#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!)

[cherry-coffees]

pitfighter!Sevika x f!reader 

(for my friend who's obsessed with both Sevika and Rhea Ripley – love you!)

cw: 1.6K words | mdni! smutty talk, implied sex, mentions of violence (nothing crazy, just vague pitfighting stuff), Sevika but Rhea Ripley inspired basically

----------------

The wrestling stadium booms with excitement. Pitfighting has been becoming more and more popular: one of Zaun’s ever-growing favorite pastimes. And, along with it, one woman quickly rose to fame. Sevika. She had the whole city captivated by her fighting skills, even with her one metal arm. Tickets to her matches always sold out quickly – too quickly for you to have ever seen one. 

So when you and your friend are walking through Zaun, having a little day to yourselves in the midst of jobs and usual everyday tasks, you take your chance. As you pass by the pitfighting arena, a few people stand outside, trying to make quick money off of re-selling tickets to Sevika’s upcoming match. You glance at your friend, then shrug because why not? You're interested to see what all the hype is about, having just caught glimpses of Sevika on posters and ads for the pitfighting arena. 

But when the match starts and Sevika steps out, you get the hype.

The way she takes down her opponents is easy, careless even. Her opponent, way too confident in herself, charges at Sevika, who easily sidesteps her. She wraps one hand around her opponent's throat and lifts her slightly just to slam her down onto the ground. Sevika holds her there, ignoring her opponent's desperate thrashing to get up like it's nothing. And holy shit, is she smirking at the bigscreen? Paired with the tightest black bodysuit you've ever seen and a thick layer of black makeup around her eyes, it looks way too alluring. 

You’re entranced, watching every move Sevika makes, every punch she lands, every breath she takes. You barely register when your friend nudges you, indicating they’re going to the bathroom. You nod absently, eyes still trained on the match.

Sevika wins, of course, and you find yourself cheering loudly along with the entire stadium. But when she steps out of the ring, the lights go up, and people start filing out of the stands. You blink, your senses coming back to you. Realizing you're now alone in the arena, you frown. Shit. Where was the bathroom again?

After leaving the stands and a few minutes of wandering around the arena, you find a narrow hall with a door marked with a bathroom sign on it. Perfect. 

You swing open the bathroom door, eyes flitting over the stalls. Huh. Your friend definitely isn't in here, but neither is anyone else. You step further into the bathroom, seeing all the stalls open, and your face contorts in a look of confusion. The arena had been so crowded for Sevika's match, so why is this bathroom empty? Is it out of order? 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door swings open and relief shoots through you. Ah, so you're not the only spectator looking for a bathroom. But as you turn, you find yourself face to face with Sevika. 

Your jaw drops.

Sevika's eyebrows raise, tilting her head slightly as she runs a sweat towel over her muscular arms. "You a fighter?" 

"Uh-" you're too stunned by this meeting to answer coherently. Sevika stands at about six feet tall, clearly intimidating paired with her bulging muscles and deep voice. But as she eyes you with slight curiosity, all you can think about is how absolutely fucking hot she is. 

"I'll take that as a no," Sevika snorts. "Not that you look like one. You know this bathroom is for fighters, yeah?"

Oh.

"I- did not," your words come out almost sheepish as you fidget slightly, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. You try to focus on her words and not the way her biceps flex. "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

"You're fine, doll," Sevika brushes past you to look in the bathroom mirror as she finishes wiping herself down. You try not to look too much, you really do.

"I- should go," the words come out before you can stop them and you internally cringe. You don't want to leave, of course, but you feel extremely out of place in this bathroom – especially now that Sevika's here.

But Sevika just smirks and you can hear the smugness dripping in her tone. "Why? Seems like you like what you see."

You ignore the automatic flush in your cheeks. "I- it's not like that." It's a lie, of course, but you can't help but feel slightly defensive as you turn to face her in the center of the bathroom. The air suddenly feels so much thinner now, so much harder to breathe. "I just, uh, really admired your fight."

Sevika laughs, reaching and slipping out a cigarette from god knows where, lighting it with her metal arm and taking a drag. "Oh yeah? Well, what a compliment. What part did you like, doll?"

"Um, well, I was impressed when you swept that girl's leg so easily." The answer comes naturally because, after all, you had been impressed.

"Uh-huh." When you pause, she makes a gesture, turning from the mirror to face you. Her dark eyes, complete with the usual pitfighter makeup look, meet yours. You swear her gaze burns. "I can't imagine you'd like violence a lot, looking so put together." You swear her eyes trace the neckline of your top that dips just low enough and hugs your body in all the right places. "What else did you like?"

You hesitate. "Just your strength in general, I guess. You- watching you destroy all those people so easily was crazy." You can't help but briefly glance again at her arms that subtly flex her hard-earned muscle. You will your mind away from its filthy thoughts.

Sevika raises her eyebrows, taking another drag from her cigarette and her eyes dropping down your body and back up again. Once. Then twice. “Hm. Wish you’d let me destroy you like that, pretty girl.”

“Wha-?" Your eyes widen. “You-"

Sevika just smirks and exhales two streams of smoke from her nose. “Bet you’d look prettier pinned under me than any of the people I fight.”

Your eyes blink rapidly, cheeks turning darker with every word. "You think I'm pretty?" You could cringe again at the question and the way your voice sounds like a squeak, but your brain is refusing to comprehend that the Sevika is flirting with you in an pitfighting arena bathroom you're not supposed to be in.

Sevika tosses the cigarette in the bathroom trash can, not even bothering to check her aim. She takes two long strides forward until she's right in front of you. She's quiet for a few moments before she lets out a hum, lips curling into an almost sinful half-smirk. "Didn't you hear what I just said?" Her large hand moves to tilt your chin up. "Or do I have to repeat myself?"

"Sevika?" her name falls out of your lips in a hushed tone, more breathy than you had meant it. Her eyes are locked with yours now, as if they're burning into your soul. But this all feels like a dream, and you're worried that at any second the lamp will start to look weird and you'll open your eyes alone in your room-

"Yeah, doll," Sevika holds your gaze, her other hand coming to rest surprisingly lightly at your waist. "What do you want, hm? You definitely don’t belong in this place. You're lucky I'm the one who found you." She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. "Or maybe I'm the lucky one."

Your own eyes are impossibly wide - a mix of shock and arousal. "I wanted to watch your match," you say, as if it was a simple answer to all she was wondering.

Her hand on your waist tightens at that, gripping your hip. "You know, pretty girl," Sevika's dark gaze stays locked with yours. "I'm still a woman after the match. I have wants, needs, even."

"Oh," this takes you by surprise and you blink. "Uh, could I help with something then?"

"Oh, yes, I think you could" Sevika's smirk widens into a devilish grin. Her lips brush against your ear and your heart pounds. Since when did the room get this hot?

"What can I do?" Your voice shakes, your breath slightly labored at her close proximity to you.

"Mm. You could start with letting me fuck you until you can't feel it anymore."

You jaw drops and you feel your mouth go dry. It may the third time in the past five minutes that Sevika has caused you to go into complete shock, but this moment has you believing that this has to be a dream. Your eyes drop to the floor, unable to bring your wide eyes to meet Sevika's fiery ones because she's so hot and tempting and- 

As quickly as you look away, Sevika's hand on your jaw tilts it back up so your eyes meet hers again. "Did I say you could look away?" she hums, sighing with mock-disappointment. "Oh doll, you have a lot to learn."

There's a pause. "But," she says, flashing you a smirk that you really want to kiss off her face. "I need a 'yes' from you before you can help with my needs."

You nod, breathing shakily, and her smirk widens as Sevika pushes you back against the bathroom wall. And yet, you can't help but notice the way her hand cups the back of your head so it doesn't hit the cold concrete. But the gentleness is overridden by her sultry tone. "Use your words," her breath fans your lips. 

"Yes."

"So good for me," she purrs before crashing her lips on to yours, as if they had always belonged there.

If the night ends in the bathroom with Sevika muffling your whimpers into her palm before heading back to her apartment, well, you certainly aren't complaining. And by the end of it all, she's absolutely followed through on her promise of destroying you, her name the only thing on your lips for the night – and all the next morning. 

But the ache between your thighs the next day is proof enough of that. 

[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........?

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 2.3 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

fourteen

friday, february 14th

valentine’s day always felt like one of the least captivating “special” days of the year to you.

first off, no one really seemed to know where it came from, beyond vague whispers about saints and martyrs.

second, the idea of dedicating just one day to showering your significant other with love seemed, well, silly. wasn’t every day supposed to feel like valentine’s day when you were in a relationship?

still, you couldn’t deny the history that was known about it was interesting. valentine’s day cards, for example, were centuries old. the tradition dated back to the 1700s, and by the mid-1800s, advances in printing technology made mass-produced cards a staple of the holiday. the earliest known valentine’s message, though, came even earlier—in 1415, charles, duke of orléans, penned a heartfelt poem to his wife while locked away in the tower of london. it was the whole reason why you chose this specific event for valentine's day.

this entire day felt like a nod to history and the wistful romance of charles and his wife. but for you, it didn't make this day less tiring. you’d already been through nearly fifteen classrooms, walking alongside the valentine’s day volunteers as they handed out letters to blushing teenagers. your feet ached from all the pacing, and the constant hum of chatter and giggles was grating. to top it off, you were missing your own classes for this.

the basket in your hands remained stubbornly full, each letter carefully sorted by class. “alright, next class is JL4,” one of the clipboard-wielding volunteers announced. your stomach dipped at the mention of the name—you recognized it immediately as rafe’s class. you let out a soft sigh, steeling yourself, and tried to plaster on the big, cheerful smile you’d been wearing all morning.

the three volunteers, all dressed as cupid, were practically bouncing on their heels as they prepared to enter the next room. they’d tried to convince you to wear the same ridiculous costume—a gaudy red-and-white getup complete with feathered wings—but you’d politely declined, compromising instead with a simple red sweater.

you knock lightly on the door, then ease it open after a beat. “hi, mr. winslow.” your smile is polished, the kind you’ve perfected over the course of this exhausting day. the teacher glances up, already looking amused as his eyes flick past you to the three cupids clustered just behind.

“hello, ms. y/l/n,” he greets, his grin wide and knowing. “how can my class and i assist you today?” it’s clear he already knows exactly why you’re here.

you give a light laugh, slipping into the well-rehearsed script you’ve been reciting all morning. “my cupids and i have some very important mail to deliver.” you step further into the room, maintaining that same bright expression as you gesture to your basket. “and this class happens to be our most popular yet—with a monumental," you pause for a moment to double take your notes, "fifty-six letters.”

the classroom erupts into laughter and chatter, and as you set the basket on the nearest desk, you can already feel the weight of rafe’s gaze. you spot him sitting next to pope, his chair tilted back slightly, that signature grin tugging at his lips.

“dahlia hendrix,” you call out, scanning the organized letters until you find her name. the blonde sitting by the window perks up, her cheeks already flushing. “cupid’s got three letters for you.” you hand the cards to the first cupid, who diligently adds the three accompanying lollipops.

your attention shifts as you fish out the next set. “topper thornton,” you announce, your voice overly sweet as you lock eyes with him. topper—the same guy who’d called you a bitch just last week—smirks, clearly unbothered. “cupid paid you a lovely visit with five letters.” ignoring the boisterous cheering from his group of friends, you pass the stack to another cupid.

your gaze lands on kiara, who’s already shaking her head, visibly unimpressed by the spectacle. “kiara carrera,” you say with a giggle you can’t quite suppress. “four letters for you.” as she begrudgingly takes the cards, you watch her swat away jj’s teasing hands, the corner of your mouth twitching with amusement.

you continue distributing the letters, each name met with varying levels of enthusiasm. “cupid’s got five for jj maybank.” you hand them off. “one for sienna jackson, four for pope heyward, and two for nixon blake .” the room grows louder with every delivery, envelopes being torn open, voices overlapping in excitement.

but there’s one more name to call.

you inhale softly, forcing a smile to hold your composure. “rafe cameron,” you say, your voice steady despite the way your stomach twists. his eyes are already on you, his brow raised in lazy curiosity as he slouches in his chair. “cupid’s got… thirty-eight—"

the room explodes. cheers, whistles, shouts—it’s pandemonium.

“goddamn, cameron!”

“playboyyy!”

“leave some for the rest of us!”

rafe doesn’t join in on the noise. his faint smile doesn’t falter, but he doesn’t look at anyone else either—just you.

you bite down on your tongue, hesitating as you hand off the stack to your waiting cupid. a part of you wants to hold onto them, to stop him from receiving all thirty-eight love letters.

your cupid even needs a separate bag just for the mountain of lollipops meant for him.

“uh, no thanks,” rafe says smoothly, declining the sweets with an effortless shrug. “you can hand those out to the class.” he doesn’t even glance at the towering pile of letters now sitting on his desk, but they feel like they’re mocking you anyway.

grabbing your basket, you turn back to mr. winslow and offer a polite smile, mouthing a quick “thank you.”

“happy valentine’s day, JL4,” you call out, your voice cheery despite the sinking weight in your chest. the class who are now all enjoying rafe's candy, respond in a chaotic chorus, and you’re already stepping out the door, closing it firmly behind you.

thirty-eight cards. thirty-eight. what kind of lunatic receives thirty-eight love letters from girls in the same school? it was absurd, incomprehensible. what was he even doing to these girls? brainwashing them? you could barely fathom the ridiculousness of it all. the thought of ripping every single card to shreds—one by one—flashed vividly in your mind.

“you cannot seriously be mad at me for getting letters from girls i don’t even know.” rafe’s voice carries an amused lilt as he follows you down the empty hallway, the echo of his steps light and unhurried.

“sure, i can,” you snap, pushing open the double doors with more force than necessary. “this is a free country, isn’t it?” your words are sharp, but your pace is sharper, your arm aching from lugging the stupid basket of valentine’s leftovers.

“what was i supposed to do, put out a memo to stop them? you think i orchestrated this?” he asks, his tone threaded with mock innocence as he keeps up with your brisk strides.

you don’t answer, too focused on navigating your way up to the attic. weaving through the maze of dusty boxes and forgotten decorations from past school events, you finally reach the valentine’s day shelf. you place the basket down carefully, feeling the relief in your sore arm but not in your simmering annoyance.

“i think it’s cute,” you say sweetly, the sarcasm practically dripping from your voice. “all those girls just adore you. we should read the letters together, make a night of it. how fun would that be?”

“i know you’re being sarcastic,” he laughs, leaning against a nearby stack of storage bins. “but honestly? it might be hilarious to see what they wrote.”

you roll your eyes, pulling the flower petals out of the basket and carefully pouring them back into their designated bowl. “right. i can already picture it. ‘oh, rafe, i can't stop thinking about your eyes, blue like the sky. let's go skinny dipping on the beach at last light, you can kiss me goodnight.'” your mocking tone grows more dramatic with each word, and you hear his laughter double over behind you.

before you can say more, his arms snake around your waist from behind, and you try to wriggle free, but his grip is firm. “i’ll throw them all out if that’s what you want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it with maddening softness.

you shake your head stubbornly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real answer. “no,” you mutter, crossing your arms even as his hold on you tightens. “you should put them above your bed. make a shrine out of them.”

his lips find a familiar trail along your neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that make your resolve falter. “i think i kinda like when you’re jealous,” he murmurs, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

you huff, keeping your eyes locked on the shelf in front of you, determined not to react. “who’s jealous?” you whisper, your voice small, defiant.

you feel him smile against your skin, the curve of it unmistakable, and you purse your lips, refusing to admit how easily he gets to you.

he presses you against him and suddenly, his gentle kisses turn into desperate nipping and soft sucking that flood your entire core with pleasure. you moan softly as his hands travel down, lower and lower until they're under your skirt and he's ripping your tights and panties down to your ankles.

"r-rafe.." you attempt to warn him, to stop him, to tell him this cannot happen in school but his name slips out like a breathless whisper and you can't get yourself to say no to this.

his hands are all over you and your body is suddenly pliant under his touch as he takes one of your tits in hand, "you look so beautiful right now." you can barely focus on his words when his fingers are inching closer and closer to your pussy, tentatively trailing along the walls of your thighs before finally rubbing your pearly clit with his thumb, your eyes flutter shut and you instinctively try to push your thighs shut.

"should take a couple of pictures of you and hang those right above my bed," he muses and you whimper, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as he forces your thighs open. "you'd like that, huh? your pretty cunt on my wall?" his thumb tirelessly rubbed your clit, flicking the little nub till your eyes were tearing up and you were gasping for more.

“more?” he’s taunting, almost mocking you as his fingers trail along your sensitive slit before finding your clit again. “mm,” you whimper as you buck your hips into his hands.

his lips nip at your skin but you can barely process it, you try to stay in the present, try to focus on anything that can ground you but fail miserably, “my fingers? does my pretty girl want my fingers inside her?”

"mhm, y-yes.." you whimper, back arching into his chest and you cry out when his fingers slowly push into your soaking cunt. your walls constrict around him and you're in disbelief at how filling his fingers feel. "rafe! oh, god!" you grip his forearm as he drills his digits in and out of you, fingers curling and pushing deeper and deeper.

you’re writhing against him, trying to stay up right as his fingers clamor in you and his thumb rubs your clit until it’s all sore and swollen. “it’s so g-good.. s’ good..” you mumble lazily, tears streaming down your face and rafe is mouthing at your neck, fingers move at a relentless pace. “c’mon, sweetheart, cum for me.”

you feel that familiar earth-shattering sensation, a combination of low pressure and deep coiling. your hips jerk against your will and then you’re moaning, eyes closed as you squirt and gush all over rafe’s fingers. “that’s it..that’s it, pretty girl..” rafe mutters quietly as you pant in his arms. you can’t believe that just happened in a storage room on school grounds.

“try to stand still, okay?” he mutters into your ear before he’s letting you go and reaching into your bag that sat forgotten on the floor for a tissue. he cleaned you up gently before pulling your panties and tights over your tights and up again.

you hold onto to the shelf for a moment to not lose your balance before turning to look at him, lazy smile on your face. “another first?” he asks and you’re nodding slowly and leaning up to nuzzle your nose against his. he grins when you cup his cheeks, “i’ve only ever..done it myself and it has never felt quite like that. thank you.” you whisper and rafe pecks your lips, gently, lips brushing against yours. “anytime, baby.”

you wrap your arms around his neck slowly and he pulls you in, body against his as he kisses you again and again and again. “i want you,” you sigh against him when you feel his bulge poking you and he’s smiling against yours lips. “you just had me..” he murmurs. you shake your head, “no..” you whine softly, hands darting down to his bulge and gently running your fingers along it. “want you..” you repeat quietly.

you don’t know where this insatiable feeling is coming from, you don’t understand why you can’t get enough, can’t stop, don’t even want to stop. not even a little bit.

you’re slowly sinking to your knees but rafe stops you with a pained expression, hands on your arms, “you’re not going to give me a blowjob in a storage closet. that would take the cake as the most assholey shit i’ve ever pulled.”

“i want to make you feel good.” you complain softly and he pecks the pout on your lips. “soon, yeah? i promise.”

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.

taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa @fveapplestall @chalametlover444 @slutglimreqpers @uarmyhopeworldwide @junxe3 @bakuhoethotski @wintercrow @bigjuli444 @singlethreadofivy

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <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!

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Jan 27th

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1. Hii! I’m looking for a fic and it’s titled something around wondering if there is a place for me in your life. This focuses on teen lan sizhui coping with the feelings of his father wwx dating again after spending 11 (?) years without someone. Wei Wuxian goes to the hospital at some point (he’s fine though) and Lan Sizhui finds a way to invite LWJ into his life after breaking a gift he gave him. I can follow up with more details if needed! The author was trying to write about a-yuan not immediately warming up to wangxian getting together! Thank you so much for all your hard work!

FOUND! Picture Perfect by manaika (M, 22k, WangXian, WWX/Other(s), Past Relationship(s), Widower WWX, Grief/Mourning, Getting Together, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Stepfather WWX, WWX is the father who stepped up, LSZ is a Wei, Single Parent WWX, Asexual Character, Aromantic Relationship, Platonic Life Partners, it's all in the past and only mentioned/discussed when relevant, Sex-Favorable Asexual WWX, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Modern, Past Character Death, Food Intake Related Medical Issue (not what you think))

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2. hi! I'm looking for a fic where WWX is seriously injured at qiongqi path, and he's barely kept alive by talismans(?). JC hides his body at lotus pier, but everyone thinks he's dead. idk how he wakes, but there's still the 13 year gap where everyone still thinks he's dead. sorry this is so vague, tysm in advance!!!

from the 1/27 fic finder: #2 isnt the fic im looking for, but thanks for helping out! the fic wasn’t a dark, anti-JC fic, but very much a JC loves his brother ofc hes gonna do whatever it takes to keep him alive. LWJ def thinks hes dead tho

NOT FOUND! on restitution by glitteringmoonlight (M, 98k, LSZ & WWX, WWX & JL, WangXian, Dark JC, not JC friendly, Captivity, Angst with a Happy Ending, no reconciliation, Crossdressing, Non-Graphic Torture, Violence)

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3. Hi! I'm looking for a fic that I'm pretty sure has been asked for in the past, that has been likely deleted, I know someone had the pdf but I can't find the post or the pdf anymore so I'm here–

I'm looking for a fic where modern wwx receives a book from baoshan sanren that tells the story of yllz wwx. Modern wwx reads a ritual and ends up in the past with everyone while past yllz ends up in the future. If I'm correct it's a two fic series, with the second one being incomplete where yllz goes to the future.

I also remember that modern wwx gathered people from each clan and talked about the future that he knows. I know that at one point he talks about his family (lz and sizhui). There's also a madam yu redemption, and at one point modern wwx calls fengmian dad? PLS HELP ME FIND IT @dollettw

FOUND! bluekittenfire said: #3 This should be the deleted "Loving Future, Distant Past" by yareyarejojosan. I have a copy of it and the second fic "I am loved".

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4. Hello!! I'm looking for a modern AU - what I remember is Lan Zhan seeing Wei Ying on tv and, like, knowing he is The One in a mystical way - I want to say that the process was called The Call or something, as in 'he heard The Call and knew WWX was his soulmate'. I think WWX was oblivious to this for Reasons (par for the course) - not sure if it was A/B/O but had something of that vibe! @stackingturtles

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5. hiiii im looking for this fic where lwj's mom is some kind of heavenly official and before she escapes her husband to return to heaven, she gives lwj a magical robe (or somethijng like that) that holds images of his memories, and every time something major happens an image/symbol of that appears on his cape @ashxi-wx

FOUND? One for Heaven and Earth by cerbykerby (T, 7k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Supernatural Elements, Angst with a Happy Ending, Madam Lán Lives, inspired by wangxian selkie au, Getting Together) Mama Lan was a celestial maiden though, not a heavenly official.

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6. This is for fic finder btw. First thank you who ever runs this account. In the fic I’m looking for wei ying isn’t dead and is alive for Lan Zhans whipping/ punishment and he hears what’s happening and tries to stop it but Lan Zhang uncle just says to beat Wei Ying to (I think he was like really injured not sure tho). Then one of them ( whoever’s POV it was blacks out). There is a chance this was an omegaverse fic but idk. Thanks again your like gods 🙏🙏

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7. Ello! Looking for a lwj-centric fic that I forgot the name of (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) Pretty sure this is an au where wwx is adopted by the lans, and wwx teaches the lan disciples about talismans. The thing I most remember about it is lwj being named rivals with su minshan and jiang cheng for the attentions of wwx. Wwx is also probably older? Thanks so much in advance!

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8. Hi!! does anyone know of a ghost wy fic where he teaches ayuan demonic cultivation and he kind of like follows him around and protects him? @yesibest

FOUND! as i stumble homewards by the_pretzel (T, 27k, wangxian, canonical character death, found family, food issues, trauma, LSZ pov, angst w/ happy ending, fluff)

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9. Hey guys do you know a fic when Lan Xichen started a different Gusu Lan sect that went back to the basic rules? I think the Lans dad was alive in it and he disapproved and was leading the other one. @kyuubikuroba

FOUND! In Defence of Murder by WhiteWitchDark (T, 18k, WangXian, NHS & NMJ, Hurt/Comfort, Time Travel, Angst)

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10. For fic finder

Does anyone have that fic where WWX gets turned into a woman post canon, he and LWJ decide to try for a kid, it doesnt work at first, when it happens LWJ thinks WWX doesnt want one anymore and tries to apologize for asking him to keep it?

WWX was fine with having the baby by the way, thinking he didn’t was because during the time it didn’t work they assumed it wasn’t possible and he decided he wasn’t going to dwell and make himself upset wondering why it didn’t happen

FOUND! In Sickness and In Health (And In Strange and Unexpected Times Too) by purplemonster (E, 28k, WangXian, Fem WWX, Mpreg, well technically not mpreg since he's a woman, Fluff and Smut, also I know I know I ticked the m/m box because it is wangxian)

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11. hello, i'm looking for an au where cultivators choose their secondary gender after "trying out" each one. Wwx decided on beta and LWJ omega. NHS was agender. At one point, LWJ is threatened/almost forced to permanently pick the wrong assignation for some reason. This fic was not the one by everythingispoetry, though there are similarities to their fic. Ty for your help!

FOUND? Pairfire by PaidSubscription (E, 65k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, JC/NHS, MM/WQ, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Relationships 101, Literally...the fic is a relationship course, Getting Together, First Time, Explicit Consent, Bordering on Kink Levels of Communication, Elements of Assigned-ish Marriage-ish, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, A/B/O With a twist, Because Cultivators CHOOSE Their Gender During This Course, After Trying Out All Three, It’s a Three Course Meal and WangXian’s Gender Acceptance is the Dessert, But Horny Pining is the Main Meal and the Most of the Snacks, Bottom LWJ, Bossy Bottom/Henpecked Top Energy, Everyone is over 21, Gender Choice Raises Issues for Most But I Promise Happy Endings + Everyone Comfy in Their Own Skin, Side Couple Aro/Ace/Agender Storylines)

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12. I've been looking for this fic for years now but I do remember the premise it's an postcanon AU?? where in a bid to stabilize the power WWX was betrothed to Lan Xichen and LWJ was not so happy abt the whole thing (I scoured my history and all but I cant find it)

FOUND? still left with the river by TooSel (E, 77k, WangXian, ChengQing, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Arranged Marriage, Political Alliances, Yílíng Wèi Sect, Slow BurnF, riends to Lovers, Pining, Jealousy, Infidelity, Adoption,Angst with a Happy Ending, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation Sect Politics)

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13. Wondering about the identity of a fic that I remember only one little scene from. LWJ was visiting Lotus Pier and decided to drink about all his pining. While drunk, he demonstrated his feelings to WWX by removing the strings from his guqin and saying "Wangji without Wei Ying". Hopefully this will ring bells for someone. Thank you! 🐇💙 @linderel

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14. looking for a fic! canon era/setting with a bad ending, where wx are ayuan's biological parents. ayuan lives with wwx and the wens in the burial mounds. wwx dies either from the attack at qiongqi path, or in the burial mounds for some other reason. I rmb vividly a scene where wwx is buried in the burial mounds and ayuan cries and lies above the grave, saying that his mother is gone, in front of everyone else like the lans, jins, and nies.

FOUND! To Offer a Heart by WhiteCrane (M, 111k, WangXian, major character death, Sad WWX, Hurt WWX, YLLZ WWX, soft wangxian, Cinnamon Roll WN, WWX Whump, WQ is a good sister, WN is a good brother, everybody loves wwx, yunmeng siblings, Triggers, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Taking care of WWX, Give WWX a break, Canon Divergence, Disturbing Themes, Changing Perspectives, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Grief/Mourning, Temporary Character Death, Getting Together, Redemption, Sibling Bonding, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Brother-Sister Relationships, Parent-Child Relationship, Sad and Sweet, Tragedy, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF JYL, BAMF WQ, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Everyone Needs A Hug, WIP) Is it possible #14 is mixing up two different fics? Because the bit about A-Yuan lying on WWX's grave in the Burial Mounds and crying about his mother sounds a lot like To Offer a Heart but he's not Wangxian's bio child in that. The bit where the visitors witness A-Yuan crying at the grave is in chapter 11.

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15. Hello, and thank you again for all your hard work! ❤️ For Fic Finder, please help with locating a fic where WWX dies and the truth about JGShit, JGY, JZXun and XY (maybe even SShit, idk) comes out immediately. Here's what I remember: he sent letter to expose them, people investigate and everything comes to light. Everyone except MY is executed in gruesome ways. JZX with lingchi I think. JGShit through being slowly impaled by bamboo. MY ends up giving his golden core to WWX when he comes back. @boxedbutterfly

FOUND? bluekittenfire said: #15 I think this is the deleted "When Im gone" by qiankun_pouch. I can share my copy.

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16. Looking for fic in which Wei Wuxian's core is given to yanli and it becomes too much for her body and the core explodes because of childbirth and she dies wei Ying is also like lab rat for all clans wanting to know how he cultivated core in such young age I also remember that mxy actually was the real parent of sizhui who was trusted upon weu Wuxian to raise and keep safe pls help me find the fix i would also like to thank you for all the previous times you all helped me <3 @yuukikonnos-world

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17. I'm looking for a story I thought I had saved: after canon, asexual WWX, married to LWJ, but in a female!MX body. They tried M/F sex, but both found it weird. WWX one day realizes that LWJ used to look at (old, male) WWX with lust, but no longer does. LWJ tells him he used to dream of bottoming for WWX. WWX wants to fulfil that dream for him, and (via NHS?) finds someone to create a wooden penis/harness. LWJ enjoys it a lot (WWX also likes being a service top essentially)

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18. Hello! I'm looking for a complete fic on AO3 where Qin Su did the sacrifice ritual to bring back Wei Wuxian. He is now a woman. She left him a letter explaining why/what she wanted, and he has to keep up the act of being Qin Su for a little while until he can come up with an excuse to get out of Koi tower.

I don't remember what he was running around doing once he got out, but along the way he bumped into Lan Wangji, who is travelling with "Mo Xuanyu" investigating the demonic arm.Mo Xuanyu actually summoned Jin Zixuan using the ritual, though I don't remember if that was on purpose or if JZX was just the next best target with WWX already summoned. Because of Qin Su's letter to WWX (? They knew somehow), JZX knows that WWX is technically his sister now.

I don't remember much else apart from some minor stiff arguing on JZX end because LWJ is seducing his technical sister or something like that. He's not impressed/pleased. WWX is just as happy about being related to the peacock now. LWJ realises he is WWX-sexual. Yadda yadda.

Based on other fics I know I read around the same time, the publication/final update should be no later than 2022, but I might be wrong.

If this fic could be found, I would really appreciate it. Thanks in advance! @ramblebrambleamble

FOUND? The Tales of Despereaux by stiltonbasket (T, 53k, WIP, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, JC & WWX, JYL/JZX, JC/WQ, Canon Divergence, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, (when applicable), major ships are listed but others might pop up!) It's the first 23 chapters. Stilton's tumblr also has its masterlist

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19. looking for a fic! i remember it was either someone needs to fight lwj and win(?) to get his hand in marriage, or he needed to give them an item like a token or smth. wwx is in an animal form of sorts i can't remember, and lwj freely gives the item to him while in animal form

FOUND? it’s you, it was always you by myung (G, 7k, WangXian, Bunny LWJ, Mutual Pining, Light angst, Based on Tumblr post) sounds like it's you, it was always you but Lan Zhan is the shapeshifter who gives Wei Ying his forehead ribbon while in rabbit form.

FOUND? heartkeeper by postingpebbles (G, 7k, WangXian, Animal Transformation, Canon Divergence, no war au, Shapeshifting, light convos abt the jiang family dynamic, WWX draws a lot and talks to a rabbit: the fic, Fantasy, Mojo's bookmark, heartkeeper [podfic] by esbielle) Lwj is a rabbit with a chain with a key to hanguang-jun’s heart

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20. Hello :) I need help finding a fic, I don't know if it was deleted or not, but it was a time travel fic where I think sizhui and jingyi went back to either just before the sunshot campaign or just after it but they were either together or the feelings were there they got wangxian together early and wangxian I vaguely remember adopted both older (kinda not officially) and baby sizhui (officially) and I remember also kinda vaguely know but I can't remember if it was Jingyi or older sizhui dying I remember jingyi and older sizhui got married before the death, there is a memorable scene of older sizhui and wangji flying together and sizhui was telling him about his life as a kid with wangji please if you can help it would be appreciated also I do know it's not 'Tragedy is not the end' by Hobbsy3 thank you!!! @lotus-cloudbunny

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[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.

[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.

[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

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"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

[clownyclaushoe]

art the clown x reader oneshot 🔞 | take you like my last breath

requested by anon i hope you like it and thanks again for the prompt! at the mention of hooking up with art i thought of reader meeting him in a club or at a concert - and ofc the work of art music video came to mind, though this fic has no mass killing or giving birth, and sadly art doesn't play a baby piano 😔 i wrote it vaguely enough that you could imagine it's either one I guess 😄 title taken from closer to you by jungkook. surprisingly there isn't any warnings for this one, i don't think - just lots of smut.

-------

it had finally reached friday, your usual fun night to go out with your friends, whether it was to a concert for a local band or to the club. you were lost in the lights and the music, dancing and jumping, throughly feeling yourself and letting go at the same time. after the long week it felt good to unwind, and you knew you looked hot in your all-black ensemble: bustier style top with woven skeleton design and fitted cargos. from the moment you walked in people had noticed you, you'd felt their gazes following you all night.

the surge of people surrounding you, the energy of the room was electric - making you feel just as free as the whiskey shot coursing through your veins. you looked into the crowd, something peculiar amongst the throngs of people catching your eye - a guy dressed as a clown.

he was staring at you, a shiver running through you as you suddenly stilled, returning his gaze, captivated by his almost glowing green eyes. though it wasn't unusual to see what most people would deem outlandish or weird outfits in the party and alternative scenes you were apart of, your gut told you this guy was different. there was something about him you instantly recognized as uncanny, though you couldn't figure out why.

his gaze widened as he grinned at you. as stunned as you were - your heartbeat faultering as it quickened and it felt as though you stopped breathing, the action that usually came naturally, without any forethought. you were shaken by how attracted you were to him, how deeply and suddenly you needed him.

your friend had noticed you frozen beside her, asking if you were okay. somehow you were able to compose yourself enough to reply. "yeah, i'm fine. thanks," you shouted over the music. "i'm going to the bathroom." she nodded, and you had noticed the slight curious furrowing to her brows, but she didn't inquire any further.

you looked back at the man as you headed in the direction of the bathrooms, knowing his watchful eyes were still on you, feeling them following you. you'd waited impatiently to see if he'd take the hint and join you. moments later he emerged from the crowd. you realized how much taller he was than you as he slowly drew closer, towering over your smaller body as he stopped before you, close enough to him pull down for a kiss.

you hesitated under the intensity of his leering expression, wondering for a fleeting moment if you were in danger - the destined prey foolishly inviting the predator close enough for a tragic demise.

"what's your name?"

the man gave a surprised countenance, wagging his finger and nodding. he took your hand, holding it up to trace "A-R-T" a letter at a time onto your palm. you were taken aback by the gentleness and intimacy of the gesture, your concern forgotten completely under the touch of his surprising soft hands.

"art?" you said, touching his face with your free hand. art nodded, slowly dropping your hand. there was something about him that made you trust him, another unexplainable detail about this strange man.

you turned to push open the women's room door and art stepped in after you, just as a girl left one of the stalls, gaping in surprise when she noticed the large clown man standing in the ladles room. she glanced at you and quickly stepped past, trying and failing to hide the smirk at the realization of what was likely to happen once she left, washing her hands and making her swift exit.

you locked the door, grabbing art's face and finally pulled him down for a kiss. his hands immediately gripped your narrow waist and he walked you over to the sinks, lifting you onto the counter. all the while your lips locked deep passionate kisses, pulling moans and whines from your throat. you'd noticed art didn't make a sound, amused at his dedication to the silent clown shtick. you wanted to make him feel so good he couldn't help but groan and praise you with words of affectionate degradation.

you broke from the kiss, whining his name, and mercifully he was quick to remove your top and pants. now, fully nude, you leaned back on the counter, his large hands grazing over your stomach and hips, feeling the slight jut of your hip bones, and fitting his hands around your slender waist. his eyes widened as if he liked the size difference too.

you'd been naturally skinny your whole life, and though you mostly ate healthy and exercised, you also did love food and eating, indulging in snacks perhaps a little too often sometimes. you just couldn't keep weight on.

"please," you begged like a desperate whore for him, sitting up to rub your hand over the obscene bulge of his clown costume, shivering in anticipation as you palmed his big dick.

you had always had a size kink, loving the stretch of a long, thick cock inside your tight, pretty pussy.

art's mouth parted in a silent moan.

he turned around, taking off his clown collar, allowing you to unzip his costume, pulling it down and off, revealing his pale, skinny body that you checked out admiringly.

it was even more apparent, despite being so skinny himself, how much bigger and broader he was than you. his slender body in contrast to his thick, long cock, flushed and curving upward.

you got wetter at the sight, and spread your legs, ready for him to sink his cock deep inside you.

instead, art bought his fingers to your pussy, grazing the tips over your labia, before slipping two slender fingers easily inside, flexing to press your g-spot and thumb over your clit.

you heard the locked doorknob turn and persistent knocking. you groaned, "for fuck's sake, use the men's!" the knocking stopped, and art paused his finger's movement momentarily to laugh. the thought of someone going to an employee to unlock the door hadn't occurred to you, and even if it had you wouldn't have cared less.

soon he adds a third digit and you roll your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers. "oh my god," you gasp, already feeling that shivery electricity of impending orgasm running through you. as temping as it was to come all over his hand, you'd much rather prefer doing it on his fat cock. "art, fuck me," you whine, high pitched and pathetic.

art chuckled silently, his shoulders shaking as he grinned, as if to say, "i already am."

impatiently, you sat upright and grabbed his cock and stroked him, his shaft throbbing against your palm. art removes his fingers from you, nodding insistently.

he held a hand on your hip as he steadily pushed inside you, and you moaned needily even while he was fully seated inside you, wanting more of him. art started thrusting inside you, your body jostling with the force, the perfect slide of him moving in and out of you.

art noticed the way his thick shaft bulged through the skin of your stomach, his mouth opening with a silent laugh, pointing in amusement with his free hand.

"you like that, baby?" you cooed, "like seeing this fat clown dick fucking into my small body? wanna claim my tiny womb with your hot, thick loads of cum?"

his hand moved to your stomach to feel his prick shifting under your skin, within the loose grip of his fingers. he pounded into you, the slap of skin-on-skin accompanying your increasing crescendo of moans. you clenched around him repeatedly, unable to help bearing down; you were so close - all conscious thought had left you, to be replaced with only sensations and instincts whose sole purpose was this unfathomable bliss, beyond anything you've ever felt.

suddenly, art came inside you, and you groaned at the feeling of his cum spurting inside you, painting your walls in thick pumping globs.

"art, oh fuck." your head fell back as you creamed around his girth, adding to the mess in your spent pussy. your arm shook, threatening to fall out from under you with the intensity, and art wrapped his arm around you to keep you steady while he pulled out of you. you sighed, completely fucked out but already missing the fullness of him inside you, your hair matted to your sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed crimson.

you hopped off the counter and knelt down to take art's seemingly still hard cock in your mouth, appearing to have no refractory period.

the thought crosses your mind again that this is no ordinary man, that he might not even be a man at all, and the idea hardly fazed you. you loved horror and crytids, had considered yourself a certified monster fucker in the hypothetical sense, and now perhaps you were, in the very literal sense, too.

you sucked hard at the head, the combined taste of his and your cum bursting on your tastebuds. you'd stretched your mouth around his girth, ducking down about halfway, bobbing repeatedly, while twisting your hands around the rest of him. your tongue massaged along the underside as you sank down completely, nose pressing against his pelvis.

usually you didn't have much of a gag reflex, but art is so massive you have to fight it back, loving the weight on your tongue, the fullness of his girth in your mouth and down your throat too much not to resist.

you swallow around him, flickering your gaze up to watch his head falling back, gaunt face twisted in pleasure. your pussy throbbed at how hot he looks, matching the hot pulse of his shaft between your lips.

suddenly the locked doorknob jostles again, followed by the jangling of keys. you draw back enough to stare up at art, giggling and kissing at his slit, and art joins in your laughter. neither of you bother to make any attempts to cover yourselves, nor care about the consequences.

-------

sorry for the sudden ending, i suppose it's up to y'all to decide for yourselves what the consequences were. ofc art would kill whoever interrupted them and whoever else tried to stop him🙈

anyway, thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed, if you did like, reblog, and/or comment, i'd really appreciate it! 🖤

© clownyclaushoe 2025

[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.

[anyamaris]

Title: Antithesis

Pairing: Serial Killer!Hoseok x F!Reader

Summary: Your dream of seeing the glorious capital city has long been snuffed out as you find yourself outside the walls. Lawlessness and chaos reign as you find yourself imprisoned by the very people you thought you could trust. A fated encounter with a mysterious man sets you on a path that is much different than you ever could have imagined.

Word Count: 18742

Genre/Trope: Dystopian horror au-smut/angst

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: VERY heavy dark content trigger warning. This is a villain collab so read at your own risk. Adult language, vulgarity, blood, murder, captivity, dystopian themes, lawless society, graphic descriptions of torture and murder, allusions to a multitude of past traumas, mentions of human trafficking, very vague allusions to mistreatment of innocents (women and children), mentions of rebellion, reader is a bit of a masochist, unprotected sex, blood play, I mean he's a serial killer...obvious MDNI

A/N: This fic is my contribution to the Year of the Snake collab I was lucky enough to get an invite to! Thank you to @sanjoongie for including me and to all the other authors for this amazing and fun experience! I'd work with all of you again without hesitation.

Also, thank you so much to @pars-ley @frenchkisstheabyss @yoonguurt and @potatomountain for beta reading and helping me along the way, I couldn't have done this without you. @daemour is the genius behind the gorgeous banner as well. Thank you so much! And my always lovely @cafekitsune for the dividers.

I listened to alot of dark themed music for this, but especially Man On Fire by Ateez, it fits this Hoseok perfectly.

Consciousness permeates the deep black of sleep in the form of screams.

Wet, ripping noises cut through the fog.

Your head throbs in time with the steady thump of your heart, the desperate cries and pleading surrounding your entire being.

I’m too tired to beg anymore, you think.

So just stop.

Yet, the shrieks grow in volume, an almost eerie music blended with the low, soft humming beneath it all.  

A soggy plop fills the room around you and the screams are cut off with harsh gasping.

I can’t-

Wait.

Your throat works as you slowly open your eyes to the truth.

I’m not the one screaming this time, your brain informs you.

It takes long moments for you to process the insanity playing out before your dry, bloodshot eyes.

The normally dark room is illuminated by a three legged lamp, acting as a spotlight.

The scene it’s currently lighting up defies logic, your brain unable to comprehend what it is that’s happening.

The long, lean form of what you assume is a man hovers over a larger form, his back to you.

Rivulets of liquid trickle from the blade gripped in his hand as he lowers it over and over.

“You FUCK-” the prone form cries out, then the knife descends again, coaxing out yet another scream.  

What the hell was going on?

“Fuck you-” the large man, who you now recognize as your captor, screeches.

Throat tight, hands clenching, you can only watch with a numb fascination as this unknown man wreaks havoc on this disgusting monster.

Again, you think, as the blade plunges down.

Again, as an arc of blood paints the walls crimson.

AGAIN.

How is he still alive? You wonder, astonished at the weakening pleas.

“Just…kill….me….”

“Kill you? How boring.” the soft voice of the armed man fills the room around you.

Even in your starved and beaten state, you can’t help but admire the musical quality beneath the raspiness.

“Bastard.”

“Tch, such a mundane insult.”

The arm wielding the blade finally halts, the tall form crouching down to start working at something on the injured man.

You try to crane your neck to see what he’s doing, but his back is blocking your view.

Gurgles and moans echo within the room as you watch his back work, seemingly pulling something from the man.

“Fuck-” cuts through the disgusting noises, “Just…take…her then-” 

“Her?” your savior halts his movements, and you can see him cock his head at the man he’s looking down at.

Time seems to still as the room goes quiet.

This is the moment that will stay with you until the day you take your last breath.

This moment.

As if in slow motion, his head slowly swivels around, following the gaze of the horrid man who's held you here for who knows how long.

Damp tendrils cling to his forehead, trickles of red coloring his face.

The gleam of his white teeth all the more prominent with the carnage painting his skin.

“Well, well, well…I didn’t know I had an audience…” he whispers as his dark eyes meet your own, “Seems I’m not the only monster in the house.” he hums melodically as he studies your form.

Hands bound behind your back, lying on your side, he scrutinizes the variety of cuts and bruises littering your body, eyes narrowing at each new discovery.

“Tch…how pathetic.” he whispers, the depth of his eyes seeming to take on new life as his smile fades.  

“What’s that?” he asks, finally breaking the hold he has over you with his gaze as he turns back to the gurgling mess of a man before him.

I should be feeling fear, you think.

Terror at what this butcher is doing right before your eyes.

Yet, you can only watch gleefully as he yanks and tears at one of the horrible men who put you in your current situation.

Someone you once called “friend”.

Even if you die in the next few moments, you refuse to deny yourself the pleasure of listening to this monster’s screams and pleas.

Not once when you begged for mercy did they ever relent.

Elation thrums through you as his watery screams fill your ears in a heavenly song.

A harsh sound joins the chorus as your body jerks, straining to see the performance going on before you.

The unknown man’s head swivels back to you, eyes curious as a lopsided smile twitches his mouth.

It’s then that you realize that croaking laugh is your own.

The streets of this forsaken city were narrow, the nauseating scent of debris and rot pungent as the filth called humans brush past you.  

Shaking off the haze of your vision, you choke down the bile threatening to rise up at the disgusting smells around you.  

For all you knew, all you did was add to the stench.  

Rubbing your chafed wrists, your eyes stay locked on the solitary figure ahead of you as he brushes past the bustle around him.

For some reason you can’t understand, the murderous deity that unlocked your cage and freed you simply walked away without a single word to you.

Perhaps it’s because he rescued you…perhaps it’s just the lack of having anywhere else to go, but here you are; following a man who just eviscerated a living being right in front of your eyes.

You blink as he turns down a narrow alley in the distance, breathing ragged as you rush to catch up.  

You’re unsure what you hope to accomplish in trailing him, you had been lucky enough to not have become his second victim of the evening when he turned his back and walked out.

Rational thoughts don’t exist in this horrible world, you think, reaching out to steady yourself on the jagged rock wall of the alley as your head swims.

It’s a struggle just to keep your eyes open as you slowly make your way down the darkened path, straining to find a glimpse of that white jumpsuit.  

The lack of dirty yellow street lights down the narrow alley doesn’t lend to accomplishing your goal, and you find yourself sinking to your knees on the wet pavement as a wave of dizziness washes over you. 

Closing your eyes in agony, grimy liquid seeps into the fabric of your pants as your legs finally give, feeling the rush of the void coming to claim you.

Here it is, freed just to die in the streets-

You barely register the footsteps accompanied by the deep, weary sigh before everything goes black.

“Well…fuck.”

Your first sense of the afterlife is the sound of a soft humming fan, a cool breeze washing over you as sharp pain rips through your skull.

Confused, you wrench open your eyes, grateful for the dim light as you take in a deep, relieved breath.

Obviously, pain doesn’t exist in death, or so you hope-therefore, you must still be amongst the living.

Reaching down to push yourself up into a sitting position, you register the soft feel of the surface you’re resting on as you glance at your surroundings.

Rubbing your hand down the thigh of your pants, you are stunned to find them almost dry. 

The memory of the fabric soaking through as you fell is pretty vivid in your mind, the knowledge that you should be shivering to death in a frigid, grungy alley making your head spin.  

Swinging your legs off what appears to be a narrow cot, you push down the thin blanket that is covering you as your gaze brushes over the sparse room you’ve come to occupy.

Well, you aren’t chained up or incapacitated at all, so that is a good sign already.

The glow of a soft light is coming from the half open door across from you, and as your vision clears, you take in the crate perched next to the cot that the fan sits upon; the thick little throw rug that seems so out of place as your bare feet sink into its plushness.

For a moment, you just stare down as your toes wiggle in the soft fibers, blanking out as you take stock of the state of your feet.  

What a strange thing to concentrate on, you think.

Their ragged appearance helps you focus, though, pondering things as you take stock of every cut and bruise.

Someone definitely brought you here, and while this looks like a cell of sorts, the open door goes against that idea of confinement.

Slowly drawing yourself back to reality from your wandering daze, you bring your hand up to your aching head.

Curiously, your fingertips brush over the rough surface of what seems to be a bandage, causing even more confusion to race through your mind.  

Someone had come across you in that alley and had brought you back to a clean, quiet room.

Instead of assaulting you, or murdering you, they’d administered first aid as well.  

What the fuck is going on? You ponder, inhaling deeply to calm yourself, then letting it out gently.  

Curling your toes once more in the lush rug, you take a moment to listen to the noises surrounding you.  

Or lack thereof.  

Apart from the soft hum of the fan, you can’t hear anything but tranquil silence.  

You lick your parched lips, ignoring the scowls from your stomach from hunger; lack of food isn't a new difficulty for you.

This silence is though.

Silence like this was eerie, almost deafening relative to the cacophony you are used to in your daily life.

Ignoring the variety of aches and pains from injuries you’ve long gotten used to, you make your way slowly to the door and whatever lies beyond it.

Tentatively, you peek through the opening momentarily before slowly opening it the rest of the way.

Confusion and relief wash through you simultaneously as you take stock of your surroundings.

The large open area is clean, sparsely furnished and void of any living creatures, two legged or more.

What appears to be an abandoned subway car sits across the room, drawing your gaze as you make your way into the huge space.  

Glancing back, you notice that the door you’ve emerged from is one of two doors next to one another and the large area appears to be kind of like a common area.  

Your feet make tiny little slap noises as you pad across the cold tile, avoiding the small areas that are carpeted as you don’t want to dirty them.  

Whoever lives here seems to value their cleanliness and you aren’t going to tread upon their seeming kindness by not murdering you or worse.  

With that thought, you take stock of your soiled and tattered clothing along with the lack of any footwear.  

“Great.” you mutter, wiping your palms along your thighs just to frown at the way the dried mud flakes off.  

Before you can process how to clean the little mess you just made, and eventually yourself, the door to the subway car creaks open with a metallic groan.  

Your heart flutters in your chest as you recognize the man standing in the doorway staring back at you.

Freezing in place you can only gape, eyes wide, at the man who just a day ago was elbow deep in that scumbags entrails.  

The murderer who tortured your captor and ex-friend until his screams finally faded into nothingness.

He looks much different without the bloodspattered white jumpsuit, wearing a dark hoodie and beanie and a normal pair of jeans.  

Time seems to still as he studies you, his stoic face not giving away any emotion as you struggle to figure out what to say to him.

Swallowing heavily, you feel your cheeks heat as you finally sputter out, “I’m sorry about the mess….” 

His eyes follow your hand as you gesture at your appearance, your clothing and the flakes of dirt on the floor before you, yet he gives you no reaction.

“There’s a shower over there,” he flicks his hand to your right, drawing your attention to a door leading to another room, “Food is in the fridge. You can find something to wear in the closet here.” 

He jerks his thumb behind him, into the railcar he had emerged from.  

You merely nod, a bewildering mess of emotions swirling within you.

You didn’t feel any fear in his presence, only the obvious wariness of the unknown and it confused you greatly.  

This man had killed right before your eyes and seemed to enjoy it…yet he’d also saved your life twice and was now offering you the simple comfort of food and cleanliness.

“Clean yourself up, get your energy back.  I’ll be out for a bit and I expect you to be gone when I get back.”

His words are terse, but not angry.  

Clinical, simple, detached.

You hesitate, but then give him a single nod before he turns on his heel and leaves back through the door.

He wasn’t what you’d expected based on your first impression of him.

To be fair, he was elbow deep in entrails as he tortured your captor before snuffing his life out.

A few moments pass as you listen to his footsteps recede after another door opens and shuts, then you bring your hand up to touch your probably filthy face.

Gross, you think, finally finding your feet turning towards the prospect of a hot shower.  

At least you hope it’s hot.  

The room you find yourself in is completely tiled, both walls and floor, and there’s a drain in the center.

A partition leads to a sink and a toilet and you make quick use of both before taking one of the fresh towels from a small shelf before shedding your disgusting clothing and bandages before turning on the water.

After a moment you tentatively stick your hand into the flow of water and you sigh happily at the warmth.

Stepping into the glorious stream, you let out a shameless moan of pleasure as layers of caked on mud and filth begin to wash down the drain.  

You almost revel in the way the hot water stings each and every little cut and bruise, reminding yourself that you’re safe and alive and that’s all that matters.

Spotting a little shelf with soaps and such, you set about cleansing yourself without any haste, wanting to prolong the inevitable.

Steam fills the room as you ponder what in the world you’re going to do when you leave here, given everything that has happened.

Prior to finding yourself in that cage, your life didn’t look so bleak.

Well…not as bleak as being told you’re going to be forced into paying your debts with your body.

Forcing down the anxiety that keeps trying to crawl up your throat, you focus on scrubbing yourself thoroughly.  

It’s been ages since you’ve gotten a true shower, without disgusting calloused hands washing you, or their prying eyes gazing at you full of lustful thoughts.

When you’d decided to come to the city from your rural home, the last thing you expected was to be where you are now, running from the very people you called ‘friends’.

What kind of friends convince you that their ‘help’ is from a place of care, only to use basic human needs against you?

When they’d set you up with a place to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear you truly believed the best of them.

You’d trusted them, leaned on them naively and really thought despite the squalor of it all that you could make a life here.

It wasn’t the glamorous life that you’d been told about back in your childhood, it was nothing like what you’d read and dreamt of.

Yet, you found people you thought you could rely on.  

Memories of the night you’d been awoken by them, yanked out of your tiny room to be told that it was time to pay up flit through your mind.

Tears prick your eyes to mix with the moisture in the air as you hum softly to yourself, trying to soothe away the terrible thoughts.  

Lathering your hair, you find comfort in the way the soap streams down your face to sting your eyes.  

It was better than hopeless tears that did nothing for you.

Pushing away the useless thoughts, you focus on cleansing each and every crevice as if it’s a sacred ritual before you sacrifice yourself to your fate.

By the time you’ve finished, the water is going tepid and you let out a soft sigh as you reach out to turn the water off.  

Slowly, you grab a fluffy towel from a shelf and slowly dry yourself as you try to make your mind blank enough to enjoy these small moments before you have to leave.

Once you’ve dried your hair enough, you wrap the towel around yourself and make your way out to the main area.  

Picking through the tangles, you go over to the door that leads into the area the man had said clothing could be found.  

Opening the heavy door, you step into a long room furnished with shelves and a large closet at the end.  

There’s a desk at the other end, with a computer and some technological devices you don’t recognize.

It’s not abnormal, given your upbringing in the country, there are many things you haven't seen before coming to the city.

Ignoring the unknown items, and not wanting to snoop in someone else's space, you head to the closet and open it up to find a neat array of clothing stacked and hung.

You take a moment to admire how meticulous and neat this man is, in such opposition to how you first viewed him, kneeling and covered in your captor’s entrails.

Shaking away the memory, you reach out to touch various items, finally settling on a soft pair of jogging pants and a black tshirt.

Hopefully it fits, you think, dropping the towel to pull on the clothing.

The pants easily slide over your once well shaped ass, drawing a frown from you.

You’d lost weight from being starved and while you never cared too much about your body, it was obvious that prior to coming here that these pants may not have fit. 

Shrugging the thought off, you toss on the shirt, lamenting the loss of undergarments.

There was no way you were putting back on the filthy torn panties or remnants of a bra that now lie in the bathroom.  

On that note, you rush back to clean up your mess, too thankful for your host’s hospitality to leave any mess in your wake.  

After a bit of rummaging, you find a small trash bag to dispose of your old clothing, vowing to return these clothes once you’ve made it safely somewhere you can start over.

Your stomach rumbles loudly as you tie off the bag and set it near the door to take with you when you leave.

“Right…food…” you hum after returning to make sure the shower area is cleaned out.

A small fridge sits in a small kitchen area in one corner of the room, and you smile softly as you peer inside.

Everything is so neat and orderly, just like everything else in here.

You grab the closest thing to your outstretched hand, grasping something cylindrical and closing the fridge before making your way to the little table nearby.  

Unwrapping it, you don’t even hesitate before taking a large bite, eyes closing as the taste of spices, meat and veggies wash over your palate.  

It has been ages since you’ve been able to enjoy the simple act of eating, bathing, just breathing freely and you find yourself wiping at your eyes as you make your way through the wrap.

It doesn’t take long for you to finish the meal, sniffling a bit as you clean up and finally look around the place your savior calls home.  

It was a very simple living space that was uncluttered, neat and clean.  

In your mind, the most lavish homes described in the books you’ve read can’t compare to how safe and secure this place makes you feel right now.

It was going to be horrible to leave this behind. 

Swallowing heavily, you drag your feet as you venture back into the room you’d awoken in, making the bed and checking to make sure you haven't left anything out of place.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t do much about your filthy state before you bathed, but you didn’t want to take too many liberties with trying to strip the sheets or anything.

You have a suspicion that the kind killer that brought you here isn’t going to want you snooping around, even if it is for the purpose of trying to launder some dirty bedding.

You make a point to take a cloth near the sink over to wipe up the dried mud you’d trickled onto the floor before disposing of it.

Hesitantly, you eye the door leading back into the long room, and to the door that leads out of this sanctuary.

“It’s okay, it’ll be fine.” you self soothe, rubbing your palms over your thighs as you linger a moment longer.

Gathering your courage, you suck in a breath and walk decisively to the door, grabbing the bag with your old clothing as you make your way out.

Thrusting open the outside door, your breath catches as you realize that it’s not a door to the outside.

You stare at the abandoned subway station platform, pillars casting shadows as far as you can see down each side before terminating in a dark stairway upwards to the horrible streets above.

Your heart thrums in your throat as you contemplate what awaits you.

Vision swimming, you suddenly sway on your feet, hand still clamped onto the door handle as ringing in your ears threatens to overwhelm and deafen you.  

A strangled cry erupts from your throat as you stumble, doing your best to steady yourself against the doorframe before you’re bolting back into the living area.

You barely register the heavy slam of the door as you rush back inside, dropping the trash bag as you find the nearest corner to slump down in a heap.  

Closing your eyes, you bury your face in your hands as you do your best to hold back panicked tears.

You know you need to leave but…

You’d almost rather suffer an unknown fate from the man who resides here than return to the streets above.

You have no idea how much time has gone by when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing once more.

Your body aches from being curled up tightly on the floor, trying to force yourself to get up and leave yet being unable to.

The thunk of the inner door sounds, then the sound of footsteps coming closer before halting nearby.

“Tch...I thought I told you to leave?”

His raspy voice greets your ears, and you finally raise your head and remove your hands to peek up at him.

Taking a deep breath, you try to muster your thoughts, glancing towards the exit before settling your eyes back on him.

His dark eyes study you, but you sense no malice in them as he takes stock of your state.

He crouches down beside you, tilting his head at you without saying another word.

Hesitantly, you try to wet your chapped lips, frantically searching for a way to respond.

“I…I tried…” you whisper, your own voice sounding foreign to your ears.  

His lips twitch down into a deeper frown as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You tried? Interesting.” He says, his eyes lingering on your bare, injured feet, “I’d think a captive little bird would want to fly away at her first chance.”

Letting out a resigned sigh he pushes himself back to his full height, towering over you as he seems to ponder what to do.

“Thank you for the food and the shower and-” You start to ramble, desperate to convey your gratitude for everything he’s allowed so far.

He hums and waves off your stuttering thanks, glancing around at the state of the space.

“At least you’ve cleaned up after yourself.” He says, toeing the trash bag filled with your discarded clothing.  

You can only stare up at him as he looks around, then settles those curious eyes back on you.  

“One night.” He all but growls out, holding up a finger to punctuate his words.

Your heart leaps into your throat at the offer.

“One night, then you’re gone.  Don’t make a mess.  Don’t touch what you shouldn’t.” 

Eagerly, you nod at him, scrambling to your feet as he speaks.  

A brief respite before the inevitable yet any time you can put between you and the real world is gladly accepted.

You lean over to grab your bag of soiled clothing, clutching it to your chest before rushing to the door of the room you’d awoken in.

His soft yet stern voice halts you before you can hide away.

“And one more thing, little bird.”

You turn to stare at him, ignoring the way your hands shake at his tone.

“If you don’t leave tomorrow…I’ll kill you.”  

There’s a weight to his words that freezes your tongue momentarily, only allowing you to nod briefly before giving him a small smile.  

His face is stoic, yet there’s a glint to his eyes that tells you he’s not making an idle threat.

“Thank you.” is all you say, turning with tears in your eyes before retreating into the little room you’ve already come to cherish.  

Hoseok just stares as you disappear into his bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.

“Thank you?” he grumbles, shaking his head in confusion.

What a strange creature, he thinks, heaving out a weary sigh as he turns to grab some food.

When he’d gotten the alert earlier on his watch that the outer door had been breached, he’d been certain that you’d left and he wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore.

Yet, there you were, crouched in a corner like a broken animal.

He’s witnessed this city breaking some of the hardest hearts, and here you were, invading his private world like a wounded dove with a broken wing.  

People like you didn’t belong here, and the sooner he could chase you out, the better.

Fighting against the pity he feels when he comes across your kind, he focuses on eating then heading into his makeshift office to check in with the others.

The last thing he needs is some innocent, fragile bystander getting in the way of the bigger objective.

She’ll be gone tomorrow, he thinks, sparing one last glance back at his bedroom before returning to his routine.

After waking from a long, restful sleep, you go through the motions to leave.

Trying to psych yourself up, you barely make it to the outer door before rushing back in once again.

“Looks like I’ve chosen death.” You whine to the empty room as you force yourself out of the corner you find yourself in yet again.

Trying to shake off the anxiety lingering from the prospect of going back home, you find yourself looking around a bit more.

He said don’t touch what I shouldn’t, you remember, poking around a bit.  

Certainly he wasn’t implying everyday things within his home.  

You aren’t disrespectful enough to go opening drawers and snooping, but you do take stock of things that are on display.

Not that it’s much; he seems to live fairly simply.

There’s a couch and a chair in the common area, and the kitchenette area is clean and neat.  

It’s such a  stark contrast to what you’re used to.

Your own rented room is barely the size of a closet, you think idly as you wander into the bathroom area to clean up a bit.

By the time you finish washing up, you find yourself eyeing the door that leads into the subway car.  

“I’m not going to touch anything, just look around.” you say out loud, as if asking for permission from the air around you.

Hesitating for only a moment, you open the heavy door and step into the room.  

It appears that he’s converted the car into an office area of sorts; the area where you’d gotten the clothes has a very organized area for shoes, clothing, supplies and storage.  

It’s the other end that makes you realize this is likely what he was referring to.

You still have no idea what they are for, nor do you plan on going any closer to figure it out.

What makes you curious though is that he’s obviously set himself up below ground, in this abandoned area yet he has equipment that looks as if it’s not easy to come by.

Mind your business, you chastise yourself, turning to go back inside.

There’s no reason to cross any lines here.  

Besides, you need to steel yourself and attempt to finally leave.

Just the thought has you almost spiralling back into a panic attack, and you close your eyes and breath slow and deep.

This is definitely not the life you had planned for yourself.

Back in what you used to call home, the books you’d grown up reading had spoken of the iconic city life and the luxuries that were abundant if you were only able to get there.

It had glossed over the fact that it was basically impossible to get inside the city walls.

These writings had omitted how the world that went on outside this utopian city was filled with lawlessness and chaos.

Your naivety had driven you to leaving behind the tiny, simple world you’d known up to that point into a nightmare of violence, fear and anarchy.

You can only mourn the innocence you once possessed before your world was upended by coming here.

It has been only a year, you think, yet how different I am from that horribly gullible girl.  

You could make silly wishes about doing things differently, if only you had the chance; yet deep down you know that it’s just the way it is.

Never meeting the group of people you’d once called friends wouldn’t matter as you know inherently that everyone you may have fallen victim to would be the same.

Your heart still pangs at how easily you’d trusted.

At least back on the farm with the other orphans you had people who were like you.

Unfortunately you fear that you’re becoming more and more like the hollow husks of people you live amongst now.

Why in the world would you ever want to leave this safe haven you’ve stumbled into?

The moment you begin to think of the man who’d brought you here, it’s as if you’ve summoned him.

Your stomach drops as you hear the sound of the outer door opening.

Would he follow through and kill you?

Honestly, that scares you far less than the fate you’d suffer outside of here.

The inner door opens and you’re instantly struck by his sharp gaze as his eyes meet yours.

He’s wearing a dark jumpsuit this time, but the fine blood spatter on his face alludes to what the darker patches are on his clothing.

Yet, you can’t help but ogle his unique good looks.

Of course I’m crushing on a murderer, you think grimly, I’m that fucked up.

He pauses, tongue in cheek as he studies you, tilting his head as if observing a specimen.

You have to remind yourself to breathe as he finally moves, making his way over to set down a bag he’s carrying.  

“You don’t listen well.” He finally says, back to you as he goes into the kitchenette area to wash his hands. 

You take a moment to think about your response, wondering if they might be your last words.

Honestly, for some reason, you didn’t feel terror or regret.  

At least I can look at his handsome face as he eviscerates me.

Pushing away your dark, twisted fantasies, you mentally slap yourself and finally answer him.

“I don’t.  I…” you start, but find yourself fumbling for a valid reason.

At least one that could spare you another day.

He turns and takes stock of you, looking you up and down before just clucking his tongue and giving you a small shrug.

“You’re lucky I don’t like making a mess in my own home.  Just stay out of my way.” he tells you, giving you a stern look before he’s walking past you into the bathroom.  

As the door shuts, you breathe out a sigh of relief and retreat into the bedroom, eager to not squander the time he’s given you.

Tomorrow, for sure.

For a week, the days play out much the same.  

You attempt to leave, you have a panic attack, you hug the corner you’ve now come to call your home.

In an interesting twist, the man has provided food, tossing a bag at you each day he’s come back.  

He’s stopped threatening you, seeming to begrudgingly be giving you the time you need to leave on your own.  

You’ve made it a point to clean up after yourself, of course, even going so far as to deep clean the areas you make use of.  

Life is pretty boring yet that in and of itself is a relief.

It’s much better than the living above, running errands and trying to make any kind of earnings only to be locked in a cage and told you’re going to be sold for your body.

He’s even left what seems to be his own clothing daily in the bathroom for you, and he’d even shown you a small little area behind the kitchen area that housed a laundry room.

How the hell does this man have so much and how did he even get it in here?

Those are questions you leave unasked for the time being, not wanting to push it.

He’s already done so much for you.

There is one question you need to ask, even if he refuses to answer you.

You tentatively approach him one evening as he sits on the couch, fiddling with your hands as he turns to eye you, seeming to sense your presence.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice raspy and tired.

You wonder offhandedly what he does when he goes out.

Besides the whole cutting people up part of course.

Clearing your throat, you take a breath and finally ask.

“What is your name?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, frowning in thought as he studies you.

He’s not going to tell me-

“Hoseok. My name is Hoseok.” He says easily, turning back to type on his phone.

“Hoseok.” You repeat, appreciating the name.  

The silence stretches as you ponder what other little things he may be willing to answer before you feel him staring at you.

“Interesting…and here I thought you’d offer me your name even if I didn’t ask, little bird.” He muses, tilting his head in curiosity at you.

“Oh…I-” you begin, yet stop yourself, shaking your head.  

Thoughts of the woman you used to be has you answering honestly.

“I don’t want to use that name anymore.  I...there are things I want to leave behind.”  You finally answer.  

He just hums, then nods slightly as if in thought. 

“Fair enough…it’s not as if you’ll be sticking around for me to use it.” he says, returning to looking at his phone.

He’s right, you think.  

“I don’t mind ‘little bird’ though.” You tell him, drawing his attention again.  

“Also, I wanted to thank you for being so kind-” 

He makes an almost disgusted sound in his throat, shaking his head and motioning for you to stop talking. 

“Don’t pull that ‘you’re my savior’ bullshit on me. You can’t be delusional enough to think I’m anything but another monster in a sea of monstrosities.  Just don’t get in my way.”  

His words seem harsh, and you recognize their objective truth, yet you still are beyond grateful to him.  

Perhaps it’s remnants of your once trusting nature, perhaps it’s that small glimmer of hope that not everyone in this disgusting world is an uncaring beast.  

You just silently agree, wandering off to make yourself scarce but you can’t help the little smile that curls your lips.

“Fuck, don’t you get bored?” Hoseok asks, plopping down his bag as he spots you cleaning in the kitchen.  

The only thing helping you keep time with the days passing is his coming and going, and at this point you’ve been lingering here nearing two weeks.

You turn to look at him, using your forearm to wipe at your nose.

Tonight he’d chosen the white jumpsuit and you take a moment to admire the artful pattern of crimson he has spattered all over himself.

Pushing away how fucked up that thought is, you just shrug.

“I used to read all the time, when I was back home.” you respond, finding yourself thinking back on the days spent losing yourself to colorful stories and imagining what the world was like.

He lingers at your words, watching you quietly as you continue.

“I grew up on a farm, lots of orphaned kids who worked the land.  It was pretty boring outside of the daily chores...I wasn’t aware of how hard it is to actually come by books.  One of our overseers had a small library and I would sneak them out sometimes.” you ramble, reminiscing.  

He doesn’t encourage you to continue, yet he doesn’t stop you nor does he walk away.  

Taking that as a cue, you just go back to cleaning the counter as you talk.

“It’s funny, though, the way they portray the city.  I came here thinking that it was a wondrous and glamorous world, so much better than life in the country. I suppose it still could be inside. They don’t go into what it’s like on the outskirts.” 

He snorts, shaking his head as you look over at him in curiosity. 

“Just because something is glamorous doesn’t mean it’s not rotten to its very core.  You’d be surprised at how pretty the most rotten fruit can be.” 

He seems to catch himself after he speaks, huffing in annoyance as he turns and leaves the room to go into the subway car.

You ponder his words, wondering what he knows about it.

You don’t mean to eavesdrop on Hoseok, yet it seems he’s slowly lowering his guard around you; that or he just doesn’t care about you listening.

On occasion, you’ve overheard him speaking to someone as you go about trying to stay out of his way.

Or a number of someones, you think, picking up what appear to be names here and there.

Joon, Yoongi, Tae-something…each time you hear him speaking, you catch a hint of them making some kind of plans.

For some reason, you’d assumed by his reserved nature that he functioned alone, yet apparently he has contacts of some sort.

You do your best to retreat either into the room or into the bathroom to shower at these points.  

There’s no reason to give him the impression that you’re nosy; until you can muster the courage to leave, you want to do your best to be non intrusive.  

He could still end up killing you in the end, waiting until you’ve left only to follow you and kill you away from his sacred space.  

It only gives me even more reason to stay.

“What’s this?” you ask, eyeing the box Hoseok pushes into your arms one day.

He looks away, not meeting your eyes as he shrugs and answers, “Sick of you wearing my clothes. Just some shit I found.”

You watch him as he wanders off, unable to conceal the way your heart leaps into your throat.

Gradually, he’s seemed less annoyed at your ongoing presence; even if it is delusion, you’ve started to fool yourself into thinking that maybe he’s even come to enjoy seeing you.

As much as his forever humourless face can depict any happiness.

Rushing off to the room, you gleefully pick through the contents, cooing over the items within.

They're nothing fancy but the clothing is wearable and there are even undergarments within that appear to be new.  Cheap, but unworn.  

Folding them as if they’re the finest silk, you place them aside and continue to look through the box.

There’s even a dress within; a cute little spring green dress with a black bow.  

It reminds you of the vibrant grasslands back home.  

Quite opposite of the dingy browns and greys of this grimy city.

Smiling, you set about folding each item reverently before picking out a pair of pants and shirt, scurrying off to shower and change. 

You don’t notice the pair of eyes following you, softening at your apparent delight before he’s disappearing into his office.

Every day that passes, you linger longer.

Every night that you don’t leave, Hoseok seems to accept your presence even more.

Your interactions are short, simple yet you’ve found yourself talking to him more openly.

He rarely shares anything, but he never stops you from chattering at him.

It’s been almost a month now.

Since when did it become less about fear and more reluctance? You think, slipping out of the bed you’ve come to start calling your own.

Less and less do you find yourself afraid of going back to your old life.

Your attempts to leave are failing simply because you long to stay.  

That was a dangerous prospect, you ponder, yawning as you open the door to the room.

Your foot connects with something on the ground and you halt, frowning as you look down to see what you almost kicked.

A small tattered book lay on the floor, looking as if it had been propped against the door before you opened it.

Your heart pitter patters as you kneel down to pick it up, barely noting the slight tremble of your hands.

Studying the cover, you smile at the faded picture, then turn it over in awe.

A book.

He’d gotten you a book.

It doesn’t even matter what it’s about, you think as your throat closes and your eyes sting with grateful tears.

“I don’t know how you can stay here, without being bored.” He’d said multiple times at this point.

He remembered.

He remembered the conversation about how you used to love to read.

Books are so hard to come by in this place…the last time you’d been able to actually read a book was long before you’d made your journey here.  

Clutching it tightly to your chest, you stand slowly and wander into the little sitting area in a daze.

Settling yourself onto the couch, you just take some time to admire the gift he’s left for you with open appreciation.

You can feel your cheeks heating and you place your palm against one side of your face as you realize that you’re blushing.

Oh no, you think, shock coursing through you.

Am I…falling for him?

Physically, you recognize his attractiveness despite how he tries to cover himself with baggy clothing and his shaggy hair covering his face.

Yet, you know all too well what it means to trust someone with your emotions.

Still, he has given you shelter and has saved your life more than you could ever repay.

The internal war going on right now isn’t good for your anxiety, so you refocus on the precious gift.

Realizing that he may come back at any time, you decide to try to do something for him in return.

Placing the book ever so delicately on the makeshift table in front of you, you can’t help but smile happily as you head into the kitchen.

He’s always bringing home bags of food from his delivery job, so-

Home?

You blink in terror at how your mind has twisted itself so easily into never leaving this place.

Staying.  

Forget it, I’ll leave soon enough.

For now, just focus on making something nice for him.

Your cooking skills have always been above average, it’s one of the few things you’ve always taken pride in.

Growing up in the countryside on a farm, you definitely know your way around animals and gardens.  

You halt, turning on your heel to rush into your room, rummaging through the box of clothing he’d brought to you and fishing out a dress from the pile. 

You push away the thoughts fighting against this decision, and quickly change into it before heading back into the kitchen.

It’s just a cute little green dress with a bow.

Just another piece of clothing, nothing special.

Sure, of course, you think, shaking your head as you set back to your task.

Gathering what items he has within his pantry and fridge, you turn to pull a large kitchen knife out of a knife block.

“Ohhh…” you murmur, admiring the glinting blade.

Of course all of his sharp objects are honed to perfection, smiling at the thought.

You return to your humming as you set to preparing the ingredients for your meal.

Not long after you start, you hear the tell tale sign of the door opening and closing, signalling Hoseok’s return.

You take your time finishing the current vegetable, a simple green onion, before turning to see what he’s doing. 

Hoseok just stands looking at you, his face unreadable as he stares.

A moment of panic threatens to overwhelm you before you gather your best smile for him.

“I hope it’s alright...I wanted to make a meal for once.  I promise I won’t burn anything or make a huge mess.  I’ll clean up as I go and it’ll look…perfectly…”

Your rambling trails off as he slowly makes his way into the little kitchen next to you.

“You can cook?” He asks, eyeing the neatly chopped onion that you just finished working on.

Your heart lurches at his curiosity, elated that he’s interested and not threatening to kill you for staying yet again.

You just nod as you push the onion to the side, grabbing a carrot as he watches.

He looks so good, you think idly as you try not to stare at him.

Why am I suddenly so nervous near him? You wonder, unable to help glancing at him from the corner of your eye as you start cutting.

“I used to cook all the time before I came to this city…” you tell him, finding yourself rambling on about the mundane life of a farm girl.

He slowly slips around the little counter, seating himself on a stool as he watches and you find yourself just talking to distract yourself from your inner thoughts.

Yet, they just keep breaking through even as you speak faster, scrambling to distract yourself.

How the tendrils of his hair brush against his cheek, the bow of his lips curve downward, his dark eyes fixated on you as if he’s hanging on every word.

Swallowing heavily, you shake yourself out of those kinds of thoughts and turn the conversation to something more important.

“Thank you.” you tell him, the heat creeping up your neck from showing as you duck your head a bit while you prep.

At his curious head tilt, you rush on.

“For the book.  I…it’s been so long since I have even been able to hold one, and you…remembered that I mentioned…” 

You shrug a shoulder as you fumble for the right words.

“And the clothing...I mean, I know you don’t really want me here, and you don’t want me to wear your clothing and I know I’m sleeping in your bed and I’ve been nothing but-” 

Your stammering just makes the heat flare up in your cheeks even more, and you wince at how stupid you likely sound.

Your hand seems to move on its own as you try not to panic.

It was just supposed to be a simple thank you-

Then it happens.

You’re unsure what caused it, whether it was how silly you sound, or how ridiculous you look panicking and trying to distract yourself.

Hoseok is smiling at you.

Your heart seems to drop out of this universe into oblivion as your entire being turns inside out.

You can feel your entire body tense at the sight, his already handsome face lit up brightly with one of the more gorgeous smiles you’ve ever been witness to.  

The transformation is so insanely drastic that you lose track of what your hands are doing and you feel the knife start to slip from your grip.

Without thinking, you scramble to grab it with your other hand, resulting in the stinging pain of the sharp blade against your inner palm.

“Oh fuck-” you gasp, stunned as it clatters to the counter, blood welling up quickly and rushing from the wound to drip onto the counter before you can cover it with your other hand.

The sound of the stool crashing to the ground startles you from your shock, then Hoseok is beside you, grabbing your wrist as crimson wells up through your fingers.

“”Sorry, oh no-I’m so sorry, I made a mess, I will clean it-” 

“Shut up. Calm down.” He all but growls, his eyes locked onto your clasped hands.  

“Alright.” You say tightly, heart beating in time with the pulsing in your hand.

You’re more concerned over upsetting him than you are any pain right now.

Did you just fuck up so badly that he will really force you out this time? You worry, feeling your entire body start to shake.

It’s enough to distract you from just how close he is, how he’s touching you right now.

“You’re going to get it on your dress…shit…” he hums, slowly prying your hands apart.

You can only stand still as he looks your palm over, getting his own hands sticky with your blood without any hesitation.

“I ruined the food-” you say softly, sadly looking at the carefully cut veggies that are now splashed in red.

“Why are you worrying over the fucking food when you’re hurt?” Hoseok snaps, yanking your wrist to turn you towards him, pulling you closer to stare into your eyes.

Blinking at him, even in his apparent anger and concern, you can’t help but admire him.

Fuck he’s so gorgeous.

What is wrong with you? You chastise yourself, even as you revel in how close you are to one another.

“I wanted to thank you by doing something nice, and I only made a mess.” You whisper, unable to stop yourself from leaning into him.

His eyes drift from yours to your wounded palm, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he loosens his grip.

You immediately think he’s going to release you and push you away, but instead he slips his bloodied fingers into your hand, teasing at the injury.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice low and rough as he lightly traces the lines of your palm with his fingertip.  

Dizziness threatens to overwhelm you as your entire body heats from his touch as the pain radiates right down between your thighs.

He seems to notice the momentary swaying as he slips his arm around you, tugging you flush against him without taking his eyes from your hand.

“No.” you finally answer, tightening your thighs together as the press of your bodies give away something you never expected.

Hoseok is hard.

Your body reacts instantly by pressing closer to him before you can think clearly, distracted by the deep need blooming within you.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he shudders, and before you can recover from that, he’s bringing his finger to his mouth.

“Oh god-” You blurt out, clenching so abruptly that you’re grateful for his arm around you or you swear you’d be falling over.

All of your senses rocket into overdrive at this, breath hitching as you slip your free hand up behind his neck.

Finally his gaze flicks back up to your face, his eyes gleaming brightly as he licks the blood from his fingertips.

The sight of his eyes darkening from the taste, his erection pressed against you and throbbing, your blood staining his bottom lip as he sucks on his fingers…

You throw all rational thought out the window and allow your more base desires to take over.  

Not taking your eyes from his, you force your injured hand between your bodies, and into the front of his pants.  

You’re grateful that he’s wearing something loose as you bloody his naked lower stomach, eagerly seeking his cock.

An almost animalistic noise forces its way out of him as your wet sticky hand finally encircles his dick, immediately stroking along the length.  

“Fucking hell-” He growls, thrusting eagerly into your hand.  

The motion brings forth more hot blood, coating his cock and stinging your wound. 

Your panties soak through in the confusion of pleasure and pain, causing you to moan loudly at the sensation.

“Goddamnit-” Hoseok rasps, turning and lifting you onto the counter and forcing your legs open.  

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as he pushes down his pants, exposing the crimson mess of his cock you jerk him off.

He lets out a guttural groan and you can feel him throbbing in your hand as he pushes your thighs further apart.

The sounds of your combined heavy breathing, moans and cries fill the room as he yanks your panties to the side, his eyes frantically flitting between your face, his bloodied cock and your exposed pussy.

His breathing hitches as the motion of his hips stutters at the sight and without thinking, you slide your hand around his neck to wrap your fingers around his throat.

“Come-” You command, and a string of curses greet your pleas before he’s gripping your hips and crying out as he bursts all over you in a hot flood.  

Your motions don’t stop even as his entire body begins to shake from the sensation, basking in the feeling of him coming all over you in spurts of white.  

Your grip on his throat loosens as his shaky breathing starts to slow, his eyes hooding over as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours. 

A moment ticks by, then another as you both hover in the aftermath.

Before you can say another word, Hoseok seems to come to his senses, pushing away from you abruptly.

“What the fuck-” He stumbles back, and you’re momentarily distracted by the red stain your hand left on his throat.

“Hoseok-?” You ask in bewilderment, the sudden shift in the mood startling you.

“Why…what the fuck….?!” He snaps, bending to yank up his pants, eyes wild as he looks at you.  

A pang in your chest threatens to suffocate you at his reaction, rationality finally returning as he hastily turns and rushes out.  

The sounds of the doors slamming mark his exit, and you’re left seated on the counter, legs spread wide, covered in a mess of sticky come and blood and shaking from this senseless lust.

You feel the tears wet your cheeks before you realize that you’re crying, reaching up to brush them away, only to leave behind a sticky mess of blood in your hand’s wake.

What the hell did you just do? 

What happened?

A flood of emotions crashes into you all at once; disgust at your actions, humiliation at his reaction to you, shame threatening to drown you in all of it.  

You slip off the counter, lower lip quivering as you feel your legs wobble beneath the sudden weight. 

Steadying yourself, you take a moment to gather your thoughts, mind racing at what to do.

You didn’t expect any of this, you only wanted to thank him.

Yet all you did was act like a common whore, letting lust get the better of you and ruining everything.

Tugging down the hem of your dress, you grit your teeth and try to bite back the tears that threaten to overwhelm you.

Right now, you have to do the right thing and get the hell out of here.

Forget the mess you’re leaving behind, all you can think of is fleeing right now, getting as far away as possible.

There’s no way you can face him when he comes back.

This time, it's your fault and the disgust you feel at yourself right now is more powerful than any fear.

You blindly make your way out the doors, finally stepping onto the platform and letting the door close behind you.

Panting heavily, Hoseok finally gets his wits together enough to look around at his surroundings.

He rests a hand against a crumbling brick wall, glancing around the dimly lit alley he’s currently standing in.  

Taking slow, deep breaths, he leans over and closes his eyes to collect his racing thoughts.

An overhead light hums as it flickers on and off, the cacophony of people and vehicles from the main drag almost comforting at this point.

At least it’s something normal, he thinks as he blows out a harsh breath.  

“Fuck.” He curses, balling his hand into a fist and hitting the wall.

He’s not sure what is pissing him off more; that his emotions are so twisted he can’t get ahold of them, or the fact that he bolted immediately after…that.

He isn’t a stranger to physical exchanges, but that’s all they ever are.

A means to an end, a quick nut, then moving on.

It was never anything like what he’d just experienced with you.

Not even burying his blade into the gut of someone inconvenient had ever given him the rush he’d felt with you spread out before him, the delicious noises you were making from just touching him, your bloody hand coating his-

“FUCK!” he shouts, startling some kind of rodent living amongst the trash down the alley.

Normally he wouldn’t be lingering in such a disgusting place but he isn’t in his right mind at the moment.

A flash of your crestfallen face causes him to sink into a crouch and tug at his hair wildly.

Why did he just run out like that?

He can still smell the coppery scent of you on him, his hands tacky with your dried blood.  

He stares down at them, flexing them open and closed as he tries to figure out why the urge to scrub it off isn’t overwhelming him right now.

A shudder rushes through him as he raises his hand to trace where your fingers squeezed his throat, his cock stiff and throbbing already at the recollection.

He’s always in control.

Always.

Except with you.

He’d lost complete control of himself, submitting to his desires…giving in to you.

Impossibly he didn’t loathe it at all and that shakes him to his very core.

He’s suddenly brought out of his spiral by the chime of his watch, indicating that his outer door has been breached.

Spitting out a string of obscenities, he quickly rises to his feet, hand dropping unconsciously to squeeze his crotch to quell the ache.

Surely, you just tried to leave again but probably panicked.

The idea of you crouching in that corner, fear forcing you to make yourself small has his feet moving before he even comprehends what he’s doing.

Certainly, you haven’t left.

Yet with each step, doubt creeps down his spine and before he knows it, he’s all but running back home.

You’re gone.

You’d actually left.

He halts, his heart pounding in his chest as he takes stock of the empty bunker.  

The ruined remnants of the dinner you were preparing lay amidst dark red and brown stains of your drying blood.  

The stool he’d knocked over still lay on the floor, and his eyes catch sight of little drops of blood he’d missed as he rushed in.  

The trail leads right back out the door.

She’d fucking left.

Emotions he’s not familiar with threaten to send him back into a spiral as he spots the tattered book he’d gone through so much to get for you.

Jaw clenching, he forces everything down, setting his mind to what his next steps are.

Day after day, he’d made it a point to tell you to leave, yet now that you’d actually found the courage to do so…

Anger wells up inside of him, making quick work of showering and changing before he’s hastily rushing back out.

He needs to get to the one person he can trust to find you.  

He has to find you.

He will tear this city apart to do so.

You keep wiping your hands into your eyes, trying to wipe away the tears, yet all you do is make them sting painfully with the mess on your hands.

Blood and come, the combination both causes your stomach to flip delightedly but also forces sharp pangs from your chest.

By the time you come to your senses, you’re far from the safety of Hoseok’s place, deep in the mania of the lawless city you’ve come to hate.

Lecherous eyes are everywhere you look, dark scowls and lewd grins threatening to send you screaming back to the security of the bunker.

The problem is, you have no idea how to get back.

Nor do you want to right now, the panic setting in from being exposed like this warring with the humiliation of what just happened.

You can’t deny how much you wanted just that to occur, to be touched by him, to be wanted…

The feeling of being discarded and abandoned hurts you to your very soul, feeling like a lost broken puppy roaming the chaos of the streets.

Increasingly familiar surroundings finally lead you to the tiny little room you called home for the last year.

The fear of your old ‘friends’ finding you is temporarily overridden by the need to get off the streets; at the very least, it’s been long enough that they likely won’t be posted there waiting right now.  

Still, you are cautious as you approach the dilapidated building, slipping quickly yet hopefully stealthily inside and making your way inside through the side door.  

As you finally twist the knob to your room in the way that will jiggle the lock open, you shut the door behind you and press your back to it.

Glancing around, you frown at the mess left behind by the people looking for you.  

The small room is barely a closet, and you didn’t have much to call yours, but they’d found a way to basically destroy it all.

Locking the door behind you, you slowly approach the torn pad you called a bed, sinking down to sit on it.

Exhaustion washes over you as you look down at yourself, eyes welling once more at the pretty green dress that is now spotted with dark stains.  

Cursing yourself for not cleaning up before leaving, you idly finger the specks as you ponder what the fuck you’re going to do now.

There’s no way you can stay here or you’ll just end up right back where you started.

Surely, your reappearance will be noticed.  

Yet, you have literally nothing but the clothing on your back.

Your gut wrenches at the predicament you’re now in, distracted suddenly by the semen caked over your thighs and dress.  

You don’t know what’s worse; fear of being caught and forced into whatever the hell they wanted to do with you, or the pain of not being near Hoseok anymore.  

Rationally you know that your very survival should be a priority, yet the agony of never seeing him again eclipses every other emotion right now.

Falling onto the ruined bedding, you curl into a ball and try to disappear, deluding yourself that the abyss of sleep will reset this grim existence.

“Hmmm…” Yoongi hums, tongue in his cheek as Hoseok gives him your description, nodding as he takes note.

Any other person might pry into why he’s looking for you, yet Yoongi is ever the professional.  

He knows better than to question anyone’s motives or anything beyond the necessary information he needs.

He wouldn’t have survived the chaos and anarchy outside of the city proper if he did.

Yoongi eyes the man before him, eyes flicking over his current state, his unusually controlled demeanor seeming to be falling apart as the moments tick by.  

“I’ll prioritize it.  The moment I get any info, I’ll ping you.”  

Hoseok just nods curtly, pulling his hood back up before he’s making his way out the door.

Of the small group of contacts he has, Yoongi knows these streets better than anyone.

He’ll find you; he has to.

He suppresses the urge to go stab someone to vent his frustrations, focussing on scouring for any sign of you.

He has no idea what your life has been like, what brought you to being locked in that cage the night he found you.

He’d never bothered to ask nor had you offered the information.

Regret fills him as he stalks intently through the narrow, winding side streets, barely noting the way people give him a wide berth.

Fingering the knife in his pocket, he clenches his jaw in determination, ready to draw it on the first person that gets in his way.

Fuck it, he may not even have the patience for a blade.

Whoever manages to get between him and his goal tonight will be choking on the limbs he rips from their body.

The first thing you are aware of upon awakening is the pulsing heat in your hand. 

The burning sting slams you right back into the reality of your situation.

Moaning softly in pain, you try to unfurl your contorted body, wincing at how sore your limbs are.

The disparity of waking up back here fills you with regret, cursing your impulsive past self for fleeing without thinking things through.

Your stomach growls loudly, reminding you that you have nothing to eat, nor do you have any way to clean yourself up right now.

There’s no way you can just languish here, starving and wallowing in your own filth.

Already the scent of dried bodily fluids and old blood taint your nose as you sit up slowly, glancing around the dark room with a sinking stomach.

The state of the room when you've returned lets you know that the likelihood of finding anything to change into is off the table.

Unless you leave here, you are doomed to wither away wearing the reminder of your reckless decisions.

Maybe….maybe it’s not too late to return. 

If there is a chance to find your way back to his bunker, perhaps he will at least give you the possibility of finding something else to wear…

Burying your face in your unwashed hands, you try to compose yourself enough to get the courage to do something, anything to move forward from here.

Hiding away until you turn into a pathetic corpse isn’t an option.

Standing wearily, you take a few moments to breathe deeply, collecting your thoughts, you slowly make your way to the door, sliding your bare feet along the debris on the floor.

Idiot, you chastise yourself, not even grabbing the soft slippers Hoseok had given you before you’d fled.

The door creaks as you open it slowly, peeking out to gauge if you can slip out unnoticed.

If you remember correctly, nearby was a small shop that you used to frequent and it was possible that the clerk might allow you to use the bathroom there to clean yourself up.

It’s wishful thinking but at least it was something to aim for.

At least the dark cover of night somewhat helped conceal you.  

By the time you find the particular building, your feet are already cut up and aching from the uneven pavement.

It didn’t help that you are drawing stares, arms wrapped around yourself as you rush past people who stop to stare as they bump into you.  

A litany of “Watch it, bitch,” and “Hey, come here,” comments have you mumbling apologies, doing your best to dodge the meaty hands that snag at you before finally spotting the familiar sign.

Hastening inside, you let out a sigh of relief at the familiar cramped space that you’d often visited.  

“Hey you can’t-” a male voice says as they spot you, but quickly he recognizes you and you give him a tentative smile.  

A look of concern crosses his features as he takes in your current state.

Before you can say anything, he’s rushing over, gently guiding you away from the door, glancing out worriedly before turning back to address you.

“Look, I dunno where you been, but people been askin’ after you.  You gotta get yourself scarce.” he whispers harshly, his gaze pausing on your scraped up bare feet.

“I dunno what kind of trouble is chasin’ you, but nothing good ever comes from their kind when they come askin’.”  

“I…I know…I wanted to know if…perhaps I could simply use a sink to wash my hands?” your voice is shaking, thin and trembling as you do your best to tamp down the fear at his words.

“Quickly, girl, but then you gotta go.  Far from here.”  He states, pointing to a small door near the back.  

Nodding as you rush quickly into the tiny bathroom, you swallow down the panic threatening to choke you.  

Relief mixed with pain wash over you as the tepid water rushes over your hands, and you use your thumb to tentatively clean the knife wound on your palm.

Mind racing as the grime sluices off your skin, you try to focus on your next steps from here. 

You know you want to find your way back to Hoseok somehow, yet your mind wars with that idea.  

What if he finally decides to follow through with his threat and cuts your throat open at your audacity?Worse…what if he just turns his back on you and tosses you back into the streets to be found by your pursuers?

Splashing your face with the water, you finally look into the cracked and dingy mirror in front of you.  

Your reflection just stares back, eyes full of fear and hopelessness.  

“Oh fuck off.” You hiss at yourself, making quick work of doing your best to clean up.

You return to the shop proper finally, the kind shopkeep bending down to grab something before he’s returning to your side.  

“Get yourself out of this place, girl.” He says, sympathy in his eyes as he drops a pair of slides on the floor before you.

Your heart pangs at this act of kindness, your eyes pricking with heated tears as he pushes a small paper bag into your arms.

“I ain’t gonna say you were here, but you make sure you don’t come back, yeah?” He whispers as you step into the slightly large sandals.

Your throat closes at the surge of gratitude, choking out a thank you before he’s pushing you back out onto the street.  

“Don’t let me see you back here.” he hisses before shutting the door behind you, gesturing in a shooing motion before you’re slinking away into the nearest alcove to peek into the small package.

Two buns peer back at you and your stomach loudly screams in joy at the prospect of food.

Sniffling, you wolf down the offering, rolling up the small bag and discarding it in the nearest trash can, trying to decide how to make your way back.

Yet, before you can even make it a few steps, an unsettlingly familiar voice calls out your name across the passersby.

“Well well well, look who it is.  I’ve been looking all over for you, sweetheart.”

The hard, dark eyes in that deceitful face freeze you in your spot, cursing your horrible luck.

There’s no mistaking that voice, that very particular scar on his mouth marring his otherwise handsome face.

A man you once called a friend, who betrayed you and is the reason you ended up in that horrid cage weeks before is flanked by two of his goons.

As they start towards you, your stomach twists into a knot before you can get your mind to work.

Panic has you contemplating what to do, throat tightening before your flight response kicks in and you’re fleeing down a side street then into an alley nearby.  

“Get back here, you little bitch!” His scream echoes behind you, the sound of their pursuing footfalls barely audible over the sound of your heart beating out of your chest.

No, no, no, you brain chant like a mantra to some unknown deity, please no-

It has been hours combing the main areas Hoseok is familiar with, each area presenting its own disgusting flavor of filth.

He is grateful that he’d brought his motorbike, making the search faster, yet he’s had no luck spotting you at this point.

He has no idea what he expected.

It’s not as if you’re just going to be out wandering the streets.

Yet he makes it a point to search each little alley and alcove; memories of the first night that you’d tried to follow him has him redirecting to find that particular area.  

A chime from his watch alerts him to a message and he stops his bike, yanking out his phone to talk directly to Yoongi.

“Did you find anything?”  He asks, discarding any niceties.  

Unbothered, Yoongi just lets out a weary sigh in response.  

“Not her exactly, but word is out that those trafficker fucks have been asking about her.  Doesn’t sound like they want to have tea and a nice chat.”

Baring his teeth, Hoseok’s face contorts in anger at the words.

It makes a bit more sense now, how he’d found you, the connection.

Their gang was well known and feared even amongst the shitty population outside the walls for indebting naive men and women into all kinds of gruesome work to pay them back.

It was all a front for human trafficking and Hoseok’s hand tightens around the phone as he tries to keep himself in control.

“Give me a location.” He demands, then his watch is chiming not even a moment later.

“Done.  And Hoseok…be careful.” Yoongi’s voice drops into a warning tone.

“Yeah yeah, I know.  I owe you one.”  He responds, already starting his bike back up.

“You sure as fuck do.” Yoongi says before ending the call, and Hoseok can’t even laugh at the man’s normal sign off.

He only has one thing on his mind and that’s finding these assholes before they find you.

Somewhere during the pursuit, one of the sandals had slipped off, then another and you find yourself running barefoot through the darkened, winding arteries of the city.  

Bursting out onto the main street, you grit your teeth as you stumble into passersby, followed by the curses of people as you ping pong through the crowd.  

You barely feel any pain from your wounded feet, the fear of being caught numbing them as it demands your full attention.

As you make your way into another narrow alley, you round and corner only to find yourself faced with a dead end.

The brick wall ahead of you mocks you, as you hear the pursuing footfalls behind you slow, then stop before laughter fills the little area.

“Fuck-” one of the voices pants as your mind races for any option to get yourself away from here.

Your eyes dart back and forth, cursing your horrid luck as you finally turn back around to face your pursuers.  

“Think you’re cute, huh?” Jugeum says, spitting to the side, then wiping his mouth as he stalks towards you.

The man behind him chuckles, catching his breath and pulling out his phone.

“I’ll call the car.” He announces, but Jugeum waves him off, never taking his eyes from you.

“Take your time, she’s not going anywhere.  Her and I need to have a little talk.” He says, a sinister smile creeping over his lips as you back up slowly.

Your entire body feels like a wound up spring, adrenaline and terror causing every part of you to shake uncontrollably.

“Please-” You try to speak, but he shakes his head, the nasty grin never leaving his face.

“It’s long past the time to be begging, don’t you think, sweetheart?” He hisses, closing the distance between you in a moment.

Your reflexes are too slow to dodge the hand that snakes out to grab you by the hair, the other gripping your upper arm painfully.  

Letting out a sharp cry as he twists his fingers and yanks your hair, he shoves you back into the brick wall that cuts off all hope of escape.

“I don’t know how you managed it, but killing Hyun was a mistake.  Now you’ve got me in a predicament.” he whispers as he presses his lips to your ear.

Your scalp protests as he tugs your hair, then he loosens his hold to pet you.

You close your eyes as if it’s going to help you in any way, trying to deny the reality of your circumstances.

His hot breath dampens the side of your face as he continues, “No, now I just want to tear you apart for the audacity.  And running from me?”

His laugh is filled with spite, drawing away to glare at you.  

You can’t even swallow as he finally lets go of your hair, his palm slipping down to cup your cheek gently before grabbing your face and squeezing hard enough to make tears spring into your eyes.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back-” You manage through the fear, but this only seems to amuse him.

“And here I thought you were at least mildly clever. It’s not about the money, sweetheart. I’ll make more off of you than any measly ‘payment’ you could ever make.”

He leans in, eyes flitting back and forth between yours as your noses almost touch.  

You attempt to struggle, but his hand is like a vice on your arm, despite twisting to get out of his grip.  

At this, his amused face contorts into a look of pure rage, his scar stretching and only making him appear even more monstrous.

He finally releases your face, but the momentary relief is only eclipsed by panic as his large hand settles over your throat, squeezing tightly.

“Though, you’re quickly trying me, and I may chalk you up to a net loss.”  

The loud din of the distant crowds fade with the ringing in your head as he lifts you enough so you’re barely able to feel your toes scraping the jagged pavement, his fingers tightening as he watches your reaction.

You grab his wrist with both hands, attempting to pry him off you, but it’s wasted effort and he laughs without any humor.  

“How in the world did a weakling like you manage to overtake Hyun? I’ll make a deal with you, sweetheart.” He snarls, loosening his grip to allow your airway to open up again.

Sucking in a deep breath, your throat burns with the effort, causing you to cough uncontrollably.

“Why don’t you tell me how you got out and overpowered him and maybe I’ll go easy on you, huh?”

Hopelessness overcomes you, thoughts of what brought you leave momentarily flashing through your mind.

Your stomach twists as you think about the what ifs.

If only you hadn’t left without thinking.

If only you hadn’t done something to make Hoseok leave like that.

At least I had a moment of happiness, you think before you abruptly bring your knee up between Jugeum’s legs.

The kick is weak, as you knew it would be, yet you are tired of begging and pleading to this horrible man.

“Bitch-” he growls, but he’s cut off as you gather all the moisture you can in your mouth to spit right in his face.

The sudden shock on his face would make you laugh if his hand didn’t immediately squeeze around your throat once more, tight enough this time to cause bright light to play at the edges of your vision.

Your hands claw at his arm, feet kicking wildly as he hoists you up by your neck and you resign yourself to meeting your end here in this disgusting place.

“Tell me, slut, or you’re fucking dead-” he hisses as you struggle against him.

But his words are cut off abruptly as a deep, harsh voice answers.

A voice you thought you’d never hear again.

“It was me, asshole.”

Your heart leaps in your chest even as you barely make out Jugeum’s throat opening, a sudden hot spray of fluid spurting all over you.

You fall to the ground heavily, wheezing and gasping for air as your sight is filled with red, your eyes watering at the sting of what appears to be blood.

A strangled cry draws your attention as you wipe at your face, trying to understand what just happened.

Coughing and clutching your throat, you watch in surprise as Hoseok straddles Jugeum, his knife rising and falling in a fury as he hacks at him.

“Hoseok-?” You try to say, but it only comes out as a weak whisper.

He doesn’t appear to have heard you, and you drag yourself to your knees, then try to stand but your head spins at the effort.

Over and over you watch as he stabs Jugeum, blood flinging from his knife each time he raises it up just to bring it back down.  

You slowly crawl over to him, unconcerned now with your assaulter, and only wondering how the fuck Hoseok found you.

But that thought is quickly overridden by the sheer joy.

He found you; he came for you.

“I think…” you rasp out, coughing as you finally drag even more air into your lungs.  

“I think he’s dead-” you finally manage, reaching out to touch Hoseok’s arm.

The look of pure rage as he turns towards you mid swing, his knife dripping with gore has you reeling backwards, falling on your ass painfully and raising your hands up instinctively.

The sight of you seems to snap him out of it, his eyes wild as he stares at you for a long moment.

A low whine leaves his throat as he looks you over, his lips drawing back over his teeth as he turns back to hack at the unmoving body beneath him.

You can only watch him as he begins to eviscerate the corpse, sickening wet tearing noises filling your ears as he spits out curses and unintelligible words before finally dropping the knife and leaning back to catch his breath.

He tilts his head back, his throat working as he looks up into the night sky above and you can’t help but admire his profile.

You’re reminded of the first night you met, but this is so much different.

He was so calm and collected, but this…

He turns his crazed eyes back to you, chest heaving with each gulping breath.

Without a word he pushes to his feet and stumbles over to you, pulling you up and trying to smooth back your blood soaked hair.

Your lip trembles at the simple gesture, tears stinging your eyes in a way the viscous blood hadn’t.

No words are spoken as he pulls you out of the place you thought would be your end, dragging you along to a bike parked nearby.

You barely register the sight of another body at the opening of the alley as he ushers you by.

I guess he never made that call.

He seats you in front of him before starting it up, allowing you to lean back against him as his arms cage you in.  

The ride back goes by in a flash, your eyes closed as you process your shock.

Everything has happened so quickly and you are struggling to make sense of anything that’s taken place in such a short period of time.

You’re unsure how much time has gone by when he’s slowing and pulling up to a deserted part of the city, parking the bike beneath a small copse of trees.

Hoseok doesn’t even look at you as he grabs your arm once more, opening a hidden door and rushing you inside.

You barely remember coming out this way, and you realize he’s taking you back home.

Home.

The thought has you hiccuping in a confusion of emotions and he is silent as he guides you down multiple sets of stairs, not even looking at you as you finally approach the doors that you’d spent so much time trying to leave through.

You can only stare at him as he punches in a code to a hidden panel beside the door, then he’s dragging you along into the common area, then right into the bathroom.

“Hoseok-” you whisper, confusion warring with uneasiness at his silence as he rushes to turn on the water.  

Now that you've stopped moving, you can feel how the hand on your arm is trembling; you can see how tight his jaw is as he finally turns to gaze at you with huge, dark eyes.

Without a word, he pulls you both underneath the shower, soaking you both as he finally releases your arm.

But instead of stepping away, he grabs the nearby soap, then he’s scrubbing your exposed skin frantically and you wonder if he’s about to peel your skin off to cleanse you of the blood.

“I have to get him off you-” he’s repeating over and over as the water beneath you turns red and pink before draining away.  

Recognizing the signs of his panic, you step closer and cup his face, gently trying to draw his gaze.

That’s fear, you register in surprise.

Not something you’d ever have attributed to this man.

Fear for you.

“Look at me.” You say softly, dipping your head until he finally locks eyes with yours.

The spatters of blood on his face are finally running off, tendrils of hair clinging to his forehead as he finally halts his movements.  

“He fucking touched you, he’s all fucking over you and I need to get him off-” the words are harsh, his voice almost a growl but his eyes look pained as you shake your head at him.

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” you murmur, pushing back his damp hair to help soothe him.

He bares his teeth as he spots your throat, dropping the soap as he reaches up to tilt your head and study the marks left behind.

“I’ll fucking kill him all over again.” he threatens, and you can’t help but feel your heart melt at his concern.

You try to suppress the urge to laugh at his words, but then he’s glaring at the once pretty green dress that is now pretty much ruined.

“Why did you leave?” He whispers, so low that you barely catch it.

He finally drags his eyes from your dress, to look at you expectantly as the water sluices over both of you.

Swallowing down the memory of why you left, you can only counter with a question of your own.

“Why did you?”  

Though he winces as if you’ve slapped him, he nods at you as he settles his fingers over the marks on your neck.  

“Any reason I give you won’t matter, even if I had one.  I don’t honestly know.” He answers, his dark eyes flitting from your face, to your neck, then to the dress.  

Before you can rethink it, you drop your hands from soothing him to grab the hem of the dress, yanking it over your head and discarding it to the side.

Though he seems startled at your actions, he physically relaxes once it’s no longer touching you.

“I left because I thought you wanted me gone.” You finally tell him, glancing at the cut on your palm as you raise your hand to cup his cheek once more.

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, droplets clinging to the dark lashes as he leans into it.

It feels surreal, standing under a shower half clothed with a murderer, yet feeling nothing but soft and safe as he wraps his arms around you.

“I don’t want you gone. I don’t want anyone to touch you. I’ll fucking kill anyone who does and I’ll kill you if you leave.” 

His voice is coarse, harsh but the only emotions that well up within you are pleasure and satisfaction at his admission.

A deep, resounding sense of contentment fills you as your fingers entwine into his wet hair.

“That’s all I want to hear.” you confess, all of your earlier confusion and pain evaporating in that one statement.

Before he can say anything else, you twist your hand in his locks and yank him closer, crushing your mouth to his.

Immediately, his hands are everywhere, mouth parting to slip his tongue along the seam of your lips.

Your head spins as you begin to tug on his soaked clothing, needing to feel more of him against you.  

He swallows all of the desperate noises you can’t stop making as he shrugs off his jacket, then parts from you only long enough to yank his shirt over his head and throw it to the side.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight of his dilated pupils; the sight of his lean, naked chest before he’s tugging you back into his arms has you needing to see more, touch more.

You barely notice him tearing off your bra as you pull at the button of his pants, unzipping and pushing them down as his hands slip down the back of your panties.

You swear your heart is beating between your legs as he grabs two handfuls of your ass and hoists you up against him, his erection seeming to throb in sync against you.

Your encounter before was hot and heavy, escalating quickly and this is much the same.

Except this time there was no uncertainty, no hesitation as he kicks off his remaining clothing and rips off your flimsy panties with a forceful tug.  

He lets out a low moan as everything separating you is finally gone, his hands trailing from your ass up to your hips, then skimming along your sides.

He slowly starts backing you up, his mouth never letting up as he blindly grabs for a towel.

Hastily, you dry each other, clumsily stumbling out into the common area still dripping with water.  

Uncaring, your nails dig into his shoulders, then rake them down his back as he pushes you into the nearest wall.

His groan has you clenching already as he grabs a handful of your hair.

“I don’t make idle threats.” He growls into your ear before dipping his head down to nuzzle his nose against your neck.

“I know-” you gasp, snaking your leg around his and tilting your hips in a desperate effort to alleviate your growing need for him.

“I’ll eviscerate anyone who fucking dares-” 

His breath is hot on your neck, the sensation of his tongue and teeth causing you to whine weakly as he sucks harshly at your skin. 

“I know.” you repeat as he slips one of his hands up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over the already taut nipple.  

“Mine.” he snarls as he pulls you from the wall, hauling you up against him only to turn and toss you onto the couch.

You let out a small gasp at the action, and he’s immediately covering you, his knees forcing your thighs apart as he grabs your wrists to yank them over your head.

Your entire body trembles in desire as he hovers over you, his hungry eyes devouring you as he ogles you openly.  

“Say it.” He demands, ignoring how you’re lifting your hips and wriggling beneath him.

“Yours, I’m yours, please-” You cry out in anguish, knowing if he doesn’t touch you, if he’s not inside of you right fucking now you might just die.

His smile has your abdomen clenching painfully, the ravenous look in his eyes driving you mad with lust.  

Before you can cry out another plea, he’s skimming his fingertips down your raised arms, leaning down to press his mouth against yours before he’s making his way down your naked body with his lips.  

You keep your arms over your head as he drags his tongue between your breasts, trying your best to watch him leave marks with each nip and suck.

“I’ve murdered countless people.” he tells you, even as his lips brush over your sensitive nipple.

Moaning softly, you can only nod in response as he grins before making his way to do the same to the other.

“You know exactly what I am.” He hums, his eyes on you as his tongue rolls around the stiffened bud.  

You nod again, arching your back as his lips lock around your nipple, sucking harshly.

“I’m a monster, but I’m not cruel…” he says once your tit pops out of his mouth, licking his lips as he eyes you, “If you want me to stop at any-” 

“I don’t fucking care what you want to do to me, do it.  Fucking do it.” Your voice is hoarse, your entire body vibrating with need.

He raises an eyebrow at you, eyes darkening as he tilts his head at you.

“Dangerous words, little bird.”

You don’t know where or when he managed to get a hold of it, but he produces a small knife, teasing it along the line of your collarbone, then along the line of your neck.

Thoughts of how he reacted to your blood previously fill your mind, and you can’t help but lean up into the blade as he presses it to your skin.

He hisses softly as it pierces enough to draw a drop of blood, and you can feel the wet heat of it start to trickle down your throat.

“You’re fucking killing me,” he groans as you reach between his legs to wrap your fingers around his cock.

“I’m yours, Hoseok-” you say, slowly sitting up and he draws the knife back, your fingers tightening around his erection.

You push him backwards into a sitting position, tossing your leg over his thighs so you’re straddling him.

“-but you’re mine as well.” You whisper as you settle into his lap, your hand pumping at him as his head drops back against the couch.  

Gripping his shoulder, you watch as his eyes are drawn to the rivulet of blood as it cuts a path down between your tits.

A deep primal noise escapes his throat at the sight, his eyes rolling as you stroke him.  

You reach for the hand holding the knife, bringing it up to your throat as you guide the head of his cock against your cunt.  

Your entire body shudders as you drag the tip along your slit, crying out softly as you tease it against your clit.  

His free hand grips your hip, his eyes unable to find a target to focus on as he struggles to look at everything all at once.

Unable to wait another moment, you finally guide him into you, crying out in pleasure as you sink down onto him.  

He sucks in a harsh breath as he stretches you, his pupils blown out, lips parted as you finally seat yourself fully on him.

“Fuck, oh fuck-” He groans, his grip loosening on the knife as he lets it drop, sitting up and burying his face into the now freely flowing crimson running down your body.  

You wrap your arms around his head, twisting your fingers into the tangle of his still damp hair as you start riding him.

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down onto him every time you lift yourself back up.

The drag of his cock along your insides is enough to have you already moaning loudly, the friction of your bodies meeting teasing at your clit as you cling to one another.

The room fills with the noises of your joining, his low deep moans blending with your frantic whines and cries.

Yanking back on his hair, your head swims at the sight of his blood stained face and the wild, manic look in his eyes.

The world upends as he flips you both, yanking your arms back up over your head as he starts pounding into you.

“Hoseok!” You scream out, each bruising thrust edging you closer to losing control until your orgasm tears through you with such power, that your entire body is lifting off the couch.

Unintelligible curses drip from his lips as you clamp tightly around him, his own body starting to shake at the intensity of your climax.  

His hips begin to stutter as your cunt clenches around him, pulling out of you quickly and covering your body with spurts of cum.  

His hand still pins you down, his other wrapped around his dick as he milks himself of every drop before slipping back inside of you.  

Your eyes roll back in your head as he collapses on top of you, burying himself to the hilt deep within you as he tries to catch his breath.

He finally releases your wrists, allowing you to wrap them around him.

You let out soft little whines as he lazily rolls his hips, the overstimulation causing you to wriggle and gasp.

“I’m always making a mess…” you finally manage, combing your fingers through the tangle of his hair. 

He hums as he lifts his head groggily, eyes hooded as he gives you a gentle smile.  

“I like your mess.” he hums, tipping his head to rest his bloodied cheek on your now sticky chest.

Your eyes close as you bask in the moment, the realization that you aren’t alone anymore really starting to sink in.

Moments drift by as you relish the feel of him against you, within you, and you may have even drifted off to sleep before he’s softening and pulling out of you.

You let out a sad little whine at the loss, but then he’s hoisting you up off the couch by your arms, guiding you back into the bathroom.

“Let’s clean ourselves first.” He says, and this time you both wash one another slowly, deliberately, taking your time.

Of course, the moment your hand cups his balls and you begin to soap up his dick, he’s quickly stiffening and turning you around to bury himself within you once again.

Hands pressed to the wall, it’s hard and fast, but this time when he finally comes, he buries himself deep to fill you instead of pulling out.

He rests his forehead on your neck as he pants, littering kisses along your shoulder before turning you back around to kiss you deeply.

You sway in his arms, the exhaustion from the night finally starting to win.

Silently, he turns off the shower and leads you out to dry you off, taking his time on each part of you.  

It’s almost humorous how he can go from psychotic killer with a knife to this calm, sweet man who is looking up at you almost in worship as he towels your legs.  

A smile creeps over his face as his gaze locks onto your parted thighs, and you can feel the warmth of his cum seeping out of you.  

He bites his lip as he raises his hand, two of his fingers pushing the mess back up into you as you gasp.  

“Fuck, you’re insatiable,” you whimper as you notice him getting hard once more.

You barely remember falling asleep by the time you’re wrapped around each other in bed, but you do briefly smile at the thought of him finally being able to reclaim his bedroom before sleep overtakes you.

“I’m aware, Yoongi.  Did you talk to Jin?”

Hoseok’s voice rouses you, his tense tone cutting through the haze of your deep sleep.

The ache from various parts of your body throb delightfully, and you can’t help but smile into the pillow as you roll over to stretch yourself awake.

The partially opened door allows you to watch Hoseok pace back and forth, and you can’t help but recall the previous night's activities.

Curling up on your side, you find yourself catching snippets of his conversation as you admire him.  

He’s dressed already, you pout to yourself, yet even clad in the tshirt and jeans, he’s striking.

“It’s not as if I- …it’s complicated, alright? …Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit and we’ll talk.” 

His eyes meet yours through the open doorway as he says his goodbyes before hanging up.  

“You’re awake.” He observes, his solemn look brightening into a full, gorgeous smile.

The sight of him beaming at you flips your stomach and you have to grip the sheets to stop yourself from springing out of bed and tackling him all over again.

You just nod at him, chewing the inside of your mouth as you squeeze your thighs together.

“Hold on.” He says, turning and walking out of your field of view before returning to come sit on the side of the bed next to you.

He’s holding a small box, and you recognize the first aid kit as he opens it.  

“I’m alright,” you whisper as he takes out a tube of something, but his smile turns into a scolding look that has you quieting down quickly.  

“Infection kills more frequently than even I do.” He tells you, applying some to his finger before leaning in to dab it on the various cuts on your neck.  

You can’t help but laugh at this, drawing his grin back out, much to your delight.

A comfortable silence fills the room as he tends to you, allowing you to just study him before returning the favor.

As you finish making sure he doesn’t have any untreated wounds, he takes the medicine from your hands to place to the side before pulling you into his arms.

He places a kiss on your forehead, then your lips as you melt into his embrace.

Your heart threatens to tear its way out of your throat as he finally parts from you, petting your hair gently as he gazes into your eyes.

“As much as I’d enjoy a repeat of last night, I think it’s best that we should both recover some energy before that.” He tells you, the rasp in his voice giving away that he’s just as affected as you are right now.

Taking in a deep breath, you just nod in agreement before kissing his cheek.  

“As much as I want to argue…” You murmur, slowly letting out the breath and his smile lights up the room once more.

He pulls away and stands, allowing you to get up and go rummage for clothing.  

His harsh cough is a shallow attempt at covering his reaction to your naked body, and you can’t help but grin as he turns away while you pull on a top and some pants.

“Hoseok, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation…is everything alright?” You ask him tentatively.

He turns to look at you, his smile fading a bit as he seems to mull over how to answer.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to-” you begin, but he shakes his head to stop you.

“Come out and let’s eat something…and I’ll try to tell you what I can.” 

He heads towards the kitchen, and you take a moment to follow, pondering what you’re going to learn.

You manage to push him away from the fridge as he rummages, directing him to sit down.

“I owe you a meal.” you tell him, remembering the previous kitchen encounter.

His lips twitch at the memory and he merely nods, placing his elbows on the counter as he leans forward to watch.

You don’t rush him as the silence stretches, allowing him time to collect his thoughts.  

Finally he starts to talk.

“I’m going to assume that from what you’ve seen of my comings and goings…and how you first saw me…that you know what I’m capable of. I’m violent, brutal.  I’m a murderer.”

He pauses as he studies your face, but merely nod as you continue to prep food.

“Your reaction to that both intrigues and terrifies me.” He states, causing you to stop what you’re doing.

“Why would that terrify you?” You ask him, genuinely curious.

He purses his lips, looking away momentarily as his leg bounces.

“Because I’ve come to … care about you.  It doesn’t make sense how you’ve gone through all that bullshit yet here you are, cooking me food and looking at me like…that.” he states, turning back to gesture towards you.

His admission has your heart stuttering, and heat rushes to your cheeks as you try not to grin like an idiot.  

“Like what?” you ask, voice cracking as you push down your emotions.

He gives you a look, and all you can do is shrug.  

“Look…people like us…like me, we don’t love, care, or trust easily.  I find more happiness in death than I do in this abominable world.  You…” He swallows, blowing out a breath as he shakes his head at you.

“I’m not going to use a vulgar word like ‘love’, so don’t ever expect me to.” he declares.

You find yourself pausing in your prep, not interrupting but making sure he knows you’re listening, understanding him.

He studies you before continuing,and you hang on each and every word.

“Letting someone into my life is not something I planned on.  You make me vulnerable, irrational, reckless.  I’m a murderer.” he repeats, as if to drive it home.  

“I know.” you whisper, and he sighs before running his hand over his face.

“There’s more to things…it’s not that simple-you told me before…you came here thinking that you would have a chance at a better life, to see what the city was like inside the walls.”  

His words aren’t a question, more of a statement and you just continue to nod as he speaks.

“What if I told you that what you see outside of here doesn’t even compare to the savagery that lies within the walls?” 

Your hands freeze, curiosity peaked at this announcement.

“What…what do you mean?” You ask, giving up on cooking and setting your knife to the side.  

His next words just floor you.  

“I come from inside.” 

Your heart stutters at this; for the year you’ve been here, not once have you heard anything but speculation about what was inside.  

Everyone merely said things like, “So I’ve heard,” or “Noone really knows but,” about what things were like.

Hell, no one even seemed to agree on how the walls even came into being.  

The rumors were, once you went inside, you never wanted to come back out.

Or you couldn’t.

“But…why…?” You start, your brain racing.

“We escaped.  Out here, there’s no law, there’s no one to police the vile things that go on.  We just exist and do our best to survive.  Inside…when you commit crimes, you suffer the consequences.”  

The tone of his voice drops a bit, eyes glazing as he seems to recall his past.

“I’m a murderer, yes, but in my eyes there are crimes far worse than ridding this world of the disgusting trash that gets in my way.  I’ve heard that once upon a time, this world had a balance, a form of justice.  Now we’re split in two, and both sides are appalling in their own ways.”

He halts for a moment, reaching out to slip his hand into yours.

You entwine your fingers with his, finding your way around the counter to get closer to him.

“The man who hurt you last night-” he starts, eyes flashing as he remembers how he found you.

You comb your fingers through his hair, waiting patiently for him to continue.

This was the most you’ve ever heard him speak and you weren’t going to say anything to interrupt now.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out that he’s part of a human trafficking ring.  He was one of the contacts, apparently.  Someone contacted me to tell me that his death hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

Your eyes widen, stomach twisting at the idea that you may have gotten the attention of someone even more horrid.

“I know he dealt with others, because he and his asshole goons talked about things after they took me before you found me but….” 

You shudder, remembering what could have been your fate.

Hoseok wraps his arms around you, noticing your reaction.

“The people they traffic, they end up inside.” He tells you. “Have you never noticed the lack of women, how scarce children are out here?” 

Your brain races as you recall many moments where you’d noticed that, but anytime you’d inquired, your ‘friends’ had changed the subject.

“I…when I first came here, those men-” you gesture, “the ones from last night…they took me in right away.  I thought nothing of it before, I just thought they were being kind.”

He grimaces, letting out a tense breath.

“I won’t go into details, but as I said before…there are far worse things than death.”

You shiver at the implication, your heart hurting for those who have fallen victim to this disgusting scheme.

Even in the country where you came from, the children you grew up with were almost all female.  

Of course the lack of others here caught your attention, but you hadn’t thought too much about it.  

You’d made excuses,  they were just keeping their heads down like you did, hiding away from the vile men who pawed at you at every turn.

What Hoseok is implying just turns your stomach.

“But…that doesn’t answer why you are out here.  Do you…?” you hesitate, not wanting to hear that he participates in anything so horrible.

He winces, shaking his head at your unspoken thoughts.

“No…as I stated, killing some asshole who gets in my way is one thing.  I don’t kill innocents.” 

You let out a long breath, relaxing at his admission.

“The others and I…we’re going to tear it all down.” He finally tells you.

Your heart leaps, immediately saying, “See, you are a saviour!”  

He grabs your hands to calm you, shaking his head at your misconception.

“I told you, I’m not a hero or savior, little bird.  We all find what they do vile and horrific, but I couldn’t give two fucks what happens to anyone once our plan succeeds.”  

His eyes darken and blaze simultaneously as a wicked smile creeps over his face, causing a chaos of emotions within you ranging from lust to horror.

The pure wanton sadism on his face makes you swallow in confusion, yet you’ve never been more intoxicated by someone.

“Compassion for the weak is for others to deal with.  My singular goal is to burn everything down and take as many as I can with me.”

Deep within the city, walls protecting the inhabitants from the chaos of the outside world, a tall man leans back in his chair as he taps the communication device in his ear.

He slips it off, opening a hidden drawer deep underneath the desk to hide it away.

“Was that Yoongi?” a voice draws his attention.  

Seokjin is staring at him from the window, drink in hand before turning to gaze back at the city down below.

“Mmm.” Namjoon answers, standing to join him.

“And?” Seokjin asks, not taking his eyes off the ordered roads as elites travel from party to party, unconcerned about what their extravagance costs others.

“And the plan may be moving along quicker than we anticipated.”

Namjoon’s voice is even, yet even Jin can sense the excitement beneath.

Hell, all of them have been longing for this.

Long before the others had escaped the confines of this elaborately lavish prison, they’d all shared the same vision.

That this entire world would burn brightly as they held the spark that started it all.

The wick had been lit by seven of them long ago, and the anticipation as it crept closer to the climax was almost too much to bear.

“Soon.” Jin murmurs as his lips curl into a malicious sneer. 

[the-monkeies-girl]

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.