one step forward and swung her leg back, the toe of her boot coming in direct contact with your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to make a single noise indicating you were in any pain, not giving her the satisfaction. But the blood that was pooling in your mouth told a different story.

Amy laughed as she watched you spit blood on the tile next to you.

"You're gonna regret that," she said, walking backwards towards the door. "Your people really had us chasing you all over the goddamn place, even lost a few friends. I got some guys outside who would love to break a few of your bones for all that."

As the door slammed shut, you finally allowed yourself to take a shaky breath in and look around. Even though you were alone, you still heard the thumping coming from the corner of the room. You leaned forward, trying to see what was causing the noise, but all you saw was a small room with a stainless steel door sealed shut. There were gurneys everywhere, some of them broken, some not. Between you and the door there were six flat, stainless steel tables in front of what looked like refrigerators. Chancing a look up at the lights, you noticed some appeared to be the type you might see in a dentist's office or an operating room. Then it dawned on you.

You were in a morgue.

You couldn't be sure how much time had passed. You lost consciousness a few times. Amy wasn't kidding. The men she employed were pissed, and they took it out on you with every punch and kick. Each time you woke up, you felt a new pain somewhere in your body. A new broken bone or a new cut. Eventually, Amy returned, and even in your wrecked state, you still found a sliver of pleasure seeing her nose taped up and the dark bruise blooming under each of her eyes.

"Had enough yet?" she asked with a smirk. You snarled in response and spit more blood on the ground.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me where Joel and the girl are," she said, holding her hands out to her sides like it was obvious.

"I have no idea," you said truthfully, struggling to sit up.

"Okay, why don't you tell me where home is, and we can start there?" she offered, and you laughed.

"You should just go ahead and kill me if that's what you want," you told her, glaring at her with one eye, the other swollen shut already.

"Don't think we won't," she said, tilting her head to the side as she regarded you silently for a moment, her thoughts clearly drifting to something else.

"What?" you asked her through gritted teeth.

"Don't you think he's a little old for you?" she finally asked, her eyes raking up and down your body. You knew it would always boil down to this. You knew she could never see past your relationship with Joel. What he was willing to do for you, what he has done for you, what she lost and would never have.

"What, do you have daddy issues or something?" she asked with a scoff.

You smirked as more blood trickled down your chin, the cut on your lip refusing to heal.

"Sometimes he likes it when I call him daddy, if that's what you mean," you told her. The face she made was worth the kick to the head. You giggled and coughed, the pain and the smell and the insanity of everything happening finally hitting home.

"He's gonna kill you, you know," you said with a grin, leaning up against the cool tile wall. "Even if you kill me. Especially if you kill me, he will find you, and he will kill you."

Amy was smirking at you, but you saw the look in her eye. It was fast, but you caught it. She knew you were right.

"We'll see," she said, backing up so she could lift herself up on one of the stainless steel tables. She watched you for a moment, blood trickling out of every wound, bruises deepening in color with each passing minute. You were pretty sure your arm and a couple ribs were broken and you most definitely had a concussion, but you refused to show any weakness. You glared at her from your spot on the ground, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

"Do you know what we do here?" she asked you. The question took you off guard.

"Other than torture people? No."

She laughed at that.

"We're trying to make a fucking vaccine," she told you, like she expected you to be grateful. You already figured that much out, but you didn't say so.

"How's that going for you?" you asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It would be a lot fucking better if we had that goddamn girl," she told you. Her emotions were getting the best of her. You could hear it with every word, and it put you even more at ease. They were desperate.

"Oh, yeah?" you said. "That's a shame."

"Do you have any idea how many people sacrificed themselves for this cause?" she asked, her brows furrowed. You shrugged.

"Enlighten me."

"Countless," she said, jutting her chin towards the room in the corner. You looked over at the closed door. The thumping was fainter when you were alone, but now that Amy was talking, the noise started up again.

"There's a lot of people who are immune, you know," she began, and you felt your muscles tense. "So many of them gave their lives to help us find a cure. We are so close. Our doctor just needs one more, and that kid is the answer." You began to put the pieces together, and the noise in the corner was starting to make sense. You felt your stomach roll.

"Sounds like a really shitty doctor if they let so many people die," you told her, and she scoffed.

"He's brilliant. You have no idea how difficult it is to extract DNA in this type of setting, and - I don't even know why I'm bothering," she said, shaking her head. "The point is, that girl could save us all."

"You said it yourself. There's a lot of people who are immune," you mumbled. You could feel yourself fading but you fought to stay awake. "Find someone else."

"Fuck that," she said, jumping down from the table and crouching in front of you. "Where is she?"

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you," you whispered, your good eye sliding shut.

"Don't you dare pass out!" she shrieked, slapping you across the face. The adrenaline perked you up for a few seconds, but the blood loss ultimately won, and you slipped back into darkness.

You woke up to the sound of gunfire coming from the floors above you. The noise was faint, but it was distinctive. Pop, pop, pop. How long were you out for this time? Was it nighttime? There were no windows, you had no semblance of time other than the hunger that gnawed at your insides as more hours passed without food or water.

You blinked and looked around, confirming you were still alone before trying to sit up. The blood loss was too much, your head was pounding, and your side felt like you had been hit by a bus. Slumping back down, you took a few deep breaths before trying again. The gunshots were getting closer, and your adrenaline was spiking, giving you the little boost you needed to force yourself up. You looked down, trying to assess the damage to your body. Your upper thigh had a big, weeping gash, probably the culprit for the majority of your blood loss. Your one eye was still swollen but you could crack it open just a bit now if you really had to. Your cheekbone felt like it might be broken, and a few ribs were definitely broken, but at least your knees and ankles were good. If you could cut the ties, you could run. Or stumble.

As the gunfire got closer, the thumping against the door in the corner of the room got louder. There was no doubt in your mind at this point that they kept infected in there, and you just hoped you weren't still tied up if they got out.

Your brain was foggy, you were having a hard time staying focused, but the panic began to set in. Why was there gunfire? What was happening? Then a hazy thought drifted by in the back of your mind. Joel?

There was no way he could have found you this fast. He wouldn't have put the pieces together. You barely could keep up with what was happening. But then the door handle jiggled and a small form snuck into the room quietly and you thought you must have been dying. Surely, you were hallucinating, your brain short circuiting as it began to shut down, because there was no possible way Ellie was actually crouching in front of you, repeating your name urgently as she tugged on your restraints to no avail.

"Shit, hold on," you heard her mutter, setting the familiar looking hunting rifle on the floor next to her so she could fish her switchblade out of her pocket. Yes, you were most definitely hallucinating. Joel wouldn't have given her his rifle. Unless...

"Is he dead?" you rasped, finally finding your voice. Ellie paused with her switchblade hovering over your ankles and frowned at you.

"Joel? No," she said, shaking her head as she began to saw on the restraints, freeing your legs and then moving to your wrists.

"What's..." you tried again, but you could feel yourself fading and all you could hear was that fucking thumping in the corner of the room and the gunfire down the hall.

"We're getting you out of here," she said, tucking her shoulder underneath your arm and hoisting you up with a grunt. You muffled a cry at the pain shooting down your side, blood gushing down your leg again now that you were moving.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered, leading you over to a gurney so you could steady yourself before she dug into her pack for an old shirt. She bent down and wrapped it around your thigh as tight as she could, wincing as she double knotted it before she stood back up.

"Can you move?" she asked, her eyes wide with panic. You nodded, but you weren't sure. If Ellie had the rifle, where was Joel?

As if an answer to your question, Joel burst into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, frantically looking around before pulling a table over to barricade it. You must have looked worse than you thought because when he finally turned around to look at you for the first time, his face crumpled for a moment before he quickly collected himself and rushed over.

"What'd they do to you?" he murmured in your ear as his arms came up to wrap around your middle. You winced and leaned back, your hand coming up to your ribs to tenderly cover the spot he just squeezed.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes raking down your body, trying to take stock of your injuries.

"It's okay," you said. His eyes flicked to the corner of the room where the noise was reaching a fever pitch.

"Oh, shit," Ellie muttered, her attention also pulled to the locked door.

"We gotta get you outta here," Joel said, seemingly making the connection much quicker than you did. "Can you walk?"

"I think so, but I can't go fast," you said, bending over and holding yourself up with your arms braced on the gurney. For the first time, you noticed the blood. He was covered in it. Splashed up his jeans and boots and all over his hands, some even sprayed on his neck.

"That's fine," he said as he began to push the table away from the door. The noises from the locked room got even louder as the table legs screeching on the tile floor.

"There's too many of them, Joel. We can't-"

"Yeah, we can," he said, cutting you off. He was turning to look at you, still in disbelief while he opened the door, not paying attention as someone pushed their way in, knocking him to the ground with the stock of a rifle.

He fell with a groan, his hands coming up to clutch the side of his face as Amy quickly locked the door behind her. She aimed her rifle at Joel's chest, and he dropped his hands to the side, staring up at her like he was seeing a ghost.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, and she smirked.

"Nice to see you, too, baby," she snarled, her nose still taped and her eyes still black.

"Who's she?" Ellie asked under her breath at your side, but you just shook your head. Amy glanced up and let out a shaky laugh when she saw Ellie.

"After everything you did, Joel, you still lost," she said. You looked between them, confused and barely holding onto consciousness. What did that mean?

"What the hell happened to you?" Joel asked her, his voice laced in disgust.

"I got with the fucking program, Joel! That's what!" she yelled at him before taking a step back, the rifle still aimed at his chest.

The door handle began to rattle violently with all the yelling. You could see it being pushed open a crack from the other side, then hands wrapping around the edge of the door until the lock broke and it finally swung open.

Joel scrambled to his feet and grabbed his revolver from his side while Ellie shouldered the hunting rifle as infected came pouring out, their screams making you wince.

Gunshots rang out, a few infected fell, but Amy's gun jammed and a runner knocked her down. She rolled off to the side and kicked it in the chest, sending it flying backwards right into Ellie, the gun falling from her hands.

You picked up Joel's rifle as quickly as you could in your weakened state, but right as you took aim at the infected's head, you watched its teeth clamp down around her arm. You both screamed, Ellie in pain, you in fear as you lodged a bullet right into the back of the runner's skull, its body falling limply to the side. You dropped the gun to the ground, too exhausted and weak to hold it anymore. Ellie scrambled up and swiped frantically at her arm, watching as the blood trickled out.

"Are you okay?" you asked, reaching out to her. She nodded and looked up at you, her eyes suddenly going wide.

"Look out!"

You ducked just in time to avoid getting hit in the back of the skull with Amy's rifle. She fell forward on her hands and knees, then scrambled to grab Ellie's ankle, yanking her down and pulling her against her chest.

You vaguely heard Joel's gun still firing behind you, taking down infected, when you watched Amy's arm wrap around Ellie's throat, her face going red while she gasped for air. You didn't even think, you just reacted. Ignoring the pain, you surged forward and pounced on top of her, yanking her arm off of Ellie's neck with every ounce of strength you had. Ellie rolled to the side, kneeling and coughing with her hand gingerly touching her red skin while your fingers gripped Amy's neck. She clawed at your hands, panic filling her eyes as she looked up at you helplessly. You put all your weight into it, squeezing with all your might and praying you didn't pass out before ending this once and for all.

In one last ditch effort, Amy dug her thumb deep into your wounded thigh, making you cry out and loosen your grip. She tossed you off of her and you collapsed next to Ellie with a loud thud. Forcing herself to her feet, Ellie stood over you protectively, her switchblade held shakily in her hand as blood trickled slowly down her arm and dripped onto the tile floor next to your head.

The room finally seemed quieter. You chanced a look towards Joel. He was standing on the other side of the room, surrounded by dead infected and panting for air. When he turned to the three of you, you finally noticed the huge gash on the side of his head from where Amy hit him. His blood dripped down his neck and below his collar, his shirt absorbing the dark red drops.

Amy grabbed the rifle you abandoned and swung around, aiming it at the pair of you as she walked backwards. Joel kept his revolver trained on her as he slowly made his way over to your side of the room.

"You just ruined all our chances at having a fucking life again, Joel," Amy seethed, her eyes boring into his.

"Should've thought about that before you took what's mine," he grumbled angrily, standing next to you now. You curled into a ball on the floor, the pain too much to handle.

"If you'd have just brought us the girl in the fucking first place, none of this would have happened and we wouldn't have touched her," Amy retorted, jutting her chin in your direction.

"The hell's so special about the kid?" Joel asked, but before she could answer, a telltale click, click, click echoed in the room, and you all froze. Your one good eye popped open as you watched a clicker stumble from the room in the corner, snapping its teeth and swiping mindlessly at the empty space in front of it.

Joel glanced down at your state, knowing he wouldn't be able to pick you up and get out of there in time. Ellie gripped her knife tightly as she watched the clicker get further into the room.

You could see the look in Amy's eye. She was glancing around frantically, trying to figure out a way to use this to her advantage. But lucky for you all, you thought of it first.

Carefully, you reached out in front of you, your fingers picking up the bullet casing on the floor from when you shot the runner. Before you had time to overthink it, you tossed the casing to the other side of the room, the metal clinking right between her feet.

The clicker turned towards her and shrieked, its arms flailing wildly. Amy panicked and backed up, but her sneakers squeaked on the tile and that was all the clicker needed. You watched as its hands gripped her shoulders to hold her steady while its mouth ripped violently into her neck. Blood gushed everywhere, puddling on the floor and causing her to lose her footing. Her screams reverberated in the room. You covered your ears, trying to muffle the sound until her screaming eventually stopped.

While the clicker was still distracted, Joel snuck up quietly behind it and lodged a bullet in its head, and the room finally filled with silence again.

Joel turned around as Ellie was helping you back on your feet. He noticed the blood dripping down her arm and his body stiffened.

"You were bit," he said, staring at the blood seeping through her shirt. Ellie looked down at it and then looked back up at him, shaking her head and backing away slowly.

"N-no, it's fine, really-"

Joel held up his gun, pain flickering across his face.

"Joel, don't," you said, but he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. She's bit, we can't-"

"Put the gun down, Joel, and listen to me," you told him, taking a few shaky steps to the side so you stood between him and Ellie.

His arm immediately dropped when you blocked his shot, and he looked at you with despair in his eyes.

"There's nothin' we can do, I'm sorry kid, but -"

"She's immune, Joel!" you yelled, cutting him off again. He froze, stunned, as his eyes flicked back and forth between yours and Ellie's.

"What?" he finally whispered.

"It's true," Ellie said from behind you, then she pulled up her sleeve and showed him her old bite. "Got it a couple months ago. See? It's all healed."

Joel stumbled back a bit, catching himself on the edge of a table as he tried to follow what was happening.

"Wh- how?"

"I don't know, some people just... are," she said, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"It's why they wanted her so badly. They were trying to use her as a guinea pig to make a vaccine," you added.

"You knew?" Joel asked, looking at you with hurt in his eyes. You nodded, your lip trembling.

"Listen, I would love to tell you everything I know, but can we do it in the fucking car?" Ellie asked, growing impatient. You could tell Joel was still struggling with this new revelation, but he knew you were in desperate need of medical care.

"You so much as twitch -" Joel said, storming over to her now and letting himself trail off.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Can we go now?"

If you weren't in so much pain, you might have laughed at how cavalier she was about the whole thing.

Joel found a beat up looking wheelchair and helped you into it. He instructed Ellie to push you while he led the way down the hall. He picked up an assault rifle from one of the dead bodies as he made his way to the elevator. You glanced around at the carnage as you waited for the doors to open, then looked up at him by your side.

"Did you do all of this alone?"

He looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your one open eye for a moment before nodding curtly. As you filed onto the elevator, you tried to examine him for any injuries, but aside from the hit to his head and a few minor scratches and bruises to his knuckles, he appeared fine.

The doors opened up on the main level and you gasped. If you thought the basement level was bad, it was nothing compared to the main level. Ellie pushed your wheelchair through the blood on the floor, her footsteps and the wheels leaving imprints as you went. Joel went up ahead to push some bodies out of the way and make a clear path for you to get to the front door.

"Truck's right out front," he said.

"Joel, how did you... do this?" you asked, still hardly believing what you were seeing.

"What'dya mean?" he asked, his hand on the front door, ready to push it open. You looked up at him and swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to comprehend what you were seeing. He let his hand drop to his side so he could kneel in front of you and pinch your chin between his fingers, giving you a gentle kiss.

"I did what I had to do to get you back."

Tag List @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow @amyispxnk @plz-be-solo @iloveramensm @caitlynsixxx @anoverwhelmingdin @harriedandharassed @jessthebaker @txtattoostark @merz-8 @sarahhxx03 @oscarissac2099 @motherjoel @silas-222 @b3l1nd5 @rocket-raccoon-silvie @missladym1981 @angie2274 @maried01

[genshin-side-piece]

Hazy Shade of Winter (Part 1)

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Implied drug use, Mentions of alcohol, ]Non-Consensual Touching, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

A/N: Slightly (?) OOC Wriothesley. I think. I'm honestly not sure. But fair warning just to be safe.

You awoke to a loud clang. The sharp noise reverberated through your drowsy skull, pulling you from the heavy slumber that had kept you under until this time. Cloudy thoughts were covered by a heavy layer of fog, making it difficult for you to focus. You couldn’t place the source of the sound. Metal had connected with metal, making it distinctly foreign to you. In all the years that you had lived in the Court of Fontaine, you had never heard anything make such a racket. It was doubtful such a disturbance would be tolerated by the general population, let alone your neighbors. The harsh, cutting quality was enough to wake the dead, yet there were no screams that followed it. Just an echo that quickly faded and the sound of air being pushed through pipes.

Air being pushed through pipes? 

The mental fog lifting enough for you to flinch at the bitterness that rested on your tongue. Heavy and salty and altogether awful. Your stomach involuntarily wretched at the taste. You tried to use what little saliva you could muster in the hope that you could wash it away, but that too was in vain. The taste just lingered without any hope of it going away. “Here” The injection of the rich male voice into your world briefly snapped you of your stupor. Out of everything, whether it be the metal or the pipes or the lumpy mattress that was not yours, the most out of place was that voice. You lived alone. When you had returned home last night, at least the small bit that you could remember, you had sworn you had been alone. The two at the bar, who had turned a relaxing cocktail for one into a pub crawl, were nowhere to be seen.  You had been wandering the streets of the court alone. Slipping and stumbling the entire way, but at last check, you had been on your own. So where had the man beside you come from?

You blinked up at him, ignoring the glass of water he was offering you. Your hazy mind was too preoccupied with trying to place him. You knew him, no, you’d seen him before. Recently. Had he come into your place of work? No. Perhaps it had been in a shop or on the street? Narrowing your eyes at him, you thought it might be, but it still didn’t explain why he was here. Looking past him, it didn’t explain why you were clearly not at home. The patchwork metal walls and dim lights were a far cry from the plaster embellishments and glass lamps of the court. Though, they seemed to match, if not enhance the scarred facade of the man beside you. “My apologies for the rough awakening.” He shifted, the chains of his attire moving with him. The clanking sound that filled the room as he set the glass of water to one side grated on you. It pierced through the air, causing the throbbing in your head to get worse. “That stuff in your system packs quite the punch.” What? You turned away from him trying to make sense of that statement. What stuff? You couldn’t make heads nor tails of what he meant by the word stuff. “I told them to take it easy on you, especially since they were already plying you with alcohol, but it seems they didn’t heed my warning. You’ve been out for close to an entire day.” Your entire body involuntarily lurched at that news. What? An entire day? How could that be? You’d gone home hadn’t you? His vague references didn’t mean anything, because they hadn’t happened. That was the only logical explanation you could muster. “I was actually getting slightly worried. The head nurse was under the impression something else might be amiss. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know you’re okay. Though, I suppose she’ll still recommend some restorative treatments.” He made a face, one that echoed both dread and disgust. “I’ll do my best to spare you, but you may have to humor her some. Just for the sake of your relationship with her. I’d hate for you to get on her bad side at the start. It doesn’t make for a comfortable living arrangement if we don’t get along.” You blinked. The casualness of that statement seemed out of sorts given your present situation. How could he speak of relationships or living arrangements when you had no clue as to where you were and who he was? This wasn’t your home. You didn’t live here. Unless- 

Your eyes darted around the room again. A foreign place. A bed, a place to refresh yourself, a strange arrangement with an even stranger man. The effects of the stuff you had been given cleared just long enough to allow you to realize the gravity of your situation. 

The reaction that followed your epiphany was almost an involuntary one. Your entire body disregarded your drug induced hangover long enough to make the sorry attempt at fleeing. You tried to leave the bed, but the man who later introduced himself as Wriothesley was quick to stop you. His thick heavy arms had come around you before you had even fully sat up, effectively keeping you right where he wanted you. There was a struggle. Despite your queasiness and your pounding headache, you fought him. You twisted and turned in his grasp, desperate to get out of it, desperate to get away. He only tightened his hold on you, cooing reassuring words at you like one would to calm a frightened animal. The notion that everything would be alright. That you just needed time to adjust to your new surroundings. That he would take care of you from now on caused you to retch. How could he say such a thing, when you’d had no choice in the matter? Your life up until this point had been average, bordering on boring, but otherwise fine. Who was he to say that it needed changing?

At some point, after what felt like hours, he let you go. Wriothesley put some much needed space between you, allowing you to absorb the facts he chose to tell you about your situation without the burden of him being wrapped around you. His weight, coupled with the explanation that he had oh so nicely prepared for you would have been a cumbersome thing.  It was as you had fear. You had been abducted, but by whom was far worse than you ever could have imagined. It would have been enough if he had been some lord or even a high ranking member of one of the crime families. You would have a level of recourse then. If you managed to get free, you could charge him. You could have him sent away. In the end, there would be justice. With Wriothesley, that wasn’t possible. Though he carried the title of Duke, he was for all intents and purposes King of your new home. Immune from both the laws of the court and the justice you found yourself beginning to crave. It was a cruel twist on what was proving to be a brutish situation. You could only sit there in silence after he finished, smoldering as your fate washed over you. 

“You’re taking this quite well.” You blinked, trying to quell the rage that had been building since you had first woken up. The fact that he sounded legitimately surprised did nothing to help your mood or the growing urge to claw his face to shreds. How did he expect you to take it? Did he think you would make a scene? Had he gotten out of bed thinking he would hear screaming and wailing coming from the general vicinity of your door?  You rolled your eyes in response to his praise, choosing to turn them away from him. The wall next to you seemed infinitely more interesting than the man who was blocking your only exit. “Come on.” He shifted ever so slightly, the chains on his outfit moving with him, rattling as they settled back into place. “I had to.” He had to. You let out a silent huff at the lame excuse. He was the Duke of Meropide. The only thing he had to do was maintain order in the fortress. Last you checked, having someone spike your drink with a heavy sedative and stripping you of everything you owned was not a part of his duties. Yet here you were, in a strange bed, locked in a strange room, with only a cotton shift to your name. You could only guess that the slim comfort of the bed and modesty of the shift ought to be viewed as a gift, considering he could have left you nothing at all. That fact did little to assuage the fire that was currently shooting through your veins. The sheer audacity of the entire situation was enough to make you want to claw his eyes out. The actual act though would involve you having to acknowledge his existence. An action you weren’t keen on following through with.

He moved again, this time the hard rubber soles of his boots scraped against the metal floor. They stopped after a few seconds, only to be followed by a creak of metal that came from the general direction of the footboard. From the corner of your eye, you could see Wriothesley leaning against it. He obviously wanted a closer look at his hard won prize or maybe he just wanted to test the proverbial waters. You weren’t entirely sure and you weren’t in the mood to find out. Instead you held your focus on the wall, beginning to mentally count the bolts as a means of drowning him out. 1..2.. The bed groaned as he shifted his weight again. 13..14..There was another rattle of chains followed by a soft thunk against the floor. That had to be his jacket. God he wasn’t getting undressed was he? Surely Wriothesley wasn’t callous enough to abduct you and force himself on you within the same day, was he? The memory of him holding you down came back. A cold shiver shot down your spine at the very idea of it, of him using his weight to do more than just restrain you. 27..28.. The bed groaned for a third time, followed by more footsteps. These drawing ever louder, ever closer. Your heart began to slam against your ribcage as he stalked you, closing the short distance between you. The cold that had made it’s way down your spine began to ebb through you with every step he took. The louder they got, the sharper the chill that raced over your skin. You swallowed hard, trying to calm the shivers that were flowing across you like waves. You could hear him now, goosebumps raising all over your skin when the jingling of his handcuffs was so near to your ear. 41.. The footsteps stopped. Above you, he hummed, the rough flesh of his hand slowly wrapping itself around your chin. On instinct, you broke contact with the wall, trying to get away from him, but his nails scraping against your chin stopped you. You whimpered as his jagged nails bit into your flesh forcing your attention firmly back to him. It took almost no strength on his part to force your head in the direction he wanted, yet he still used slightly more than was necessary, just to get his point across. His fortress, his captive, his everything. You held no power here. Not now, not ever.

“For future use and reference.” You swallowed again as you were forced to stare up into those piercing eyes of his. “I don’t care for being ignored. Especially when I’m addressing someone.” Wriothesley tilted his head, a soft smile permeating his lips as he brushed his thumb over your chin. “But I’ll make an exception here.” His tone, which had been annoyingly cocky up until this point, faded into something slightly gentler. Something you could almost mistake for understanding, possibly even empathy for your current situation. A deceptive tactic on his part. Something to play into the fear that was still racing through your entire body and ease you into forgetting that your entire reason for being here was standing before you. Had you just only woken up or maybe if you had still been under the influence of the sedative, it might have worked. You might have bought it. But your benevolent captor had waited a hair too long. He had given you enough time to get your wits about you and because of that, you could catch him in the lie before it was too late. “You have every right to be angry, especially today. I can’t take that away from you.” His hot breath fanned across your face, causing you to momentarily flinch. The sensation was in direct contrast to his eyes, which matched the chill that was coming up through his fingers. The cold that radiated from his skin hurt to the point that it burned. You squirmed in his grasp, trying to get away from those unrelenting fingers of his, but it was no use. He had a firm, to the point of punishing grip on you. One he had no intention of loosening any time soon.  “I’ll be generous and give you today.” He paused, thinking it through. “Actually, I’ll give you until after my morning meeting. I can’t accuse you of breaking my rules if you aren’t aware of them and unfortunately, I can’t explain them or my expectations to you right now. So consider this a pass, free of charge.” You wanted to spit on his definition of generosity. He would get the rest of your days to ruin what little life he allowed you to have, yet you were expected to process everything that had happened and would happen to you in an hour? The inequity of it was ridiculous. “Oh don’t look at me like that.” He offered you a cocky smile, the confident tone returning. “If you’re good, I’ll bring you something nice to eat later.” You had to wonder what he meant by good. Aside from the bed, the only other items in the room were a sink, a toilet, and what looked to be a crude form of a shower. Short of soaking your bedding or possibly the mattress, you weren’t entirely sure what kind of trouble you could cause. He had purposefully limited your options to doing more harm to yourself than him. If he was as clever as he had shown himself to be, Wriothesley wouldn’t give you much chance to hurt him directly. 

With time things might change. He seemed like he had the ability to soften. Much of the sarcastic act you were seeing was exactly that, an act. If you played your cards right, might he give you an opening to hurt him, but it wasn’t like it would be worth it. The investment for the opportunity would take months and that’s if he ever opened himself up for the shot. If he did, and you were able to take it, the wound wouldn’t be a deep one. It would be superficial at best. A minor inconvenience for him. The hell he could bring after it was enough to end those thoughts before they went any further. The punishment that would follow for the impertinence of trying would be far worse than anything you could even attempt to do. For now, it was easier to acquiesce to some of his demands, at least until you could see how much rein his rules and expectations would give you. “I wish I could stay.” He let out a whimsical sigh. “How nice it would be for us to get better acquainted over the course of the morning, but-” He sighed heavily. “Duty calls.” He pressed your face a little harder, adjusting his grip so he could bunch your cheeks. The discomfort, along with the gentle rocking of his hand pulled what you knew would be many squeals out of you. He only laughed, bending down slightly so he could coo at you. “You’re so ungodly precious.” Wriothesley sighed again, lovingly regarding you for a moment. The notes of affection and pride that were evident on his face made you want to slap them right off of it. “Aw look at that glare. Still angry huh?” A very undignified puff of air through your nose was your only response. One that was matched by a shit-eating grin from him. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Though, you’ll have time to sort through it while I’m gone.” He paused for a beat. “Why don’t you start us off on the right foot and give me one of your charming smiles before I go. I know you’re angry, but it’ll help me get through the monotony of the next few hours.” He let out another chuckle, one of his fingers loosening slightly so he could run it across the base of your cheek. “Now that you’re with me, I may need it all the time.” 

You could do nothing but stare at him as you felt your blood pressure spike even higher. Was he serious? Did he really expect you to smile at him after all he had put you through? It was hard to believe. Clever he may be, but in touch with reality, he certainly was not. Thanks to his actions, you doubted if you would ever smile again. “Come on sweetheart.” He tightened his grip on your chin again, giving it a little shake. You flinched, but that was all. The last thing you wanted was to give him the satisfaction of pulling another sound out of you.  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, his once confident tone dropping an octave as you refused to follow another one of his orders. For a brief moment, you saw the man who had actually had you kidnapped. His amiability was little more than a tool. It was conditional on whether he got what he wanted. If it failed, that tool would be swapped in for something altogether different. That would happen with every infraction. When one tool failed him, he would simply try another. He would keep doing so until he found what worked best. Whether that was pain or pleasantries, you could tell it didn’t really matter to him. Just so long as he got his way.  “It’s just a smile.” His tone had captured the chill that you had become numb too. You nearly shivered from it, but you were able to stop yourself in time. His request was a simple one. An easy one. It required a minimal effort on your part, but it would ultimately be a gain for him. Right now, all he wanted was a smile. A small, yet significant sign that you were willing to obey him. That his deception tactics and attempts to get you to trust him had worked. If you followed through on it, then that gave him license to ask for more. The more you gave him, the less you could refuse later on. Your willing obedience would bring an expectation of behavior with it. One he would never let you forget. 

Smile, speak, sit, stand. They were all commands that you imagined he would eventually expect you to learn and perform at his whim and pleasure. He had already made it abundantly clear that you had very little choice in the matter. Yet you refused the command all the same. If he could test the waters, so could you. Your eyes just fixed on his, glaring up at him in utter defiance of his order, daring him to try and frighten you further. “Hm.” He tapped a finger against your jaw, causing you to blink. “Seems like I’ve got some work to do with you. A shame really.” He tilted his head in the other direction, heavily exhaling through his nose. “But maybe some time alone will change that.” Wriothesley broke eye contact first, looking around the room for a moment before those eyes of his found yours again. “I did say you could be upset at me, so by all means, be upset.” He gave your face one final squeeze before his hand fell away and you were finally able to put some much needed distance between you and him. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by him. His displeasure as you shuffled away from him was evident. “When I return though -” He planted a hand on his hip. “I expect that to be the end of it.” He paused looking away for a second. “Or at the very least.” He looked at you again. “We have a polite conversation about the future.” You wanted to ask what future? Did he expect you to politely discuss the future he had stolen from you? The one where you were happy and oblivious to the monster that lurked just below the waves. The same one who had seen fit to breach the safety of the shore, just so he could pull you under. 

Or perhaps he meant the other future. The one where you were forever sealed beneath the unforgiving sea. Bound to a man you found neither desirable nor worthy. Forced to smile and obey and be little more than a pet until death saw fit to take either him or you. A horrific, abysmal future that not even the gods themselves would save you from. How could you expect them too, when he had taken you beyond where any of them could ever hope to hear? That was the hard reality of life within the walls of the Fortress of Meropide. A place to abandon the lost, the forgotten, and the unwanted. It was the dumping ground of the world above. A den so rife with vice and sin that not even the gods themselves could ever hope to sort it out. According to many it had improved since the new administrator had taken over. He had ended the corruption and the chaos that had plagued what many had termed the tin hell. Yet miraculously, even with Wriothesley’s efforts it was still a place where the gods found it all too easy to turn a deaf ear to the screams and the cries of the repetent as they echoed up from beneath the waves. Here there were no gods. No heros. No saints. Here there was only hell. Only the sinners. Only Wriothesley to save you from it all. In the span of a night, under the witness of heavens above, he had become your god. 

All you could do was stare back and question how benevolent your new god would actually be.

[death---dealer]

What if reader had a thing with the other guy before noa? And seeing him again would be something. 🧐

*fumbles and slips over my own self agony* Another SERIES? for NOA?

Series Name: Past Days. Chapter Title: A Day Doesn't Go By. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Yearning! Noa x Human! Reader Human! Reader x Human!Male. Rating: T. ( Mentions of ape aggression, possessiveness, flat out agony. ) Words: 4K. Summary: You know that idea I had about you leaving and having a child with a Human Male? Only this time Noa and Reader didn't mate before. Good luck everyone. This is a series.

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“We were together before I met you,” Your words were concise, very thought out like you had to rehearse what you were saying. Noa had no doubt that it was the case, smelling the Echo Male just outside the thatched doorway that was propped shut for some privacy. “He-He’s a good man.”

"Good man?” Noa felt like he was going to roar, but swallowed it back down his esophagus and enjoyed the choke that it gave him.

“He comes--- He comes to my Clan, lays claim to---”

There was only a vague gesture towards you, something that was so minute to you that it wasn’t clear in the light provided by the small fire pit in the center of the room. One side sat Noa, back towards you, one side sat you, facing forward in hopes that he had the audacity to look you face to face. “You never… Told us of him.”

"I---” Your voice dripped with the smallest detection of hesitation before your bottom lip drew itself in and got caught between your teeth to be nibbled upon. Noa could see the action in his head regardless of his position and all he wanted, the tug he had inside of his rattling chest already brimming with innate jealousy, was to turn and look at you. One of his favorite sights to bear witness to, one of those things that were not Echo exclusive anymore. They were only yours and Noa liked to imagine he was the only one who knew that.

 “I thought he was dead--- I saw him…” Agony pierced through the Master of the Birds at the sudden shift of your tone. “I saw him dragged away by a pack of Apes. What was I supposed to think?!”

“So you… Kept secrets from us then?”

Silence.

“You lied?”

Noa’s brows were tediously torn in to each other and with each and every rise of his shoulders as he inhaled did nothing to calm down the pinned back fact that you had kept a secret from him for so long. No, No --- Not just a secret, but it appeared to be an entire web of lies that you yourself were unable to untangle yourself from. First, this… Echo Male shows up. Fine, Noa can deal with that if he needed - He wasn’t below defending his Clan in the shadows of danger, coming to terms that if that case ever arose, he was going to need to rely on his own skills to do just that. You knew this Echo Male? Fine, Noa can dea--- 

You were embracing this Echo Male, familiarly to the point where even Noa himself had to look away at the intimate nature of which your back was pressed forward, into a male pelvic bone that was not his own, tears falling down your face as you touched his face with careful hands, hands that Noa wanted to feel against himself, lips being captivated in a way that was rare for Apes, but seemed abundantly clear that it was a favored form of affection as you drew your arms around the skinny neck of the Echo Male, the movement of your jaw against his indicating to Noa that you had your tongue sweeping somewhere other than your own mouth.

It was disgusting, he couldn’t look away, he’d never seen something like that before, the turn in his stomach so uncomfortable and tight that he felt his abdomen was going to snap in on itself. Words were spoken, Noa was sure. But were they really needed? Your hair was brushed into by sleek fingers that Noa knew weren’t equipped to properly defend. What in the highest heavens could this Echo Male possibly do with those?

 They-- They… Noa snarled, his back towards you as it had been for the last ten minutes as your desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. They were like little twigs and Noa wanted to bite every single one of them off just to please his bloodthirst that suddenly set in when the realization dawned upon him that this Echo --- This. This Man was your mate. Of sorts. Noa did not press for details, he didn't want to know them and his mind already ran with the prospect that you were not who he thought you were despite the months you had been at the clan. You were a fraud, a selfish little Human who did what they had to in order to survive in this world.  “No!” You shouted, finally sitting yourself up from your perched seat against a tree trunk that was used for the Apes who used the workbenches in the hut you secluded yourself in. “I didn't lie!”

“Then what?”

It was your turn to growl out of frustration, the only way to get your point across it seemed was with primal inflictions  in the back of your throat. “Noa, you’re being irrational!”

“Me? I am--- Thinking of the Clan! Cannot have two ECHO’S.” Snarling at you, he moved in his seat only slightly to ball his hands into fists, an instinct that shot aggression right down his spine. “Two Echo who can mate and make others---” Noa was stagnant at that, figuring the implication of his words were enough for you to get the point across. “Do you not understand… How dangerous is that to APES?”

Noa finally stood but refused to come around the fire so you could see him properly. From the stance though, you were able to figure out that you had messed up. Severely made a mistake and now you were going to pay the price. Your eyes admired and feared the way his shoulders broadened, making himself appear much larger despite his frame already being on a bulker side than your own. His teeth shone in the fire pits luminescence and no matter how hard you tried, there was not a drop of familiarity in his eyes. “You say… This man is a good one, how do you know?”

You were scrambling, sputtering out in an attempt to answer the question. You knew he was a good man from years of being with him, there was no way that Noa was going to understand that without in-depth details. “I just do.” You finally rested.

“WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?” Noa shouted. “You come here to Eagle Clan, we take you in, Noa, Anaya Soona become your friends--- You become one of us, and you throw it all away for some ECHO?” 

His voice was thunderous through you, causing you to shift and sit yourself back down before your knees gave way to your weight crushing them. Eyes widened at first at the shock wave that was barreling through you at the dawning aspect that Noa was indeed an Ape first, no matter how many times you tried to pin Human Qualities on him. There was absolutely nothing stopping him from lunging at you out of anger and the crack of his voice, just like a whip against your eardrum, sent you spiraling like blood was seeping out of your ears now.

“THAT’S WHO I AM.” It was your turn to shout, not leaving your seat and staring at him, completely flabbergasted at the tearing nature of your own voice that reverberated against the wooden walls. “That’s…” You drew a deep breath in and closed your eyes, finishing in a coarse but gentler way, “Who I am.”

His voice was thunderous through you, causing you to shift and sit yourself back down before your knees gave way to your weight crushing them. Eyes widened at first at the shock wave that was barreling through you at the dawning aspect that Noa was indeed an Ape first, no matter how many times you tried to pin Human Qualities on him. There was absolutely nothing stopping him from lunging at you out of anger and the crack of his voice, just like a whip against your eardrum, sent you spiraling like blood was seeping out of your ears now. 

“That’s all I am to you now, right?” Crackling as you spoke, you found it difficult to stop your voice from sounding so frail as tears budded around the corner of your eyes. You were never going to be able to have it both ways, and now that you had bargained that against a Chimpanzee, you made your choice. “Just an Echo?”

Noa opened his mouth, ghosting a small ‘you were so much more’ that lingered on the tip of his tongue. Moving his jaw forwards and backwards a few times, depth in contemplation up to his eyes, Noa turned his face ever so slightly after having turned his back to you again, the jolt in your chest eradicating your emotions at the slight of his drawn in features, usually so kind and so accepting that you did not recognize who was in the room with you.

He raised his hand and gave you one clear sign, just as concise but more bitter than the beginning of this fruitless conversation. It flared against the heat rising from the fire that artistically bent his fingers. 

‘Just an Echo.’

“Noa---” “You need to leave…. Immediately,” He pointed his muzzle towards the door, “He is… You are… Both dangerous to the Clan.” ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

Noa felt sick to his stomach. Even worse, the bile was bubbling in his stomach surely but he was unable to find himself able to relieve that feeling and he found it somewhat comforting as he heat rose against his diaphragm. The more his green gaze caught hold of yours mid-conversation, the smile he had taken time to learn every minute detail about from the curving as you formed it, the baring of your teeth, even the subtle wrinkles near the corners of your mouth, all seemed to make him flash red in front of his vision, temporarily blinding him in a fit of adverse envy. You had pressed yourself against Soona in a tight embrace, your words falling short and Noa was unable to hear anything you were saying. Maybe something like a ‘thank you’ of sorts. Noa wished he didn't care. He couldn’t find it in himself to look away. Your head tilting back to give him just a taste of your jugular enough for Noa to feel a flood of saliva coat the back of his throat in a frenzied attempt to prepare himself to bite you when Soona told you something funny as a departing gift. The coarse nature of your swinging laugh, hand placing itself onto your chest where he wanted nothing more than to grasp at the bones and pull them away to have you lay completely bare under you so he could seep into your very blood. 

Anaya was next, garnering himself a few stolen tears from your eyes as you clasped your arms around him tightly, his neck being laxed as you pulled him into your frame. He reciprocated, much like Noa expected him too with a small sniffle as his long arms tangled around you and kept you close to the point where you wheezed out a bit and Anaya loosened his grip. Noa caught the other Ape muttering something into your neck that sounded vaguely like a ‘Visit… Eagle Clan again?’ Followed by your eyes peering into Noa’s over Anaya’s shoulders, piercing into him with intensity and fire that contradicted your actions. ‘Maybe someday.’ You told him back, knowing it to be a complete lie. You were never to return, Noa made sure you were aware previously.

With your hand on the door to leave, you heard Noa’s voice one last time, “If I see you or… Echo Male on Eagle Clan Territory, I will come to kill you myself. Never allowed back.”

How he hated this. Hated you. Not in actuality, there was nothing that Noa could imagine that would make him viciously hate you, but he was teetering on a very fine line as far as his strung emotions went. Your hand pressed against a knee-cap, similar to structure to your own, slightly bigger and Noa found himself catapulting in the idea of shattering it. The crunch, the pull of the tendons as they were flushed and snapped under his stupendous strength. Noa felt his tongue brush against his canines in his open mouth, now salivating more at that idea than the previous notion of biting into your neck.

He caught eyes with you again and while you tried to keep the contact as cordial as possible while being yanked onto the horse back with your mate, even granting him the delicious swoop or your eyes forming a smile, all for him Noa thought selfishly and felt small hackles rise on his shoulders at the idea that you were do anything for him, this time the Ape was quick to look away and focus his eyes on the brushing strokes of the communal bonfire in the distance. Out of his periphery, he could see your arms wrapping around the tapering waist of another Male, one Noa let win out of the sake of your own wellbeing.

How good of a life could you truly have had with him? An Ape? Genetically, a child was improbable, culturally, something would have derailed you from him and his Clan and you’d leave anyway when you realized there was no satisfaction in staying, so he was more than agreeing to let you go back out into the world with your own kind. Where you can have a child, where culturally you share all the same aspects, where Noa knew you were able to get what you needed without himself or the other Apes hindering you.

His last words echoed in his mind.

He’d kill you if you came back, if any of you came back, his green gaze locked onto the Echo Male’s for a moment, and with a tilt of the head from your mate towards Noa as an acceptance of sorts, he began trotting off. Balling his hands into fists, it took all of Noa’s willpower to not chase after you in a desperate plea to get you to stay. Even if it meant the Echo Male stayed with you, he’d make it work, he’d convince the Elders. But--- He stopped himself as you looked over your shoulder at him, tears rolling fatly down your cheeks to kiss near your chin and drip off. 

One by one, Noa watched them fall until he was no longer able to see them. And one by one, he heard the horses' hooves getting farther and farther away, only taking mild-solace when Soona came to his side and wrapped her arm into Noa’s as a form of empathy. He spotted her a glance, nothing more before he looked back upwards into the woods. 

Five Years Later.

“You need to stay close to mommy,” You scolded your child softly, your fingers brushing their hair back softly out of comfort. They seemed afraid, as if they ventured too far from you and were lost, searching for you but ended up frozen in their spot when all the aspects of the forest became a carbon copy. Crouching down in a way that sends you reminiscent of the way your body used to fall when you were with the Clan, you tilted your head. Your knee tapping against Noa’s as you and he spent an afternoon bathed in the sun while near the rivers edge--- Even after all this time you thought to yourself and shook the idea out of your head, letting your fingers cup the plump cheek of your offspring.

“It’s dangerous out here, remember?”

They did not respond to you immediately, wide eyed, more so than usual as they held such curiosity about the world and you truly did your best to harbor that curiosity and to teach within your means. A shackle of electricity ran down your spine when you sensed you were being watched.

Always a primal instinct but it was one that you learned needed to be paid attention in the last five years. Slowly, as to not raise an alarm to your child or even to your husband who was five or so meters to your right scattering through some berry bushes for goods to bring back, you let your eyes scan the area. Upon first glance, there was nothing out of the norm so you began tracing your child’s line of vision to see what they had been fixated on, their small mouth now propped open to mutter one word towards you, a word they knew well enough from your tales and from the lore your husband told them before bed. 

“Ape.”

Ape.

Eyes widened slowly as you peered straight into the woods in front of you, coming eye to eye with another set of intelligent gazes that sent your hand towards the clutch that held your small dagger strapped to your thigh. Not equipped for an actual fight, you only trailed out from your camp that you shared with another set of Human parents to go fish and collect some wood trimmings for the fire. Cursing under your breath as you often ventured out with only your husband, the other couple you lived with taking time to babysit your child, you had brought them with you this afternoon after they begged. After they wanted to learn what Mom and Dad did out in the wilderness. 

You kept away from the Ape Clans of the area that you knew about. The fishing Clan that was off to the west, they held no animosity towards you but that didn't mean they wouldn’t attack if you got too close to their land which happened once or twice when you went to a particular river, the Tweed Clan that was nestled right against the outer banks of the Echo Ruins, often scavenging them for goods to use in their pieces of work of clothing, baskets, satchels. The Lumber Clan, closer to the peaks of the hills that surrounded the area, primed for chopping down the newly spruced trees but also knowledgeable to plant more in its place.

The last one ---- The Eagle Clan. You were in agreement with your husband to stay as far away from that as possible after you had told him of the empty threat that their leader left you with so many years ago. Empty to you, you knew Noa would never act upon the words and you were confident of that, but your husband thought otherwise as he did not know them the way that you did. So, all these years you stayed away, longing for a glimpse of what became of the Apes you considered your friends but to no satisfaction. Even when you swore you saw Eagle Sun, you told yourself that it was just a regular Eagle, perched upon a branch and brought no information back to their Master.

Swallowing lightly, you barely clicked your tongue which garnered the attention of your husband. He was quick to spot you, quick to watch your hand make movements that you had taught him from the Apes themselves, telling of the danger that was resting less than ten meters in front of you. He was slower on his feet, faster movements could be indicative of a threat to the wild Apes you were able to see. Two of them, one slightly bigger than the other though both were hunched in on themselves, very similarly to your stance, out of defense. 

‘Take Luna,' You signed at your husband, languidly pulling the young child behind your back and into the grasp of her father. In silence, he told her not to speak, not to make a sound by pressing his fingers to his lips in a quiet ‘shhh’. 

You shared a glance with your husband, ‘Two,’ The sign was clear, ‘Female, male. Male is defending, female might be with child----’

Vision suddenly became more vivid as the sun tore itself out of the clouds above and the golden rays danced through the tree leaves above, cascading to the ground below. You were staring at the male, for every time you moved to the left, they mimicked your behavior in a means to keep themselves leveraged in case you decided to run. Unsurely, you tried to keep your heart from beating out of your chest as you came to rise, cautiously, your fingers unbuttoning your dagger from its cozy home and taking the hilt into your dominant hand. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your husband slowly untangling himself from the arrow that he carried against his back. It was time, you drew a deep breath into your lungs and stood fully, defending the ground you were on, “We don’t want to fight, we were just out getting wood for our fire.” Nothing, they just stared at you tentatively and in the shadows playing from the leaves of the heavens, you could have sworn that you saw the male Chimp tilting his head in shock or amazement. They signed something towards their presumed mate, your eyes at this distance unable to detect what was said. 

“We'll leave,” You stepped backwards once, cautious of where your feet were being placed. “Right now. We can all go,” Narrowing your eyes at movement as the male came forward, you tightened the grasp on your dagger and heard your husband whisper to your child to run if the Chimpanzee chose to come forward in a lurch. “We can all go out separate ways and forget we even saw each other.”

They came into more light and you were more avidly able to see details about them. Two cross body bags that merged together on the chest and digging into thickened fur all across the taut muscles that could aid in ripping your face off, dancing now from his hunched over position, thin waist belt that shifted with each move of his tapering hips. The last article of adornment left your mouth slightly dry because there was absolutely no way your eyes were seeing correctly.

The tan and orange tinge of the bicep band was familiar enough, your fingers dallied against your dagger as you imagined how it felt. Leathery, you had felt it before when you asked the Eagle Clan Leader what material it was made out of. The adjacent blue feathers came into view and solidified your entire train of thought. He was larger than he was five years ago - Finally growing more from the lanky nature of his arms and legs. Thickened fur hit his body in the right places, your eyes shocked to see the scar still remained against his right pectoral. 

Swallowing was impossible. There was a choked sort of cry resting in the back of your throat as he proceeded a bit closer and you found yourself staggering backwards. Speaking was impossible, your vocal cords were failing you. Breathing was impossible, it felt like your lungs were seeped with sap from a maple tree, thickening and causing pained core memories to flash in front of your eyes before you looked back towards the female Chimp he was traveling with. A tear prickled down your right cheek as they looked right back at you, suddenly flushed with familiarity. 

“So-Soona?”

They tensed at the sound of your voice, the angular nature of their body shifting ever so slightly but refusing to come any closer. Your husband's reaction behind you was palpable as he reached down to grasp Luna into his arms, eyes looking down at you before looking forward again. He’d only met them once, there was no way he recognized them by appearance. He knew their names though, something you spoke about with kind fondness, inflicting a bit more bitterness towards the male who now came into full view and there was no way for you to deny it any longer. 

“Noa.”

[kiame-sama]

Hello, Can you write more yanChrollo with the newly hijacked and autistic reader? Maybe where the reader is not yet used to Chrollo or the situation, And afraid of him and the rest of the members

I would like to make the reader male but if you prefer to make the reader female then I don't mind at all

I am now in my twenties

Thank you so much

Warnings; yandere, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, autistic reader, male reader, mention of kidnapping, less than pleased reader, tough situations, ficlet (not a fullblown fic), somewhat hurt/comfort,

(Despite being a male reader, still using my own autism as a reference)

~~~~~~~~

"Why are we just letting him-"

"Don't question Boss. His soulmate, his rules."

"But why the hell is he just letting his soul mate sit in the corner like that?"

You watched them closely as you sat and stared, trying to keep to yourself as best you could. It had been days but you still couldn't bring yourself to relax among the group of people that had so readily grabbed you off the street. They were much more openly curious than Chrollo- the man they had grabbed you for- and clearly did not care if you could hear them or not.

Chrollo, the man that claimed you as his soulmate, had been rather keen on letting you acclimate to him but also keeping you in his sight. Luckily, he did give you some privacy, but he was never too far away from you even when you were out of his sight. Even when you slept you knew he was somewhere nearby and it only made your stress levels rise.

"No sense in upsetting him more than getting him to me had," Chrollo, spoke with a vague grin on his lips, "clearly I just have to learn how to best interact with him, that is all."

"I can hear you."

"I know you can, my darling (Y/n). However, you are not keen on talking, so there is no point in making you talk."

"... But there is a point in taking me from my home?"

Chrollo turned to you now, intentionally blinking in an attempt to come across as less threatening despite how it obviously didn't fool you. Still, he was learning what unsettled you and what was going to keep you calm. Any progress in relaxing you around him was good progress in Chrollo's eyes.

"Yes. As I explained earlier, we are soulmates. You can distrust me as much as you wish, you will eventually never want to leave my side. Soulmates are connected for a reason, Dear."

You just let out a soft humming sound in response to his words, drumming your fingers against your arm idly. Chrollo continued to smile at you despite your lack of response before returning to his book. The other members of the group didn't seem to feel the same way as they continued to glance at you suspiciously from time to time.

The sounds from the outside wre muffled but absolutely enough to occupy you. Not many cars went by, but there were still the various barks of dogs as others passed the abandoned building you were held captive inside of. Despite the sounds, your eyes stayed fixed on the relaxed figure of Chrollo.

The more you stared, the more your situation began to weigh on you. A very faint sting of salty tears burned your eyes as your throat seemed to tighten with distress. When you finally dropped your gaze, you had to hide your face against your arms and you pulled your knees to your chest. The first few tears fell quickly but you tried your best to remain as quiet as possible to not draw attention to your now sensitive state.

It was while you choked back any sounds from escaping that you felt something drape over your shoulders. Whatever it was almost seemed like a blanket and you quickly took to wrapping yourself in the material. The faint brush of fur against your arms brought to mind thoughts of the coat Chrollo always wore and you gathered just what the item was.

A soft sound of movement next to you made you peak one eye past your arms where you hid your face, seeing Chrollo settle an arm's length away from you. He leaned against the wall as he sat- completely topless- and opened his book back to whatever page he had been on. He didn't even glance at you as you stared at him, trying to gauge what he was doing. Without missing a beat, Chrollo spoke in a soft tone to you, the low rumble of his voice somewhat soothing your anxious heart.

"I know it is a frightening time for you. You're somewhere new. Somewhere you don't know very well. It all is so sudden and confusing for you. I understand. Even if you don't trust me now, I still don't wish to bear the thought of you hurting all by yourself."

Chrollo had that grin again, the one where he seemed to be both bemused and patiently waiting. You couldn't tell if you liked that look on him or not.

"You will warm to me eventually. For now, take comfort in the fact I have quite the patience. I can wait as long as I need to until you begin to trust me."

[kikis-writing-service]

Spicy Curry (Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader) Chapter 4

Summary: Pro-hero Dynamight hides his developing hearing loss from the public. He doesn’t want them or the villains to know about what he considers his only weakness. His family knows. His best friends know. And now you, the owner of his favorite little curry shop, know. You want to live a quiet life & to protect your son. The last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself. You hide your identity, you hide your scars, and you hide your quirk. And then Bakugou, Katsuki walks in one day with dried blood on his ears, and you can’t help but help him.

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 ? ? ? ? ?

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Content Warning: This fic will contain mentions of past abuse from a “partner”, including sexual assault.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Silence claws at Katsuki like smoke. His usually buzzing apartment, filled with pre-patrol jitters, now amplifies frustration. Benched from hero work is a new kind of hell – not the fiery adrenaline blast he’s used to, but a simmering resentment that chokes him dry. The sleek case for his new hearing aids mocks him from the table, tiny plastic soldiers against his towering rage.

Water sloshing in his throat does little to quench the fire within, leaving only bitter embers on his tongue. A sharp, insistent rap at the door pierces the suffocating silence. He groans, bracing for his well-meaning mother's lecture. He flings the door open, ready to bite back, but the words die on his tongue. Mina grins, a playful hurricane shoving past him. He shuts the door with a sigh.

Mina talks. He knows that much. Her voice, muffled like a radio stuck on low, washes over him. He wishes he could take back that bitter "nothing to do" that scorched his tongue. Being alone with his despair is preferable to this clumsy charade.

Mina's head tilts, a frown blooming on her face. Katsuki scowls back, irritation prickling his skin. Did she ask a question? Was he missing something? She marches closer, stopping right in front of him, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

"Hearing aids?" she asks, her voice pushing through the muffled haze. Katsuki's ears strain, catching snippets, just enough to understand.

He grunts, the sound like sandpaper against silence. Dealing with this is the last thing he needs, but Mina's stubbornness is legendary.

Scoffing, the sound hollow even to him, he mutters, "Doc's orders. Needs to... heal." He gestures vaguely at the aids nestled in their velvet cradle.

"But you haven't been wearing them all day, have you?" Mina's voice cuts through his fog. "So put them on. Let's hear the world whine with you." Her golden eyes, usually sparkling like fireworks, hold him captive, a silent challenge in their depths.

Katsuki scowls, jaw muscles clenching. Mina, sensing his resistance, pouts. "Why not?" she presses, her voice a nudge.

He grumbles, staring at the hearing aids, delicate birds in their velvet nest. "Not like the others," he mutters. "Don't sit all the way in. Not as..."

"Discreet?" Mina offers, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"Yeah," Katsuki grunts, the sound rough in his throat.

Mina's sigh is a rumble of understanding. "Come on, Kat," she says, tiptoeing to touch his face, but he swats her hands away. Mina puffs up, simmering with anger. "Stop worrying about what people think."

"It's not about them," Katsuki growls. "It's about me. And I—," He stops, choking the rest back, running a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't get it."

"Not if you don't tell me!" Mina fires back. "This is exactly why we broke up!"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, ready to retort, but the words snag in his throat. He pauses, sighs, and looks away. In a quiet motion, he pulls out the hearing aids, one by one. Placing them over his ears, the world snaps into focus, a cacophony of welcome and unwanted sounds. He catches sight of himself in the window, the tiny tube snaking into his ear a jarring clash against his usual stoic image. He hates it, the vulnerability it forces upon him.

"Tiny! Barely see it," Mina's voice, amplified and clearer now, pricks at him. He knows she's lying. The tube, the wire, stares back at him accusingly. He hates them. Needs them. More than ever after this recent slide. No choice, the suffocating reality presses down on him, and he pushes the frustration back down.

He turns to face Mina. "You came to drag me out, didn't you?"

Mina laughs, a bright spark. "Yup! Sulking butt and all, you're coming to lunch with me!"

"M' not sulking," Katsuki mumbles, but Mina ignores the comment, already grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door.

Mina's words tumble against the cafe walls, bouncing off like pebbles on cobblestones. Fragments snag on Katsuki's silence – a new flame, a promotion, a weekend trip – but vanish before taking root in his thoughts. Every clink of cutlery, every muffled murmur, feels like a needle jab. The world hums like a faulty hive, every buzz amplifying the inadequacy gnawing at him.

He craves the silence, the haven you offered just nights ago, where the symphony of the world couldn't reach him. Water cools his throat, a fleeting respite from the sensory overload. "Hey, you still with me?" Mina's voice slices through the fog.

He scowls. "Don't care about whoever your fling is now."

Mina's laugh, like wind chimes, jars with cheer. "Aww, still hung up on me, Kat?"

Water sputters down his throat as he glares. "Shut up!"

Her laughter fades, replaced by a familiar, reassuring smile. Food arrives, a welcome distraction, but a blur. Katsuki eats on autopilot, flavors dulled, the restaurant's din a muffled roar he can't escape. Every amplified breath, every distant giggle, grates on him.

Sensing his withdrawal, Mina's chatter tapers off. Unspoken understanding hangs heavy, a familiar blanket she offers without pretense. He knows she cares. They're battle-scarred comrades, memories woven into hero training days. Yet, a chasm gapes between them, their languages disparate, his silence a fortress she can't crack.

His hearing loss isn't just muffling the world – it's a vine twisting through his life, draining energy, leaving thorns of frustration. Garbled conversations like whispers behind a wall, the exhaustion of piecing it together, the phantom echoes of missed words – the fear of being left behind gnaws at him.

He builds walls, fortresses of silence that keep others out and himself in. But translating his world, bearing the weight of their understanding, ignites a spark of fury.

His thoughts drift towards your shop, where silence isn't a chasm but a shared melody. With you, anxieties and frustrations exist in unspoken spaces, your empathy a bridge spanning the gap, allowing him to breathe, unburdened by explanation.

Mina's voice breaks through his reverie. "Hey, Katsuki," her eyes dim with concern. "We care, but you gotta let us in. Remember what we always said? Communication is key."

He knows she's right, but dissecting his experience, making deafness the story's center, feels like ripping open a wound. He's Katsuki Bakugou, a damn supernova, and reducing him

 to this struggle feels like a cosmic injustice.

The nervous waitress hovers, her gaze darting between them. He sighs, recognizing Dynamight's face, Mina's fame. This isn't hero worship – it's tiptoeing, a hesitant question hanging in the air. "Anything… uh… else you need?" Her voice, loud and slow, grates.

Confusion mixes with something sharp and hot in his gut. The hearing aids, not-so-discreet, click into place. Assumptions made, lines drawn, a new script written in the blink of an eye.

"Need air," he rasps, the simmering rage bubbling over. He shoots out of his chair, the world a muted hum as he rips off the hearing aids and shoves them into his pocket. Mina's confused call is lost in his wake.

He slams through the door, the cool air a slap against his burning chest. Pavement pounds under his feet, each step a beat against the thrumming anger. No destination, just the blind urge to outrun the sting of pity in that waitress's eyes.

His feet, on autopilot, lead him to the familiar alley, the comforting scent of spices a beacon. He hesitates at the shop's entrance. He craves you, the quiet haven you offer, the understanding that blooms between you without needing words. But seeking solace after his outburst feels… desperate and childish. He's about to turn away, to retreat into the city's anonymity, when the door swings open. You emerge, laundry slung over your shoulder.

You meet his eyes and the world stills. A sunrise smile chases away his shadows. Butterflies erupt in his stomach, fluttering against the bars of his self-consciousness. He feels stupid, a schoolboy caught loitering outside a forbidden playground.

Your head tilts, brows furrowed in unspoken concern. Then, with a gentle smile, your hands bloom, signing hello and his sign name – five fingers unfurl like a budding supernova, echoing the embers in his heart. Warmth floods his cheeks. He mirrors the gesture, fingers stiff yet fierce, signing your sign name back.

You scan the shop, searching for something. Not finding it, your brow creases.

"Doctor?" your hands inquire, urgent whispers in the air.

He nods, explaining his mother's intervention. "Ruptured eardrum. Should heal in a few weeks."

Your apology hangs in the air, a feather against his annoyance. "What for?" he asks, voice gravelly.

"My quirk couldn't help you more," your hands explain, a downcast gesture mirroring his chest.

He scoffs, exasperation mixed with gratitude.

"You've done enough," he mumbles, dismissing your worry.

He watches you wrestle with the laundry bag, a familiar knot twisting in his gut. Without thinking, he steps forward, effortlessly hoisting the bag onto his shoulder. You freeze, surprise etching your features.

"What are you doing?" your hands inquire, confusion flickering in your eyes.

"Heroes help those weaker than them," he muttered, the words gruff but the sentiment clear. "Got nothin' else to do on leave, might as well lend a hand."

Your surprise melts into a grateful smile, a blossom under his unexpected kindness. Just then, a shriek shatters the peace. Kouichi, a miniature hurricane of excitement, bounds down the stairs. Katsuki's gaze shifts toward him, the resemblance to you not lost.

"Dynamight?" he shouts, eyes wide with hero-worship. You step in front of him, your hands weaving a tapestry of sign language, too swift for him to decipher, but he catches "calm" and "quirk."

Kouichi, initially frowning, complies, closing his eyes and taking breaths.

"Sorry," you sign, turning back to Katsuki. "He's, uh, your biggest fan."

Katsuki scrutinizes Kouichi, curiosity igniting. Kids liked his quirk, sure, but favorite hero? That was usually Deku with his infuriatingly sunny smile. "Really? Not usually anyone's favorite," he says, surprise lacing his voice.

Your eyes widen, disbelief flickering. "What? But you're so cool!" The unfiltered admiration floods his cheeks, a blush he can't control. He can't help but be disarmed by your genuine awe.

"Think I'm cool, huh?" he teases, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

Your cheeks warm, and you bite your lip, a nervous but genuine smile playing on your lips. "The coolest."

"Mom!" Kouichi's shout cuts through the moment, drawing their attention. Katsuki's eyes widen. The laundry bag settled onto his shoulder, a familiar weight that suddenly felt heavier, tinged with a new awareness. Katsuki's gaze flickered to the boy, a knot of something akin to recognition twisting in his gut.

You rise, your gaze meeting his, an unspoken inquiry in your eyes. "Can I introduce you two?" your hands sign, pleading and hopeful. Kouichi stands beside you, eyes alight with unspoken questions. Katsuki, drawn by the twin flames of curiosity and a strange sense of responsibility, can only nod. Your smile brightens with an infectious joy that amplifies because it involves your son and his curiosity. Katsuki thinks it's the smile of a good mother.

"This is my son, Kouichi," you sign, your voice barely a whisper against the roar in Katsuki's ears. "Five years old and a ball of sunshine." You ruffle his hair playfully, eliciting a wide, gap-toothed grin. "He's deaf, so he'll use signs to talk to you. Unlike you, he's been at it since before he could walk, so watch out. He can zip through those signs like nobody's business.”

Katsuki blinks, surprise flickering across his face. His gaze shifts between you and Kouichi, a new lens settling over his perception. Understanding dawns, re-framing your connection.

“Don't worry,” you sign. “I told him to keep it slow for you." Katsuki gives you an appreciative look.

Kouichi walks beside Katsuki as you lead the way to the laundromat. They trail behind, silent questions dancing in the air.

[sailoryooons]

King of Tides | KSJ | Drabble

☾ Pairing: Pirate!Seokjin x Sea Demon!Reader 

☾ Summary: Seokjin meets a ghost of his past when he and his crew stop to celebrate for the evening. 

☾ Word Count: 1,969

☾ Genre: Pirate AU, Angst, Lovers to Enemies 

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: References to smut, explicit language, weapons and mentions of murder, betrayal, vague world building, Seokjin is an Asshole, brief references to childhood trauma, angst. 

☾ Published: Friday, January 5, 2024

☾ A/N: Drabble 2 of the 100 Drabble Challenge is prompt #67, pirates! I had no idea what I was doing with this until I wrote it. It is obviously inspired by Pirate of the Caribbean with the whole Davy Jone’s chest thing, but I very much put my own spin on it. The ring is inspired by Solomon’s Ring, which is a Christian-centric mythology that Solomon had a ring that could summon the forces of Hell. So I did that but like… sea hell hahaha. I hope you enjoy this! I’ts very different for me!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

Seokjin is used to the occasional knife in the dark. As one of the most notorious captains and thieves on the seven seas, he’s even been the knife in the dark himself. 

When he feels the pressure of a blade against his spine tonight, he’s not surprised. His crew is too drunk to see the threat standing behind their captain, and Seokjin has made the ridiculous mistake of letting a pretty woman lure him to a dark table in the corner, away from the noise and celebrating. 

Seokjin immediately feels like a fool for letting his guard down, the worst mistake he could ever make. 

The pretty girl in front of him grins and looks at Seokjin’s assailant before nodding her head and slipping from the chair. He grits his teeth, realizing she is in on it. He clenches his fist as he starts to turn, but the knife digs into his ribs. A hard push would send it right between the two of them and into a lung. It would be a slow, gross death.

The raucous noise of the tavern buzzes in his ear as a hand taps his shoulder, signaling for him to stand. He does so slowly, looking around the tavern to see if there’s anyone he can appeal to for his plight.

No one pays him any mind, hands going up dresses or down pants, wine flowing, and crowd singing. His crew is too busy celebrating. And why shouldn’t they? They’ve just stopped at their favorite port after a successful three years of hunting a timeless piece of treasure. A power that puts Seokjin on edge.

The ring sits heavy in Seokjin’s pocket. Only Yoongi his firstmate and Namjoon his chronicler know of the power in Seokjin’s pocket, too dangerous to be left on the ship with the remainder of the treasure. He doesn’t enjoy hiding the ring from his crew, but he hasn’t quiet yet decided what to do with it. How to explain what it is that it does without scaring the loyal members of his crew.

Slowly, a hand turns Seokjin around and walks him toward the stairs, still at knifepoint. He grins as he goes, leaning his head to the side to see the person who holds him captive. The knife digs harder into his back, a warning that makes him chuckle and turn forward, holding his hands up in defeat.

“If you wanted to lure me to your bed, you just had to ask,” he says, going up the steps. His boots are heavy on the creaking wood as he goes. “I am the most handsome of pirates, but I’m also quite liberal with my affections.”

His captor says nothing as they reach the second landing. Doors line either side of the hall. Seokjin can detect all manner of lovemaking and laughter beyond each closed door. He does not typically favor staying upstairs or renting rooms for whores, preferring the rocking of the ship in the harbor and the canvas of the night sky. It makes him unfamiliar with the second floor, but he counts his steps as they go. 

They turn and go down another hall and stop at the last door of the right. It’s not a far run to get to the stairs and sound the alarm. Once he disarms his captor, he just needs to sprint and scream. He’s pretty quick on his feet and-

The knife prods him and he realizes the door to the room is open. He steps over the threshold into the room, glancing around. It’s simple enough. A single bed stands in the corner with a chest at the foot, a nightstand to the left, and a candle burning, smoke drifting toward the ceiling. 

When the door shuts behind him, Seokjin’s muscles coil. He prepares to spring, hand sliding into the front of his jacket pocket, inching towards the small knife there-

“Don’t bother,” the voice says, knife ever-present. Seokjin’s hand freezes, recognizing the rasp of your voice anywhere. “That’s not the right knife, Captain.” 

You’re right. The knife in his jacket pocket would do nothing against you, but the knife in his boot would. He’d grown lazy, no longer keeping the adamas dagger at his hip or within close reach. Three years haven’t made him feel safe, exactly, but he had started to think that you were still captive in that little home he’d left you in.

Evidently, it’s a mistake that will cost him. 

Now he’s nervous. You push him further into the room with your palm but remove the knife from his back. He doesn’t reach down to the weapon in his boot, stuck between fear and the desire to see you - to talk to you again. 

When he turns, his heart cracks open and starts to bleed. 

The last time Seokjin saw you is fresh in his memory. You’d been chained to the bed you shared in a small island home off the coast of the Americas. He remembers the smell of your skin, like salt and driftwood. The cool touch of your lips against his burning skin. You always felt like the depths of the ocean, every part of you fluid as you’d fucked him last night, your breath sea breeze against his mouth, cries a haunting siren song.

And your eyes. Seokjin sees the inhuman blue-green glow of your eyes every night. 

Now, those same eyes are staring at him, glowing in the dark. You stand so far in the shadows that it’s hard to make out any of your features or expressions, but Seokjin has your face burned into every part of his memory. The bow of your mouth, the slope of your nose, the roundness of your cheeks. It’s all there along with the knowledge that he’d betrayed you. Chained you. Loved you. 

When you step into the light, Seokjin holds his breath. You’re so beautiful. It’s what lured him to you in the first place, a sailor to a siren, but he knows you’re so much more than a pretty face and glowing eyes. You’re also incredibly smart and wicked, a ruthlessness in you as brutal as the sea running in your veins, an unpredictably like a storm destroying the tropics. 

A pirate by trade. Daughter of Leviathan by nature. 

“You must be talented to get out of those cuffs. We should have used them more” Seokjin doesn’t know what else to say. You’re not advancing further into the room, and he’s worried reaching for his knife will startle you. 

Behind him, the candle casts an orange glow on your face. It makes the sneer much more twisted, the furrowed brows as you glower harsher. Your features are sharper than he remembers, your eyes burning with the unnatural glow of a demon of the deep. You are murderous.

“I’m the favorite daughter of Leviathan, King of the Depths, Destroyer of Seas, and Maker of Tides. You think he would leave me to rot?” 

“No, I suppose he doesn’t want that pretty face to wilt.” He tries to appear casual, spinning and tossing himself on the bed. You don’t move, eyes tracking him. “I suppose you’ve been following me all this time, then?”

“I have far more important things to do.”

“Perhaps, but you’d always loved revenge.”

“I loved you.” 

There. You said it.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, shocked to silence. Usually, you like to spar with your words, dancing around what you want to say with quick barbs and turns of phrase. Tonight, you cut right to it, leaving all playfulness out of your voice.

It makes his heart squeeze painfully. In the years that you sailed together, he cannot recall a time that you’ve ever been so direct. Even when you loved him most. Even when you were at your most vulnerable. 

Perhaps you are here to kill him after all. 

“So you’re here to win me back over?” he tries, desperate to get on familiar ground. Desperate to goad you. To make you snap back, to throw an insult. “You’ll need more than a knife to do that.”

“Give me the ring.”

“What do you want with it?” 

“The likes of you shouldn’t have the power to summon the demons of the depths.” 

“What if I’m in peril and need to call you?”

“You had me!” You roar, the force of your voice shaking the room, the candle almost guttering, the window panes shaking. He hears the scream downstairs, the entire building rattle with the rage of the ocean in your voice. 

Seokjin drops the act, sitting up and squeezing his fists to fight the nausea of guilt twisting his stomach. He can feel your rage fill up the room like a solid thing, a cold pressure pressing on his skin as the candle on the nightstand flickers. 

“Humans are not made to command Leviathan and his children” you growl, stepping further into the room. Standing closer to the light, Seokjin realizes your eyes are watery. He sucks in a sharp breath. He’s never seen you cry. “You are weak and petty, your lives but a speck of sand in fathomless oceans. You are selfish and greedy and cruel.” 

“Are demons not the same? Do you not fight amongst yourselves for power? Do you not cause chaos among the seas? Do you not hunger for power, lust, and riches?” 

“Those things belong to us.”

Seokjin stands abruptly. “Now they belong to me!” 

“Seokjin.”

“Now I will command the seas. I will have the power to rein in the monster of the depths when he wants to destroy innocent ships. When he wants to send storms against islands. When he wants to swallow the souls on the sea. He will bow to me, now.”

“This is madness.”

“This is fair.” He feels his heart rate speed up. Feels rage pumping through his system. Feels like the little boy clinging to a piece of driftwood as the sea destroys the ship he and his family were sailing on, feels the burn of saltwater in his lungs as the ocean drags him down, feels-

“You’d risk the world for a sense of vengeance for your lost childhood?” your voice is barely audible, a sea breeze. “The infamous Captain Seokjin of the Blue Moon, Scourge of the Seas, so afraid of losing control of the tide that he’d dare assert his dominance over it.”

“Captain Seokjin, King of Tides has a better ring to it.”

You glance at his pocket where you know the ring sits heavy. He can feel the power ebbing from the cool metal as thought it senses you in the room. Like calling to like. A tool to control Leviathan and all of his demonic children of the sea sensing one of those very creatures in front of him.

“The sea will bow to no one.” 

A blade glints in your hand. Seokjin finally realizes why you refuse to jest. Why there are tears in your eyes. You’re not here to negotiate or to let him loose. He truly has fallen out of your favor, and you’re here to take what he used you to steal. 

He slowly bends down, watching you all the while. You let him remove the knife from his boot, kind enough to offer him a fair fight. “The sea loved you, you know?” 

He knows you’re not just talking about the oceans he sails. His throat constricts as he nods. “I love her.” 

You appraise him once more, uncanny eyes flickering. If his admission that there is still warmth flickering for you has an effect, it doesn’t show. 

“Your love means nothing. You betrayed her and now you will meet your death, King of Tides.” 

He grips his knife firmly. The ring is heavy in his pocket. “I welcome the attempt.”  

[makethatelevenrings]

Pirate AU - Dick Grayson x f!siren!reader

warnings: pirates, mentions of mer slave trade, allusion to assault in very vague terms, canon-typical violence, swords!, mention of possible starvation

This is part of my 5k Followers Celebration!

Was I excited to write this solely so I could use this gif? Maybe.

The ship shuddered with the strike of the cannonball. Water lapped at the corner of the cell and you watched it rise with every swell of the waves. You hoped that a well-aimed ball would shatter a nice hole in the side of the ship without sending debris your way, but that was just a dream.

Curling your body around the shivering body next to you, you waited for the water to reach your feet. Captain Blockbuster had a stroke of luck when he hauled you onto his ship and locked you in the brig with a wad of cloth and twine bound across your face, but it appeared his luck ran out. Another ship, bathed in black and blue flags, sidled up against the creaking wooden brig and shot a cannonball cleanly across the stern, eliciting an all-out battle. With no regard for you and the two other captives below deck, of course.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs and you clutched the children to your chest as best as you could in the hopes of hiding them from the sight of lecherous pirates. Blockbuster had no interest in your bodies, only your skills, he bound your hands and ankles in iron chains to stop you from using any of your powers. But you never knew what other pirates might do. 

A woman appeared, a sword clutched in her hand and a look of fury marring her beautiful face.

“Captain! They’ve got innocents down here,” she shouted to someone behind her. Her orange braids swung with the graceful arc of her arm and the sword in her hand clattered against the chains of the lock that held the door close. Two more well-aimed hits and the chains collapsed to the ground. The door slowly eased open and you inched towards it, just as the boat shuddered and groaned under the assault of artillery.

“We need to go,” a man called. The woman shoved the door open and extended her hand to you. You regarded her warily and cradled the children closer. She was a pirate. She just wanted to take you onto their next ship and sell you off to the highest bidder. Her eerie green eyes took in the gag around your face and her expression softened.

“I’m Kori. I’m the second mate of the Nightwing. We’re here to free you and take you back home.”

Before you could raise your hand to point and warn her about the pirate sneaking up behind her, the woman spun and jammed her sword into his gut, dropping him to the floor. You covered the boy’s eyes and took that as a good sign. Scrambling to your feet, you extended the children towards her. She sheathed her sword and took each into her arms and then glanced at the chains that bound your hands and ankles.

“Dick! I need some help in here!”

Within seconds, a man appeared. He was covered in blood spatter, salt water, and sweat, but his bright blue eyes reminded you of the clear water of your home. He gripped two swords in his hands and they looked natural in his grip. You shrank back at the sharp gleam of his blades and he reached up to slide them into the scabbards on his back.

“Take them and go,” he ordered, his eyes never leaving yours. He stepped past through the opening of the bars and extended a hand towards you. “Go, Kori. I won’t leave her here.”

She disappeared into the darkness as the ship shuddered and leered to the right. You stumbled against the wall and the man, Dick, reached out to steady you. He drew a knife from his waist and you flinched back, but he merely grasped the rope around your face and pulled it away before slicing through it.

“Bold move for a pirate,” you gasped out. It was the first words you had spoken in days and they curled brilliantly across your tongue. A reckless grin crossed his lips and he shrugged, sheathing his knife. He held out his hands and you offered him yours, revealing the thick iron that contained you.

“Keys are on Blockbuster’s belt,” you explained. The water was lapping at your feet now, soddening the hems of your skirts. He glanced down at the rising level and grimaced.

“No time. I need to break them.”

“You don’t have time, pirate. You need to go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“I can breathe.”

His blue eyes locked with yours. “I know. But it would be days before someone could get to you and by that point…”

“You’re reckless, sailor.”

He huffed out a laugh and you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was when he smiled. The pirate looked around the small brig before ducking out into the hall and returning with a hefty chunk of what you presumed was a piece of the deck.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he explained. “But this will be messy.”

“It’s alright. The water will heal me.” It was rising faster now. The water lapped at your ankles and you savored the touch of it against your skin after so long. How many days had passed since Blockbuster lured you in with an injured mer child and trapped you in a net? They dumped a bucket of saltwater onto you once a day, but it wasn’t enough. Your blood sang as your connection renewed with the ocean. You could feel the power surge through you once again.

He brought the rock down with a ferocity seen only in sword fights. It cracked against the iron binding your ankles and you clenched your teeth as the shock reverberated through your bones. Dick looked up to check your reaction and you gave him a short nod of reassurance. He continued his assault on the lock. You shut your eyes and focused on the feeling of the icy cold water as it reached your calves. To help him, you raised the ankle he was focusing out of the water and he gently touched your calf, dragging your foot to rest on his thigh.

“How’d you get stuck on this ship?” You could laugh at his attempt at casual conversation. Water dripped from the strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes and you watched as it trailed down the slope of his straight nose and then along the curve of his full, smirking lips.

“I thought a mer child was injured and he caught me. Why are you doing this?”

He successfully shattered the chain around your right leg and you quickly switched positions to offer your left leg. The water was now up to your thigh and the boat groaned. The sinking would accelerate the more water accumulated. Time was running out.

“I get my money from looting ships like this,” he explained. “I’m not interested in selling mers.”

“And sirens?”

He paused his work for just a moment and looked up at you through his lashes. “I’m not interested in selling anyone.”

The angle of the boat was listing faster. He practically snapped the metal off with his bare hands once he saw the fissures start to appear. The water swirled around your waist and you felt panic start to build in your throat as he stood to his full height to begin on your hands. You could picture the cold darkness of the deep sea as it kept you hidden from the mers and sirens above you. With your hands bound in iron, you wouldn’t have the ability to hunt, to feed. What would claim you first: starvation, a predator, or fear?

“Hey.” His voice softened. “Hey, we’re fine. It’ll be fine. I’m not leaving you.”

“You should. You’re being foolish and reckless an-”

“I’m told that a lot.”

The metal around your hands fully covered your fists and kept them locked together, encasing your power within the hold. If you could just get free from it, you could get you both out of this hold. You would be able to breathe when the water finally swallowed you, but Dick…he was human. Water rushed into the room and up against your chest. You raised your hands above your head so he could continue working, but something stopped you.

“Wait,” you blurted out. His chest was heaving with exertion and sweat beaded along his brow. You considered your wild thought for a moment and then leaned over to capture his lips in yours. He stiffened but then raised one of his hands to cup the back of your head and draw you in closer. Just as quickly as the kiss began, he pulled away and shook his head. He focused back on breaking these stupid fucking chains and you felt the need to explain.

“A siren’s kiss,” you stammered out.

“Can grant the ability to breathe underwater,” he grunted. “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for kissing me,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “Just be sure that next time it’s because you want to.”

You felt the bindings loosen a bit just as water reached your chin and you had to raise your face to the wooden ceiling to say, “I wanted to.” And then you let your head fall under the waves. You thrashed against the iron and yanked with all of your might. The ocean seeped into your body and cracked the metal in two, just in time for the boat to start its descent towards the ocean floor.

Claws extended from your nails and you dug them into the wooden wall beside you. You were made to break ships and tear men apart. Sirens were the protectors of the innocent and the seas. The first of your kind were women thrown from ships after being deemed “bad luck” who were saved by the moon’s kindness. Since then, sirens had become the guardians of anyone cast out from ships without provocation or trial. Pirates were your sworn enemies because they hunted mers and sirens with the intent of using their powers for their wicked plans.

The wood tore under your claws and a jagged hole emerged, exposing the ocean before you. Grabbing Dick’s arm, you hauled him out into the open water and finally, finally let the water consume those pesky human legs and grant you your tail back. With a powerful thrust, you rocketed through the water, grabbing Dick in the process, and flew up to the surface.

His ship was already departing the wreckage so it wouldn’t get sucked in by the vacuum effect of the sinking. You offered him a crooked grin. “Need a ride?”

The pirate threw his head back with a laugh and nodded. “As long as you promise not to feed me to a shark.”

A small rowboat was already lowered once you approached the boat and you looked up to find Kori standing on deck. She pointed behind you and you turned to find the two mer kids swimming along happily in the distance, another siren keeping a careful eye on them.

“Thank you!” You waved to her and she smiled brightly. You helped Dick climb into the rowboat and then leaned your arms against the side of it to give you leverage. As he settled onto the seats, you noticed a nasty cut on his wrist.

“The wood got me,” he explained. “I’ll be fine.”

You ran your fingers along the cut with a reverence reserved for sailor’s pesky sea idols and medallions. He watched as water trailed up his fingers and bathed the cut. The skin stitched itself together until the water left only smooth, unblemished flesh in its wake.

“And thank you,” you said softly.

“Will I see you again?” His hand reached out and you didn’t flinch this time. Instead, you leaned in to his touch as he ran the tips of his fingers along your jaw and over your neck, where you knew gills resided. He didn’t look at you as though you were a freak of nature or something to behold for his own desires.

Or, perhaps you were wrong about that last part.

“I hunt ships who capture mers,” you explain. “So I think our paths will cross again.”

He moved closer to the edge of the boat and you gently placed your hand on his shoulder before he could capsize the boat. A smile crossed those pretty lips of his and then he was kissing you once more. The taste of salt lingered on his tongue and you savored the delicate way he touched you. Rarely did you find a man who would treat a siren with kindness.

Dick Grayson, you came to find out, was not like any man you have known.

“Until I see you,” he whispered when he pulled away. You smiled and tenderly squeezed his arm before floating back into the water.

“I look forward to it. Until then.”

The moon, mother of sirens, had provided her children with the tools to fight against the greed of pirates. But it seemed that one of her children had indeed found a rare pirate. If the Nightwing had only smooth sailing for the rest of their adventures, she would say not a word.

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat #21: Halloween

previous > masterlist > next

content: lab whump, captivity, ghosts, parent and animal death mention, comfort, ghost carewhumpee, winged test subject whumpee, scientist carewhumper

HAPPY (LATE) HALLOWEEN to Dew and Anton (and Max)!! watch them as they celebrate the spookiest holiday as a way to cope with their own horrors that are slowly consuming them (also ignore the fact i’m posting this one day after halloween… every day is halloween if you’re a creature of the night like me for realsies)

— 

For a moment Dew thought that it was all one bad dream, but like everything else that had happened to him, he knew it’d never be that easy. This wasn’t a dream, he wasn’t hallucinating, and this wasn’t another experiment— if so, Anton would have burst into the room giddy with excitement about the idea of ghosts existing a long time ago— so it had to be real; that was the only explanation. Dew could see ghosts. Dew could communicate with the dead.

He supposed it was a good idea to keep this a secret from Anton. From what all of this implied, Anton didn’t deserve to know that Max was still here, lest he torment them further than what he did back when they were his lab rat. They deserved a peaceful afterlife, and Dew would… try as best he could to give them that. He didn’t need Anton ruining yet another person’s life— or lack thereof.

Max seemed happy with that decision as well. Whenever Dew brought Anton up, they shuffled awkwardly and mumbled short and vague responses. It was obvious they preferred not to talk about him. The idea of confronting him after all this time seemed like it filled them with absolute dread. Dew didn’t need to know all the specific details to understand why.

Eventually, the two of them realized they had stayed up all night talking, and Dew had gotten absolutely zero sleep. He was sitting on his bed talking to Max when the lights flicked on, and Anton came strolling through the lab. Dew’s heart jumped in his chest, and he frantically pulled the blankets over them both.

He could see Max. He could talk to a ghost, a ghost! How the hell was he supposed to keep this a secret from Anton? His drowsy head swarmed with adrenaline and worry, he could barely think straight after everything that was going on, it’d surely cause suspicion.

…Shit.

Dew hopped out of bed and picked up the knife off the floor.

“Max,” Dew whispered frantically. “W- what do I do with the knife— where do I put it?—”

“Put it back in your pillow case,” Max said. “Hurry. Anton’s coming.”

Dew stuffed the knife in there and ran to the bathroom, usering Max alone with him. He slammed the door shut and watched Max float seamlessly through the walls and into the bathroom.

“Oh my god… oh my god!” Dew exclaimed, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “Anton’s coming. Anton’s gonna- gonna find out about you and—”

“No, He won’t,” Max reassured him. “He hasn’t seen me for the past five years I’ve been here… no matter how much I’ve tried. He won’t suddenly be able to see me now… It’s okay, I promise.”

“Okay… okay.”

“Please calm down, Dew. You’ll only arouse suspicion…”

“You’re right- you’re right. Oh my god. What do I do? Do I tell Anton I can see you? What if he- what if he messes with my eyes more or kills me again or— or hurts you—”

“You don’t gotta tell him,” Max quickly reassured. “It’s- it’s probably best if you don’t, actually. It’s okay. Please… take a deep breath. Everything’ll be alright.”

“O-okay… I won’t tell him. Oh god. I can see dead people. Are you sure you’re real?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. Okay I should— I need to use the toilet. Do you mind…”

Max quietly nodded and floated out of the room, and Dew was left alone. A few moments later, he heard Anton enter his room from the other side of the door. Silence. He was just… waiting. Like usual. Of course. Everything was normal for him out there. For all the scientist knew, today was just another day.

When Dew was done, he walked back into his room, all three of his eyes moving to see Anton sitting on the side of his bed. They locked eyes. Dew felt like a deer in the headlights.

“Good morning, Dew,” the scientist said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Um,” Dew mumbled, quickly glancing up to the dark corner of the ceiling. Max was staring back, eye wide and still. Dew timidly shifted his gaze back to the scientist. “Good.”

“That’s good.” Anton breathed. He didn’t seem to notice Dew’s glance. He was staring at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Dew fidgeted with his shirt and tried to ignore the elephant in his room. With everything that happened, he’d almost forgotten about the scientist and his experiments. Being in his presence after last night made him filled with absolute dread. Memories flashed through his mind of being forced into that tank— the darkness, being unable to see, to move, to feel. He had died. Anton had killed him.

He was suddenly hyper aware of everything that was going on, the position he was in, where he was, the fact he didn’t know what was going to happen next. Tears welled up in his eyes far too suddenly, and he hadn’t realized that he’d pressed his back so far against the wall opposite the scientist that his wings were beginning to ache.

“I’m sorry, Dew,” Anton said quickly, breaking the silence and letting out a shaky breath. “About yesterday. I never- I never intended for that experiment to go the way it did. If you don’t mind, I wanna do a couple of tests quickly, just to see how you’re holding up. Then we can eat breakfast out in the kitchen together, okay?”

Dew wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve and sniffled. His head jerked into a nod. “Oh, o-okay.” His tense shoulders started to relax, and he swallowed his nerves and followed Anton out of the door. He hadn’t been told to put his hospital gown on; that was a good thing. It meant no experiments. He closed his eyes as he walked and tried to focus on calming his breathing. Anton wouldn’t hurt him right now. No experiments. Everything would be okay.

As he walked, he realized the presence of the ghost grew farther away. Dew’s eyes flickered to the window and saw Max watching him silently from his room. They were staying put… Maybe that was for the best. It was already hard for Dew to focus with both the ghost and the scientist in the same room as him.

“You’ve been so good, Dew,” Anton said as they walked. Dew turned his head to look up at him. “So good. I don’t say that enough.”

“Oh, th-thanks…”

Now in the lab again, Dew was glad to note that the horrible giant tank and any evidence left from that experiment was gone. The fact that he may never go inside there again provided a small comfort as he hopped up on the metal table. The scientist prepped a small needle, and Dew had done this so much that he knew what to expect by now. He moved his arm from his sleeve and rested his elbow on the table, allowing Anton room to slide the needle in and start drawing blood.

Dew would usually look away, terrified with tears in his eyes as he clenched them shut, but this time he looked down in a morbid curiosity. But he felt nothing as his eyes bored into it, watching his dark red blood be taken from his body and filled in a couple of small vials.

He blinked, and it was over with. Anton wrapped his arm in a bit of cotton gauze and gave him a few light pats to his head. Dew put his arm back in his sleeve and stayed as still as he could as Anton continued to check his vitals. Cold stethoscope to his skin, blood pressure cuff squeezing his arm, bright lights in his eyes. His mind swarmed with so many questions and worries about the day prior that he could barely focus on what the scientist was even doing to him.

After he was done, Anton put a hand on Dew’s shoulder. Dew flinched and looked up at him. “That’s it, I’m done. I’m proud of you. As a reward for your good behavior, you deserve another break for a little while, don’t you think?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Anton ruffled his hair. “We both do… And I need time to plan for what’s next.”

Dew let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He closed his eyes and slinked off of the table and onto the floor.

Anton lightly scrunched his brows. “You look tired. Did you get any sleep last night?”

“...No. I… I couldn’t sleep,” Dew mumbled. There was no use lying about it. It was obvious.

“Oh.” Anton patted his hair softly. He frowned, looking almost guilty. Dew hugged his knees to his chest. “I’m sorry about that… Good thing we get to rest today. Recover from… what happened.”

“…Anyways, everything’s looking good. You’re all healthy.” He gave Dew a gentle smile. “We have nothing to worry about.”

“That’s good,” Dew mumbled.

“…But Dew,” Anton said, smiling wide. It seemed like his usual, giddy self was already back. That had to be a new record. “There’s another reason we get a break today. Do you know what day it is?”

“No.”

“It’s…” Anton took two pens and drum rolled them on the table. “…Halloween!” He quickly put some giant fake mouse ears on his head. “I would have told you sooner, but uh, I kinda lost track of time. You get it.”

“It’s… Halloween already?” It felt like only yesterday it was his birthday at the beginning of October. It felt like only yesterday he escaped and murdered and got recaptured and gave up. It was only yesterday he died. Time continued to sneak by. It always did, and it always would.

“Awful timing, I know.” Anton scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “But… Let’s try not to let anything else ruin the spooky spirit for us today, alright? It’s a new day, everyone’s okay, let’s just… focus on having fun.”

So it really did seem like Anton wanted to move on from last night completely and sweep all the horrors that Dew faced under the rug. Dew didn’t know if he could just move on from what happened so easily. The void had swallowed him up, it was so dark, so…

“Dew?” Anton asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“S-sorry.” Maybe it was a good thing he had a distraction, actually. He’d focus on the spooky horrors today instead of his own. Surely pushing all his worries to the back of his mind wouldn’t have any repercussions later.

“Like I said, I didn’t really get to plan much for today… time got the best of me. But I have a few fun options.” Anton changed the lighting in the lab to a dim orange hue, really setting the mood for Halloween. Dew didn’t even know Anton could change the colors of the lights in this place.

“If you want, we could decorate or carve some pumpkins for fun.” Anton laughed softly. “I don’t think it’ll surprise you to know we don’t get any trick-or-treaters here. And if we did, well, the more test subjects, the merrier! Haha.”

Dew didn’t laugh.

“But that’s okay. It means we get the candy all to ourselves! Here, you deserve the treat.” Anton handed him an orange jack-o-lantern bucket filled to the brim with candy.

“…Th-thanks.”

“Don’t eat it all at once. Oh! Right, you’re probably hungry. Come on, let's go get some breakfast.” Anton held his hand out towards Dew. He sighed and grabbed it, allowing Anton to pull him to his feet. He followed him to the kitchen. “Hmm, what do you want for breakfast, Dew? I also haven't eaten yet this morning. I just, uh, woke up and came straight here.” Anton looked down at his lime green socks and chuckled lightly. “I didn’t even remember to put my shoes on.”

“Hmm.” Dew didn’t really know. It had been months since someone asked what he wanted for breakfast. “I mean… I really like pancakes. Especially if-if they have chocolate chips in them.”

Anton hummed. “Oh, that sounds good! Yeah, I’ll make ‘em, you just sit tight.” Anton pulled a chair out for Dew and he sat down at the table.

It was so weird seeing the scientist in such a cheery mood after last night, after that experiment went wrong, after he allegedly killed him. Maybe it was just his way of coping, his way of trying to cheer Dew up. He knew how… important he was to the man. But still, if Anton didn’t want him to get hurt, he shouldn’t have fucking experimented on him.

Dew closed his eyes while he waited, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his wings around himself on the chair. He was so exhausted. Eventually, Anton finished baking the pancakes and set a plate down in front of him. There were two medium pancakes and a bigger curved one, arranged in the shape of a smiley face.

They ate their breakfast in silence. Well… at first. “This is so good, Dew!” Anton exclaimed. “Pancakes was a good idea!”

The pancakes themself weren’t… the best, but they were better than nothing. Dew and his friends used to make much better pancakes together back at home. He wondered if they still did that. With the clone.

After they were done eating breakfast, Anton took their plates and set them in the sink. “Well, we’re already in the kitchen, do you wanna carve some pumpkins?” he asked.

“…Sure.”

“Alright.” Anton bent down and hefted two pumpkins up on the table. One was rather small, and the other was a bit bigger. “Choose your pick. I don’t mind.” It was obvious Anton was hoping he’d get to carve the bigger one, so Dew took the small one. “Good choice!”

Anton handed Dew a pencil and some rubber gloves, then he handed him a knife.

…A knife.

Dew stared at it.

Anton only just seemed to notice what he handed him so casually a second ago. “Oh, just be careful with that, Dew.” Anton frowned. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“…I’ll be careful,” Dew said. It was hard to believe Anton was just trusting him with a knife like this, unrestrained, and so close to him too, especially after…

He shook those thoughts away. He was glad he was being trusted with this after everything that had happened. He could use all the trust he could get here, and he wouldn’t break it. …At least, not now.

Oh, right. 

He didn’t know what to do. All these thoughts about trust and he just remembered that he’d been lying to the scientist for weeks about his eyes. He should tell him, he should. He couldn’t break his trust all over again and risk getting hurt. It wasn’t worth it.

After snapping his own gloves on, Anton started digging in. “You can turn your music on too, if you’d like. I don’t listen to music much. but if you like it so much, it might be nice…”

Dew pressed play on his MP3 player that has been sitting in his pocket, letting it play out loud. Whatever Dew decided to do about all the secrets he’d been keeping, it could surely wait a little longer. It was Halloween. He decided to focus on the pumpkin carving and the music playing, letting it drown out his thoughts.

Dew put his gloves on and started carving. It was easy at first, all he had to do was cut the stem out. But… he didn’t exactly know what he wanted to carve. He used to carve pumpkins all the time during spooky season with his friends, but now… he sighed. He didn’t feel like designing something new and intricate. A generic scary jack o'lantern face would have to.

“So, Dew, do you like Halloween?” Anton asked.

“Um… yeah,” Dew mumbled. “Yeah. It’s fun.”

Anton smiled. “What do you like about it?”

Dew shrugged. “I used to go trick-or-treating a lot with my friends. We’d always dress up in costumes. One time Sawyer and I went as two of our favorite video game characters. It was… really fun.” Dew softly stabbed the side of the pumpkin and took his hand away, putting it in his lap and letting the knife sit sticking out of the pumpkin. “I miss it. Obviously.” He wasn’t going to ask if Anton could take him trick-or-treating. It’d be an obvious no. He didn’t want to get his hopes up just to be let down.

“What about you?” Dew asked, looking up. “Do you like Halloween?”

“Oh yeah, I love Halloween.” Anton smiled fondly. “It’s one of the only holidays Pierce let me celebrate. I used to dress up sometimes. I never went, uh, trick-or-treating though.” Anton frowned. “It sounds fun. I wish… I wish I did. Pierce and I never really left the forest much…”

Dew blinked.

“And uh, if I would’ve remembered it was Halloween sooner, I definitely would’ve prepared costumes. But hey, there’s always next year!”

…Yeah. Next year.

And the year after that.

And the years after that.

Hey, maybe by then, Anton would trust Dew enough to take him trick-or-treating again. Then they’d both be happy. Maybe he’d even see his friends walking on the street by them with his clone. He wondered what he’d be dressed up as. He plucked the knife out of the pumpkin and continued carving into it.

Orange, wet, slimy pumpkin guts covered his gloved hands as he gutted his pumpkin. His knife shone bright in the orange light, illuminating the stabs into its face as he carved it out. He felt like he was gonna be sick.

“Hey, Dew?” Anton said out of nowhere. Dew looked up from his pumpkin. “I just wanted to say… I’m… I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured softly. “I love spending time with you.”

Around an hour later, the two of them finished up their pumpkins. Anton put little candles inside and lit them, then dimmed the lights all the way. The two jack o'lanterns lit up, warm orange light filling the darkness. Anton had carved a little… rat? Mouse? Whatever it was, it was kinda cute. Dew just carved a scary face. It’s jagged, zig zag mouth curving up into a smile, contrasting Dew’s obvious tired, sad, and perpetually fearful frown.

Despite that, Anton still seemed proud of him. He put a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “Woah! These look amazing!” Anton said. “Good job, Dew. You did great.”

Dew smiled lightly at the praise. “Th-thanks. Now what?” he asked.

“I’ll clean this mess up and then… we could… watch a movie? We can watch something scary on the big computer monitor screens I have in here, if you want.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go get my sketchbook.”

Dew walked to his room, noticing Max was still floating by the window. He opened the door and walked in, looking out to make sure Anton wasn’t watching him. He seemed busy enough getting rid of the pumpkin guts.

“Hi,” Dew whispered.

“Hey,” Max said. “…What were you two doing over there?”

“What, carving pumpkins? You… you don’t know what that is?”

“Maybe I did, but I don’t remember anymore.”

“Oh… Well, it’s for Halloween. Something you do during Halloween time, you know, because it’s spooky.”

“…Halloween?”

“…Oh boy.”

As Dew talked about Halloween, recognition slowly started to spread across Max’s face. They felt it too. That familiarity. That… intense feeling they couldn’t seem to describe. Like… like when they first heard music from Dew’s machine. Halloween must have been important to them in the past… far into the past. Maybe even before the lab.

“Huh,” Dew said. “Do you know… If there’s any ways to like, jog your memories? Make them come back?”

Max shrugged. “I’m not sure. Sometimes if I focus really hard, I can remember a little. But… before— before here— it’s… nothing. Maybe a small feeling in the back of my mind, but that’s it.”

“…Oh.”

“Don’t feel bad, Dew.” Max assured. “I’m used to it by now. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t, and Dew knew that. None of this was okay. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can you come with me? I’m scared to be alone. And I don’t want you to feel left out.”

Max’s eye lit up. “Okay. …Anton still doesn’t know I’m here, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay… good.”

Dew grabbed his sketchbook— and his ghost nightlight, it was in theme after all— and went back into the lab with Max following behind him. Anton had cleaned up the mess and was snacking on some candy when Dew approached him. He stood there silently, not really used to being the one to initiate their interactions. He was so used to being told what to do that he froze up the second Anton let him loose.

“Oh, hey,” the scientist said. “The remains of the insides of the pumpkins have been disposed of. Spooky movie time! I can make some popcorn if you want.”

Dew nodded.

“Alright! Let’s go make popcorn.” Anton started walking towards the exit of the lab, then hesitated. He turned to Dew. “…You can come with, if you want.”

Dew was surprised, but followed him anyway. Anton was taking him upstairs. He hadn’t gone up there since… He shuddered. He couldn’t mess this up. If he even just made the wrong move, or looked too longingly at the windows or something, he could ruin everything again. He gestured for Max to come with him. They’d help stop him from making stupid decisions.

But when he walked out the exit and they floated next to him and raised their hand to touch his, it stopped in mid air. Rigid. Unmoving. They tried moving their body forward, but it was like an invisible force was keeping them in the confines of the lab. Dew could barely process what that meant before Anton called for him.

“Dew? Come on.”

He forced himself to look away from Max and silently began walking up the stairs after Anton. His heart pounded in his chest when he realized what that meant. Max couldn’t leave the lab. He… guessed it made sense. After all, if he were a ghost in this place, the first thing he’d do if he got the chance was to leave and never look back. But that wasn’t an option for Max, was it?

Once they got to the top of the stairs, Anton opened the door and the two of them walked into the cabin. A chill went down Dew’s spine as he caught sight of the windows. Outside Dew saw a flurry of snow falling from the sky. White snowflakes danced in the air of the forest, the trees had lost most of their leaves at this point. It was already almost winter.

Anton glanced at Dew and then out the window. “Oh yeah, it started snowing recently. Come on, let’s pop some popcorn.”

Anton pulled Dew along to the kitchen and began rummaging around in the pantry. Sounds of popcorn popping in the microwave filled his ears, and he could already smell it.

“Okay Dewey,” Anton said, pouring the popcorn in a big bowl and pouring butter over the top. “It’s all done. Let’s go.”

They walked back to the lab and got the movie ready. Anton moved the couch from the kitchen to the middle of the room in front of his giant computer screens, and they sat down, cozied in their warm blankets. The movie Anton chose was Frankenstein.

They stayed silent for most of the movie. Max had come to sit next to Dew to watch it too, but quickly went flying back to hide in his room after it became too distressing for them. Dew was honestly dozing off for some of it, having got little to no sleep last night, but it was still entertaining. Better than being experimented on for real, at least. Anton just seemed happy to be spending time with him. After the movie, they ate lunch.

“What to do…” Anton said, pacing around in circles. “Oh, let’s tell some ghost stories!”

“O-oh, okay—” Dew’s words were cut off when a blanket was thrown in his face and he was pulled by his ankle off of the couch. “Hey!” He yelled, genuinely frightened. He pushed the blanket off of him and shot Anton a look. “What the f—”

“Relax, Dew.” Anton laughed. “I’m just making a blanket fort. We need one if we’re gonna tell spooky stories. This is gonna be fun.”

“Okay, fine.” Dew sighed. Anton started draping the blankets over the couch and connecting them to the chairs and shelves around them. Eventually, there was a small but decently cozy blanket fort that Dew and Anton were huddled under. Dew looked to his right to see Max phasing through the blankets and sitting down next to him.

“You start,” Anton said, smiling eagerly.

“Oh, um…” Dew glanced at Max. He really didn’t have any actual ghost stories to tell, besides the one from last night, but that one was obviously off the table. He didn’t really feel like making up something on the spot either. He sighed. Best to just get this over with. He was so tired.

“Well… me and my friends always liked to play with ouija boards,” Dew said. “We’d go out into the woods at night and sit in the grass with the board in the middle of us. We did it a couple of times and mostly goofed around, but it was kinda scary. And then…” Dew frowned. “Then my parents died, and… and we tried to use the board to talk to them. I dunno if it ever actually worked, or if my friends were just tryna make me feel better…”

Dew looked back up at Anton. “That’s my ghost story.”

Anton blinked. There was an awkward silence before he cleared his throat and chuckled awkwardly. “That wasn’t a very scary story, Dew. …But I’m… sorry for your loss. That must’ve been hard.”

“Yeah,” Dew mumbled. “Your turn.”

“Okay.” Anton grabbed Dew’s ghost light and held it under his chin all spookily. He began telling a cliche— but somewhat scary coming from Anton— ghost story. Being in the dark and hearing a story like that honestly sent chills down Dew’s spine, but he didn’t know if it was because he was scared or if it was the ghost that was sitting next to him. …Besides, he was always scared.

After the story, Dew decided to ask something he’d only really get the chance to ask today. “Hey, so… do you…” Dew glanced at Max again, who was curled up into a ball next to him. “Do you actually believe in ghosts?”

Anton paused for a moment, seemingly thinking deeply about it as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious— him being a scientist and all. He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “Hm. I’m not sure. If they do, that seems like an awfully painful existence to have. I wouldn’t want anyone to exist like that.” Anton cleared his throat. “But scientifically speaking: no, they don’t exist. So there’s no reason to think about them. It’ll just… bring you down. People die, y’know, what happens after is… irrelevant.”

Dew looked to his right again to see that Max was gone. Probably huddled up in his room.

Anton tilted his head, looking at him with a sad expression. “Hey Dew, are you okay? You’ve been on edge all day.”

“Oh, um…” Dew began nervously fidgeting with his Halloween candy. “I’m just- I’m scared of what’s gonna happen next.”

“Next?”

“L-like, the experiments. What are you gonna do to me next?” It was the question that had been ringing in his head all day, and he finally had the courage to ask it.

“Oh.” Anton frowned, suddenly looking much more serious, his expression almost resembling the one of horror from last night. He swallowed, guilt finding its way across his features. “Right. Of course you’d be wondering this. I should have explained more earlier.”

He sighed. “Well, we’re moving on from the eye experiments. That last experiment was a close call— too close for comfort, and we were getting nowhere anyway. I gave you a third eye and that was a success, but the rest… I wasn’t prepared. I went in too strong without thinking. We will come back to this eventually— maybe— probably not. There’s still so much I want to test, but for now we need to move on while I plan better ways— safer ways— to get done what I want.”

Dew wondered what really was it that Anton wanted to achieve. All of his questions led him nowhere, almost as if the scientist didn’t want to admit what he was searching for. But it was obvious in the way Anton was slouched down and wasn’t making the constant eye contact and talking about experiments without that excited glint in his eyes that he saw this as a failure. A failed experiment that gave Dew more powers than he could imagine. If only Anton knew.

Still, Dew was relieved that Anton seemingly wanted to move on from that particular experiment. It failed, and that was that, no second attempts, no re-do’s. Thank goodness for that. That was all Dew really cared about at this point. Surviving.

He didn’t have much to say, and it was obvious the scientist didn’t want to talk about this either, so he said nothing besides nodding in understanding.

Anton clicked his pen repeatedly, obviously wanting to change the subject. “Do you wanna watch another scary movie?”

“Sure.”

“Great.”

The blanket fort was swiftly torn down, the popcorn bucket was refilled and the two of them were once again sitting on the couch watching a spooky movie. Re-animator, this time. Anton seemed enraptured, Dew found it kind of interesting, and Max was nowhere to be seen.

Dew knew it couldn’t have been very late, but he was getting so tired. The complete lack of sleep last night was finally catching up with him, drowning out his thoughts and making him drift slowly into unconsciousness.

As Dew relaxed deeper into the couch, he felt Anton’s hand trail behind him before settling comfortably on his head, softly petting his fluffy hair. Dew melted into it, hugged his blanket closer, and started dozing off to the side.

Anton closed his eyes, clinging to him, petting his hair, cherishing this moment. It was just him and Dew. Safe and sound. He’d never let another bad thing happen to him again.

. . .

“Hey, Dewey?” Anton asked softly, stirring Dew awake.

“Huh?” Dew tiredly lifted his hands up to rub his eyes, all three of them landing on Anton once he came into focus in the dark. He was laying on the couch, head in Anton’s lap, the scientist’s hand softly petting his hair. He must have fallen asleep.

“The movie’s over. Let’s go back to your room.”

“M’kay.”

Dew allowed Anton to carry him to his room as he drifted between consciousnesses. Anton laid him down in bed and turned on his night light. “Goodnight, Dewey. Sleep tight.”

“G’night…” Dew murmured.

Anton lingered in the doorway for a few moments before shutting it and leaving the lab. Dew was comfortable melting into his sheets and drifting off to sweet, peaceful sleep until he heard someone trying to get his attention.

“Hey, Dew,” Max whispered. “Wake up.”

“Hmm?” Dew mumbled, sitting up with hair in his face and looking around the dark room, eyes adjusting just enough to see Max’s silhouette in front of him.

“Basil’s here. They wanted to say hi.”

“Oh,” Dew breathed. His eyes went wide. “Basil.” He’d almost forgotten about Anton’s old pet— the mouse. He never did get a chance to meet them.

“I don’t see them often. They’re not like me, they’re not trapped here. They spend their time in Anton’s room, they don’t like being in the lab, but… they’re my best friend too, and they wanted to meet you.”

Max held their hands open to reveal a small white mouse with dark spots curled up in their palms. Dew rubbed his eyes and smiled. They were so small, so cute, and yet they just looked like a trick of the light.

“Hi!” Basil squeaked.

She floated to Dew’s hands and curled up in a ball. Dew still couldn’t actually feel them, but it was a comforting sight nonetheless. Tears welled up in his eyes and he hugged her close, remembering the events of that day— that horrible day. Anton was the most distraught he’d ever seen him. His best friend had died, and now they were curled up in Dew’s hands, happy and peaceful as can be. Dew could tell this ghost was nothing like Max. This ghost was safe, their afterlife held no suffering, only peace. It seemed like the only reason they decided to stay in this mortal plane was so they could be with Max and Anton… and Dew, now.

He collapsed into his bed and cried, hugging himself tightly. Wet sobs racked his body as he clung to the sheets, grasping out for any comfort from the ghosts. He grieved for both of them. He realized he would have ended up like them if he’d gone through with it. He didn’t wanna think about what Anton would have done. He was so glad to be alive.

“We’re here, it’s okay,” Max whispered. They laid down on his bed next to him, holding Basil close, and started humming his favorite song. Dew wished he could feel their warmth, but the closer they got to him, the colder he felt. He wished he could just give them a hug. He wished someone would just give him a hug.

But as he lay there with both Max and Basil, the two of them trying their best to comfort him in the only ways they could, he held on tighter, and realized that them being together was all that mattered. He closed his eyes and fell asleep with his new friends, glad he wasn’t alone anymore.

— 

i’ve never actually seen frankenstein or reanimator btw but i thought those movies seemed fitting (and i don’t think anton would really be a fan of slasher type horror movies anyways). anyway i hoped yall liked it :3 (i'm honestly not too proud of it but whateverrrr) next chapter is one i’m SUPER DUPER EXCITED ABOUT!!! expect it VERY SOON because i’ve already written most of it!!!! YIPPEE

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[avocadorablepirate]

What Do We Call This? - 08

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Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: On a quest to find what you've been looking for, you acquire the help of the Straw Hat pirates, who've agreed to let you temporarily join them. There are however many challenges that come along with your temporary recruitment - an alliance with a certain Trafalgar Law being one of them.

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: fluff, angst, kinda slow burn, swearing, the occasional OP spoiler (this chapter references/hints at events that happen after the Wano arc)

A/N: Chapter's longer than usual, but I still hope it doesn't feel rushed cause I think I could have added more....but it is what it is. Also, my memory of the older One Piece episodes isn't great, so I may have changed a few things and added my own bits. Anyway, I hope you like it!

—⁠☆✿☆—⁠

It's been four days since your argument with Law. The tension between you two is thick, and everyone onboard the Polar Tang can sense it too. Although, you're not even trying to be subtle with your decision to ignore him, so it's no surprise that people have noticed.

You could be in the middle of a meal, but would walk out the minute Law entered the room. If you were conversing with someone and he approached, you would abruptly end the conversation and walk away. In short, Law could never seem to get a moment alone with you, but even if he did, he wasn't sure what he would say. His mind is flooded with questions and things he wants to tell you, but he's uncertain where to begin. More than anything, your last words haunt him, replaying in his mind at the slightest thought of you, which is almost constantly.

Usually when Law finds himself overwhelmed by such thoughts, he confines himself to his room, his work helping as a distraction. But right now he's needed on deck since the Polar Tang had stopped at an island to refuel. However, with the way he's pacing back and forth, lost in a maze of his thoughts and emotions, he's not being of much help.

"Something bothering you Tra?" Zoro inquires, a hint of amusement lacing his words as he observes the doctor's preoccupied demeanor with a bemused expression. He leans against the railing, crossing his arms as he waits for Law's response, his curiosity piqued by the unusual display of distraction from the typically stoic pirate.

Law, however, remains oblivious to Zoro's jest, his focus shifting instead to Robin. If he was going to talk to you he needed to understand you, and since you were not speaking to him, Robin was the next logical choice for insight, as you always appeared most comfortable in her presence.

"Nico-ya, what do you know about (Y/N)'s past?"

His question surprises Robin, and she momentarily hesitates before responding , "Hmm... we're not entirely sure about what happened before she reached Fishman Island, but from what she's told us we know that at the age of five she left her island and a month later was found by a Marine agent who took her in. Now she's looking for that island."

"Why was she stuck on Fishman Island for so long?" Law asks, remembering that you had mentioned being there for nearly four years.

Robin visibly frowns, she knows the answer to that question, but she's not sure whether it's her place to tell him. However, Zoro interjects before she can contemplate further.

"She was being held captive by a Fishman named Hody."

Law recalls the name, and the story behind it. Chopper had briefly told him about the ordeal in Fishman Island. However, the reindeer had either forgotten or chosen not to mention this key piece of information.

"What would he make her do?" Law felt agitated, did he really want to know the answer to that question? Based on what he had heard, he had a vague idea already, but he hoped his suspicions were wrong.

"He would make her use her powers to torture humans, and the rest of the time she was handcuffed with sea prism cuffs."

Robin's reply has Law feeling uneasy, his grip on his katana tightening, "But that would have hurt-", he cuts himself off before he can divulge your secret.

"That's why she's so keen on helping people. She doesn't necessarily have to use her powers to hurt people anymore."

Law's thoughts raced with everything he had just heard. If you didn't approve of using your powers to hurt people why had you used them to help him in Punk Hazard? What else had you been through that he didn't know about?, and the question that gnawed at him the most: was he the reason you were alone through it all? Had he taken Corazon away from you?

Law swiftly excused himself from the group, desperate for the solace of his room. He needed to sit down. No, he needed to find you. But, you had gone out with Bepo to help restock the Polar Tang, and it was unlikely that you would willingly talk to him. Nevertheless, he had made up his mind - he would speak to you one way or another. But how?

He then recalls something. Every night, once everyone else was asleep, you would sneak your way to the infirmary. However, for Law, who stayed up well into the early hours of the next day, your tiptoeing past his room did not go unnoticed. He would intercept you during one of your midnight visits to the infirmary.

_______________________________________________

That night, Law sat by his door, patiently anticipating your arrival. Around one o'clock, he heard your footsteps as you passed by his room. Peeking through the small gap, he confirmed it was you before silently trailing behind. Upon reaching the infirmary, he found you struggling to wrap gauze around your torso while grumbling to yourself about it. Seizing the opportunity, Law stealthily entered and closed the door, which let out a loud creak, startling you. You nearly stumbled but caught yourself on the surgical bed, though your elbow collided with its metal frame.

You wince from the impact but swiftly attempt to regain your composure, desperate to save yourself from the situation as soon as possible. However, escape seemed futile with Law leaning against the door, effectively blocking your only exit. Damn it, if only I had his powers.

"Law I really don't want to talk to you right now. So, please just leave me alone."

You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason, but you felt your eyes welling up with tears. Perhaps it was the lingering pain in your elbow or the weight of suppressed emotions. Nonetheless, you do your best to hold back the tears, biting down on your lip to stop it from quivering.

Ignoring your words, Law slowly approaches you, and for a moment you think of making a run for it. But you knew even without his devil fruit all it would take was his outstretched arm to stop you.

"Sit," he says, and you find yourself complying to his command. He takes the leftover gauze from your hand, and undoes your careless bandaging. Lightly tracing the bruises as he applies an ointment, he looks up to make sure he isn't hurting you before meticulously wrapping the gauze around your torso. He doesn't say a word, and neither do you, averting your gaze, so that you wouldn't have to meet his eyes that continue to glance at you from time to time.

"It should be healed completely by the time we reach Wano," he finally says, securing the end of the bandage and fixing it in a few places before taking a step back.

"I know you don't want anyone else seeing your bruises, and you really shouldn't be changing the bandages yourself," he pauses, thinking over his next words, "So, every night, at around the same time, come here and I'll change them for you."

He doesn't give you time to respond, the blue light enveloping you and teleporting you back to your bed.

Over the next few days you fall into a routine. You go to the infirmary at around one in the morning and find Law already there, waiting for you. Once you're seated on the surgical bed, he removes the old bandages, examines your wounds, applies an ointment, and then wraps them up again. But, the routine is always accompanied by silence, and it's not a completely comfortable one. That being said, the tension between you and Law has definitely simmered down. For starters you don't immediately walk out of a room the minute he walks in.

Tonight is no different from the previous nights - except that the silence is eating at you. Ever since Law had started doing this little gesture for you, the weight of guilt from your earlier words to him has only grown heavier, and tonight it feels particularly suffocating. You know you have to address it, but you're so consumed by your thoughts that you don't even notice Law finishing up. It's the soft blue light that finally draws your attention.

"Law wait!" you yell with a sense of urgency, and his head snaps up to look at you, the dome disappearing.

"Everything alright?" he asks, looking you up and down with concern.

"Yes...well actually no. I wanted to apologise. I'm sorry about what I said, I shouldn't have. You've been through so much shit and I was so caught up in my own emotions that I didn't even think before being so fucking insensitive," you confess, nervously fiddling with your fingers. Unsure of what else to say, you continue speaking, hoping to alleviate some of the guilt weighing on you.

Law releases a heavy sigh, bringing an end to your rambling. Slowly, he approaches you, silently seeking permission to sit beside you. You give a slight nod, and he settles into the vacant space beside you.

"I was at fault too. I shouldn't have said what I said without even considering your reasons," he lets out another sigh, placing his head in his hands as he continues, "When I realised that you somehow knew Cora-san, I felt protective. Like if I let anything happen to you I would lose what's left of him, or I would lose something he was trying to protect."

Law felt vulnerable. Opening up to others was unfamiliar, something he actively avoided. It was simpler to suppress his emotions than to burden someone else with them. Yet, now he realized he wasn't alone in this sentiment. Perhaps that's why you found it easier to be vulnerable around him as well.

"It must have been hard huh?" you ask, but don't expect a response, "I was devastated when they brought his body back, but it must have been so much more worse for you," you say, inwardly cringing at your attempt to console him.

"I'm sorry. You lost him because of me."

You release a sigh at his admission, feeling frustrated that you couldn't find the right words to ease his pain. Your mind races, desperately searching for the next thing to say. You couldn't mess up again.

"I was playing in this cove when it happened. The sky changed colour, and there was this weird light coming from above. My parents who were with me quickly put me in a small boat and told me to row as fast as I could to the next island, promising to meet me there. I did as I was told, but I was so focused on getting away I didn't even see how the island just completely disappeared in seconds. The harsh current that followed knocked me out and when I woke up I was on the island my parents had told me about. While I was there nobody could afford to take me in, but they were kind enough to leave me their leftovers. Although it was pointless. I had given up. I refused to eat, or do anything for that matter." You take a deep breath as you recall the memory of the scraps of food that would lay untouched in the cold alleyway that you called 'home' for a while.

"Then, almost a month later Cora-san found me. Apparently the Donquixote family was on the same island, and he was supposed to make contact with Doflamingo for the first time after their separation. Instead, he chose to take me back to Marine Headquarters, and I was an absolute brat about it," you let out a soft chuckle, remembering how you had shoved Corazon and then attempted to run away, "I even threatened to eat a devil fruit that he had found during his mission. Obviously, he didn't think I would actually do it. Hence, the weird powers," you pause to stretch your arms out, flexing your fingers, before continuing. "But he still wouldn't abandon me. Even told Sengoku that he had accidentally dropped the fruit into the sea. Which was honestly possible considering what he was like," you add, another chuckle escaping you, accompanied by a faint laugh from beside you.

"He took care of me for the next couple of years, and he became my only reason to continue. I would eagerly wait for him to come back from a mission and recount his adventures to me." You smile fondly at the memory, remembering the little trinkets he would bring back for you every time.

"One day he came back after visiting Doflamingo and he told me about this boy who tried to kill him. I was absolutely livid, but he seemed to have found it funny," you take a break to catch your breath, taking a quick glance at Law before continuing, "He would tell me about the same boy every time he came back from meeting the Donquixote family, and it honestly made me a little jealous. I didn't want to share him with anyone." You once again look at Law, and there's a hint of a smile across his face, and you can't help but smile to yourself, "Then one day he called Sengoku and said he would be gone for a while and wanted to speak to me about it. I immediately knew it was for this other kid, and threw a huge tantrum. But all he said was that this boy needed someone to help him find his reason to live. Needed someone to free him. Save for the sniffling, my tantrum stopped after hearing his words. Because who better than Cora-san to get the job done. The same person who had given me my reason to live."

Law finally looks at you, his lips contorting into a frown while you bite down on your own to prevent a sob from escaping.

"I took him away from you. You should despise me."

"There was a point where I did. I blamed you for what Doflamingo did. Though it faded over the years. Then when I saw you at Punk Hazard I realised that I didn't hold that grudge any longer, and it's because it dawned on me that what Cora-san wanted had come true. We had both found our reasons to keep living."

You try your best to offer Law a smile. It had been ages since you had spoken to someone about Corazon, and remembering everything all at once was overwhelming. Still, Law accepted your attempt and gave you a small smile in return.

"My reason was just to get revenge," he says, tilting his head back as he lets out a sigh of frustration.

"No, I don't think so," you firmly state as you lean against the wall behind you, not taking your gaze away from him. "I know that's what I said, but I didn't mean it. I think you found other reasons - your crew, wanting to find out the meaning behind the name 'D'. Maybe they weren't your initial reasons, but along the way they became reasons too."

Law's eyes drift shut, repeating your words in his mind, his reasons. They do so much to calm him - his reasons to live....Perhaps, just perhaps, he can entertain the notion of finding another one.

The silence between you two shifts to a comfortable one, and Law finds himself savouring the moment, allowing himself to momentarily forget the weight of his burdens. As he relishes in the peace, he feels the soft fabric of something against his palm, and he opens his eyes to see what it is. It's the dark pink hood you've always worn.

"I've had it for long enough, and I think he would have wanted you to have something of his." Law gazes fondly at the pink hat in his hand, twirling the straps with the little hearts at the end around his finger, when he's reminded of something.

"Come with me," he says, sitting up straight and you're slightly confused by his words, "Where?" But he doesn't say anything else, teleporting the two of you with the flick of his fingers.

You find yourself in a bedroom, standing in front of what you assume to be Law's study table; you can't really tell with all the sheets of paper that are thrown everywhere. While Law rummages through the drawers of his table looking for something, you take a moment to survey his room. It's sparsely furnished, with a bed shoved into one corner, a bookshelf overflowing with assorted items near its base, and this table that sits against the opposite wall.

"Here," Law says, holding a brown leather pouch in front of you, urging you to take it.

"What is it?"

"Cora-san left it with me that night. I think it was meant for you."

You both sit down on opposite ends of Law's bed, and you carefully empty the contents of the pouch onto his mattress. Out falls various little trinkets, and your breath catches in a mixture of surprise and fascination.

"At the time I didn't really know why he would insist on stopping at atleast one store in every village we went to, but I guess he was collecting them for you."

You're flooded by a wave of emotions, that you don't even think before you tackle Law into a hug. The sudden movement catches him off guard, causing him to lose his balance and hit his back against the headboard. As you both settle, your head finds a resting place against his chest, his hands instinctively gripping your waist to steady you.

It takes a bit longer than expected for the realization of your proximity to sink in, but you're the first to react, pushing yourself off him and jumping to your feet. "Sorry, I must be tipsy from drinking with Zoro. I should probably head back to bed, thanks for these," you quickly say, shoving the trinkets back into the pouch before you scurry off.

"Tipsy? I don't think so. I know what tipsy you is like," Law teases, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Huh? What do you mean?" you inquire, pausing in your retreat, eyebrows knit in confusion.

"If anything, you're more truthful when you're tipsy, and maybe a bit bold."

"How would you know?"

"How else would I have known that you knew Cora-san."

Your face flushes with embarrassment as the wheels slowly turn. You recall the party on Bartolomeo's ship, and the splitting headache you woke up with the next morning that had made you forget most of the events of the previous night.

"Um...I should go," you stammer, attempting to retreat from his room once more.

"No, stay," Law mumbles, and you wouldn't have heard him if he was any softer.

"I want to talk some more," he says, rubbing the nape of his neck while avoiding your gaze, "On-only if you want to that is."

"I would like that."

A smile threatens to spread across your face as you return to the same spot on the bed, this time with your back against the wall and your head resting on your knees. Law shifts closer, mirroring your position, his head pressed against the wall as he gazes at you fondly.

"So..."

"So..."

_______________________________________________

A/N: Ended it the same way I would have ended any conversation I didn't know how to keep going ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)⁠┌.

taglist: @trafalgardaria @deathsmajestysworld @cottoncandyloverrrr @magnificenttaledreamland

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 20

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 4.5k

Chapter rating: NSFW-ish

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut, vague mentions of past abuse

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19]

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Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 20: Scars

Roronoa Zoro's patience was wearing thin. For days now, he had been locked in a relentless struggle, battling against the stubborn resistance of the black steel that had been entrusted to him. With a furrowed brow, he scrutinized the swirling patterns of the cursed blade in his hands, attempting to summon the same techniques you had demonstrated to him.

As his haki surged forth, seeking to assert its dominance over the rebellious metal, Zoro felt a twinge of irritation building within him. He had to remind himself—kindness, reassurance. But the steel seemed to mock his efforts, its resistance growing stronger with each passing moment.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, the frustration evident in his voice. His haki faltered, its once steady advance now stalling in the face of the sword's defiance.

He was close, he could feel it.

He let the blade clatter to the deck, the metallic sound echoing loudly. Seating himself in front of it, he released an exasperated sigh, his annoyance palpable in the morning air. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he couldn't help but glance towards the door of the forge, subconsciously searching for your form.

Shiawase had been so much like you—stubborn, abrasive, though with a certain resilience that was hard to ignore. But this sword was different. It exuded a strange mixture of longing and fear, almost as if it yearned to be wielded yet recoiled at any hint of command.

You’d told him it was an echo of who you’d been. It made him wonder what happened to you to change so much.

His fingers wrapped against the silk of the handle, his haki extending in as slow an advance he could muster.

Kindness.

The term resounded in his mind like a distant memory, a notion he struggled to grasp. He had always been more familiar with the language of steel and battle, where actions spoke louder than words.

Reassurance.

Even worse than kindness, it seemed foreign to him, a concept reserved for those who understood the nuances of empathy and compassion.

He saw you move in the periphery of his vision. His head snapped towards you instinctively, drawn by the unmistakable storm of your haki swirling in the air like an electric charge.

The sight of you, wreathed in the crackling lightning of your power, was mesmerizing to him. He couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of it, a spectacle that never failed to captivate his attention. It was a force of nature, raw and untamed, a technique that eluded his grasp despite his best efforts to understand it.

As your hammer echoed loudly against the blackened steel of the dagger that consumed your psyche, Zoro's gaze lingered on you, a mixture of admiration and frustration flickering in his mind.

His eye traced the contours of your form, hovering on the gentle curves that drew his attention like a magnet. His fingers twitched involuntarily, all thoughts of Uragiri fading into insignificance.

The memory of your touch flooded his mind, igniting a fire inside him that he struggled to contain. The sensation of soft flesh yielding beneath the inquisitive exploration of his hands danced at the edge of his consciousness, a vivid recollection that stirred something primal deep within his being.

His eye drifted to the delicate expanse of your nape, where a few stray curls peeked out from under the linen cloth, clinging to the perspiration-dampened skin beneath. The sight ignited a whirlwind of memories within him, each flashback vibrant and intoxicating.

He recalled the taste of you, a heady blend of alcohol and desire that lingered on his tongue long after you had parted. The souvenir of your compliance, your willingness to yield to his every command, the sound of your soft moans as his fingers had tangled roughly in your hair. It sent a shiver down his spine, a scorching heat of lust.

He groaned.

Fuck.

He pried his gaze away, struggled to come back to reality. His eye traced the sharp edge of Uragiri.

Kind. Reassuring. He could do that.

Your brows furrowed. You were close. Oh, so very close to destroying that dagger. You’d taken a note from the swordsman’s approach. Fuck subtlety, you could overpower it to the point of destruction.

You allowed your haki to roar as forcefully as it could. The power felt intoxicating, on the verge of swallowing your mind. You hadn’t let out this much haki since you’d forged Yokubari, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of giving away your own life force. But, in this moment, you didn’t care.

You watched with keen eyes as your hammer clanged on the cursed blade. Black filaments scaled away slowly, revealing the vulnerability beneath the surface.

Good.

It was starting to break down.

With each strike, exhaustion threatened your muscles. You’d been at this for days now, the toil of the endeavor was beginning to take a toll on you. Yet, you continued to rain blow upon blow on the steel, determination to set it free unwavering.

With a loud clang, the blade broke.

It wasn’t entirely unbound of its torment yet, but it still brought a smile to your face.

You grabbed at the small broken piece with heavy tongs, throwing it in the burning coals in a practiced movement. Your eyes widened as you watched the steel melt.

A thunderous ‘yes’ escaped your lips in victory as you observed the black tendrils of haki dissipate in the hungry flames.

A triumphant grin spread on your features as you reveled in the moment of success. A surge of adrenaline passed through your veins, deceptively washing away the tiredness in your limbs. With renewed vigor you went back to your work, ready to be done with the ordeal once and for all.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the deck of the Thousand Sunny into darkness, when you finished melting the dagger. You wished you weren’t so tired, wished the exhaustion in your muscles would dissipate for a moment, wished you could revel on your accomplishment with more fervor. The gentle sway of the ship and the sound of the waves against its hull provided a soothing rhythm as you made your way to the bathing area with a satisfied smile on your lips. With each step, you left a black cloud of dust on the floor. Nami would effectively throw you overboard if you tried to enter the women’s quarters this covered up in soot.

You walked in the small room in a daze, lazily turning the handle for hot water. With a tired sigh, you began to undress, folding your clothes neatly in the nearby cubbies. You snorted to yourself as you eyed the blackened fabric, wondering why you bothered. It was a habit you guessed. 

The hazy glow of the lanterns cast soft shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere of cozy intimacy as you sat on a wooden bench. You washed your hair, the water turning dark and murky as it descended down the drain. The warm stream cascaded your body getting clearer and clearer as you diligently scrubbed at your ash ladened skin. It didn’t matter how many layers of clothing you wore, the dirt always found a way to cling to the stickiness of sweat covered flesh. 

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the sound of footsteps approaching nor the loud clang of swords in the changing area. Just as you stepped into the bubbly water of the bath, the door swung open, pulling you out of your reverie. 

You tensed in surprise as you realized you weren't alone. Zoro paused in the doorway, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of shock before quickly averting his eye. 

"Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was here," he muttered, his voice low and gruff, turning away to make his exit.

"It's fine," you replied, uncaring in your exhaustion. You let yourself sink deeper in the water, your lids closing heavily as you leaned back on the ceramic edge. The warmth felt heavenly on the soreness of your muscles. "If you don’t mind a little bit of ashes in the water, there’s plenty of space." 

He stopped in his tracks as he considered your offer.

“If you don’t mind, then-“ he didn’t finish the sentence on his tongue as he sat down near the small shower head. You hummed in answer, too tired for anything concrete to cross your lips.

The silence enveloped you both in a comfortable embrace, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of scrubbing, a soothing backdrop to the moment. Through the veil of your lashes, you studied him quietly, the soft glow of the lights accentuated his features. Clad only in a towel, his back was turned to you, offering a glimpse of the strength and grace that lay beneath the surface. Your gaze traced the contours of his muscles, following the path of droplets as they cascaded down his skin in a mesmerizing dance. 

You spotted his eye observing at you through the mirror on the wall. He snorted. You closed your eyes again, giving him privacy. You felt the water ripple around you and rise as he stepped in far from you, at the other side of the bath. 

“You did it, didn’t you?” he let out a satisfied sigh once he was sitting down fully. 

You looked at him with lidded eyes. You couldn’t help the proud smile forming on your lips as you answered. “I did.” 

The water stilled, the only sound the distant crash of waves on the hull. “You figured it out too, didn’t you?” You allowed your hand to rise to the surface, fingers playing aimlessly with the bubbles, sending soft ripples.

“I did,” there was a hint of satisfaction in his voice at the admission.

You chuckled. “I knew you’d get it, you mastered Uragiri this morning, right? I was surprised when you didn’t come get Yokubari. I thought you were itching to get your hands on that troublemaker.”

“You looked busy,” he stated, body relaxing further in the warmth of the water.

A smile plastered itself on your lips. “I didn’t know you were so considerate,” you teased glancing at him through heavy lashes.

He huffed. You had half a mind to continue to taunt him but you were just so tired.

“So which of your babies am I going to be allowed to study next?” You couldn’t help but ask, your voice sluggish.

He hummed, considering. “Shusui,” he decided.

Your brows furrowed as your brain struggled to process what he’d just said.

“Shusui?!” You suddenly perked up, your impulsive reaction putting you at the edge of decency, the bubbles barely covering your nakedness. “Why not Wado Ichimonji?” All marks of tiredness left your body at the thought of the legendary Shusui in your hands.

Zoro's gaze flicked to you, a hint of amusement dancing in his eye as he took in your instantaneous burst of enthusiasm. "Wado Ichimonji is special," he explained, his tone was slightly strained as he spoke his next words. "It belonged to Kuina."

Kuina… that wasn’t a name you’d ever heard. You didn’t press in your curiosity, the way he’d said it had been filled with sorrow. It shouldn’t surprise you, you guessed, everyone had ghosts from their past.

You inched closer, threading the edge of the bath. The water rippled at your slow movement. You settled in front of him, bringing your knees to your chest so you didn’t touch. 

“Say,” you mused, the sound echoing softly against the walls. “How did you even come by Shusui?”

 Zoro's eye met yours, his gaze lingering on your face. The space between you seemed to shrink under the weight of his stare. You shifted, he looked away. 

"Shusui... It's a long story," he replied after a while.

There was a sparkle in your eyes as you wondered what the tale behind the legendary sword was. "I have time.” 

Zoro's attention returned to you, the hint of amusement resurfacing at your enthusiasm. 

"Shusui found me," he answered cryptically, his voice carrying memories. "It really is a long story."

You gave his foot a small kick under the water. "I told you, I've got time," you insisted with a touch of petulance.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away before backtracking to meet yours. 

"It was when we fought Gecko Moria," he entertained your interest, his tone almost nostalgic. 

Your eyes widened in awe as he recounted the adventure. You leaned back, letting your feet tangle with his as he spoke.

"Ryuma..." you whispered when he stopped, the name rolling off your tongue like a sacred chant.

Zoro nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I fought against his zombie, and in the end, I claimed Shusui as my own."

The image of Zoro facing off against a legendary swordsman was strangely alluring in your mind. Your eyes traced his features, traveled down his neck. The bubbles were starting to fade, the scar on his torso slightly visible. You saw his muscles twitch, flex a little, an indication that you’d been caught in your observations, yet you couldn't tear your gaze away from him. 

Your attention flickered back to his face, taking in the smug smirk on his lips. 

“You’re staring, witch,” he remarked, the gravel in his voice more present than usual. 

“Just curious about the scars,” you tried to justify as you fought the heat in your cheeks. “Look,” you started playfully, letting one of your legs rise to the surface. “We even have a matching one,” you gestured at the scar slightly above your ankle.

His eye traced along your skin before observing the white line that spanned the circumference of your leg. You suddenly felt self-conscious and with a quick movement you brought it back under the water. Before you could retreat fully, his hand grasped your ankle, settling your foot to his knee. 

Your heart skipped a beat, the touch searing hot in the now tepid water.

“S-so, how’d you get yours?” You asked, giving a small tug, trying to pry your foot from his clutch unsuccessfully. “I’m afraid my story isn’t so interesting.”

The swordsman’s hold on your ankle tightened slightly, his eye lingering on the scar through the thin curtain of bubbles remaining before he met your gaze. “How’d you get it?” He ignored your question. 

“I told you it wasn’t interesting, swordsman,” you furrowed your brows, frustration coloring your voice at the memories.

His grip softened, fingers tracing the white line on your flesh in almost delicate circles.

You hesitated. “I tried to cut off my leg,” you admitted reluctantly. Your face scrunched up in a bitter expression, you bit at the fragile skin of your inner lips in an anxious pattern. “Happy? Swordsman?”

His eyebrow quirked at the stiffness of your tone. He leaned back, his eye not leaving yours, his fingers not stopping their mindless exploration.

The silence dragged on.

“It was when I was forging Yokubari,” you confessed when it started to feel uncomfortable. “My mentor wasn’t kind to say the least. He was strict before I made him Uragiri, but when he turned mad under its influence, he began finding pleasure in other people’s pain,” your hand trembled at the memories, you closed your fist in an attempt to rein the torment inside, to calm yourself. “He got scared at some point that I’d disappear. My sister and I had tried to escape but he always found a way to drag us back. So, he decided to chain me to the anvil,” there was a silence before you continued. “You know, not all swords take the same amount of work. Some take a day, others take months to make. Yokubari took about a year of labor. I’d been forging for weeks, pouring my life force into steel when I got desperate enough to try and cut off my own leg.”

He listened to your words, you couldn’t make out any shift in his expression, his features not betraying his thoughts. But his touch on your scar was gentle, almost soothing.

“I see,” he said, when you stopped talking. There was no pity in his voice, you were grateful to him for that. 

“I was too much of a coward to follow through though, it turns out that trying to cut your leg off is both harder than it seems and far more painful than you’d expect,” you added with levity, attempting to lighten the mood. “See? Pretty boring, right? So, how’d you get yours?”

He ignored you again.

“Hey,” you snapped. “I told you the story behind mine, now you tell me yours, swordsman. It can’t be that bad.”

He smirked. 

“Maybe another day, witch,” he answered with a hint of evasion. 

You narrowed your eyes, curious at the mystery he was clearly hoping to preserve. “Fine, swordsman,” you conceded with a pout as you realized he wasn’t going to budge. “But I won’t let this go until you’ve told me.”

Zoro chuckled at your expression, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his stare. “Stubborn as ever,” he remarked, his tone teasing.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re not the most obstinate idiot on this ship, moss head,” you retorted, adding the nickname in an imitation of the cook. You flicked water in his direction.

He snorted. Mischief passed in his gaze at your action. His grip tightened on your ankle. Your eyes widened. You barely had the time to take a breath as you realized what he was about to do.

He pulled you under. You bubbled for a moment before coming back up for a big gulp of air. You pried your foot out of his hand in an angry motion.

“Oi,” you yelled at him, swiping the curtains of wet hair out from your eyes as you inched closer to him.  “What was that for, you bastard?” You said, your index hitting him in the chest forcefully as though to make your point.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping the painful poking. “That mouth of yours is infuriating, witch,” he drew you nearer, his voice low and intense. “Always thinking you can get away with anything." 

His hand went to your face in an almost gentle movement. His thumb swiped at your lips in a fleeting touch. You glared at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the building heat in your veins.

He tugged softly at your wrist, closing the distance ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise, your other hand settling on his chest for support. He pressed a little stronger on your lips in a familiar movement.

“You drive me mad,” he admitted, his words made something stir in your stomach. All resolve you had held crumbling in the face of the searing warmth that ignited within you.

You opened your mouth, granting him access. Your tongue met the rough pad of his thumb. You felt the rumble in his chest under your fingertips more than you heard it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the pupil of his eye blowing up.

His hand snaked from your lips to the back of your neck. He leaned in, his lips finding yours tentatively at first, then with the hunger of a starving man.

He growled low in his throat, a primal sound that made you moan as you crashed into him, the bare skin of your chest melting into his. The water sloshed loudly, escaping the bath, and puddling on the floor as he switched your positions, trapping you underneath him.

The world around you spun, disoriented by the waves of desire coursing through your veins. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. Your hands tightened on the muscles of his arms in an attempt to orient yourself before they traveled up to the back of his neck and tangled in the dampness of his hair.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding, almost forceful. Your nails dug in, leaving tiny red marks on his nape. He moaned into your mouth, the sound muffled. You smirked against his lips at his reaction.

His fingers gripped your locks as he backed away. Your lidded eyes met his hungry gaze. He tightened his hold pulling your head back, your back arched against the ceramic edge of the bath. Your hands fell from his hair, fingertips digging for purchase in his chest for support. You felt his hand trail your outer thigh, under your knee, opening your leg. You whined as you sensed his knee slot itself between your thighs, so close to your core, yet so far. 

His touch was featherlight as his fingers shifted back up your leg, fleeting as he traveled your abdomen, almost imperceptible as the rough pad of his thumb traced the curve of your breast.

“Look at you, witch,” he whispered as he leaned forward, his breath hot against yours, satisfaction dripping out of his words.

A low moan crossed your lips, barely noticeable, even in the closeness of your bodies.

A small knock reverberated from the door, Nami’s voice cutting through.

You both halted.

“Oi, (Y/n)” the voice echoed against the walls. “You’re not asleep in there again, are you?” She asked.

Your heart stopped, the grip in your hair loosened, you slumped back slowly in the water without the intense hold he’d had on you. 

“I-I’m awake!” You shouted, panicky. 

The swordsman snorted, your eyes widened, your hand going to cover his mouth. ‘Don’t you dare’ you mouthed at him, gaze wild.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” You shouted again. “I just need to finish cleaning out the ashes around here.”

The handle of the door rattled. Your breath stopped. 

“Hey, I told you not to lock the door when you’re bathing alone!” Nami admonished, her words muffled. “It’s dangerous if you fall down or something.”

“Sorry! I must have done it without thinking!” You apologized.

Your eyes met the swordsman’s, brows furrowing in confusion. “You locked the door?” You hissed in a quiet whisper.

You felt his grin widen against your fingers, you hit his chest hard. Zoro’s chuckles vibrated against your palm as he leaned back slightly.

Your attention went back to the door when you heard Nami’s sigh. 

“Fine!” She relented, the handle clicking back in place. “Just don’t take too long.”

“I’ll be right out,” you reassured her.

You stayed frozen as you listened to the navigator’s retreating steps. 

“You locked the door?” You asked again, incredulity in your voice.

His hand left your hair, lingering for a moment on your nape before going to the hand covering his mouth. 

“I might have,” he admitted with a smirk, his lips brushing against your fingers with each word.

You tried to pry your hand from his grip, he didn’t relent.

“Get off me, you idiot,” you snapped at him. 

He let go, leaning back against the edge of the bath, amusement in his gaze.

“I’m getting out, close that eye of yours,” you announced.

“Why?” He cocked his head. “You’re acting like you weren’t just writhing under me.”

“I wasn’t writhing, don’t flatter yourself so much,” you argued back. “Just close that eye of yours while I fetch my fucking towel.”

“What’s the point? The water’s been clear for the past half hour, it’s nothing I haven’t already seen,” still he closed his eye, expression lulling back in relaxation.

You felt your cheeks heat at the comment. With an exasperated huff, you quickly scrambled out of the bath. Your eyes met his half-lidded one in the mirror as you grabbed the towel. 

“Seriously?” You muttered, shaking your head as you wrapped yourself in the fuzzy fabric. Your movements were fast and practiced as you tried your best to ignore the lingering warmth of his gaze. “You’re impossible.” 

You watched his reflection as he lazily shifted around, reaching for the hot water handle. The sound of water cascading into the bath punctuated the silence between you. 

“Bring me Shusui tomorrow,” you demanded, turning to face him. “You can take Yokubari while you’re at it too.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that. “That’s not our deal.” He stated after much consideration.

“It isn’t,” you agreed. “But I have a condition I’d like to add for Yokubari, it’s only fair that you get it sooner.”

“What is it?” He couldn’t help but ask.

You started to make your way towards the door, snatching your dirty clothes quickly. “You’ll see,” you said. “Try not to fall asleep and drown in there.”

Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, the night having offered no respite from the memory of his touch and the intensity of his lips. Leaning forward, your elbows found refuge on the worn wooden table as you took a bite of a croissant, the flaky pastry acting as a brief distraction from your restless thoughts.

"Hey, swordsman," you called out, swallowing before continuing. "So, what's the story behind those scars around your legs?" You tried your luck again, your question drew the attention of the scattered crew, their curiosity piqued.

Nami couldn't contain her amusement, a loud snort escaping her lips, while Zoro's expression darkened into a scowl.

"What's so funny?" you asked innocently, the prospect of uncovering the tale now even more intriguing.

"It's none of your business, witch" Zoro replied tersely, his tone clipped.

A shiver went down your spine, the nickname feeling different after the happenings of the night before.

Nami was not to be deterred by the swordsman’s warning, a mischievous glint dancing in her gaze as she took back your attention and launched into a saga of events.

Tears of laughter pricked at your eyes as Nami recounted the embarrassing incident, and once your mirth subsided, you couldn't resist teasing Zoro further.

"So, you were just embarrassed, swordsman?" you snorted, unable to contain your amusement.

Zoro's scowl deepened, a faint pink hue tinting his ears as he grumbled, "Like I said, it's none of your business."

Your chuckling bubbled up once more, the images in your imagination vivid thanks to the navigator’s amazing retelling of the story. "But seriously," you continued, teasingly, "what were you planning to do after cutting your legs? You can't exactly fight like that."

The table erupted into laughter, the camaraderie between the crew members palpable as they shared in the light-hearted moment.

Zoro turned his head, clearly embarrassed through the cracking mask of indifference he usually wore.

“Oh!” Chopper exclaimed, hopping onto Zoro’s shoulder as he looked at the back of his neck. Red marks plagued his nape in lines and crescents. “Did you hurt yourself, Zoro?” the reindeer asked innocently, a small hoof probing at the scrapes.

The swordsman’s gaze met yours, a brazen smirk gracing his lips. You felt heat rising in your cheeks. “Must have scratched myself by accident,” he answered, his voice smug.  

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