#abduction cw

[justplainwhump]

Arrival

Dany is brought to the facility.

Part 3 in Angel's abduction. [1 - Over] [2 - Red].

[Making Angel Masterpost]

Content / warnings: Abduction, threats, intimate whumper, noncon kissing, implied future noncon, whumper pov.

Operation Angel, Alex Nadler had baptized the latest acquisition job. Patrick didn't know their reasons - Nadler played everything close to their chest, and WRU drove a strict need-to-know policy anyway. But having seen the target stroll down the street in that pristinely white dress of hers, he couldn't deny the poetry in that designation.

It was a pleasure, working with Nadler. Their experience in planning ops didn't come from serving under the same flag that Pat and his men had once sworn on; but it was brutally efficient. And they'd all long given up serving governments, anyway.

Corporations paid better. And - Pat paused to look into the rearview mirror, remembering the smooth skin and long legs of the naked woman stuffed in the trunk - corporations were much more relaxed about rules of engagement.

"All good?", Nadler's voice sounded over the earpiece. They'd stayed behind, doing what they did best: Logistics. Nadler would make sure that bodyguard's body was dumped somewhere he'd found; the decoy's body somewhere she'd never be. They'd take care of the surveillance video to show just the right parts of her death in that white dress; they'd clean up, pay off a witness or two, plant evidence and spread liberal amounts of the target's stolen blood in that parking garage.

Beautiful, stubborn society girl Danielle Hammond would be declared dead, even before she'd fully realized what was coming for her.

And if they dropped her off at the facility as ordered, Pat and his comrades would be on the team that got to break her in. 'Preparation protocol', WRU called it. Sanitized term for some highly objectionable work. Undeniably hot though.

Pat couldn't be any less interested in fucking a meek and braindead pet. But the target of an acquisition mission, while they still processed, while they struggled, while they understood, what they were about to lose? It was the best wind-down he could imagine. And if they looked like Danielle Hammond did? Even better. Girl was his type for sure.

Yeah. Corporations were much better than governments.

With a content sigh, Pat leaned back in the driver's seat and checked the navigation system. Only a few klicks left to go. His gun was next to him on the passenger sheet, hidden under his jacket, two cars with his comrades following them as back-up. This mission wouldn't need either. Nobody had caught up on them. Alex had made sure the police were looking at all the wrong places.

Pat tapped his headset with one finger. "Yup. All good," he confirmed, allowing himself a wide smile. "Excellent, actually."

-

When Pat opened the trunk with a cheerful whistle on his lips, the target was barely conscious. He tossed his mask and gear onto the plastic tarp next to her, before he grabbed a fistful of her blond hair to pull her upright to her knees.

She yelped, bucked under his hold, giving him a lovely display of the way her lithe body could curve.

"We've arrived, sweetheart," he said. "WRU Preprocessing Facility C1. The last place you'll remember."

"I'm not -", she whimpered, with a stubborn edge to her voice, eyes still half closed "- not anyone's fucking sweetheart."

Pathetic. Adorable.

"Wrong," Pat playfully slapped her bloodied cheek with his free hand. She hissed at him, weakly lifted her bound hands to push him away. He just grabbed her hair faster instead, leaned in closer over her shape in the trunk, hisvoice dropping to a whisper. "You're going to be everyone's sweetheart. First mine. Then my team's. And then every single handler's this dirty facility has to offer."

"You… you can't." Her breathing was shallow. "I'm - My father is Stuart Hammond, he-"

"Wrong again," Pat said patiently, letting his hand run down the side of her body and explore her curves. "Ms Hammond is dead. You? You're a nameless, powerless, empty - however, very nicely shaped - body, with delusions of personhood. You're 002238. And you're free for the taking."

She winced, when his hand cupped her cute boob, thumb playing with her nipple. There was no way of her fighting him off, bound as she was, feeble from blood loss. He knew it. And she knew it, too. She didn't even try. Pat smirked, watching her nipple perk up in reaction to his attention.

Tears gathered in his target's dark honey eyes. "Please, no," she whispered. "No."

His hand in her hair settled on the back of her head, forced her face up towards him. "Yes." He pulled her in for a kiss.

She let him. To his own surprise, her lips parted for him, a soft invitation, and then she kissed him back, that sweet, naked body pressing closer into his.

Gosh, she felt fantastic.

"You can get so much more," she whispered against his mouth, her breath a soft tingle on his skin. "Take me out of here, I'll make you a rich man, I'll let you fuck me, I'll play along, give you the time of your life." Her eyes seemed darker than before, when she met his gaze, something like a challenge shining in them. "It's more fun when you don't have to share."

Pat thought about it for a hot second. Shoving her back down into the trunk, slamming the hood shut over her once more, speeding off, taking her with him for himself. To some beach, maybe, just the two of them, her on top of him, riding him in front of a cinematic sunset.

She was a millionaire in her own right, she'd be good for a decent ransom - and for a more than decent fuck.

"You are undeniably hot, Danielle" he said softly, raising a hand to brush away a speck of Mueller's blood on her cheek with his thumb. "But I'm afraid not hot enough to risk being the next guy having his brain spattered all over you."

She flinched in his arms, tried to pull away, disappointment and something almost like grief flaring up in her gaze. Pat didn't let her.

"Shhh." He gently wiped his bloody thumb over her trembling lip, admiring how well the red suited her. "Don't worry, 238. You'll make me rich and well fucked anyway." He pressed a kiss on her lips again.

This time, she didn't kiss back.

---

[Next]

-

Tag list: @whumplr-reader @there-will-always-be-blood @whimpers-and-whumpers @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @risk606

[plasmicthoughts]

olivia rodrigo, lesbian, woman, she/her. ♡ now entering the apartment building is deidre flores, a twenty-one year old who is currently a true crime creator & advocator. netizens have said they seem timid but others have said they’re benevolent ! gossip aside, we’re sure they’re bound to be a fan favorite !

content warnings include abduction, trauma, & abuse.

basics

Name: Deidre Dahlia Flores

Nickname/s: Deedee

Preferred name/s: Deidre

Gender: Woman

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 21

Birthday: December 17th

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Sexuality: Lesbian

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: True crime creator & advocator

Hometown: Santa Monica, California

Accent: American (Olivia Rodrigo vc)

backstory

Deidre grew up in a dance-focused household, with her mother as a ballet teacher, which instilled in her a passion for dance from an early age.

At just seven years old, she and three other girls from her dance troupe were kidnapped by a competition head, enduring a harrowing experience before being rescued.

The trauma from the abduction kept her out of dance for several years as she struggled to cope with the aftermath.

At ten, her family moved to South Korea for her mother's job opportunity as a choreographer, hoping for a fresh start.

Deidre faced significant dehumanization as her case was publicized; even though their identities were protected, the trauma resurfaced in her teenage years when evidence of her identity leaked.

The revelation at school was devastating, leading to bullying and isolation, which deepened her desire to help others in similar situations.

This experience fueled her passion for advocacy, and she began working to support victims of crimes through awareness and education.

Eventually, she channeled her experiences into creating an ethical true crime podcast and YouTube channel, focusing on the stories of victims and their families.

With the support of her small community, Deidre found the strength to return to dance, reclaiming a part of her identity that had been lost.

Seeking connection and healing, she applied to join the web series Seoulmates to find a supportive network and explore new friendships after her trauma stunted her social interactions.

Through her podcast and dance, Deidre aims to empower others, reminding them that they are not defined by their trauma but by their resilience and courage.

personality & more

Deidre is compassionate and deeply empathetic, often putting herself in others' shoes to understand their struggles.

She possesses a strong sense of justice and is driven to advocate for victims' rights and awareness.

Creative and articulate, she excels in storytelling, both in dance and through her podcasting.

Deidre is resilient, demonstrating remarkable strength in overcoming her past trauma and using it to fuel her passions.

She has a strong moral compass, prioritizing ethical practices in her true crime content to honor victims' stories.

A natural leader, she inspires others in her community to speak out and support one another.

Despite her past, she maintains a playful and light-hearted side, often using humor to cope with difficult topics.

Deidre values authenticity and encourages open conversations about mental health and trauma.

She has a passion for learning, often exploring new topics related to crime, justice, and advocacy.

Her experience in dance has made her disciplined and dedicated, qualities she applies to all her pursuits.

Deidre is a lover of storytelling in all forms, enjoying books, films, and podcasts that explore human experiences.

She dreams of creating a platform that not only educates but also empowers victims and advocates for systemic change.

Deidre is timid, and feels socially stunted, but she's always trying her best to live the life she once wasn't sure she'd still have.

[meganfoxrocksmyworld]

Megan Fox in Midnight in the Switchgrass.

[susandsnell]

would you ever write a persephone retelling?

Send me an ask that says “Would you ever write…” and continue the sentence.

First of all, this is cyberbullying / I've been hollering laughing since receiving this, well done/Unfortunately, I am not a smoking hot butch construction worker

All seriousness? If I had a good enough idea for an interesting angle. I'd say the market is saturated for Persephone retellings right now, but if I felt I had an idea/perspective that could bring some new or at least refreshing way of engaging with the story, and felt motivated to follow it, I'd give it a go. For instance, if I came up with something like a Hadestown-type of jaded, hot, middle aged Persephone, or used the story as a vehicle to explore a certain setting/issue (by perhaps situating it in an interesting point in history, etc), I'd see where it took me. While I do find the mother/daughter angle personally moving (and certainly preferable to the misogynistic madness of 'rebelling against controlling smothering mom Demeter, you can only self-actualize through a big strong man that treats you like property'), I've taken your point heavily about how easily that angle can come off as venerating the idea of a daughter having to manage her mother's emotional responses over things that happened to her, but I still say there's potential. (Maybe space for complexity of a mother who adores and wants to fight for her daughter, and the contradictory feelings of loving a parent deeply while also feeling stifled by their response to your pain/transition through life stages in that it centres them and not you? Food for thought...) Where Hades is concerned, I'm only interested in the relationship if it is fully acknowledged in its complexities, if it explores how and where love and power are negotiated in sites of violence and power imbalance. I don't know that I'd necessarily be the right person or capable to tell certain stories, but it's the only iteration of their relationship I could write in good conscience.

The straightforward gender essentialist ~ooooo size difference ooo innocent little flower corrupted by darkness oooo female power fantasies are deriving all your strength from a big strong dark lonely man whose feelings matter more than your safety~ stuff can stay about a hundred million miles away though, lmao. Especially the ones that don't acknowledge the violence against women inherent to the story.

Thank you so much for asking, what a fun one! <3 hope you have a great day!!

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

🎃 A Warm Body

Oviposition CW: egg laying Monster!Reader based on an Anon❤️ from a while ago, yandere!human, reader with male and female reproductive organs

Growling in frustration, (Reader's) long claws carved into the concrete flooring of the room they were kept prisoner.

Their swollen body ached with how full they were, going mad with how desperate they were for release. As soon as they emerged from the Earth to reproduce, a human shot them with enough tranquilizers to put down a herd of elephants, which is why (Reader) now found themselves in what was essentially a concrete box, locked in by a large steel vault. (Reader) cried out in need, craving release.

The metal door spun obnoxiously, multiple mechanisms whirring as it unlocked and squealed open. The man who shot (Reader) quickly entered, shutting the door closed again behind him. There were so many things he wanted to say, an entire romantic monologue planned for the creature he had spent his entire life obsessing over, researching and hunting despite no one else believing in (Reader's) existence. But before he could open his mouth, (Reader) had him by the leg, dragging him down beneath them.

(Reader) ignored the man's happy squeaks, ripping his clothes off to find a suitable hole. His face glowed with heat, blushing as he pitifully attempted to cover up his body. But his small, human body was no match for (Reader's), effortlessly holding the man up by his hips, unfazed by his weak flailing. With his ass presented to (Reader) they couldn't help groaning, nearly bursting just from the thought of being able to mate.

They pushed the man onto their large depositor, screaming in pleasure at how snuggly he fit on them. (Reader) slid him against them, animalistic grunts bouncing off the concrete walls as they mercilessly fucked him.

His smile and incoherent babbling was cute, but (Reader) didn't really care. It didn't matter that it felt good for their abductor, that he was in complete and utter bliss. Nor did they appreciate his erect penis twitching with his building climax, about ready to cum without touching it. The only thing that mattered was coating the insides of his ass with their protective slime, forming a type of pocket to protect their eggs from his bodily functions.

Squelching sounds filled the air as he slapped into (Reader's) pelvis wetly, creating strings of fluids stretching between their bodies. (Reader) could feel that they had pumped enough nesting liquid into him, with how round he was already becoming.

The man erratically spasmed as the first egg entered his asshole, hitting his prostate on the way in. Cum hit the concrete with the next egg, off-white droplets landing pathetically by (Reader's) feet and dripping onto his own face from the doubled over position.

But (Reader) wasn't done. Eggs continued pumping into his body, brushing past the overstimulated man's sensitive spot, bringing him to tears as his post ejaculated body was overwhelmed, fucking deep into his aching hole.

He couldn't stand or run away, his legs weak from his orgasm and his body tired from the sudden bloating from his unnatural impregnation. (Reader) carefully pulled out after finishing, satisfied from laying their first brood. The man wasn't a bad host for their offspring, still smiling through his drool and tears. His full body was cradled against (Reader's) protectively, feeling content with the new life laid inside of him.

(Reader) may have only needed a warm body, but they didn't mind using this one for the rest of their mating needs ❤️

[totallynotcoffeeturtle]

Sinking Into Your Arms

Masterlist

Cw!: yandere!Scaramouche, possessive behavior, (brief) drowning/suffocation, abduction, (somewhat) suggestive. Tags: merman scaramouche, modern fantasy au, established relationship, gn!reader, open ending. Summary: Scaramouche has finally gotten tired of waiting in one place for you to come back to him.

☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆

You sighed heavily as you walked along the coast, breathing in the salty breeze. Your parents called you back during your vacation, just to rush you to get married. You weren't even that old! They had been nagging you day by day, even on your regular phone calls. Your parents wouldn't understand that you had been dating someone already, even if he can't quite go to meet them.

Scaramouche swam up to the surface the moment he felt your presence. You were gone for way too long! His eyes lit up at the sight of you wearing the necklace he gave you but acted as if he did not care one bit. "Finally care to come back, pipsqueak?," he huffed while taking out a small bracelet designed to your taste. "It doesn't matter. How long are you going to stay this time?"

You looked at him guiltily. You felt horrible for choosing an inland city, making it even more difficult to meet up. "A week at most…?," you scratch your cheek awkwardly while looking away. A dark expression flashes on his face but disappears just as quickly as it appears.

Everyday for the next week, you go to the seashore, at Scaramouche's request, each time bringing a small snack or gift as an apology for leaving him again so quickly. Your parents don't let up on trying to get you to go on blind dates, however. And with their intensifying efforts, your exhaustion also increases, leading to you pouring out all of your complaints on the final day.

Scaramouche smiles almost innocently, his violet eyes glinting under the sunlight. "I have a solution for you." His hands move to pull you down into a deep kiss, each movement slowly claiming the air in lungs as his. His sharp nails dance on the nape of your neck, pulling you deeper into delirium before pulling you into the sea with him. 

The cold water pulls you right out of your trance and you struggle against his hold desperately. Scaramouche lets go just enough for regret to fill your eyes, diving back in to give you some much needed air. This time, there is no resistance even when he stakes his claim on your lips, your tongue and even your existence as a whole. He whispers into your ear, his voice killing you into a deep slumber…

"News flash: a resident has been reported missing after going to the seaside. It is recommended to keep your family members, especially children, away from the waters as the current has been rather unforgiving…" Your parents cried, aggrieved at your disappearance. There is nothing they wouldn't give to find you again.

☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆

A/N: oh wow this wip was all the way back from april lololol well happy mermay folks!

[3amfanfiction]

Will you ever elaborate on how simon obtained doll like how you did john and darling, love your writing btw💗💗💗

Thanks for reaching out! I'm glad you like my work <33 I can't see him having enough social niceties to do anything other than to snatch doll up. He wouldn't be charming enough to get them in the car or to convince them to go home with him so it would have to be by force. Here's a little 2k blurb of Ghost bringing Doll home. cw: stalking, abduction, physical assault

Ghost and Doll Meet

Part of the Doll and Darling series. This is a dark series so mind the tags.

You'd like to say that you did something stupid to get yourself into this predicament. That you got into the wrong car or went home with the wrong person from the bar. Or even that you ran your mouth in front of the wrong audience.

It wasn't true though. You didn't do anything.

He would eventually tell you about the first time he saw you. You were walking out of a corner store, juggling your spoils as you reached for a ringing phone. He'd run out of cigarettes and happened to see you as you were leaving. It was a chance encounter that had your paths crossing. Chance that ruined your life.

The first time you saw him was from your living room window, standing across the street.

All you could really make out was the size of him, a solid black mass that seemed to draw in the surrounding light like a black hole. He was massive and covered from head to toe in dark fabric, not an inch of skin to be seen.

You jerked to a stop on your way past, staring into the deepening shadows trying to make the figure out. It was a fruitless endeavor so you did the only thing that seemed logical in the moment.

You closed the curtains and continued on with your night, paying no further mind to the peeping Tom that wanted to look into your home.

You considered the matter a done deal until you saw him again days later, this time leaning against the tailgate of an old truck as he smoked a cigarette.

It was fully dark this time and you were coming out of the grocery store when you noticed him. You would've glanced right over his hulking shape if the cherry red end didn't light up with his inhale. A brief glow that allowed just enough light to see that something was there.

Was he following you?

Maybe it wasn't even the same person. No need to jump to conclusions based solely on someone's size. He might just be waiting on a friend.

But then why was he staring at you?

His head turned to follow you as you continued along your way. That was fine, sometimes people stared, it wasn't the end of the world. No reason to panic.

You cursed the fact that this store was close enough to walk to. You'd packed up your reusable bags and now you were stuck hoofing it home. It was going to be okay though, you were going to get home safely and lock the door and everything would be just fine.

You refused to look behind you when you heard what might have been a scruff of a shoe against the concrete or might have been the bush of the tree branch against the side of a building. Either way you were almost there and it didn't concern you.

Your hands were shaking by the time you reached home and tried to get your key into the lock. It scraped at the opening a few times before finally catching, allowing you to unlock it and push the door open to quickly get inside. Slamming the door shut behind you, you leaned back and tried to catch your breath. Your heartbeat pounded away in your chest and your hands were still trembling.

But you were inside. You were safe. Nothing was going to happen to you.

It took an hour and a healthy glass of wine before you finally stopped shaking.

—

It was a week later that he was back across the street again.

You'd found yourself compulsively checking out the windows every time you had to cross them. A constant source of stress as you wondered if this would be the time you saw him again. After the first few days of nothing you began to relax, content to reassure yourself you had blown things a mite out of proportion.

That went out the window when you saw his shadow once more stood across the street, placed to have a direct view into your house.

Why was this happening? What did he want? You slammed the curtains shut so forcefully you heard stitches pop, fabric swinging madly where it had just been abruptly closed. You'd speak to the police tomorrow.

—

The police wouldn't do anything when you went to see them the next day. You'd begged for them to help but without anything more substantial than 'seeing a scary looking man hanging around' they said their hands were tied.

It was such a load of bullshit.

You stormed out of the building fuming. Sitting down with a huff at the bus stop you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Pulling it out with a frown you were greeted with a blocked number texting you. A simple sentence that sent chills down your spine.

Better luck next time, Doll.

What the fuck? How did he get your number? Was he watching you even now? You surreptitiously looked around, attempting to find him. You hadn't come across him in the daylight before. You'd foolishly thought yourself safe to go to the station since it wasn't even noon yet. Stupid stupid stupid.

You shoved your phone into your pocket with a worried frown. What were you going to do now?

—

It went on like this for a month, catching glimpses of him when you leave stores or work, standing in shadowed alcoves that you glanced over until a cigarette lit up, drawing your eye. Your curtains stayed permanently closed now, blocking the view into your house but also keeping you from seeing what was outside the window. The uncertainty of it was almost worse.

When a sound woke you in the middle of the night you knew what you were going to find before you opened your eyes.

Still, you couldn't help the involuntary choice your body made to pry your sleep-sticky eyes open, immediately zeroing in on the man standing beside your bed. It didn't even take a thought before you were opening your mouth to scream, the endeavor cut off before it started as he muffled it in his palm.

You kicked your arms and legs out but caught under the blankets as you were they didn't do much damage, just tangled you up further, tightening your noose. You got your teeth around a portion of glove covered finger and bit as hard as you could, your jaw aching with the pressure you exerted.

It was the last thing you remembered as you glimpsed a fist making its way towards your temple in the dark.

—

Waking up, your head throbbed. Just turning to see a bit more of the room you were in left your vision swimming and nausea swirling in your gut. A whimper crawled its way out of your mouth as you took deep, steadying breaths trying to recenter yourself.

It was minutes later before you were able to pry your eyes open again, squinting against the meager light of the bare light bulb as it stabbed through your skull. What greeted you was a cold, empty room.

Concrete floor and walls, nothing present except yourself and the thin mattress you were laying on. It looked like an unfinished basement or cellar with no windows and a set of rough wooden stairs leading up to the next level. The bare bulb you'd noticed before the only light source, dangling from a thin cord in the middle of the room.

Moving to curl your knees to your chest you were met with a loud clinking as pressure increased around one ankle and you realized that you were chained to a post in the middle of the room. A leather cuff wrapped snugly just above your bare foot.

You laid there and stared at it, mind shying away from the truth even when it was right in front of you. If you ignored it then it would go away, right? You'd close your eyes and when you opened them again you'd be back in your own bed, snuggled in your thick blankets, soft pillows surrounding you.

There's no way you'd actually been kidnapped by a stupid stalker. You knew it didn't only happen in Lifetime movies but you still never expected to have it happen to you. As much as you tried to fight it, you could feel your panic rising in your chest, choking out your lungs.

What was going to happen to you?

Were you going to be killed immediately? Your body taken out to the side of the highway and dumped like trash? Would anyone be able to identify you or would you be a Jane Doe for the rest of eternity? A name that wasn't your own attached to you for all of time.

Or would you be kept instead? Forced to stay in this dank room subjected to the whims of your captor. What would he do to you? What would he make you do? Would your friends and family ever stop looking for you? Would they post your missing poster to their social media every year around this time? Or try to move on with their lives?

Was one scenario better than the other?

Your mind was spiraling when you finally noticed someone in the far corner. Letting out a small scream of fear you jerked back sending radiating waves of pain down your back and through your skull. Your muscles spasming as your vision swam in and out of focus. You tried to keep your eyes on the dark mass but your spinning vision meant you had to clench them shut, anything to stop the horrible vertigo.

It was a man. The same one that grabbed you from bed you were pretty sure. Everything had happened in a rush but it was hard to forget someone that large. He was completely covered in dark clothes, obscuring all but the general shape of him.

It made him feel less human.

"What," you croaked, fighting back nausea, "what do you want? Why did you take me?"

You focused on your kernel of anger to keep from breaking down into tears. Anything to ward off the oncoming panic you could feel building. You'd never been much of a crier but you found your eyes prickling easily now. A tingle in the back of your nose, tiny little bites of a needle.

He didn't say anything, continuing to loom in the corner. A dark spot you were already coming to equate with fear and pain. As you forced yourself to focus you realized he wasn't so much looming as he was sitting, splayed comfortably in a chair—watching you.

"You're the stalker, right?" you tried, angling for a response—any response. "The one I've been seeing around? Finally got bored with watching and decided to do something about it?" Anger. Hold onto the anger.

Silence.

"Hey!" you croaked, trying still for bravado, "what, are you ignoring me? Why am I here?"

He continued to sit there quietly, through all the abuse you hurled. A silent sentinel that never reacted no matter what you thought of to throw at him, your vocabulary growing more colorful as time passed.

Your voice was hoarse and raspy by the time he deigned to respond.

When he stood, you fell silent. All your earlier bluster draining away with a single movement. Was he larger than you remembered? He was certainly scarier, having shown he wasn't afraid to assault you to get what he wanted. Remembering it made your head throb anew, the radiating ache pushing back to the forefront of your mind now that you had acknowledged it.

His boots thumped, echoing with each step like a drumbeat inside you. Each thump bringing him closer, your fate steadily encroaching. You didn't want this, you were sorry for the things you said, you didn't mean them, please don't, you babbled, anything to stop what was coming. This impending disaster you could see building with no way to brace for.

You were barely breathing by the time he stopped beside your mattress, crouching down to reach out with one glove covered palm. You flinched away, back pressed to the wall with nowhere else to go when his fingers trailed down your cheek. Pulling back he showed you the sheen of your tears on the well-worn leather. When had you started crying?

"We're gonna get along just fine, doll," he cooed condescendingly, his voice rumbling bass deep. "You an' me? S'gonna be one for the history books."

|||

Pinned Post | All Stories

[justplainwhump]

Over

Dany is captured by WRU.

A part of Angel's story.

Written for Whumpmas in July @whumpmasinjuly-archive , day 12, Caught.

Content / warnings: Abduction, betrayal, character death, whumper pov, thoughts about noncon, vibes of unhealthy relationship dynamics (m/f).

Had it been up to Frankie to choose the last day of this life, it defined wouldn't have been a Monday. The Hammonds' weekly security briefing was tedious and dull. Especially today. Especially when the sun was shining, especially when his flight to the Caribbean was -

"Frankie." Peter snapped his fingers. "Focus. Look at these photos. Anyone on these shows up near her, you get her away. The Chernovs are pissed because of the boss' latest move, and they won't hold back."

Especially when Frankie knew in detail what - no, who the biggest threat to Dany was today. He had to bite back a smirk.

"The Chernovs won't get to her," Frankie assured, peeking at the clock in the corner. "I'll keep her close."

Josie leaned back and chuckled. "Yeah. We all know just how close she keeps you."

Peter clicked his tongue. "We don't talk about the junior like that, Josie. She's an adult, she's a professional, and so is Francis. When he's listening."

"Yeah. I've got her," Frankie repeated and peeked at the clock on the wall. "And she's going to insufferable when I'm late to pick her up. So. Excuse me."

"Watch out for these guys."

"I will."

He'd been even more attentive than usual, lately, Frankie thought as he jogged towards her office. He knew WRU was scouting them, and he'd clocked some of their agents. Whom he he'd been truly on the lookout for, however, was the principal. The person behind it all. Who paid hundreds of thousands of dollars, to make Danielle Hammond his.

It scratched his professional honor that he couldn't tell. Sure, Stuart Hammond pissed off many powerful players, many of whom would go great length to take it out on his only daughter and designated successor. But none of them would use WRU as a middle man.

And Dany's own surroundings? She certainly came after her Dad, in both business sense and annoying attitude, but Frankie usually managed to keep up with a list of her enemies.

Nobody matched.

Frankie sighed, before he knocked at her door and entered right away.

"You're late," she said, not bothering to turn around from where she stood in front of her cabinet, changing from her elegant business suit into a white summer dress. Frankie was a pragmatic man, but he suspected there was some sort of poetry in that choice on a day like today. "Just in time to zip me up, though."

He stepped in behind her and carefully brushed her blond hair aside, before he reached down for the zipper.

She was gorgeous. Sun tanned, soft skin. The freckles over her shoulders. The fit body, with just the perfect mixture of curves and muscle. His hand rested on her ass just some moments, mapping her shape to keep her in his memories.

All of this would belong to someone else, soon.

"Frankie." She raised a brow at him through the mirror. "We're past this, remember? Focus."

His other hand searched for her hip, too, and he pulled her back against him. She didn't fight it. Fuck. She felt too good, her body pressed to his, just like the many times before. "Come on," he whispered into her hair. "One last time?"

Dany turned her head, and it made him shiver how close she was, how her soft breath caressed his skin. "You don't call the shots, babe," she whispered back, her hand on his cheek. "I do." She twisted her hip out of his grip. "Not today."

He wondered, how it would feel to just take her, right here, in her office. What would happen, if he just grabbed her, hand in that blond locks, tossed her over her own desk and fucked her. She was feisty, but he was stronger than her. Paid to be. He could easily overwhelm her. He'd thought about this, more than once. Never done it. Always let her call the shots. Always let her be in power. What a meek little power that was, though. All deduced, from family, from wealth.

And someone out there was about to do what Frankie couldn't. Strip that off her. That power. That name. That arrogance. All of it. And make her into a submissive little fucktoy.

Oh, he fucking hated them for getting what he longed for.

"Focus," Dany said sharply.

He took a deep breath and nodded. And he did focus. On the smell of her shampoo, on the way her hair tingled over his skin, on the curve of her ass under the zipper.

Focus.

Frankie would become a rich man today. Rich, satisfied, free. He'd just have to make it through this.

"Sorry, babe," he mumbled.

He wasn't.

~

"Why did you say that?" Dany asked, when they were going down in the elevator, looking at him through the huge mirror. "A last time? You usually don't give up that easily."

Frankie had to hide a flinch. "I... Did I really say that?"

She stared at him from honey eyes, eyebrow raised. Expectant. "Yeah."

He hated her. For being gorgeous, for that white dress, for being in charge, for looking right through him. Fifteen minutes. He just needed this to not blow up in his face for fifteen more minutes. Just needed her to trust him for fifteen more minutes. "I... I think we should end this," he said. Improvised. It felt hollow. It sounded real. "It's... It's sort of getting nowhere, right? And I... I think I deserve better."

She paused for a moment, searched his face, before she shrugged. "Okay. Yeah. I guess." She smirked. "It's really been a bit of a cliche, anyway."

The doors slid open towards the lobby, but he couldn't move.

"That's it?" Frankie asked in disbelief. "That's how simple you think this is?"

"Wasn't it always? Come on, Frankie. We fucked. It was fun, it was good, and not gonna lie-" She winked at him. "I did like spanking you. But I mean. It's just sex, right? When it's over, it's over. No hard feelings." She held out an arm to keep the elevator door open for them. "Now. Are we leaving or do you want Peter to cover your shift?"

He really considered it. For a second or two, Frankie imagined going home, having a beer, calling his parents, telling them he'd come back to work in their repair shop. Imagined a life without Dany Hammond.

No.

He'd close this chapter of his life in a much more rewarding way.

"I'm good." He gave her a sharp nod. "Yeah. No hard feelings."

He pushed past her into the lobby, took the room in with a sweeping glance. For a short moment, someone locked eyes with him.

Alex Nadler. That short, awkward WRU client satisfaction manager, dressed just like a businessperson passing by. They weren't awkward now. Their gaze felt like steel.

Frankie shivered.

Move, their lips formed as they tilted their head towards the street.

Focus, Frankie thought.

Focus.

He guided her to the door, just some steps after Alex.

By his side Dany, utterly unfazed by their past conversation, had pulled a stack of index cards from her white purse and skimmed through them, mumbling to herself. She was invited to give a speech at some charity's summer event, just two blocks south.

She wasn't scheduled to arrive.

He walked half a step behind her shoulder, as always, shielded her from behind and towards the street. And as always, his gaze constantly flicked from the surroundings to her. Her long legs, short white dress, perfectly curved ass, blond strands dancing in the wind. People made space for her on instinct, looked at her, jealous, admiring, greedy. And herself - she didn't even notice, deep into her notes, trusting the man behind her to keep her safe.

The man she'd let into her bed, but nowhere else. The man who'd been good enough to guard her, but not to be more than an affair out of dozens. The man she'd led him on, made feel special, and then proved over and over that to her, he was anything but.

A van closed in from behind them. In front, Alex slowed their steps to down to fall back to Dany's side.

Everything was in place.

Dany had no idea.

Frankie smiled grimly.

For someone as savvy as she was, she was pathetically naive.

Then, Alex raised their hand.

~

It happened in seconds. The van slowed by the curb, its door sliding open. Masks. Machine guns.

Dany's index cards silently drifting to the sidewalk. Her white dress still dancing around her thighs, while she stood frozen in shock.

Her first move was for him. A hand, reaching back, to where she knew her protector would be.

Frankie grabbed her waist, a move so familiar he could almost laugh. "I've got you, babe" he mumbled. He could swear that he felt her relax the tiniest bit.

Then he hefted her into the van, right between the armed men.

He jumped in, Alex followed, and the van accelerated, sped off, before Dany had even said a word.

She didn't, still, even when one of the captors took her purse and passed it on to toss it out. Even when another pulled back her wrists and fixed them with zip ties. Even when they forced her to her knees and bound her ankles as well.

Even with a stranger's hand in her hair, a gun to her head, she stayed silent, attentive, aware. Her gaze was on Frankie alone.

And oh. He could drown in those eyes.

When someone touched his wrist, disturbed the image, he angrily flinched. "Sit," a masked man next to him said. "It's getting bumpy."

"I'm -" Frankie grabbed for a hold on the side, just before the van sped around a corner.

"An asshole," Dany said flatly. "I should've known."

Somebody chuckled. But apart from that, nobody spoke.

She didn't say anything more either. Smart girl, he thought. Just as him and the security guys had talked through with her dozens of times. Don't give them anything. Stay calm. Stay alert. Don't fight. Could even have helped, had this been what she probably assumed it to be.

A kidnapping for ransom, for information, for leverage. A kidnapping that matched her worldview. Matched her self image of being the centre of the world.

He idly wondered, what they'd do with that cute white dress. Trash it, probably. Too bad. He'd have liked to fuck her in it.

The van hit a speedbump, another one, and Dany let out a short gasp when the man behind her yanked at her hair trying to keep his footing. The outside noises changed, grew dull, and the van drove into a long, spiraled curve. Parking garage, Frankie thought.

The door slid open, and without spoken commands, their captors emerged into the dark, boots echoing on concrete.

They were alone.

Frankie and Dany, his charge, his lover, his boss. He'd have given his life for her, a long time. Now, he'd sold hers.

She tried to push herself off the ground, get onto her knees again. Under the dim inside light of the van, her dress seemed to emit light. He saw her eyes skim over the inside of the car, the door, back at him, assessing the situation. It was hopeless.

She knew.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why, Frankie?"

"Money," Frankie said with a shrug and crouched down in front of her. "A new life. Seeing you on your knees. Actually, mostly the latter." He reached out and gently traced her cheek. She did flinch now. Cute. "Because you're a bitch, Dany." He grabbed her chin harder. "Because I get paid to see you destroyed."

She stared at him. He wondered if her lip was trembling, or if it was just the light. "It... You know it doesn't make sense, right?" she said.

Frankie pulled back from the kiss he'd just wanted to press on her lips, irritated. "What?"

"That story. You're a loose end. No mobster in their right mind would just let you walk. You betrayed me, you sold me out to be destroyed, but they'll kill you first." She let out a low chuckle. "Oh Frankie. You've always been a fucking idiot."

Fucking bitch tried to belittle him, even at her lowest.

"Oh no, babe." He shook his head. "You have no idea. They're not the mob. They're something else. They just planned to make it look like-"

Dany raised an eyebrow.

Fuck.

Something cold pressed into the back of his neck.

Frankie froze.

"She's right," Alex said behind him, their voice even. "We're professionals. At WRU, we don't leave loose ends."

Dany's gorgeous, brown eyes widened with sudden understanding, her mask of smug confidence finally shattered. "No," she breathed. "No, no, not WRU, not that, not -"

Dany Hammond looked lovely, he thought, when she fell apart.

He held on to that image, as he took his last breath.

---

[Next]

- --

Angel tag list (ask to be added or removed): @whumplr-reader @there-will-always-be-blood @whimpers-and-whumpers @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @risk606

[necros-writing-stuff]

His love is violent. It's the scars on your neck from the years of chafing from his collar kissing your neck. It's the finger shaped bruised that accompany those scars and litter your hips, waist, wrists, thighs - anything he can hold onto tight enough. It's the imprints of teeth, left red and sore after his way has been had.

Eden's love is obsessive yet insecure. It's the routines that he sticks to every day and the role this routine forces you to play. It's the way everything is shared but he always comes first to the breakfast table. It's the way that the body he hates gives him the strength and power he cherishes to keep you in line.

The hunter's love is hypocritical. It's the way he preaches of dangers he protects you from yet all of the previous statements are true. It's the declarations of love when his persistence brings your tears. It's the grief that comes when you realise that he, of all people, should know how this feels.

[splatoonpolls]

If you’re a fan. DO NOT SPOIL in the reblogs or comments

[wolfsbanesparks]

Trick or Treat!

*Throws 2 candys at you and steals the bowl of candy*

Happy Halloween!

I hope you're not squeamish! This one includes descriptions of a dead body (obviously from Pretty Little Thing)

Blood dripped down his face, slipping down from his nose and mouth, leaving dark red trails down his cheeks, almost like tear tracks. His head lolled to the side, his unseeing eyes boring into Billy’s, silently begging for help, silently damning him for not saving him. He almost wished they would come back, that they would go back to torturing him, anything not to be left alone with the body, the reminder of how badly he had failed, the promise of what his future would hold.

[dirtybg3confessions]

can't stop thinking about gortash abducting a redeemed!durge and forcing himself on them. it starts as him trying to get them to remember their relationship - they're bound and gagged but he's being gentle, he's convincing himself they want this - but then when it becomes clear that not only do they not remember, they want nothing to do with him now because they're some goody-two-shoes he starts getting more and more rough and starts torturing them for information on the party and where the netherstone(s) they already have are. he's trying to convince himself that now it's just business, he has to break them like any other prisoner and this is the quickest way, but in reality he's furious they moved on without him and wants to ruin them for their new love interest. fucking them dry until they're bleeding and sobbing and begging for mercy while he digs his gauntlet-covered fingers into their fresh bruises and tells them they deserve this.

[horygory]

No One Will Save You (2023)

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* The Wishing Hole (Yandere x GN!Reader)

Warning!! This is not a romance, read at your own risk CW: LONG, Dead Dove, abuse, murder, trauma, manipulation, masturbation, mutilation, unhealthy relationships, obsession

"Have you heard about the hole?"

Part I

"It's right over here!" Miranda theater-whispered to her friends as she led them through the black woods. Their flashlights bobbed in the darkness, the only light visible to the trio of twelve year olds as they trekked through the thicket. (Reader) gripped onto their envelope tightly, fearful of leaving sweat marks on it.

They had been staying the night at Brian's house when Miranda brought up the hole. A local urban legend by that point, the story of a hole that granted wishes. Brian had chastised Miranda for believing a story so stupid, but still followed her and (Reader) when they snuck out to grant their wishes.

"How do you know where it is?" He nervously hissed.

"Abby's sister Rebecca has a friend who found it. Over here." Miranda spoke as though it should have been obvious why she knew where it was.

(Reader) could do nothing but hope. They hoped hard, over and over again, wrinkling the papers in their fist as the yellow light led them to their future. All they could do was beg the universe to grant their wish. For the hole to be real.

The trees thinned and opened, revealing a small clearing with a very deep hole dug out of the earth. It was a normal looking hole, but in the dark of a moonless night to a group of children, it was ominous.

Their muddy boots all stopped a good foot away from the edge. The ground didn't look stable.

After taking a shaky breath, Miranda threw her envelope into the hole, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused all her energy on the wish written inside the letter she tossed. Brian thought about arguing, calling out his friends for littering, but instead copied Miranda, throwing his wish in as well. (Reader) felt adrenaline shoot to their finger tips as the anxiety tried to rip through their veins and escape their skin. Their packet was thicker than either of their friends', and fell harder as they chucked it in with all their strength.

The only future (Reader) wanted was nearly impossible. It would take divine intervention to get that happiness. "What did you wish for?" Miranda asked Brian behind (Reader).

"I want to know what I want to do."

"That's it?"

"What'd you wish for?"

"A hot boyfriend, who's gonna love me, and marry me."

"Well, when you're trapped in a marriage with three kids, I'll be doing what I love every day."

Miranda groaned loudly, refusing to get into another argument with her best friend. She instead looked at (Reader) who was still focusing on the hole. "What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

Their eyes seemed to be seeing something the other two couldn't see. Large pupils fixated on nothing, still filled with enough anxiety to cripple an adult.

"Someone who loves me.."

"Ugh, not you too.." Brian's voice melted into the background, almost unintelligible in the dense air. The contents of the wish filled (Reader's) head to the point that nothing else could be heard.

• 15 years later •

Another failed date.

Dark rings permanently decorated the underneath of (Reader's) tired eyes. The perpetually single adult slid down against the wall, too exhausted to continue standing. There was nothing particularly wrong with the guy, but he just wasn't "the one" for (Reader). He was boring and awkward, rambling about his job and future plans, bragging about his hypothetical future fortune. Nothing he did was bad enough for (Reader) to guiltlessly label him a douche, but nothing about him was their type.

They pulled out their phone, looking at the dark haired man on their wallpaper for a second too long before opening up their messages with their date. (Reader) typed up a quick message to thank Rich for the date, but that they didn't see it going any further.

The phone was tossed to the side as (Reader) struggled to stand, grabbing a beer from their fridge as the phone began chiming from the linoleum. Texts rapidly coming in were ignored by (Reader) as they cracked open their first drink for the night.

His unread messages echoed through (Reader's) shoebox apartment.

The weary adult wondered how their therapist would react next week at their appointment. It wasn't realistic for an adult to fixate on a wish they had made as a child, but just like all those years ago, (Reader) knew deep in their bones that there was no happiness for them if they couldn't have that wish come true. Rich was attractive, in an average sort of way, with straight brown hair cut a little too short for the shape of his brow. He had nice lips, (Reader) thought, but couldn't imagine kissing them.

The beer tasted like lightly bitter water. Not a promising sign; it tasted like they would need something stronger. On the way to the living room (Reader) noticed their bedroom door had some dirt on the white paint, like someone had pushed it open with filthy hands.

(Reader) felt an anxious jolt to their system. A familiar pain they hadn't felt in a long time. They pushed open the door, timidly entering their own room like a stranger nervous to be caught. But the room was empty.

"So, how'd your date with Rich go?" Adam asked hopefully. The same trio of friends since primary school sat in their local diner. It was a monthly ritual, gathering for brunch to force themselves to keep in touch. They tried to hold the meeting every week, but with work scheduling it was impossible. Adam sat with his husband, Jon, across from Brian and (Reader). Everyone had changed so much as they got older, but that was to be expected. No one can stay a child forever.

(Reader) sighed before sipping on their milkshake. Adam knew exactly what that meant, and groaned, just as dramatically as when he was a child. His hair may be shorter, but some things stayed consistent.

"What was wrong with this guy?"

"Nothing!" (Reader) replied defensively. "He just... wasn't my type."

Brian pushed up his glasses. "Maybe you should lower your standards."

"Brian!"

"-I mean, it's good to have standards, obviously, but people are real people, not characters in a book. No one is going to match your description of a perfect partner, because people aren't perfect, ya know?"

(Reader) stole a glance at their phone, admiring the black haired man behind the time. "You can say that, because your wish already came true. Both of yours."

Both Brian and Adam looked ashamed and a little uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact and fixating on their meals. Jon almost went cross-eyed trying to understand what (Reader) was implying.

(Reader) stood, tossing a couple bills onto the table. "I have to go, I'll talk to you guys later."

"Okay, have a good day! Text me when you get home." Adam said warmly, hugging his dear friend tightly while trying to shape his face into a happier expression.

"I will. Bye."

Brian gave up a small side hug, grimacing.

Jon waited until (Reader) was out of sight before asking "Were they talking about that wish you guys made as kids?"

The bespectacled young man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

"I know what Adam wished for, but what did you and (Reader) wish for?" When he mentioned Adam's wish, Adam rolled his eyes playfully and they nudged each other lightly. Their whole relationship was practically diabetic for Brian, who still after all these years didn't get the appeal in romance.

Brian adjusted his glasses again, clearing his throat. "I wanted to know what to do with my life." And he had found that calling. The summer before high school he discovered a YouTube channel centered around ornithology and sent him on a strange spiral of bird mania. His friends and family thought it was a temporary fixation that he would lose interest in after a year or so, but his newfound fascination guided him all the way through college, landing him in an animal husbandry profession taking care of cranes at (what Brian considered to be) a humane zoo. "(Reader) wished for someone to love them."

"Well, I believe there's someone for everyone. It takes some people longer to find 'the one' than it does for others, and (Reader) seems like a great person, so I'm sure they'll meet someone that fits their childhood ideal."

Although Jon meant well with his words he could see the discomfort on his husband's and Brian's faces, their eyes either focused on their drink or plate.

They never read (Reader's) wish.

But over the years the two friends had begun to piece together a picture of the kind of man (Reader) wanted.

It was a complete breach of trust, looking into a friend's past, going full internet stalker mode to investigate into the secrets (Reader) wouldn't divulge. And what they found...

Was a lot.

They didn't know how to open the conversation with their third musketeer, since the facts and speculations were all obtained without (Reader's) knowledge or permission, but if Brian and Adam were correct in their understanding of what (Reader's) wish was, they genuinely wanted to help (Reader).

They also knew where (Reader) was going. But even that was impossible to confess.

Because at that moment, (Reader) was in their car for their monthly four hour visit with the greatest man (Reader) had ever known. It was unfortunate scheduling, but (Reader) couldn't compromise the day for either party. Keeping in contact with their friends was important for their mental health (according to their therapist) but this meeting was more important to (Reader) than practically anything else in their life.

Metal fencing and high beige walls appeared through the trees like a fairy tale castle. Instead of an evil dragon guarding the entrance, however, there were armed guards. Still every bit of evil in (Reader's) eyes.

"Welcome back, Mx. (Reader)." The usual security officer greeted grimly. Before he could ask for identification, (Reader) already had it out. Although they had met many times throughout the past decade, it was still a formality required by law. The two filled out the necessary paperwork while only offering tight smiles. He opened the gate for (Reader) to drive in and park in the visitor's lot. (Reader) always felt the cameras on them whenever they entered this "castle".

Officers emptied (Reader's) pockets and scanned their body for metal. There would be no physical connection at all, but they still needed to take precautions.

(Reader) was led through the lifeless grey halls towards visitation. Each step made their heart race and fostered the smile on their lips. Approaching the room with squeaky broken stools and bulletproof glass relaxed their faux grin for a genuine tranquility. There were no other visitors at the time.

The stool creaked under (Reader) as they gently eased into the old thing, staring at the window. Shortly after they sat down, the man from their phone's wallpaper, now with more silver hair than black, shuffled in on the other side, smiling softly as he sat across from (Reader). They both grabbed the phones.

"Hi Dad."

His dark eyes with pupils so large that without direct light made them look black had deeply etched wrinkles decorating them that folded deeper as he smiled. When Donavon McElroy was arrested, the news outlets focused on his eyes like some kind of Kubrick film, fixating on how you could just see the evil in some people. It felt as though the only person in the entire country who could see how loving Donavon's eyes were was (Reader).

"Hey kiddo. I've missed you."

"I missed you too." There were only four hours of visitation allowed per month. "Have you been getting my letters?"

Greasy ringlets of hair tumbled to the side as he cocked his head. "They're still the highlight of each week." Donavon didn't blink often. Even though the lights always hurt his eyes, no matter how dim they were, he seemed like a mannequin, refusing to blink and miss a second of his precious child's face. "How have you been since our last visit? I know you said in your letters that you're still going to therapy, which is good, very good.. how's that going for you?"

(Reader) felt their smile dip a little. "Well, it's going. I don't really like my therapist, but I know it's just because I don't like what she has to say. Even if I change doctors, they'll still say the same things."

Donavon nodded understandingly. It was like that at first for him as well, receiving psychiatric treatment while in prison. "I didn't like being told that my line of thinking was.. wrong. I knew that logically my thinking was, of course, obviously wrong, but it didn't feel wrong, so having a.. professional tell me that was upsetting."

"But it's important that you continue with it. And I'm very proud of you for continuing with it."

(Reader) laughed. It was a sharp scoff of a laugh, but not spiteful. It filled their chest with hot lava to hear someone praise them for doing what they've been doing since they were ten years old. Because it was difficult. Even if (Reader) continuously told themselves that this was the bare minimum. It was still difficult.

"She has me out in the dating world." (Reader) slumped a little, only slightly enough that no one but Donavon could tell the change in their posture. "Which is.. not fun."

"It can be fun. Does that carnival still come? There used to be a traveling carnival, a pop up fair, that would set up in a parking lot of a small store in our home town, really cheap. That could be a fun first date. Tiny ferris wheel and gravitron. Elephant ears." The two adults smiled widely thinking about it, but neither of them were picturing it as a date. His smile melted when he realized this. "I wish I could have taken you there."

(Reader) imagined a different life, one where they were in his care instead of their mother's, eating pastries the size of their head and getting sick on possibly dangerous attractions in a small parking lot. Their mother never took them, but they knew which pop up fair he was talking about, riding past it on the bus many times in their life. "That sounds like it would have been fun.."

".. but like I said, dating can be fun. As long as your being safe." (Reader's) dad's smile bounced back. "What have you done so far that hasn't been fun?"

"Well, I went out for dinner. Guy named Rich. He was, uh, decent. Talked a lot. Mostly about his job, and goals."

"Sounds career focused, that's good."

"Eh.." They shrugged, eyes drifting.

"What was wrong with him?"

(Reader) sighed. "Nothing. He was.. competent. Seemed like a regular guy. He just.. wasn't my type."

Guilt began to crawl through the folds of Donavon's brain like bugs infesting his conscious. He knew it was all his fault. Everything. But if he said that out loud, (Reader) would deny it, argue and fight it. "Well, there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"There's also plenty of trash."

Donavon pointed a finger at his kid warningly. "There's also sunken treasure. Don't give up hope."

"I don't need someone to be happy.."

"That's true.. but something tells me that when you weren't actively dating around, you weren't being content with the single life, and that's why your therapist is having you go out there. That.. maybe you were still waiting around for something that you shouldn't have, instead of living life to the fullest while alone."

The two became uncomfortably silent. This happened nearly every month. "I just want someone who loves me."

Donavon swore he could cry at that moment. "I'm sorry for-"

"Don't apologize." (Reader) cut him off. "Don't apologize for being a great dad."

"I wasn't. I wasn't a great dad. I'm-"

"-don't-"

"-a monster, (Reader). Kiddo, please, just listen to me. I'm sorry for the things I've done. The way I went about.. I wasn't in my right mind.. what I put you through was not okay. It was not, and will never be okay." He leaned forward, wishing to break through the glass dividing them and hug his kid. "I'm so sorry."

(Reader) softly responded "You're the only person who ever loved me."

"And you deserve better than that."

'No', (Reader) thought, 'there is no better than that.'

"Let's change the subject, please." (Reader) closed their eyes, forcing away the tears. "We never have enough time, and I don't want to spend the entire day focusing on sad shit."

Donavon took a shaky breath. "Okay, kiddo.." he mulled over for a second what to talk about before cracking a smile, one wide enough to show off his missing canine. "Remember Eddy?"

"Your old bunk mate?"

"Yep."

"What about him?"

"He got stabbed."

The sentence was so short and sudden that it shocked (Reader) into snorting, bringing back their genuine smile. "What? When? What happened?"

From the door an older guard smiled sadly, away from view. Donavon was liked by nearly everyone, both by the guards and the other prisoners. It was always a shame, getting to know someone who was supposed to be an evil bastard, and learning that they were just a great man who needed help. Plenty of the older guards understood that (Reader) would forever look at them with disgust and mildly veiled hatred. Because Donavon was (Reader's) hero, and the guards were just wardens unjustly holding him captive.

Their conversation continued without pause, filling the empty room with sounds of parental love and warmth. The guard at the door loved being there whenever it was time for (Reader's) visit with their dad, because it really was an incredibly beautiful and emotional scene every time he was present, but he also hated being the one on duty whenever (Reader) came, because he had to be the villain to say "Time's up" when their four hours were over.

"Mx. (Reader). Donavon."

(Reader's) eyes drooped, darkening under the shadow of their eyelashes. "Already?"

"Unfortunately."

The guard had been there so long, he remembered when (Reader) was a child, and would cry and scream whenever it was time to leave, begging him to let their daddy out.

Donavon smiled comfortingly. "Thank you for visiting me, kiddo."

"Of course."

"Maybe in another decade they'll let me have physical contact visitation." Donavon chuckled, only half serious with his hopeful statement. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too. Don't forget to write."

"I never do."

They both stood up, hanging up their phones painfully. It was the worst time of the day. His chains shook around his wrists as he waved goodbye. He never hurt a single guard in his time incarcerated, but it was a formality, a requirement, due to the nature of his crime. It didn't seem to matter how good his behavior was. Even though the guards trusted him, according to the law Donovan was still to be treated as a monster.

After being guided back out of the room, through the halls, and out to the parking lot, (Reader) finally felt like they could breathe. The air that was stolen when the guard ended their visit with their dad was greedily sucked up outside the stifling building. They finally looked at their silent phone, seeing a dozen messages from Rich. Or, who's number (Reader) assumed was Rich, since they had deleted his contact as soon as they woke up that morning.

Most of the texts were pleas for a second date, or an explanation for what he did wrong. Some of them were insults.

(Reader) sighed, deleting the conversation and blocking his number before getting into their car, allowing tears to silently fall down their warm cheeks. All that they wished for was for someone to love them, and no one would ever love them like their dad did.

The drive back was just as miserable as it was every month.

And just like every month, the tears didn't stop until (Reader) pulled up to their apartment. It was a long day, where the good moments weren't long enough, and (Reader) was ready for another beer. It wasn't Sunday, but it was their Sunday, which meant that they couldn't stay up drinking all night.

But it felt as though they had just popped open their can when someone started pounding on their door, angrily and frantically. (Reader) cursed not being able to afford to live in an apartment that had a controlled door to the building, living in a cheap one that had the stairs on the outside of the building. Which meant that there were no security measures to prevent just anyone from coming straight to (Reader's) unit.

They set the alcohol to the side and made their way to the door. The banging only stopped when the person on the other side heard (Reader) unlocking the deadbolt. A slightly sweaty man with brown hair too short to be messy stood impatiently.

"Rich?"

The slightly younger man shrugged sharply, jutting his head to the side with an attitude as if to say 'No shit, who else?'

"Are you going to let me in?" He asked impatiently.

"Uh, no?" (Reader) furrowed their brow. "How'd you find where I live?" They were too confused to even be mad or scared.

"It wasn't difficult; literally everything is online." Rich responded as though (Reader) was a fucking idiot for even asking. The disrespect was shocking, a severe shift from how he acted during their date. He shifted abruptly as though he was going to charge (Reader), so they tightened their muscles, holding the door closer to their side, which earned an aggravated huff.

"What are you doing here, Rich?"

"Well, you owe me an explanation after you ghosted me after our date the other day." His tone made it sound so obvious.

(Reader) scoffed, almost amused. "No I fucking don't."

"I was the perfect gentleman on our date considering the circumstances, you and I had a good time, but then you ghosted me? And I just want to know why." The emphasis on the 'considering the circumstances' included a wave, motioning to (Reader's) body. (Reader) didn't know if he was insinuating that their body was a problem, or if it was their gender expression, or if he just had high fashion expectations that (Reader) didn't live up to, but the little hand movement finally ticked them off.

"Okay, you're done." (Reader) tried to close the door, but Rich was stronger than he looked, and effortlessly pushed them back into their apartment and entered. (Reader) didn't fall, only stumbled, wobbling to regain balance as Rich casually closed the door behind him, pacing his hands on his hips.

"So, what did I do wrong?"

"You mean before you broke into my home?"

"I did- don't be fucking dramatic, I did not break in. I just want to know, I just want to know what I did wrong."

(Reader) slowly backed up, mentally picturing the apartment behind them to figure out where their closest form of defense was. "Nothing. It just didn't work out-"

"BULL SHIT."

"-you weren't my type."

Rich stuck out his jaw, clicking his tongue. "That isn't a reason."

"Yes, it is-"

"That isn't a reason to be a fucking dick."

'How far behind me is my knife block?'

Before (Reader) could make a move their front door violently flew open again, slamming loudly into the wall. Both Rich and (Reader) whipped around at the jarring noise.

A man stood in the doorway.

His skin was so caked in dirt and muck that his yellowish skin was almost completely painted over. Long, black hair curled due to the oil, hanging down and sticking to his gaunt face. Between the shaggy locks black eyes glared unblinkingly.

"Who the fuck is that?!" Rich nearly hollered, retreating closer to (Reader) out of fear, unable to tear his eyes away from the modified weapon in the intruder's hand.

Warmth spread throughout (Reader's) entire body; the god of love releasing a cage of butterflies into their body.

"He's here to kill me."

Part 0

Eight year old (Reader) tugged on their oversized long sleeve shirt. It was rubbing against the bruises uncomfortably. Everything about their body felt uncomfortable lately.

Their mother was late again.

Mr. Haley sighed loudly for the umpteenth time, looking at his watch as though it was (Reader's) fault their mother hadn't picked them up yet. It was warm and humid, and the sleeves of (Reader's) shirt were sticking to their arms. Despite the heat, Mr. Haley wouldn't allow (Reader) to wait inside, instead standing at the entrance of the school under a tree. (Reader) was the last child at pickup, aside from the children outside on the field for after school sports.

"Is your mom working late again?"

(Reader) didn't answer, instead watching the man walking into the nearly empty parking lot who seemed to be staring at (Reader) and their teacher. They couldn't tell exactly from how far away he was, but he didn't get any closer, keeping to the entrance, partially hidden behind a sign.

"Do you have anyone else I can call? Grandparents?" His kind voice was strained, exhaustion melting his patience.

The man suddenly ducked away from view, and shortly after (Reader's) frazzled mother sped walked into the lot, storming closer to the building. (Reader) left to meet her half way in an attempt to calm her down, but their teacher followed.

"Good afternoon, Ms. (Name)-"

"(Reader), c'mon." As soon as (Reader's) mother was close enough she immediately spun on her heel to leave again, ignoring the teacher.

"Ms. (Name), this is the third time-"

"I know!" The woman snapped, stopping abruptly, causing (Reader) to bump into her side. "I'm sorry."

"-the third time this month."

"I said I know!" She whined, throwing up her hands. "I couldn't get out of work, it wasn't that long!"

"After school activities are almost over. It's been almost an hour-"

"Don't be a dick, okay, I'm twenty minutes late."

"School ended forty minutes ago."

She crossed her arms. "So not an hour."

"Almost an hour-"

"So not an hour."

Mr. Haley sighed in defeat. He tried again, however, he was interrupted by the woman grabbing (Reader) by the arm and dragging them out of the parking lot. Her nails dug into the scabs on (Reader's) arm.

She spat out curses towards the teacher as she dragged her kid down the road towards the bus stop.

"Fucking asshole- and I told you that I was working late!" She turned her frustrations on (Reader), squeezing their arm painfully before releasing them, making (Reader) lose their balance.

"I'm sorry, Mom.." (Reader) quietly apologized, already shrinking in on themselves, head hunching into their tiny shoulders.

"Jesus, stop flinching like that. You look like I beat you or something.."

It was true, she never hit (Reader).

She just grabbed them.

Grabbed them by the back of the shirt, the front of their collar, the arms, wrists, and all parents smack their kids on the back of their heads, that's not hitting. It wasn't her fault that (Reader) bruised so easily. She didn't even hit them.

The city bus pulled up to the stop.

"Kevin's coming over for date night, so when we get home, make sure to do all your homework in your room. I'll bring you dinner and some snacks, but the adults need some alone time, okay?"

"Okay?"

"Okay!" (Reader) loudly responded, wringing their shirt in frustration.

(Reader) liked their mom when they had popcorn nights, when they made a bowl of popcorn and sat down to watch a rented movie together. But most of the time? (Reader) hated their mother.

They hated the way she dismissed them. (Reader) never seemed to be a priority in the woman's life. It didn't even feel like she hated (Reader). (Reader) was just nothing. They didn't receive hugs when they were scared, didn't get kisses when they were sick. And it wasn't one of those cases where you can't remember a single good memory because you're mad; (Reader) couldn't recall a single time their mother ever said the words 'I love you' to them.

She said it to Kevin though.

When they arrived home, (Reader) immediately went to their room, closing the door and flopping onto their mattress on the floor. They didn't feel like doing their homework, and decided instead on a quick nap. It wasn't like their mother was going to check in on them and see how they were doing anyway.

Maybe their dreams would bring a nice family for them.

CRASH!

A loud smash of glass and something heavy falling onto the thin apartment floor woke (Reader) up. They didn't know how long they were out for, but the sun was still up. (Reader) nervously bolted off the mattress and onto their feet, teetering in the middle of the room.

There was a quiet choking sound that liquefied into a gurgle before silencing.

(Reader's) handle slowly turned and their door was softly opened. A terrified looking man drenched in blood stood in front of (Reader), gazing down at them with inhuman eyes. His eyes were wide, panicked, but glassy, red, and with pupils so enlarged that he reminded (Reader) of the ghost woman from a scary movie their mother had been watching. He tried to brush his black hair out of his eyes, never looking away from (Reader's). It was the most intense staring contest (Reader) had ever been in.

He was timid in his approach, crouching down to his knees as he got closer to (Reader).

"..Hi." His voice was shaky and breathy. The man seemed to be overcome with an emotion that (Reader) didn't recognize. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, yet he still didn't blink. He swallowed hard before continuing. "My name is Donavon."

(Reader) was in an odd trance, halfway between petrified and numb. "My name is (Reader)." They didn't know why they answered.

"I know." For the first time since entering, Donavon glanced away from (Reader), searching the room for something. There were no toys in (Reader's) room. "Are you a-" His face broke trying to find the words he needed for his question. "Are you a b-?" A- a-.."

"I'm a kid." (Reader) tugged on their uncomfortable long sleeve shirt.

Donavon smiled so wide that his face looked like it completely split in half. Tears ran down his face shamelessly. The pure joy startled (Reader). "You're a kid." He sniffed back his snot and wiped away some tears, still smiling so hard that his face was turning red and he looked like he was going to laugh. "You're my kid."

He pulled (Reader) into a hug.

It wasn't like the quick hug the school nurse gave them, or the hugs their friends at school gave them; it was desperate.

He squeezed them almost too tightly, his fingers digging painfully into their ribs as he breathed in their hair. But (Reader) didn't cry out or ask him to stop. Tears had begun to fall from their eyes as well.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I should have been here. I should have been here." He started rocking (Reader) as he apologized into their scalp. "I didn't know about you, but I do now, and I'm here now."

(Reader) felt him kiss the side of their head quickly before he went back to whispering.

"I didn't know. But I do now. I'm so sorry."

It was too much, and it made (Reader) cry. They sobbed loudly, wailing into his chest as they returned the hug.

"I love you, (Reader). I love you so much. I don't know you yet, but I still love you. I should have been here for you, but I am now. And I am never letting you go. Okay? No one is ever taking you away from me."

Police sirens approached, screaming outside the building. (Reader) felt Donavon quickly reach into his back pocket, but he never let go from their right embrace.

"I never knew your mom. When I saw you with her last year, I - I tried to get into contact, but, but.. No one would listen to me, I had no proof.. I.. got a DNA test.. I -I'm your dad! I'm a father!" He started rambling, trying to explain things to (Reader), but they couldn't understand anything he was saying. And it didn't matter to them. He said he loved them.

(Reader) heard heavy boot steps and an officer loudly announce his presence.

"No one is ever taking you away from me again."

He was still only hugging (Reader) with one arm.

Someone entered the room, and a really loud sound hurt (Reader's) ears.

An officer shot Donovan in the shoulder, causing the knife he was holding to clatter onto the floor. He fell, releasing (Reader). They saw the knife and quickly put two and two together. But something happened in (Reader's) underdeveloped brain. It didn't matter that they had just met him. That man the police just shot was their dad. And he loved them.

"No!" (Reader) tried to launch themselves at Donovan to protect him, but their tiny body was caught by an officer.

"Don't worry, I've got ya!" The man tried to console (Reader), easily subduing their thrashing limbs, but his soothing voice didn't ease the pain in their heart, nor did it dampen the volume of their shrieks.

"DADDY!!"

The cop carried (Reader) out past the bodies of their mother and Kevin. Both were mutilated, lying naked near the couch in a pool of blood and spilt vodka.

Donavon was sentenced to life without parole.

He testified in court that the only thing he regretted was almost hurting his child. (Reader's) mother had taken advantage of him at a party years ago. Donavon had passed out drunk in the master's bedroom and woken up with his pants and underwear around his ankles. He told the court he didn't remember anything that happened, so although he suspected that someone had assaulted him, he had no proof and records showed that the police refused to help him when he went to report it.

It was a one in a million chance that Donavon saw (Reader) and their mother grocery shopping over a year ago, and nearly had a heart attack seeing a little kid who had his father's ears. Ears are just as unique as fingerprints, and to see a little kid with badly cut hair looking like a mixture of his father's baby photos and the woman walking beside them gave Donavon a sense of confidence that was borderline disturbing. He told the jury that he approached the woman with the intent of making polite conversation about how much alike her kiddo looked like his late father, but knew immediately that (Reader) was his, because when their mother looked Donavon in the eyes she recognized him.

"Before I could even say 'Hi', she grabbed (Reader's) arm and said 'Stay away from my child, Donavon.' I didn't even remember her face."

On the witness stand, Donavon admitted to breaking into their home so he could get access to (Reader's) DNA, stealing their hair brush. He also admitted to stalking the family, watching them as (Reader) openly showed signs of abuse. He called CPS multiple times, but nothing ever came of it.

Donavon repeated how time and time again law enforcement failed to help him get custody of his 'alleged' child, and that he had "snapped".

"I told (Reader) that no one would take them away from me again. Please, please I know I was wrong." Donavon pleaded the jury, looking past the lawyers and staring with his horrifying, never ending gaze. "Please don't put me away forever. I can get better, with help! I needed help! But my baby, my kiddo, they deserve better, please don't separate us again!"

Despite going to a decent foster family and receiving regular therapy sessions with child services, (Reader) had learned what true love was. The smiles their foster family gave them felt fake. No one could hug (Reader) tight enough to press their way into (Reader's) heart. Love was tears streaming down from the black coal eyes of a desperate father who just killed his kiddo's abusers. That was heroic. That was good. Just.

(Reader's) foster parents smiled at each other all the time, and said I love you multiple times a day. Then they divorced. Love was (Reader's) daddy, ready to kill (Reader) so they never had to be apart again.

The therapist with child services watched with a broken heart as (Reader) refused her homemade cookies. "Have you made any friends at school?"

(Reader) shrugged. They didn't see much of a point in friends. "There are these two kids I eat lunch with." Two kids who wouldn't leave them alone, no matter how much (Reader) ignored them.

"That's good! What are their names?"

"Miranda and Brian."

"Are they good kids?"

"They're weird. Brian wears glasses that make his eyes look super big, and Miranda wears a fedora."

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret. The weird kids are usually more fun to hang out with than the normal kids!" She winked while smiling, but it didn't phase (Reader).

"When can I see my dad?"

The therapist leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to control her inner turmoil before shutting her eyes. "I'm working on that, but it's very difficult. Mr. McElroy is in a lot of trouble for what he did."

(Reader) looked down at the drawing they had been making of them playing outside with Donavon. "I wish he killed me."

Part II

Warren had run away from home, again.

His left eye was swollen shut, and blood speckled the front of his t-shirt. The ten year old hadn't even done anything yet, but his father had had a bad day at work, and been drinking for a couple of hours by the time Warren was dropped off by the Saturday babysitter.

He ran into the woods, blinded by his tears and the swelling.

Because of the crying and injury to his eye, Warren couldn't see very well, and kept running even when he emerged from the trees into a clearing; running into a very deep hole.

There was a pain as his ankle popped, crashing at the bottom into the mud. Everything hurt, so he allowed himself to scream and cry as loudly as he needed. No one was going to come for him anyway.

And so he stayed in the hole and watched as the sun went down and the world went black. Even though he knew his father wouldn't come looking for him, he still wished he would. He wished someone needed him as badly as he needed them.

There was no moon that night, leaving Warren completely blind after the purple sunset left the sky. With his unusually dilated pupils Warren typically preferred the dark over the sun, but without the moon there wasn't enough light for him to see.

'Maybe, I should just spend the night in here.' The sad thought made him sniffle, threatening to release the floodgates again.

"It's right over here!" A loud whisper followed by feet tripping over branches echoed through the trees. Warren held his breath, suddenly afraid of being discovered. It wasn't logical to be frightened, but he was. There were strangers in the woods, and he was in pain and blind and alone. His heart beat in his chest like a war drum as people drew near.

"How do you know where it is?"

The voices belonged to children, probably around Warren's age, but he didn't recognize any of them. Most of what they said was too quiet to hear, until they arrived at the clearing.

"Over here."

The strangers stopped near the hole, but too far away to see Warren covered in mud at the bottom. Lights were illuminating the air, and Warren figured that they must have had flashlights with them. His eyes finally had enough light to adjust to the pitch black, and he watched a letter flutter into the hole, followed shortly by another letter, gracefully drifting in.

Then a thick envelope was chucked in, hitting Warren in the head, who had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from accidentally making a startled sound.

"What did you wish for?" Someone asked.

With that question, Warren realized where he was.

He grabbed the letter that had hit him, quietly opening it up as two of the strangers above him bickered. In the faint light he saw a lot of words, too many to read before they left, so he quickly scanned the page out of curiosity. His breath hitched when he saw a drawing of himself.

Black eyes and shaggy black hair.

Warren put the papers back in the envelope and stuck it in his pants. Someone approached the edge, and Warren caught a glimpse of hair and eyes. They didn't see him, but he certainly saw them.

"What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

"Someone who loves me.."

And at that moment, Warren believed in the hole that grants wishes.

He had no proof that the child looking down at him was the same child who threw the wish practically into his lap, but he knew that it was. Like fate, or magic.

After the trio left, Warren pulled his sore little body out of the muck, repeating (Reader's) name to himself over and over again as to not forget it. He didn't know how, but he knew that (Reader) was the one who's wish he had stolen. Warren limped home, easily sneaking in past his father passed out on the couch and up the stairs to the bathroom, where he locked the door.

He quickly pulled out the letter, opening it up in the light to read the wish in full.

"I wish someone would love me." Warren read quietly out loud, sounding out each word as his finger followed the sentence.

"He has to be just like my dad. Be - cause my dad is the only person who loves me."

"He has to have black hair and black eyes.."

Warren looked at his dirty face in the mirror, ignoring the purple around his left eye and focusing on his natural features. A proud smile crept onto his lips.

He went back to reading. "And his eyes should be deep.." Warren's own eyes were also deep set, making it look like he had bags under his eyes even after a full night's sleep. His ears started to turn pink. The picture was of the kid he saw at the hole with a tall man with black hair and eyes and a little guy who looked the same. He pointed at each person. "That's (Reader).. that's (Reader's) daddy... And that's.." he looked at himself in the mirror, tearing up with how hard he was smiling.

Someone needed him.

He turned the page over and his smile instantly fell, his blood freezing.

Pictures of bloody bodies covered the pages.

Page after page of dead people with the most intense things Warren had ever read followed the seemingly innocent wish. He hadn't been exposed to video games yet, his father didn't let him watch TV, and Warren ignored the other kids at his school, so he had never known violence outside of the terrible things his father did to him. And the words he read in that envelope were violent.

"True love is keeping me."

"If he loves me, he'll kill me."

"Don't let them take me away again."

"Together forever."

(Reader) was worried about the limitations of the wishing hole, so they felt they had to be very specific about their ideal boy. Which meant that they had to explain what love was. And to explain what love was, meant that they had to explain to the hole what their dad had done to their mother and Kevin.

It scared Warren.

But only for a moment.

He thought about the joy (Reader) would feel when they saw him for the first time, how their eyes would light up with love and adoration. In his mind, they would recognize him instantly, like their drawing come to life. Warren was their wish come true. And, in a way, (Reader) was his.

He slowly went back to his bedroom and hid the letter in his underwear drawer. The wish was like his most prized possession. Knowing that there was someone out there who needed Warren made him, for the first time in a very long time, feel hopeful for the future.

The next few years of Warren's life, however, were not pleasant in the slightest.

An anatomy book flew at Warren's face, connecting with his thin nose. He was now in highschool, and the abuse had only worsened.

"What the fuck is this?!" His father threw another medical book, terrified. In the past he used to throw and break things even though Warren's only crime was existing, but now even Warren could understand his father's disgust.

A rat laid on Warren's table, split open.

"I'm practicing.." Warren smiled, blood dripping from his nostrils.

"I should kick you out of the goddamn house!" The drunk man kicked a wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

"If you do that, I'll go to the police."

His father's eyes widened. "The fuck you just say, you little psychopath?!"

The man was very nimble for someone so swollen from years of alcohol consumption, closing the distance between himself and his son before Warren had a chance to put up his hands in defense. Large, yellowed fingers grabbed a fistful of Warren's greasy hair and lifted his dangerously underweight body off the ground; high enough where Warren couldn't touch the floor with his toes.

"Think about it. You have no proof for the cops that I killed this rat, but I have all the proof that you hit me." To emphasize his point, Warren didn't wipe away the blood that was now dripping onto the rat carcass.

Black eyes that held no light stared wide and unblinking at the disgusting excuse of a man before Warren. His father looked about the room, which was now covered in articles about some murderer from years ago and medical texts printed off at the local library.

Warren was dropped onto his ass. "Fucking freak." His father mumbled before stumbling out of the room.

It wasn't until Warren heard the drunkard smash though the hall towards the staircase that he finally grabbed some tissue to shove up his nose. It had taken him years and years of hard thinking, but Warren had finally found a way to be (Reader's) perfect husband. It was difficult, but the solution was finally discovered, a way to make (Reader's) wish come true without killing them.

He thought he would probably drop out of school, but that didn't really matter to Warren. The young man already had a part time job, and his future career as a manager for a small corner store was practically set.

Candid shots of (Reader) laid under the box of tissues. While (Reader) had continued growing into an attractive young adult, Warren was stunted. A lack of nutrition gave his unnaturally pale skin a yellow tint, and he was so thin that some of his teeth were becoming loose. But it felt as though he couldn't waste even a second thought on anything that wasn't (Reader).

"I'm sorry, Mr. Whiskers.." Warren apologized quietly to the dead rat. "I didn't mean to kill you. I'll do better next time."

Every time Warren saw (Reader) out and about, he wanted to drag them behind a dumpster and fuck them till they bled. It took incredible restraint to stick to his plan and keep to the shadows.

Their wish, laminated, hung above his bed like a prayer, one that he read and worshipped every night before bed.

Warren's father didn't notice when he stopped going to his classes.

He also didn't notice the muffled screaming from the basement, when Warren evolved his experiments from rats to people.

It wasn't until the smell became unbearable that he finally sobered up enough to go down and investigate.

As he searched the house for the cause of the smell, the aging, dying man briefly wondered when the last time he had been down in basement was. Or, when he last saw his good for nothing son.

The stairs to the lowest level creaked under his shoes, and an anxiety he had never before known trickled up through his bones.

At the bottom of the stairs, a door held back the stench like a leaking flood gate. Opening the squealing door wafted a wave of nausea inducing gas right into the man's face.

"Hey, ew what the- hey freak! You down here?! What's that smell..?" His eyes didn't have time to adjust to the dusty basement light before Warren swung a wooden baseball bat with spikes towards his father's face. One spike went through his skull near his nose and another popped open one of his eyes. But his death was due to the blunt force, cracking his head open as easily as smashing a watermelon. The junkie strapped and gagged to the table silently screamed as their one hope for salvation died in front of them.

"I'm sorry about the interruption." Warren smiled, his eyes still and unwavering. The man who had destroyed his childhood and stolen his happiness laid bleeding out on the floor, and Warren didn't feel a single thing. It was strange, part of him thought that he would feel satisfaction watching his abuser die, but he felt nothing at all. Warren only killed his father because he had interrupted his experiment with the homeless person who looked amazingly like (Reader). The young man held up a belt. "Let's continue."

Warren didn't consider himself to be a murderer. What he was doing to the people he abducted was for love. There was no evil or hatred, and if he looked at it in a certain light, he wasn't really trying to kill them at all.

Moving to the night shift gave Warren more time to stalk (Reader) during the day. Just as he had predicted, Warren became a higher member of management, and even 'owned his own home' now that his father had tragically passed. Everything was progressing perfectly, because his entire existence was a wish come true.

It hurt, hiding in the booth behind (Reader) and their friends, hearing about how they had started dating at the suggestion of their bitch therapist, but Warren decided that it was good for their relationship. It proved to him that even after all this time, (Reader) still loved him and needed him. Every time a date failed to live up to (Reader's) expectations it further fueled Warren's fantasy of how (Reader) would react when he finally revealed himself to them.

The dates also provided Warren ample opportunity to look around their apartment. Like when they went on a date with some whiny loser his age. He wasn't even (Reader's) type. Their home was small and quaint, and taking pictures of it in extreme detail helped Warren learn how to decorate the room (Reader) would be staying in once they finally started dating.

Dating.

The idea of merely "dating" caused a painful strain in Warren's chest, but he knew that it was only logical to date before he proposed. At least for a month or so. Maybe a week.

Well, whenever he did propose, Warren knew (Reader) would accept, because Warren was their wish come true. There was nothing he could do wrong, because his entire existence was due to (Reader's) will.

He didn't even bother cleaning off the dirt when he scuffed up the bedroom door. There was no point, because (Reader) wouldn't ever fear or hate anything he did, even if they didn't know he was the one responsible. Because that was fate.

(Reader's) undergarments rested on top of the dirty clothes basket.

Even that was fate.

Because why would they leave their worn underwear in plain view, if not for him? His hands with dirt crusted nails stroked the garment, imaging that he could still feel the heat of (Reader's) body on them. Warren imagined how happy (Reader) would be to learn what he did with their underwear, in their bed. He imagined their eyes glowing like an angel's as their smile graced his filthy presence.

Because this was (Reader's) wish.

And soon, Warren would finally give them their happily ever after.

Warren had put in for a week of vacation at his work; their shared bedroom was decorated; and his supplies were hidden in a backpack in the dirt behind (Reader's) complex. It was like a fairytale, when the knight came to save the dragon from the prince.

Rich approached (Reader's) front door as Warren dug up his hidden tools. Mud covered his face and gloves, but he didn't mind. In fact, it was like a mask, where only his true love would recognize him. Warren knew that his dream would come true that day, but it was even better than he had hoped for. Prince Rich was there to harass his dragon.

He had hoped it would be this easy, and the universe provided. Fate was always on Warren's side when it came to making (Reader's) wish come true. All those lives lost to Warren's experiments were not wasted.

The annoying voice of Rich was audible from outside the building, but it was difficult to feel anything negative towards to poor bastard. In Warren's mind, it wasn't Rich's fault that he was born to be such a loser; it was fate's design for the man to be sacrificed.

Warren threw open the front door, scaring the shit out of the stronger looking man. "Who the fuck is that?!"

Then, the sands of time were fused into glass by the electricity between Warren and (Reader). Their expression looked relieved, just as Warren had always hoped it would. A smile stretched across the beautiful lips Warren often fantasized about kissing. Their cheeks pulled up in the most honest grin Warren had ever seen.

Tears of joy decorated their bottom lashes like glitter.

"He's here to kill me."

Rich put up his arm as though to protect (Reader) from Warren. Again, Warren felt no anger towards the man and his silly reaction.

The bat used to kill Warren's father restarted time as it aimed for Rich's skull.

(Reader) looked up endearingly at Warren, now sitting on their knees in a pool of Rich's blood. The man before them was everything they had ever dreamt of. His black eyes never left (Reader's), even as he bludgeoned their date to death.

It took all of (Reader's) will power to not shake in their seat. Excitement flowed through their veins so quickly that it sent involuntary quivers through their muscles. Everything that they had ever wanted was finally coming true.

"I've been waiting for you." (Reader) felt their chest tighten as Warren approached.

But then he dropped his bat.

Their smile twitched a little, but (Reader) tried to not let anxiety ruin their happiest moment. The dirty man slid a backpack off and started rifling through it.

"I've been waiting for you too.." A voice that sounded oddly chipper finally responded, echoing from a wide grin that showed off yellowing teeth with a few missing on the bottom row.

(Reader) smiled harder. "You're going to kill me?" It was phrased like a question, but it was more of a plea.

"No."

"What?"

(Reader's) smile cracked in half. The adrenaline in their system turned deadly.

Warren's smile didn't fade.

"But, you have to." (Reader) began to panic. This had to be the man they wished to life. He had to be there to kill them. It was fate. He had to! "Aren't you here for me?"

"Of course I am."

"Then you have to kill me! If you love me, you have to-!"

Warren dropped his bag, revealing a hacksaw. He held it relaxed in one hand, and held a belt in the other. "Do you know how selfish you are, (Reader)?"

(Reader's) mind went numb with confusion.

"I've loved you for so long, and now that I finally have you, you think I'm going to kill you?"

"I'm not going to let anyone have you."

"Not even death."

The End

The two story house was full of trash bags. Every room in the building was full of clutter and filth, except the master bedroom.

Warren came home from a long shift, excited to have his precious spouse in his arms.

None of the guards at the prison would listen to Donavon when he tried to convince them all that something was wrong. A child suddenly not visiting their murderer of a parent in prison was not reason to go to the police and open a missing person's case. Even the officers that liked Donavon couldn't do anything.

The bedroom decorated to (Reader's) taste was unlocked by Warren as he finally climbed through all the shit. He entered their shared home with a warm expression of pure love on his face.

"(Reader), I'm home!"

In the middle of the room watching television was a wheelchair bound (Reader). Their arms and legs amputated, sitting helplessly in a soiled diaper. A drugged up, lopsided smiled sleepily tugged the corners of their mouth up.

"Welcome home, baby.."

A/N: Sorry it took so long, happy to start writing again ❤️

[dead-dove-orchid]

Deciding Moment.

[loonybun]

Meeting Aisling (CYOA) 2

sorry i am a VERY slow writer and work on bursts of inspiration and writing sprints so this took FOREVER to write. anyways here it is.

contains: more fae shenanigans, implied magical manipulation, exhaustion, fae carewhumper, invasion of personal space, abduction, The Horrors (fun stuff because my canon doesn’t 100% follow traditional folklore as i like to add things in), just creepy vibes but i’m sure everything will be fine and he’s actually 100% harmless. most definitely!!!

—————————————————

“A photographer?”

He lights up and grabs onto your hands. Almost immediately, he lets go, but the fuzzy sensation dwells on your palm. The strange man continues on.

“That’s not something you hear everyday! I don’t know a ton about photography, but I may have seen some of your… Your picture-things! I never caught your name, actually. Would you mind giving that to me really quick?”

You can’t place why, but words send a shudder down your spine. Somewhere deep in your mind an alarm rings.

He’s still a stranger. You don’t give out your name to strangers. That’s just common sense. Sure, he seems friendly enough, but better safe than sorry. Instead, you give him the handle you use for your photography. That’s probably the main reason he was asking, anyway.

He’s obviously disappointed, but you decide to ignore the guilt. There’s an awkward silence before he speaks up again.

“—Well, follow me. Let’s get you somewhere safer, okay? You can call me Ai, by the way, but not like the ones you see with. Weird little nickname, but it’s what most people call me anyways. Unless we want to be formal with each other, but that doesn’t really seem necessary.”

His enthusiasm returns, and before you know it you’re practically chasing him through the dark forest. It’s hard to catch up with the way he deftly darts from tree to tree. You can hear him laugh as you fail to match his pace, and the sound echoes through the forest like the chimes of crystal bells, bouncing off of the trees.

Eventually, you manage to run up to him. He’d stopped to wait for you, and now he was sitting in the grass, grinning up at you strangely. The exhaustion overwhelms any urge to find the source of your anxiety. You’re still trying to catch your breath, and you soon find yourself down beside him. Ai pats the top of your head, patiently waiting for you to regain your strength.

“…The grass here seems so much softer. You don’t know why, do you? That’s okay. We’ll find out soon.” He murmurs, combing through your hair with nimble fingers. “Do you have your camera? You should take a picture-thing. This is a nice little spot. You probably won’t be able to find it again.”

You hadn’t even noticed, too concentrated on the soothing tones in his voice. You’d nearly fallen asleep right there. Oh god, you just cuddled up to a complete stranger. After a moment, you pull your thoughts together and focus on the area around you.

There’s still no signs of the campsites, but the area he’s brought you to feels safe all the same. Moonbeams stream in through gaps in the canopy above. The white light pours onto the plants around, casting them all into an ethereal state. You take your camera out of your bag and turn it on, eagerly looking at the screen—

But something’s wrong. Pink ebbs into the edges of the screen, and the middle keeps splitting into bars. You point the camera around in an effort to reset it. Ai curiously watches you struggle, that same odd smile still placed on his lips. For a moment, the camera pans over to him— or what should have been him. The bars on the screen seem to multiply and crack, barely obscuring something unfathomable and buglike. You look at the terrifyingly beautiful entity on the screen, then back to him. You hadn’t noticed his teeth before. They really shouldn’t be that sharp, should they?

“Is something wrong?” His voice still sounds so sweet. It makes you feel woozy. Sick. That thing wasn’t human. Where were you? The woods hadn’t even began to thin out. Had he taken you further in?

You shake your head, but you must have taken too long to respond. Once again, he’s by your side, a hand on your shoulder and the other positioned in front of the lens. He’s not smiling anymore.

Ai’s hold on your shoulder becomes firm, uncomfortable and tight.

“…—I didn’t… I didn’t know it did that. Huh. Well— I’ve dragged this out long enough. I was hoping you’d get a few last photos of your world though… Just as a keepsake. Oh well, Maybe it’s for the best.”

A surge of panic shoots through your body. You immediately push him away, stumbling back in the process. You need to get away. Fast. Whatever he meant couldn’t be anything good. Did he want to kill you? Why did he wait?

He’s picked up on your panic.

“Woah, woah! Hey! I don’t want to hurt you. It’s not like that, okay? I just— I need you to come with me. It’ll be an adventure! Humans still like adventuring, right?” The thing’s slowly getting closer to you. You don’t wait to hear whatever he says next. All you can do now is run. Keep running until you find some way out of this place.

Despite your exhaustion, you keep moving, weaving between the trees and taking as many turns as possible. Anything to get him off of your trail. You can hear him behind you. It doesn’t seem like he’s running, though. There aren’t any footsteps.

WHAM. A branch collides with your forehead, and you immediately fall back onto the ground. You need to get up. You need to get up now.

It’s already too late.

He scoops you up effortlessly, ignoring your desperate flailing.

“Oh, ouch... That looked like it hurt. Hopefully it’ll only leave a small bruise. Anyways, I feel like I’m leaving a really bad first impression. You wouldn’t mind giving me a do-over once we get home, right? I mean— I feel like it was going well! Up until you got all freaked out. Not your fault, but next time maybe don’t run off like that.”

He doesn’t look human anymore. You’re looking into the slit pupils of some otherworldly being. It hurts to think too hard about it. It hurts to think at all.

He carries you back over to the spot you two had been before, taking you a bit further. Dread fills your stomach as he steps into the center of a ring of mushrooms and the world begins to melt around you. You can hear him whispering some reassurances to you, but you can’t process what he’s saying. Your eyelids feel so heavy. You don’t resist when he kisses your forehead, causing you to drift away entirely.

Sleep takes you under. It’s a relief. Nothing hurts anymore.

-

-

Your eyelids slowly open, glazing over your new surroundings. Sunlight streams in through a hole in the ceiling, as well as a window that has been thoroughly wrapped in vines. The bedroom is luxurious, but definitely not in any traditional sense.

There’s a large tree in the very center of the room. It’s a grandiose thing with slim leaves and dramatic pink flowers. It looks well taken care of. Still, it’s a weird decoration to have in the middle of a bedroom.

The man— or whatever it was— that brought you here is nowhere to be seen. That’s probably for the best. It gives you more time to find a way out of this place.

You notice the door parallel to the bed and immediately make your way over to it. Locked. You’re not sure what else you expected.

So that settles it. You’ve been taken hostage by some weird magical creature for god knows why and you have no way of knowing where you are. At least he hadn’t restrained you. You could still escape. Things weren’t over yet.

taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added!!): @whumpy-wyrms @inkwell-and-dagger @lordcatwich @kawaii-cakes