#captor bonding tw

[ashintheairlikesnow]

okay Ash but older nanda and Jameson comf? If he'd lived? Pleeease? Just a snippet. A headcanon. A crömb. -theo-

@boxboysandotherwhump I totally forgot you had asked for me to do this AU so so long ago. Found this old ask abandoned in my inbox and you were PROPHETIC.

Continuing the AU, the last chapter (plus a link to the first) is right here.

-

CW: Intimate whump, some derogatory language, dubcon, some, uh, choking

For a long time, there is only the sound of each of them breathing. Jameson is ragged, rasping at the edge of a sob as he pulls himself back into control, his fingernails digging into the soft leather of the reclined passenger seat. His heart pounds, blood rushing past his ears.

Nanda's breath is nearly silent, far more even. His chest is warm against Jameson's bare back. Even through his expensive fucking shirt, though, Jameson can feel his heart pounding, too.

"What..." Nanda trails off. Jameson has never heard him sound so stunned. Nanda always plans for every angle.

But he didn't plan for this one.

"... what do you mean, someone else?" His mouth moves against Jameson's hair, sending a shiver down his spine. "Are you fucking the woman you live with, pet?"

My name is Jameson. I just told you that.

He bites the words back before they can make it out.

"N-no, not her. Fuck no. No. Absolutely... Absolutely not." He shifts, managing to get his shirt off the rest of the way, stop it from keeping his wrists tangled. It gives him an excuse for how his voice shakes - just from the effort. Only that. "Someone else. Different house. Someone... Someone else."

Nanda is quiet again. He's quiet for far too long. Then, he shifts back inside the tiny space. "Roll over. I want to see your eyes."

Jameson swallows, obeying the easy command with a little curl of warmth. He tips his head back against the headrest, looking up at Nanda, his beard and the line of his jaw beneath the silver and gray. The way the muscles in his arms seem written even more in stone. Nanda eases himself back down, and his weight feels reassuring and terribly final at once.

"Who is it?" His voice is mild. Spoonful of sugar tinted pink, sweetness and salt on Jameson's tongue. He could drown in the taste of Nanda's voice. Used to feel like he did drown, under voice and hands, tied up in ropes and brought to the good kind of screaming.

"... They're called A-Allyn. They, they ran away like I did. Well, not the-... Their owner died, too. They... They understood that I missed you..."

He reaches a hand up, hesitantly, trying to touch Nanda's face. The older man's big hand snaps up to close painfully tight around his wrist, forcing it back down.

"I wasn't dead," Nanda says mildly.

"I already told you, I didn't exactly goddamn know that-"

"No, you were dumb as rocks the one time I could have used the brains we both knew you had." Nanda's voice stays mild, but the insult stings regardless.

"I'm-... not-"

"Oh, you're not? You didn't know how to check a fucking pulse, but you're not dumb, huh? You ran off instead of waiting or calling for help but you still love me, right? Hell, you fuck someone else, but you're not a slut anymore. Isn't that what you're saying?"

Jameson's wrist feels like it creaks as Nanda tightens his grip further and further. The man's other hand drops down to unbutton and unzip his own pants in quick jerky motions. They're down low off his hips in seconds.

Jameson grits his teeth against the pain, refuses to be seduced by it. Or by the way Nanda punctuates the accusations by rolling his hips, the low warmth remaining stoked back into a flame.

God, he feels so hot.

They're both burning.

"If you were d-dead-... Ah! I would have lost you when they took you out of my head, I already s-said that-Jesus that's fucking good-"

His other wrist is grabbed now. He tries to pull it away, but they both know he isn't trying very hard. Nanda's mouth drops to graze against his. To catch him in a kiss, brutal and firm, until he's whimpering and rocking his hips like some mindless fucking idiot, like he used to do.

Nanda chuckles bitterly, pulls back and listens to Jameson's angry hiss at the sudden loss of connection. "If there's someone else, why did you get in my car when I came for you?"

He swallows, closing his eyes. Nanda's burn too much for him to take. Those hips roll against his again and he meets them with his own, arches his back, lets legs shift apart to welcome Nanda between his thighs. He could come from this, if it goes on long enough. "I don't-... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No! Fuck you, no I don't know! You were dead and now you're here and I, I forgot who I am for a second, but I'm-... I'm not that anymore, and I want-... I want to-..." God, he feels it so much, his skin is all raw nerves and sensation. "... I want-"

"You want me."

Nanda had let go of his wrist at some point. He only realizes it when that heavy hot hand closes around his neck.

His breath stutters, gets lost trying to find his lungs. His head spins as the hand tightens, he feels his Adam's apple move against Nanda's palm. "Wait-"

" I spent all these years trying to find you, pet-"

"Jameson," He rasps, barely able to force the word out in a whisper. "Use... Use m'fucking name-"

"Fine. Jameson." God, it sounds so good in Nanda's voice, his own name tastes perfect in his tongue when Nanda is the one to say it. His eyes nearly flutter shut at the simple pleasure. "I have been searching for you-"

"Doing a shit j-job of it, could've used your help a couple y-years ago when I was in some asshole's dog cage-"

"Let. Me. Finish." The grip on his throat tightens even more. There is so little room for him to breathe, chest heaving. He never moves his hands to try and push or fight, though. He knows this tone, the look on Nanda's face. "However you feel about someone else... I looked for you. And I found you. I searched every goddamn corner of California trying to figure out where you fucked off to, and I find you all fucked up for someone else, another pet, huh?"

"I... I loved you... I still-" His voice catches, his throat clicks when he swallows. His eyes are wide, and he sees the anger in Nanda's and wonders why it used to thrill so much more to see it than it does now. "But I-... grieved-... Rebuilt, built n-new... life... I, I fucking deserve to l-live-"

Nanda's lip curls. But he doesn't say anything while Jameson fights for enough air to speak again. They're both still hard, still moving together, and the pleasure mixes with the pain in his throat and the dizzy lack of air, crossing all his wires and leaving him squirming in helpless unwanted arousal beneath Nanda's familiar perfect weight.

"I... deserve s-someone... who l-loves me... back-"

He expects mockery, black spots flashing bright like camera lights around Nanda's face as his vision starts to go, tunneling in on those eyes.

He sees, in the center of the closing tunnel, the whites of Nanda's eyes.

"Please-... If you e-ever... loved m-me-... Please, fuck, please s-say-... it..."

Nanda's thumb pushes against his windpipe as he kisses Jameson. Their mouths open to each other, and Jameson's arms move, finally, only to grip onto Nanda's shoulders. An anchor as he drowns on land, fighting for air.

Then the grip loosens.

Jameson's head pounds as he groans, his throat aches as he gulps air desperately. He'll be marked, bruised. He's been bruised there before. "N, Nanda-"

Nanda's head drops to Jameson's shoulder.

"... Nanda?"

A pause.

"You stupid thing. Why would I have looked so long for you if I didn't?"

[winged-self-indulgence]

Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.   

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

.

.

.

I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.     

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

.

.

.

If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

[silverbladexyz]

TW: Death, blood, guns, fighting. 5.6K words. Third and final part to part 1. Part 2 is here

Skilled hands worked away at the rope, each bind falling to the floor with a heavy thump as they were severed by a knife. The sound echoed throughout the little room inside of a foreign dungeon.

Soon, the chair legs were surrounded with the thick brown threads as the saviour continued to free the captive. They operated fast; in just a matter of seconds, half of the bonds were already sliced open- the blade meeting little resistance. Too little, in fact.

But you didn’t have time to worry about that now.

“Y-Y/N, what are you doing here? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“And watch as Chuuya barges in to what could possibly be his death? I think we both know how disastrous that would be, Yasuko.” 

The girl bit her lip and fell silent. You continued to free her, despite having so much you clearly wanted to say at this moment. But you couldn’t risk your best friend finding out about what happened to her, and making a rash decision as a consequence.

“H-how did you find me?” Yasuko stuttered, her limbs trembling with fear. It was perfectly normal considering her situation, but it hindered your progress since your knife got dangerously close to her sometimes due to her shaking.

“I was in Chuuya’s office to retrieve something when he was on a mission. Then his phone lit up with an unknown text and a picture of you tied to this chair. It seemed that your captor had intended for him to come alone, with the threat that he would kill you if Chuuya brought backup or arrived even a second late. I couldn’t determine if it was telling the truth or not, so I went first to test the message’s authenticity. You know what happened afterwards.”

The ropes finally came off- only to reveal that Yasuko’s hands and feet were also bound to the seat. You cursed under your breath, before starting to work on them as well. The girl repeatedly peered over your shoulder in an anxious manner, but you didn’t give much thought about it. You had just passed it off as nervousness. 

Until another knife suddenly grazed your cheek, leaving a small crimson trail of your blood in its wake.

The blade pierced itself into the chair, missing Yasuko’s temple by a hair’s breadth. She cried out in surprise and fear, immediately prompting you to react.

Your gun was drawn out and aimed at the attacker before you even processed what was going on.

“How surprising that you came instead. I didn’t know that Chuuya-kun was the type to be late to important events-”

You fired three shots before he could finish talking. Each bullet was aimed good and true, as they were shots made to kill.

“-especially events considering his girlfriend. Wouldn’t you agree, Y/N?”

The beautiful black-haired man standing in front of you smiled. 

By his feet lay the bullets that rolled out of his fingers, and the bloody holes they normally left behind were nonexistent. The shots had bounced off of him as if he were made of steel.

His ability must have allowed him to repel any physical attacks that came his way. Defeating him seemed near impossible now.

Your eyes narrowed as he came closer, his unhurried steps matching the complacent aura that he gave off. You knew there was no use in trying to shoot him again, but you still tightened your index finger around the trigger. As a last resort, you could use the gun as a distraction to let Yasuko escape.

“I know who you are. You’re Hasegawa Kyuji. A high-ranking member of Obsidienne; a rival organisation of the Port Mafia.” You stated, with a steely gaze that could rival his relaxed stare.

“But you aren’t here to kill Yasuko. You’re here to kill me instead.”

His golden eyes seemed to shine as he smirked in response. The male tilted his head towards the aforementioned girl.

“Oh no. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m just here to reveal the truth.” 

You heard Yasuko give a quiet whimper, and you scowled, aiming the gun at Hasegawa’s forehead.

“And why should I believe you? For all I know, anything that falls out of your mouth could be a lie. Deception is key for getting the upper hand in any fight.”

“...” The young man let out a short chuckle. It wasn’t long before he broke out into a hysterical laugh.

“Oh, you’re so naive it kills me! For all this talk of deception, you don’t even seem to realise a certain friend of yours that was deceiving you for months. And how you thought that nobody could see your obvious infatuation with your best friend. Isn’t that right, Yasuko? My dear cousin?” 

He stared straight into her eyes, a dangerous glint apparent in his pupils.

Your eyes widened slightly. Not only at her betrayal and their kinship, but also at the fact that he knew your secret. A secret that you had hidden deep deep down, never letting even a bit of it slip out. Were you easier to read than you thought you were?

Whipping your head around, you glanced at the girl, silently begging her to say that it wasn’t true- that it was all a lie. 

But Yasuko silently closed her eyes, hanging her head in a sign of guilty confirmation. 

The silence that descended was suffocating, permeating the entire room with an invisible tension. 

You had an unreadable expression on your face as you lowered your arm, the fingers clenched around the gun shaking ever so slightly from their rigid hold on the grip. Hasegawa’s smirk widened as you gave no response.

“Oh, but maybe you want to know why she betrayed you. Why she was working with me, a member of an enemy organisation?” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he fixed his golden eyes on you. Yasuko gulped a little, but neither of you paid her any mind.

“Well, it’s simple. It all started 8 years ago- when Yokohama lived in constant terror and dread of a single organisation. The Port Mafia. Many civilians were killed because of the Boss’s paranoia, and a lot more organisations were decimated by his sheer ruthlessness. It must still be as clear as day to you.”

You frowned slightly. Despite not wanting to listen to anything he said, you couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. Memories of fear, uncertainty, and bloodshed as the old Boss of the Port Mafia abused his reign, forcing you to live in extreme apprehension every second.

“One day, rumour had it that somebody in our vicinity insulted the Port Mafia. It was only a mere jab at how Yokohama would’ve been better off without the organisation; but that was enough for all the families in the district to be rounded up and interrogated. Then, when it was evident that the culprit wouldn’t show themselves, the Boss ordered everybody to be executed. Not even the infants were spared.”

“And two of the families that were killed on that day were yours and Yasuko’s. Hence why you wanted revenge; they were accused wrongly of something that likely wasn’t committed in the first place.” You interjected. You knew that he wasn’t lying, because there was nothing but truth in his words. 

Afterall, the incident he described became very well known amongst the city in a flash.

“But that was when the Port Mafia was still under the control of the old Boss. There wouldn’t be much point in getting revenge now that everything has changed; and besides, our enemies are always hit twice as hard. This old grudge of yours could do nothing against us.”

You knew that you were behaving just as any stereotypical tough-talking mafioso would, but it was all a ploy for you to buy more time until you could figure out a solution. Hasegawa was already a formidable opponent with his ability, and it was obvious he also had the brains to go along with it. Someone of his calibre could decimate you and walk out without any serious injuries.

He spoke again, breaking your train of thought.

“Grudge? You speak as if the Port Mafia itself takes grudges lightly. It is obvious how strict the rule of borrowing and returning is in illegal organisations. Every grudge must be satiated, no matter how high the cost. But we could not act on ours without enough power.”

“And that was when you came up with the idea to join Obsidienne to gain this ‘power’?” You said, narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t come up with the idea. Yasuko herself did, and she thought up many more after that. Everything that has happened up until now was all in the palm of her hand. Tell them, Yasuko. Tell them about everything you plotted for their demise.”

The silence that fell this time was deathly.

“... Yasuko. Is it true? That all this time you’ve been planning to take down the Port Mafia, starting with me and Chuuya?” 

There was no anger in your voice. Only a cold flatness that seemed to absorb every emotion in the room as you spoke to her.

Yasuko slowly opened her eyes, fixing two beautiful brown pupils onto you. Those same pupils that had deceived those she was around for an entire six months. And they now held nothing but tears and guilt.

“I never meant for it to go this far. But he threatened to kill me if I backed out from this plan. So I had no choice but to continue with it.” She whispered, her voice heavy with resignation.

“And that wasn’t all.” Hasegawa added suddenly. You looked back at him, but he was staring at her. Like how a cat eyes its prey before it goes in for the kill.

“My dear Yasuko, weren’t you also the one who came up with the idea to poison your lover’s wine so that he wouldn’t give us any more trouble?”

Your whole demeanour changed in an instant once you heard those words.

A shot reverberated throughout the chamber, followed by Yasuko’s short scream.

The bullet had pierced through her sleeve, narrowly missing the chance to give her the sweet release of death. Your expression remained emotionless, yet burning in your eyes was anger that was hotter than the black flames of hell. The gun was pointed directly at her brow, held with an unusual stillness that was parallel with your aura.

“The next time, I won’t miss.” You coldly stated, speaking with nothing but truth in your words.

“I was willing to give you another chance. But this promises to exceed the limit of my forgiveness. Daring to poison the man you loved- the man I loved; I expected nothing less from a wretch such as you. A wretch who doesn’t even deserve this quick and painless death.” You stepped closer towards Yasuko, until the gun was pressed up against her skin. 

Neither of you moved a single inch. It was as if everything was frozen in time, save for the dust that drifted elegantly onto the ground.

“... Do it.”

The girl whispered, looking up into your eyes with a soulless gaze. 

“It’s only proper for me to die as a result of my foolish choices. That’s what a traitor only deserves, afterall. My only regret is… that I didn’t get to spend more time with you as a true friend.” 

She closed her eyes for the last time, ready to face death with a serene expression.

Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger.

A final shot rang out within the walls.

And the bullet flew right into Hasegawa’s chest.

“!” His eyes widened in shock and disbelief. 

Thankfully, he activated his ability right before the pellet could fully pass through him, but the damage had already been done. Blood gushed out of the wound as the bullet fell out of his body, and you wasted no time in drawing your dagger out.

“Don’t think that I haven’t forgotten you, Hasegawa. Sure, Yasuko’s done some pretty terrible things. But you were the one who was truly behind all of this. If you had not forced her to continue with the plan, then none of this would have happened. The Port Mafia does not forgive those who plan to hurt their family. And I cannot rest until I have finished what I came here for.”

“… So it’s come down to this.” He muttered.

In the blink of an eye, Hasegawa had lunged at you, bringing up his hand that also held a blade within its palm. You raised your own arm up to counter.

The clash of metals resounded in the room, all your training sessions with Chuuya bearing fruit as you found that you could actually keep up with your opponent’s attacks. You were fast and precise with your strikes, whereas he liked to be unpredictable, always making you guess his next move. It was a direct contrast to how your best friend had fought.

Your blades danced in a fierce tango as both parties tried to subdue each other. You were mostly put on the defence due to your attacks having no effect on him, but you kept on twisting and leaping just out of his reach whenever his weapon went to graze your body. He aimed for your stomach, and you managed to dodge the sharp edge that threatened to slice your skin apart.

Your opponent wasted no time in immediately transitioning into an uppercut, but you were prepared for this. Grabbing his wrist, you held it firmly in place before bringing your foot down onto the elbow, twisting his arm the opposite way. A snapping sound echoed, and you heard him curse in pain.

Hasegawa aimed a sloppy swipe at your chest, to which you blocked with your blade. Taking advantage of this momentary stillness, you aimed a kick at his ribs that would’ve broken them upon impact. The force made him stumble backwards a bit, and you were about to close the distance between the two of you with your weapon. 

But you failed to consider that there was something he could use to his advantage. And it was already too late when you remembered what it was.

The next moment, Hasegawa threw the kodachi blade with all his might at Yasuko's neck.

The small sword flew through the air with deadly accuracy, landing cleanly into flesh and bone. Crimson liquid splattered all over the girl, some of it dripping off the chair and staining the floor with their scarlet hue.

Yasuko gave a small gasp of disbelief.

“Y-Y/N- why?!”

The kodachi blade was buried deep into your chest, and the tip protruded out of your back. You swore you felt it scrape an artery right near where your lung was. 

Hasegawa chuckled at your figure, which struggled to remain standing as the excruciating pain evaded each of your senses. Your ears rang, and you could hear your heart pounding- gradually slowing down as your life started to ebb away. If heartbreak was the sensation that hurt the most, then this definitely had the potential to exceed it.

“In the end, you still chose to protect the one Chuuya-kun cared for the most. I must say that I’m touched; not many people can see the sight of true love at its finest.” Your opponent slowly approached you, the barrel of a gun directed straight at your face. His broken arm hung limply by his side, bent at an unnatural angle, but it didn’t even seem to faze him.

“Do you have any last words, Y/N?”

“... Go to hell.”

Hasegawa gave a dry chuckle. But he suddenly frowned when he realised that his index finger refused to move. 

One by one, the fingers on his hand started to shake, loosening their grip on the gun. It clattered to the floor, bouncing away from him.

You laughed, despite your vision starting to grow blurry from blood loss.

“You made a mistake, Hasegawa-kun. When I shot you in the chest, the bullet was tipped with poison that was absorbed through your skin. It didn’t act immediately, but the more you moved, the quicker it spread in your bloodstream. And it will not stop until your heart has ceased to beat.”

The male collapsed against the wall, his legs having lost their strength to keep him standing. A sheen of sweat coated him as his body tried to force the toxins out, but to no use. The poison was designed to kill without leaving any exceptions.

“Hahaha... Well done. You truly… deserve… to be called my opponent.”

He smiled slightly, before he stilled.

You turned around to Yasuko. Grabbing the knife stuck in the chair, you haphazardly cut the last remaining ropes off of her hands and feet, successfully freeing her from the binds. She slowly stood up, staring wide-eyed in shock and penitence at you as you started to lean against the wall.

Your knees buckled, causing you to drop to the floor. The blade was knocked out of your body due to the impact, clattering onto the ground as a result of gravity. Blood spurted out of the opening as your breaths became shallow and rapid, trying to get as much oxygen they could into your lungs. Yasuko slowly crouched down by your side, pressing her hands to your wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She didn’t deserve to cry over something that was entirely her fault.

“I was always wary of you.” You said, breaking the silence.

“It all started when Chuuya rescued you. People don’t tend to think about suspecting an innocent civilian girl who got kidnapped by an underground organisation, and was coincidentally saved by a Port Mafia executive. However, crime syndicates tend to stay away from citizens due to their fear of attracting the government’s attention. The only exceptions being if a civilian was somehow connected to a rival group. And after doing some digging… I found out that the organisation who kidnapped you was an enemy of both Obsidienne and the Port Mafia. Your cousin, Hasegawa Kyuji, was an executive of Obsidienne, and both of your families were killed on that fateful night 8 years ago. The entire situation seemed too suspicious. It was then… that I knew to keep a closer eye on you.”

“If you suspected me… then why didn’t you tell Chuuya? Or anyone else in the Port Mafia for that matter?” Yasuko asked, her voice shaking.

You let out a dry laugh in response.

“Do you honestly think he’d take my side with the way he looks at you? Seven long years of being his best friend… and he’d still choose his lover of whom he’d only known for six months over me. His lover who only loved him so that she could betray him in the end.” 

“…” She looked down into her lap, her silence speaking more than words themselves. A single teardrop fell from her eye, landing onto the floor with a silent plop.

“… I wanted to stop. I realised that the Port Mafia was not the same as it was 8 years ago, and that Chuuya was genuinely a kind man who wanted the best for me. But when I realised it… it was too late. So instead of putting the poison into his wine, I slipped it into Hasegawa’s drink. But he caught me, and furious at my betrayal, he decided to use me as bait to lure Chuuya here. I… I had told Hasegawa that my lover was more of a long-ranged fighter due to his gravity manipulation ability. So he planned that when Chuuya was at an appropriate distance from him, he’d hit a switch hidden on the wall, which would release toxic gas onto Chuuya so that he could be easier to defeat. But he didn’t expect you to be the one to show up. I only knew about this when I was being tied to the chair-” 

You cut her off by coughing up drops of blood. Some of it landed onto her cream-coloured dress, creating a jarring contrast against the fabric.

The movement doubled the amount of pain you were in as your breathing quickened. Yasuko bit back a sob, her hands pressing harder onto your wound as more blood seeped out of it, staining the majority of your shirt a beautiful red. 

“It seems that- I don’t have much time left.” You rasped, already feeling that you were starting to lose consciousness. Putting your hand over hers, you grasped it in a frail grip, tugging her closer as you forced the girl to look into your sincere eyes. Eyes that hid nothing in their final moments.

“Yasuko. I want you to leave Obsidienne. Leave the underworld of Yokohama, and live on as a normal person. Nothing good comes out of a life of crime, no matter how tempting the money or power is. Because all that will await you is a cold and empty death that doesn’t suit a girl like you.”

The female listened in solemn silence, her hand clasping yours tighter as she felt your hold weakening. 

The ruby ring that sat on top of her finger knocked against your silver one, as if in a desperate attempt to transfer some of its life force to the metal. But just like its owner, the silver ring seemed… dim. Tarnished. No longer carrying any value after it was consumed by the shadow of death itself.

You hacked up some more blood, with the droplets being the darkest red this time. The liquid dripped down your chin, filling your mouth with the metallic taste of iron.

“... Tell Chuuya… that I’m sorry. I promised him I wouldn’t recklessly throw my life on the line again, but I did. However, I’m not searching for his forgiveness... because I’ll still love him just as I always did.” You said, your voice growing fainter. Yasuko had to lean in close to properly catch your words.

She gave a bittersweet smile, despite her vision starting to go blurry from the built-up tears in her eyes.

“I will. Chuuya really was lucky that he had you in his life.”

You gave a small chuckle, the grip on her hand loosening with each passing second.

“Tell me…” You whispered, each word seeming to evaporate into the atmosphere after it left your lips.

“Can a heart still break once it’s stopped beating?”

The stillness that followed afterwards would haunt Yasuko for the rest of her life.

Your hand, which had been warm in Yasuko’s grasp, slipped out of her hold, finding its final resting place on the floor.

The room seemed to hold its breath as your life flickered out, leaving only the echo of what it once was.

Time stood still as Yasuko hugged your body to hers. She finally let go of the tears that had already started streaming down her cheeks. The reality of her choices, the betrayal that had led to this devastating moment- all came crashing down onto her in waves of remorse and guilt as she acknowledged that your blood was on her hands.

She sobbed endlessly, her cries muffled by your shoulder that she buried her face into. The female didn’t look up, not even when hurried footsteps raced to the room she was in. All she cared about was that you were gone because of her stupidity.

Chuuya burst into the room, enraged and ready to fight whichever bastard dared to kidnap his girlfriend.

Only to find her weeping over a dead body. Your dead body.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

No… not them too!...

Chuuya stumbled against the wall, almost collapsing to the ground as he bit back a scream. 

Surely this wasn’t happening, right? You must have been gravely injured instead; there should still be hope that a doctor at the Port Mafia could manage to save you just in time. He knew that you survived worse before, and each time you bounced back after you were healed. There was no way that you were dead!

But he knew, deep deep down, that you had left him too.

Chuuya shook his head, blinking back the wetness in his eyes that he didn’t even realise was there. 

The first priority right now was to get Yasuko to safety. There were still members of Obsidienne in the building, and there was no way in hell that he was letting her stay here for another second. He hated that it had to be this way, but he’ll have to come back afterwards to properly avenge you. 

He approached her slowly, laying a gentle hand down on her elbow.

Yasuko didn’t react much as Chuuya helped her to stand, putting his arm around her shoulder just like he always did when he was with her. She leaned onto him, with tears silently streaming down her face while she walked. Not even noticing how he cast one last glance towards your blood-stained body against the wall.

The whole ride back to their home was a blur to her. The Mafia executive had stayed at Obsidienne’s headquarters, ordering his men to completely exterminate every single member in the building. He even engaged in full-out combat with the powerful ability users who also belonged to the organisation. It was the angriest she had ever seen him; but she knew he was also suffering behind the fury that consumed him whole.

The limousine stopped in front of her house, and she collapsed onto the couch once she was inside, starting to cry again as she recalled the events that had happened just less than an hour ago. Events that she could have prevented in the very first place.

An eternity seemed to pass before she heard footsteps, and looked up to see Chuuya holding a glass of water in his hand. He gazed at her softly, fighting back his own emotions that threatened to rip his chest apart if he didn’t let them out somehow. But he pushed them down, instead focusing on the woman he loved.

He held her, not saying a word as she sobbed, getting his shirt wet from the salty tears that never seemed to end. His hand rubbed up and down her back, the steadiness of his touch grounding Yasuko as she hiccupped, trying to take deep breaths so that she could calm down. 

“It’s okay, baby… it wasn’t your fault.” Chuuya said softly, planting a tender kiss on her forehead as he hugged her close.

She pushed herself off of him, staring back at his slightly confused expression towards her action. Yasuko bit her lip, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dug deep into her palms.

 “N-no, it was my fault! I-If I hadn’t done the things that I did back then, if I had been stronger and smarter, then Y/N wouldn’t have died! All I did was to stand back and watch as they took the hit for me-” A sob erupted in her throat- the sound of the blade passing through your flesh was still vivid in her memories.

Chuuya stepped forward, his blue eyes tender as he took her hand in his.

“My love… don’t blame yourself. I know that it hurts, knowing that you couldn’t save them. But I will never get tired of saying that it was not your fault. That bastard was to blame, not you-”

“Why don’t you understand?! It was my fault!! I had the idea of joining Obsidienne in order to exact revenge on the Port Mafia for murdering my family. And I came up with the idea of being close to you so that the plan would be easier to commence!” She half-yelled, her voice cracking.

“Being close to me?... What are you talking about-”

Yasuko knew that she should stop before she ruined everything between them. But Y/N’s death weighed upon her shoulders, never letting go until she confessed. She would rather end things with the truth than to die with the guilt of a lie.

“I planned to be kidnapped by the criminal organisation because I knew that the Port Mafia would soon dispatch someone powerful to take care of them once and for all. Then I came up with the idea to romance you in order to know your weaknesses, just so that you wouldn’t be a hindrance once Hasegawa and I finally launch our attack on the Mafia. But soon, I wanted to stop when I realised that it all meant nothing. H-He didn’t let me, and instead used me as a hostage, setting up a trap for you when you’d arrive to set me free. However, Y/N showed up instead, and… and fought him instead. It’s all because of me that they’re dead!!”

She broke down, burying her face in her hands once again. Silence followed for a long time after her confession.

Until it was suddenly broken by the shattering of glass.

Yasuko looked up in alarm.

Chuuya stood there silently with a wide-eyed stare. His gaze seemed distant, painful- countless things running in his mind hidden behind those beautiful blue eyes of his. Despite having dated him for six months, he was still unreadable to her sometimes. Only Y/N could’ve deciphered those complex emotions of his hidden within his head.

He had crushed the glass in his hand, soaking himself in water as the shards embedded themselves into the floor. Yet despite this somewhat violent action, he only remained still.

“Chuuya?” Yasuko asked meekly, slightly fearing what his reaction afterwards would be like. Would he shout at her? Use his ability on her? The Port Mafia didn’t take traitors lightly, afterall. And he was an executive in the said organisation, too.

But instead, he walked towards the door. Picking up his hat, he dusted it off before standing in the hallway, casting his gaze at her.

“... I need to be alone for a while.”

And just like that, he walked out of the house for the final time. 

Chuuya felt nothing but rage that day.

His gloves and coat were repeatedly stained with blood as he hunted down the remaining members of Obsidienne in Japan. The expensive leather and fabric quickly became filthy after the first few kills. But he didn’t care; because nothing he did could bring back his best friend. His best friend that was always there for him, who understood him better than anyone else.

His best friend that was now gone as well.

Chuuya wouldn’t- no, he couldn’t rest until he found every single member and crushed them with the weight of gravity. There would be no mercy, not even for the Boss of the organisation himself as he pleaded for his life. The gravity manipulator let loose his feelings, hurling bullets and remorseless kicks at his enemies. 

Blood splattered onto the walls in each base as the dying screams of it’s owners faded away into nothingness. Buildings collapsed on top of each other, the infrastructure groaning as it succumbed into the pull of gravity. Even Mori was slightly surprised at Chuuya’s brutality as he tracked down one base after the next.

All for Y/N.

Back at home, Yasuko sat down onto the couch again, breathing heavily from her outburst.

Something fell out of her pocket, and she stiffened as soon as she saw what it was.

Trembling hands slowly picked the object up. The sun’s rays were reflected back onto her face, but she felt no warmth.

It was the topaz bracelet that you had just bought with her a few days ago. When you were still happy and alive.

Yasuko held it to her chest, where there was nothing left but numbness.

Only death could truly reunite her with you now.

~~~

Chuuya sat with his back against your grave, the cold stone pressing into the skin that was full of scars.

There was only silence that filled the tranquil air of the Port Mafia’s private cemetery.

“... You’re an idiot, you know that?”

He spoke as if you were there with him, listening to his every word.

“You promised me that you wouldn’t be so reckless ever again. You could’ve waited for me to return, and we might have been able to defeat him together. Like we always did ever since we were fifteen. But you didn’t.” Chuuya gave a wry chuckle, lifting his head up to gaze at the blue sky. His eyes held nothing but sorrow and regret.

“... Yasuko and I have cut connections. She told me everything about what she did. I don’t blame her for your death, but it’s hard to look at her in the same way again after knowing about the truth.”

Again, there was only silence that answered him. But Chuuya could still see your smile, and hear your voice as clear as the day in his mind when you responded in your typical manner. He closed his eyes, wordlessly curling his mouth up into a forlorn smile as he laid his head against your tombstone.

“If you were mine instead… would you still be here beside me?”

It was softer than a whisper, but his words carried a weight heavier than all the precious stones in the world combined together.

A small gust of wind blew by, ruffling his clothes and hair in a virtually affectionate yet comforting manner. It gently brushed against his cheek, before moving on to his lips, his neck, and his forehead. The breeze was neither cold nor warm, and it strangely felt like the caress of a lover. Almost as if you had heard his statement and responded with a reply of your own.

Chuuya opened his eyes when he felt the last touches of the wind disappear. All that was left behind was the silence that had always been there.

The silence that would forever be tinged with tainted sorrow.

@circinuus @justcallmesakira @riiwrites @ruanais @sariel626 @atlasnessie @yasu-masashige @oldworldpoolhall @yuugen-benni @chocsra @heartsfourdazai @iridescentdove

[whumpshaped]

UR REBLOG INSPIRED ME

Winged pet whumpee, right? Except the whumper knows how birds work, as they have many exotic ones from their travels. Whumper isn’t cruel per se, they’d never hurt their pets. Just clip their wings.

Thing is, pet bird etiquette is to never pet their wings. Petting down the back or under the wings can lead to a sexually frustrated bird or a bird who perceives you as a mate rather than a companion. A mated bonded bird can be hostile to others in your home, becoming jealous or possessive of you

So. Whumpee gets their wings pet and has to deal with the strong innate instincts that come with it.

tw noncon touching, captivity, nonhuman whumpee, winged whumpee, intimate whumper

It was embarrassing. Whumpee couldn’t believe that with all this experience and knowledge on winged creatures, this was the one thing Whumper… forgot, or was misinformed on. They sat rigidly still as their owner petted their wings, mind reeling with all the emotions that came with it. 

There was no way Whumper didn’t know. There was no way. This had to be intentional, and if it was, it was either to humiliate them or—

No. It was definitely to humiliate them. There was no fucking way Whumper wanted anything from them, or if they did, well, Whumpee definitely wanted nothing from their captor. They didn’t. They really didn’t, even as heat rose to their face and their heart began to beat a little faster.

“My pretty little bird,” Whumper cooed, seemingly lost in the sensation of running their fingers along Whumpee’s soft feathers. “My perfect little dove. Aren’t you so lucky that I decided to take you in?”

Whumpee took a shuddering breath, unable to answer without risking some unwanted sounds to escape as well. They didn’t want anything to do with Whumper. They didn’t.

“I’m so happy I found you. There’s truly no greater joy than waking up to this sight every morning.”

They gasped as Whumper made another pass, dragging their hand down their wing while putting a bit more pressure on it. It felt so good, it felt just right, and Whumpee couldn’t help but wonder how this human was so skillful with every one of their movements. They weren’t Whumper’s first pet harpy, were they? Oh, the thought was absolutely revolting. And annoying. They wished they’d been the first.

No, what were they thinking?

“Stop,” they whimpered, closing their eyes in shame at how their voice sounded. It was weak and breathy, not at all firm and demanding like they had been going for.

“Stop?” Whumper leaned a little closer, that sickening grin still plastered on their face. “Why would I, when you’re enjoying yourself so much?”

[itsmealaiah]

Kinktober fic No.1

TW: profanity, slight voyeurism, heavy kink, overstimulation, monster-fucking, magical tentacles, punishment, dubcon, bratty reader

Request: none

Rating: under fifteen dni!!

Being a brat all day always got on tom's nerves, and you did it anyways. What you weren't expecting, however, was to be tied to a bed, spread-eagled, seeing multiple tentacles making their way towards you.

You squirm, thrashing against the cuffs and trying to get out, terrified. One makes their way up your leg, and you scream.

"Please, no!" you beg, your voice cracking.

Tom ignored his pleas, watching intently as the tentacle penetrated deeper. His eyes never left your face, drinking in the mix of fear and arousal. Your body betrayed you, your cock swelling despite your protests. of fear. The tentacle inside of you twisted, the movements deliberate and calculated, designed to elicit the maximum response from your body.

Your breaths grew ragged as the tentacle filled you, stretching you to your limits. The coldness of the slimy appendage was a stark contrast to the heat of your own body, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You felt violated, yet oddly fascinated by the sensation. Your mind screamed for it to stop, but your body was responding to the intrusion, seeming to welcome it.

Tom took a step back, watching as more tentacles joined the first, slithering over your body, each one finding a new place to invade. One coiled around your throat, not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind him of your captor's control. Another tentacle wrapped around your cock, stroking it with a cold, mechanical precision that had you whimpering and squirming in its bonds.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as the tentacle inside you began to pulse, mimicking the rhythm of a heartbeat, filling you completely. You could feel the others probing at your mouth, nostrils, and ears, each one bringing a new wave of sensation that you never knew existed. The panic slowly gave way to a strange curiosity, your body succumbing to the inescapable allure of the alien appendages. The pain morphed into something else, something dark and primal that resonated deep within you, a perverse symphony of pleasure and fear.

The tentacles grew more aggressive, their movements more erratic as the night progressed. Your cries had turned to moans, your body a canvas of pleasure and pain. Your skin was slick with sweat, your eyes glazed over with lust as you were claimed by the monstrous tentacles. Tom's own arousal grew, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants as he observed the scene unfolding before him.

Your body tensed, the tentacle around your cock squeezing tighter. You could feel the pressure building, the unstoppable wave of pleasure that was about to crash over you. You didn't want this, didn't want to give in to the monstrous creation that had taken you over, but your body had other ideas. With a gasp, you felt the orgasm ripping through you, a white-hot explosion of sensation that left you trembling and gasping.

And that was just the beginning of a very long night ahead.

[petrapalerno]

✨Free Monster & Alien Smut✨

Hi, I'm Petra Palerno and write filthy otherworldly smut. I mostly dabble in novels but have recently decided to give erotic shorts a try here and on my patreon.

Pretty much all content on this blog is NSFW. Minors do not engage. For TW/CW check individual stories.

✨MASTER LIST

CURRENT FREE STORY

✨Abducted by Moonlight

A werewolf stalks his newly found human mate in the forest when a ufo abducts them both. What happens when the alien tries to stake a claim on her as well?

TW/CW [a WIP, will be added to]: Stalking, consensual sex, shifting, breaking bones, abduction, aliens, violence.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Like my writing? Support me by reading my other works!

✨Love on the Korlyan Moon

Out now everywhere books are sold

A bubble babe is unknowingly dropped into a mysterious ocean by the Deenz transport ship. Lena, a tattoo artist from the Twin Cities, is sure she's going to die as the bubble she's in sinks deeper and deeper. She's rescued by Kitaico, a color-shifting tentacled alien, and unknowingly takes his mating venom. She must cycle through heats all while trying to resist her attraction to Kitaico.

✨All I Wanted Was Sushi but I got Abducted By Aliens Instead*

Book #1 in the Bubble Babes Series

Opal is trying her best in the Midwest after the sudden death of her parents. Everything comes to a crashing halt as she's abducted by aliens and forced to work as a human dancer for extraterrestrial enjoyment. A chance encounter with an alien prince while stuck in a traffic jam might just change the trajectory of Opal's new life in space.

✨All I Wanted Was To Become A Scientist But Now I've Got An Alien Boyfriend*

Book #2 in the Bubble Babes Series

“Sometimes I think it would have been easier if I hadn’t accepted the free shower at the hot alien’s apartment.”

☆JESSY

For the past few years, my life has kind of blown. On Earth, I dedicated my entire existence to science, even if my peers dismissed me as a pretty face. When I got abducted by aliens, I was forced to dance in a bubble for extra-terrestrial enjoyment.

I can’t get anyone to take me seriously even in space.

When I escaped by crashing my alien captor’s bus, Gra’eth saved me from drowning and even offered me a place to stay. He keeps telling people I’m his mate, even though I keep telling him the human word for what we are is roommates, but he refuses to say it that way. Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious—and for my very literal neurodivergent brain, that’s a big problem.

☆GRA’ETH

I never expected to have to save Jessy, and I certainly never expected for this strange human to be my mate. Her idea of fun would be to take apart my data pad only to see if she could put it back together again, which sounds like torture to me.

I’ve convinced her to stay in my apartment as what she calls a roommate. The mating bond won’t let me let her leave, but humans can’t even feel it. I don’t know how to keep things friendly when just the smell of her hair is enough to send me into a mating frenzy.

I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but I can’t keep fighting the pull of this bond. This little speckled human will be the death of me.

✨All I Wanted Was a Glass of Vino but an Alien Duke Kidnapped Me Instead *

Book #3 in the Bubble Babes Series

The Bubble Babe series continues in this standalone novel. 

Will an aquatic alien duke be able to reconcile the fact that his fated mate is a small, mouthy, human woman who can't swim? Will that human be able to love him despite his scars and the fact that he's keeping her captive? 

☆MARTA

The reality of being a mob boss' daughter is anything but glamorous, despite what one might think. In the absence of true freedom, my only companion was my loyal dog, Bruno. When he passed, I felt like my life had hit rock bottom. But when aliens abducted me from my pity party in a local wine bar, I realized how wrong I was. As if things couldn't get any worse, I woke up in an alien duke's closet, forced to rely on a giant alien pleasure toy as my only means of defense. All I know is that the gaudy duke can’t stand me…and the feeling is mutual.

☆RAF’ERE

Throughout my dukedom, I have dedicated myself to restoring the fi'len species to their natural aquatic habitats. How in the goddess's name am I supposed to do that when this human is my mate? Despite her mouthiness, the tiny human cannot swim. Did that stop me from stealing her cryopod from a crashed ship and locking it in my closet? Absolutely not. I also didn’t expect her to wake up and demand answers, either. But I can’t expect my people to look at me to lead if a human stands beside me, despite how much my body burns for hers. The dilemma arises: should I prioritize the goddess's wishes or grant her the freedom she deserves, joining the other human refugees?

This erotic alien romance is part 3 of the Bubble Babes series. It can be read as either a standalone or as a continuation of earlier books. This book features a 5’2” plus sized Italian-American female male character and a 7’6” aquatic alien duke as the male main character. Tropes include Kidnapping, size difference, enemies to loves, reformed playboy, alien romance, fated mates, and forced proximity. This full-length novel (67K words) ends with a HEA.

[hufflepuffsandghosts]

Fic swap? 👀 - ur bestie Zero 🖤

Plot: PH!Bakugo and Y/N (AFAB)  get captured and thrown together in a dark cell. Whoever put them together wants them to do..things. They both refuse. But their captor is determined, putting hormones in the air to urge them on. How long can they last? 

A/N: Hello friend! This is a FicSwap for my lovely bestie! I tried to keep it as gender-neutral as possible for you bby. But please keep in mind that the reader has female anatomy. I really hope you like this as you know i am NOT the type to write smut ahh <3 ily

TW: Non-Con/Dub-Con, Use of drugs. Slight exhibitionism if you squint. Swearing. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kiddos!), Breeding NO MINORS ALLOWED TO INTERACT

The night was dark and eerie, with an air of tension surrounding Bakugo, aka Dynamight, Japan's #2 hero, and Y/N, aka H/N. Bakugo’s explosive quirk and Y/n’s strategic abilities complemented each other perfectly. The villain in question has been known to kidnap and kill couples. 

As the night settles in, the moon’s faint glow casts shadows on the abandoned industrial complex where the villain has set up his hideout. The air was tense, and each breath felt electric as the pair prepped to confront the dangerous kidnapper. The villain emerged from the shadows, his sinister laughter echoing through the desolate space. He was a towering figure, clad in all black as the moonlight glinted off a wickedly sharp blade he wielded. 

The battle began with a ferocious exchange of blows from both parties at play. Bakugo charged forward, using his explosions to close the distance between him and the villain. Y/N, always one step ahead, flanked the enemy with precision. Using their wits and agility to dodge the villain’s attack. 

Bakugo and Y/N always moved with almost telepathic coordination during their joint missions. They knew and anticipated each other’s moves, covering for one another effortlessly. Their effectiveness as a team always caught the attention of their peers and superiors, leading to more frequent assignments together. During this particular mission fraught with danger, the pair were hesitant to acknowledge their evergrowing feelings for one another. It wasn't until a split-second decision on Bakugo's part, stepping in as a shield for Y/n from a deadly attack that put them in this predicament and was captured by the villain and his team

In a dimly lit, desolate underground cell, Bakugo and Y/N found themselves shackled together. They were both heroes, each possessing unique abilities and strong wills to help. But now, stripped of their powers and freedom, they faced an unimaginable challenge. Their captor, a sinister figure hiding in the shadows, had a twisted plan for them. 

Bakugo’s fiery temper ignited immediately as he attempted to break free from the chains that bound him to Y/N. “Let me GO, damn it! We’ll tear this place apart!” he snarled, his red eyes blazing with fury. 

Y/n on the other hand, remained surprisingly calm, trying to reason with their captor. “There’s no need for this. We won’t give in to your sick demands,” they declared, their voice steady despite the fear bubbling beneath the surface. Their captor’s voice echoed through the chamber, chilling them both to the bond. “Oh, but you will my little bunnies. I’ve laced the air with hormones designed to incite desire, and unless you want to be permanently trapped together, you both will have to cooperate.” 

Bakugo growled in frustration, not wanting to give their captor the satisfaction of seeing them weaken, “Like hell we will! I’m not falling for your tricks!” Y/n on the other hand, felt a sudden warmth spreading through the air, affecting their thoughts and emotions, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the proximity of Bakugo, the scent of his sweat, and the intensity of his gaze. 

As time passed, their willpower began to waver. Their captor kept the pressure on, taunting them with veiled threats and vague incentives that played on their deepest desires. “Come on Katsuki, don't you wanna feel how good Y/N feels? I know for a fact that she’s absolutely dripping right now.” Whispered the villain. 

Bakugo grunts, and shifts a little, he can see how slowly Y/n is becoming more and more desperate, moaning a bit here and there and shifting her legs to gain some sort of release for themselves. “F-Fuck Bakugo, please. I don't know how much longer I can take it.” Y/n Groaned. “It’s the hormones talking Y/N, dont let them win.” Bakugo huffed. 

“Tsk, tsk,” The villain said. “They’re practically asking to be used at this point Katsuki, how on earth can you deny them the pleasure.” 

“Shit” Bakugo thought. This was not good for the both of them, but all he could imagine is Y/N whimpering underneath him as he- 

No

Stop

Don’t give in. 

Is what he kept on telling himself before he realized that he was over the top of Y/n, both of his hands freed and placed lightly on their skin-tight hero costume, playing gently with their breasts. Y/n purred softly, grinding on his thigh at the slight touches. “Please Katsuki-” Y/N spoke softly, before being immediately interrupted by a forceful kiss from their partner in crime. “Shh baby, let me take care of you properly” Katsuki growled, placing kissing and nips along Y/N's neck.

  Feeling the heat rise between the both of them. Katsuki gets off slightly, admiring the work of light bruises along their neck. Bakugo rips the bottom half of Y/n’s costume, revealing their wet pussy. He chuckles “Wow, what a little slut you are, getting off just at my leg alone. Tell me, what do you want.” 

Y/N huffs and doesn't say anything. 

Smack. A sting to their ass before he repeats. “Tell me, what, you want.”  

Smack

Y/N whimpers “Make me cum please Kat, please.” before gasping for air as Bakugo uses his thick, rough fingers to make quick work of spreading their legs the rest of the way, and his tongue is suddenly everywhere. Eating them out like his life depended on it. Lapping everything up like it was the last thing he was ever going to drink. 

Y/n writhed underneath him, grabbing and pulling at the blonde’s hair. He sucks on your clit and rubs his cock against the hard mattress when you moan. Tongue sliding between your folds like he’s been starving for you. Bakugo then moves his face so it’s closer to your neck, so his lips are beside your ear and he can say things just as breathily as you. and places bites and hickeys along their breasts while inserting two fingers. “fuck Y/N,” he moaned. “You’re already so tight for me and I haven't even done anything yet.” Y/n nods, chatting out agreements “Just fucking get it over with already Bakugo-” 

He reaches up and places two fingers into their mouth, while you suck and gasp as he removes his pants, showing his cock covered with his own pre-cum, slowly teasing Y/N’s wet folds. He removes his fingers and smirks, slamming his dick inside. Y/n jolts suddenly, toes curling at the sheer size and thickness of Bakugo’s cock. 

“You’re being so obedient for me Y/n, you’re so good for me..” He purrs, slamming into you over and over again. Losing a bit more sanity and more as Y/n gets tighter and tighter around him. “Fuck, that's it, baby, let me hear you.” He says, grabbing Y/N’s hair and pulling the both of them as close as possible. Slamming into Y/n's G-spot as they moaned and were almost screaming with pleasure. It makes both of their heads a little foggy. 

“Shit- fuck- Y/N I'm gonna-” Katsuki moans, pushing in as hard as he can, hitting the cervix before cumming. “M-me too-” Y/n moans. Slow and controlled, lifting up a bit to kiss them deep and make you feel every little bit of him. He allows himself to fuck the cum into you, reveling in the quiet gasps you make. Both are so sensitive, but it feels so good. 

“You’re mine now, Y/n,” He huffs, before kissing Y/n’s lips, and then to their forehead. Y/N smiles, “I would love that but now, let's figure out how to get the hell out of here.”

All content © hufflepuffsandghosts 2023. Do not repost, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 47 – CANON DIVERGENCE

Gained in Translation by Annie D (scaramouche)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 11,556 Tags: Humor and Banter, Light-Hearted, First Kiss

Summary: Steve returns to New York and meets Tony for the first time since they’d parted ways after the Chitauri incident. It’s a little awkward at first, but they gain a new rhythm, which is mainly based on their ability to surprise each other and prove those first impressions inaccurate. Set between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Avengers: Age of Ultron.

Reasons why I love it: I love how we get to see Tony figuring out that Steve is a little shit with a sense of humor, but it's told from Steve's perspective in all these subtle cues, which makes it even better. And oh my god, the moment Steve realizes that he feels something for Tony is one of my favorites in all the fics I've read, it's just so Steve. I adore this fic, and if you haven't read it yet, you are missing out!

Sins of the Father by AvocadoLove

Pairing: Bucky/Tony Rating: T Words: 11,196 Tags: Hostage Situations, Howard is HYDRA, Secret Identity

Summary: Tony's practically become an old hat at being taken hostage, but something's fishier than usual this time around: his captor looks twenty-eight but claims to know Howard Stark, the NYPD negotiator is a SHIELD plant, and what's this about a fleet of helicarriers set to launch? (TWS AU.)

Reasons why I love it: Everything about this is so fricking good – the whole mess with Howard, the way that SHIELD's HYDRA infestation comes to light, the hopeful ending, I love all of it. And of course, the hints of Winteriron bonding are amazing. Also check out the second part of this series, which is a prequel to this one, it adds another layer of awesomeness to this whole thing.

Can You Carry It (With No Regrets) by RayShippouUchiha

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 1,722 Tags: Major Character Death, Infinity Gems, Unhappy Ending

Summary: “I know,” Tony tells him softly, eyes wide and soft and lips quirked in a small smile, “it isn’t fair.” Tony’s always been so good at knowing what Steve’s thinking, except for the few times Steve purposefully, actively, lied to him. Times he knows now he’ll never get the chance to make up for. “Focus,” Tony whispers as he leans forward into Steve’s space. “Breathe.”

Reasons why I love it: Aaaah, this hurts SO GOOD! I love the role switch and the way the scene goes down with those subtle differences that make it Stony. And of course, the added regret just makes it all even more tragic. Definitely check this one out, it's amazing!

Party girls don't get hurt by sirona

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 12,871 Tags: Age Difference, Misunderstandings, Howard's A+ Parenting

Summary: Steve never slept under the ice. Howard found him, and got him back, and Steve married Peggy, and Howard married Maria, and then there was Tony. This is the story of Tony growing up with Steve very much present in his life, and everything that changed because of it - and some things that didn't.

Reasons why I love it: What do a young Tony Stark who is just as full of snark as you would imagine and a supersoldier not so lost in time make? The recipe for a fantastic fic, that's what. I love the way their relationship develops over time and all of the canon elements that they find their way into the plot. This fic is spectacular, and you should definitely read it!

Symmetry Breaking by Annie D (scaramouche)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 10,824 Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Casual Sex, Happy Ending

Summary: After the Battle of New York, Steve rode off on his motorbike. That's how it went the first time. This time he rides back, all the way to Stark Tower, where he asks Tony for help.

Reasons why I love it: This is such a brilliant take on what might have happened after Steve's little elevator stunt during the Endgame time heist, it's honestly genius. The smut is fantastic, and I love every single line of dialogue that they say to each other, it's so them. This fic is wonderful, and you should definitely read it, if you haven't already!

[viaoverthemoon]

Cause I have one request to make. What if older Leon (it can be either but I have vendetta in mind) was asked by the DSO to find an ex-umbrella agent she's kidnapped at the moment.

And when he rescues her there's all sorts of tension between them. She's grateful for him but he's wary of her(understandably so....) And over the time they bond over the fact they both want to save people (she's changed) . But over the time their sexual tension between grows and grows and one day it snaps....... Resulting in 👀👀👀you know

(please tell me you are understanding what I am saying like this idea is ingrained in my brain somehow. But you can ignore this request if you want.)

I see the vision, my dear! I see it so freaking hard!

Please hand over your brain so I can SMOOCH IT!!!!!

The gears are already turning and I grabbed my laptop as soon as I could <3

Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Leon finds and rescues you after being kidnapped. While you are grateful, you can't help but notice the tension that follows the both of you as you head to the rendezvous point.

Tw: Implied kidnapping, ptsd (I think), gun & knife violence/battle, zombies but they aren't described, fluff, SMUT, p in v sex, unprotected sex (Don't be silly, wrap your willy &lt;3) Let me know if I missed anything!

18+!! NSFW!! MDNI!! Read at your own risk!

Enjoy! <3

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

A small sliver of light suddenly shines into your dark room.

You'd been in the dark for so long, the light momentarily disoriented you. You back yourself into a corner, your heart rate accelerating as your anxiety rises.

Some new group of bioterrorists had risen, not as bad as Umbrella, but also not trying to do good like the government. They'd kidnapped you in hopes of using the information you must have, since you once worked with umbrella.

But you hadn't given them anything. Within the past week they'd tried everything in mental and physical torture, but you didn't relent.

The previous night, you'd heard some of your captors speaking of them getting impatient and frustrated with you, the possibility of just killing you and kidnapping someone else to take your place getting more and more appealing to them.

But you weren't going down without a fight.

You grab the only chair in the small room, holding it as best you can with your dislocated shoulder. You pant heavily as your wild eyes stare at the door that opens slowly.

You pause when your full name is called out, the chair dropping just an inch. A brunette man with bright blue eyes cautiously peeks into the room, gun raised as he repeats your name again.

A small flash of hope rises in your chest. He can't see you in the dark, so he continues walking in. He repeats your name, "-are you here? I'm here to bring you to safety."

His words bring you so much relief that you drop the chair. The guy whips his body toward you, turning on his flashlight and pointing the gun at you.

When he sees its only you, tired and breathing heavily with a gag between your lips, he relaxes and puts his weapon in his holster.

He approaches you slowly, as if you're a wild animal. "My names Leon Kennedy. I was sent by the DSO to rescue you."

You blink quickly, holding back tears as you nod. You stand awkwardly as he goes behind you, untying the cloth before stepping away. "Better?"

You take a moment to let your mouth salivate and clear your throat before speaking, "Yes... Thank you so much... You have no idea-"

"Good. Let's go." Leon turns back toward the door, leaving before you can finish.

His response stuns you for a few seconds before you brush it off as him just trying to hurry back to safety.

But the tension remains as you both travel through the abandoned city, helping each other up and down fallen buildings in complete silence.

You can't help but notice the way he sharply turns away from you after having to help you, or how an annoyed expression overcomes his face when you take too long to follow him.

It isn't until the two of you are forced to run into a barely standing house to get away from wandering A-Virus zombies.

Leon boards the door shut behind the two of you before leaning against it to catch his breath.

You rest against the wall of the house, breathing heavily as your mind can't seem to stop thinking about the way Leon has treated you so far. You hadn't done anything to him that would cause him to harbor bad feelings towards you. And you always helped him when he needed it. So why? Your curiosity gets the best of you.

"Hey-... Leon?" He responds to your breathy words with a grunt, not even looking at you. This irritates you a little, but you continue with a soft voice.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm super grateful for you saving me... But I can't help but feel like you don't feel all too happy about my safety."

He just grunts again, checking the number of bullets in his gun. "Don't know why you would think that." His tone contradicts his words, and your patience slowly deteriorates.

"I would think that because I haven't done anything to you! I would understand if I'd wronged you, but I haven't-"

"Oh, so working under Umbrella isn't doing something wrong?"

Your sharp inhale is the only thing heard in a pause filled with silence.

The both of you remain silent while staring at each other. Leon, looking at you with a blank look, was in much more inner turmoil at the moment. He wants to trust you, he really does. But Umbrella had taken so much from everyone. He can't imagine how sick a person must be in the head to work with them. Ex-employee or not.

You sigh and look him deep in his eyes, causing Leon to flinch because he swore he felt something ghost over the shell of his soul.

"I understand what you mean. And I'm not proud of the work I did under those monsters... But I'm not with them anymore! I'd found out that what we were doing was wrong, and immediately ran. I'm not who I was before. I swear. I just want to help those in need."

He just looks at you, mildly surprised by your sudden confession. All he can do is nod in acknowledgement. "Right... okay."

And from then on, you both get along relatively well throughout the journey to the rendezvous point.

You make pleasant conversation when possible, Leon asks if you need breaks or if you're hungry. He worries genuinely for your wellbeing. And you'd be lying if you said his care didn't make your heart go crazy. He cared for you. Found you food when you were hungry, handled your injuries, and popped your dislocated shoulder back into place.

The more he interacts with you, the more his determination to get you out of here grows. He hardly cares for himself, only thinking about you. And every time you thank him or give him that deep look of appreciation, he feels... things... Things he hasn't felt since his teenage years. He feels things that make him feel young again.

❁

Once again, you two are forced to retreat into yet another barely standing home. Only this time, you're both laughing as you close the door and board it shut together.

You step away and walk to a wooden desk, jumping up and sitting on it with your hand over your heart as you try to stop laughing. "Okay, that one liner you used when you threw the flashbang- 'Damn, I think you just got flashed.' Too fucking funny-"

Quiet snickers fill the tiny house. "Why, thank you sweetheart. And you're quite skilled with throwing knives. That knife you threw into that zombie's jugular?" He gives a playful chef's kiss, causing you to blush and giggle.

"Thanks. Told you I can handle myself."

"Right, and that's why you were kidnapped?"

You pause.

He pauses.

His words had unintentionally caused for your throat to close up. You cleared it, looking away from him and trying to give a small smile. But he knew he must have over-stepped.

He walks towards you. "Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up-" You instantly try to reassure him.

"No, no! I'm fine- really! I just wasn't expecting it."

You're surprised when Leon gets closer, stepping in-between your legs and wiping liquid off of your face. "Then why are you crying?"

You gasp before lifting a hand to feel your face. Sure enough, you're crying. You sniffle, trying to wipe away the tears but they never seem to stop. "Sorry- I don't mean to cry. I've j-just had a really long week..."

He shushes you. "I understand. There's no need to apologize. This couldn't have been easy."

You take a few moments to calm yourself. And once your tears finally stop, you look up and realize just how close Leon is. Your noses graze each other when you look at him. His bright blue eyes staring into yours with deep concern, his brown hair falling over his eyes, his dark brows pulled together in concentration as he looks all over your face.

Your heart rate accelerates.

You lick your lips, eyes dancing over his face before flickering to his lips. "Thank you... Leon."

He hadn't missed the motion of your tongue, eyes moving to yours.

You both look at each other for what seems like forever before he leans in.

Life seems a little more colorful.

Life feels worth living.

Life has just gotten so fucking worth it.

His soft lips dance against yours, stubble scrapping your chin, but you don't care.

You sigh into the kiss, bathing in the warm feeling that comes when his hands come to rest on your cheeks. You cover his hands with your own, eyes blissfully closed as you forget about everything else.

Nothing else matters. No one else matters. Everything you need, is in this man right in front of you.

Before you know it, he's deepening the kiss.

His hands move down to your hips and he pulls away to catch his breath.

You both pant for a while, eyes remaining locked onto the other's.

"Do you-... Are you sure you want this?"

Do you even have to think about it?

You instantly nod your head, not a single thought of hesitation in your brain.

"Do you want this?"

The question surprises him. "Do I?!"

You laugh when he lunges forward, lips landing on your neck. He sucks and bites like there's no tomorrow, relishing in the sounds of your soft moans and whimpers.

His hands move to the band of your pants. "Can I take these off?"

You give a small, 'Mhm-' and the pants, and your panties, are off within seconds.

You grind into his clothed semi-bulge, moaning at the friction on your clit. Your ass hurt from the wooden desk biting into it, but the pain is barely acknowledged. Leon digs his hands into your hips, stopping your movements.

You whine, about to snap at him for denying you of pleasure. But your complaint dies on your tongue when one of his hands slides between the two of you.

You gasp, hips twitching as he palms at your cunt. "Yes..."

He just chuckles, continuing to rub your puffy lips and your clit as his other hand reaches for his zipper.

You bite one of your nails to keep from being too loud as you watch him pull his dick from his pants.

A whimper leaves your lips at the pure size and girth of him.

He jerks himself a few times, watching the pure lust in your eyes and the drool pooling at the corner of your lips. He calls your name to get your attention. "You ready? You look pretty out of it and we barely even started..."

You glare at him, his hot breath fanning over your face as he slides his cock between your folds a few times before entering you.

Your heart races right against his, both of you panting and groaning as he bottoms out. Your nails create little crescent marks on his shoulder and the back of his neck, sweat collecting on your hairline.

Leon gets lost in the feeling of your silky wet walls, large hands gripping your hips as he begins a slow pace.

Your hearts beat in sync, hands never leaving the other. You can't keep your hands to yourself, scratching along his back, running them down his chest, combing through his hair.

You feel a tug on your soul. A feeling of connection.

There was something so intimate about this moment. You felt truly tied to this man, something you hadn't felt with somebody else in a long time.

You clench around him at the thought and he groans, picking up the pace.

Leon has slept with women before, but there was something special about you.

Everyone else was a mere distraction. Something to keep his mind off of the many years of physical and mental damage he had to endure.

But you?

You're the only one he felt a need to hold on to.

A sudden shock makes him thrust into you a little harder, causing you to cry out. You grip the nape of his neck as your back arches, legs raising to cross behind his back.

Leon grabs the back of your head and lead you into another passionate kiss, swallowing your whines and moans as his thrusts become erratic and desperate.

Both of your releases are within your reach, each of you getting louder and louder as you get closer. "Can I-... Can I cum inside? Please?"

Your approval is instant, not even thinking about refusing. "Yes-! Need it so bad..."

You jerk your hips to meet his with every thrust, the feeling of him kissing your cervix tightening the knot more and more until- it snaps.

Leon has to cover your mouth to muffle the loud sob the leaves your lips, not long after following you over that edge and seeing stars.

He bites the side of your neck to stay quiet himself, breathing heavily as the weight of the euphoria subsides.

You both lean on each other, bathing in the warmth and the safety the other provides.

"-One? Do you copy?"

The both of you startle, Leon accidentally pulling out of you and causing you to hiss at the sudden emptiness.

He mutters a quick apology before bringing a hand to his ear. "Condor One to Roost. I copy." He glances at you nervously. "Myself and-... Viper are safe and still on route to the rendezvous point." He embarrassingly turns away and fixes himself.

You silently gawk at your codename. It was flattering, in a way, but also showed that they really didn't trust you...

Leon soon finishes with his report and turns back to you, seeing you leaning on the desk. Watching him with a small smile and your pants back on.

He walks to you and places his hands on the desk, caging you in, before nuzzling his face into your neck. He breaths you in. "Sorry about that. Of course, we picked that before-"

"No need to apologize. I can see how I may have been kinda... snake-like-"

You laugh when he groans, lightly banging his head against your shoulder. You stay like this for a moment, holding each other, before Leon pulls away.

He gives you a quick peck on the lips and pulls his gun from its holster, checking the bullets again. "C'mon. Let's get out of here so I can get you back home and take you out for dinner."

You giggle, grabbing the first aid and weapons. "What, is this not already first date material?"

He pulls you in by your waist, getting close enough for you to feel his breath on your face.

"For you... First date material is so much more."

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE AHHH!!

Ngl, I don't really like how long this is or how it ended, BUT LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Hope you enjoyed!

Requests are open!! <3

[oliversrarebooks]

Augusnippets Day 4: Amputation

Masterlist

tw: amputation, drugging, restraints

Bramble struggled fruitlessly against the cold iron bonds that were keeping him chained to the table face down. The hated metal made him so weak, unable to use his magic, completely at the mercy of the human who had trapped him.

"Well, now, this is a fine prize." His captor ran a rough hand along his sensitive wing, making Bramble shudder. "Gonna fetch a hefty payout. Aren't I lucky?"

Bramble bit back tears, feeling violated by the unwelcome touch. He'd always been so proud of his wings, which shimmered like a hummingbird in the morning sunlight. This filthy human didn't deserve to look at them, much less touch them.

"I wouldn't move if I were you. You'll be real sorry if you do," said his captor, as Bramble flinched away from his hands. "On second thought, I'd better make sure you can't move. These wings are too valuable to spoil."

Just out of the corner of his eye, Bramble could see his captor approaching with a syringe filled with milky fluid. Bramble cringed but didn't fight it. If he couldn't escape anyway, he'd rather be unconscious for this. As the cold drug entered his system, he could feel his limbs becoming heavy and numb, his mind becoming disconnected from his body.

But his fear didn't subside, and Bramble realized that his captor wasn't merciful enough to make him sleep. He'd just drugged him enough to keep him from moving.

Bramble squeezed his eyes shut as his captor picked up a saw from the tray, unwilling to accept what was going to happen, right up to the moment when the blade bit into his wing root.

Masterlist

@augusnippets

[whump-tr0pes]

Nanda made sure Jameson knew every moment that he was in total control, made sure he never felt truly safe, made sure he was always a little afraid... of course he kept something small for himself. My heart is breaking 😭

How will Nanda react to this news??? Ahhhh Jameson finally stands up for himself and says no and says the things he never got to say... ahhh.... I cry...

so... how about that jameson au though

(Anon is referencing an AU where Nanda turns up alive, I wrote a short piece on the concept here)

CW: Whumpee returned to whumper, captor bonding, dubcon (mostly implied? mostly), grief

Nanda's thumb and finger rub along the back of Jameson's neck, and he closes his eyes, tipping his chin forward to bare the skin more fully to the familiar touch. The leather seat beneath him feels impossibly soft. The car is new, but the scent of it isn't.

"What do they call you now?" Nanda asks, carefully casual, steering into a turn without signaling. His car, sleek and silver and looking somehow incredibly futuristic and oddly sexual, glides along the road. "In this house I found you in?"

Jameson doesn't look up. He can feel his skin prickling, the hair on his arms standing up. At the same time, he's shivery, feels a warmth pulsing through him. "Jameson," He says. His voice is hoarse. It's always hoarse now. For so long...

"Jameson?" Nanda's voice sounds curious, only curious. His fingernail scrapes lightly along Jameson's nape, edging the softest baby hairs there. Jameson's breath catches. "Like the whiskey?"

He swallows. Custard and blood, a voice he thought he'd never taste again. Vanilla and copper, somehow swimming together. It's not a good taste, but it's one his life revolved around once. A taste he loved, sometimes hated, sometimes both in equal measure. "Yeah." He drops to a whisper. "I was kept in a... a house for a while. I could see these bottles... he'd empty the bottles, and line them up. Jamison Whiskey, always. I thought it-... it sounded like a good name."

Nanda pauses. "... you read the bottles?"

Oh, right. Nanda never knew.

Jameson hitches in a breath. They're still slipping through the city like an eel through ocean, winding around neighborhoods as if avoiding beds of green plants waving in the water. The lights are purple in some spots and bright in others. Jameson wonders if Nanda's taking him-

... what used to be home.

"I read the bottles," He whispers. "I could-... I could always read."

Another long pause. Nanda glances behind him, then pulls over - still without using his turn signal, and that sure hasn't changed. The car's tires crunch along the gravel beside the road, then settle into a rumbling smoothness as they move into grass. Nanda cuts the lights, and leaves he and Jameson sitting in total darkness, without even a streetlight to see by. Only the dim hint of moonlight and stars.

"You weren't supposed to be able to read."

"I... I know. But I can."

"You never told me you could." Nanda's palm is heavy and hot on his neck, now. Jameson twists his fingers into his sweatpants to keep his hands from shaking as Nanda's voice drops low, too. "You lied to me."

"I was-... scared to tell you."

"You should have told me anything. Everything. There shouldn't have been anything I didn't know."

"No, I know, but... fuck. What if you had them take it away?" He looks, now. He finds the courage to raise his head, to turn and look Nanda right in his eyes. They're just a gleam in the night. "I needed it. I, I'm alive because I can read. If I couldn't, and you died, I wouldn't have... been able to read, to, to know-"

"You lied." No anger. Just calm certainty. "To me."

"... yes. I lied." He jerks away from Nanda's hand finally, raking a hand back through his hair, hating it again. It used to be thick, and kind of pretty actually. Used to look good. Even this long after escaping Robert, it still grows in unevenly, different lengths. And some places never grew back at all, so he has to grow it out to cover the bald spots up, but then the uneven bits are obvious, and... "I fucking lied, okay?! I had to protect myself. I had to, to keep safe."

"From me?" Nanda's voice is empty of emotion. It's worse than anger could ever be. "You had to protect yourself from me?"

"More than anyone, you fucking asshole!"

He's going to cry again. He forces the heat of the tears back, lets them turn into a twist of acid anger in his chest alongside his racing heart. He doesn't lower his gaze. He looks Nanda right in the face.

He thought he'd never see this face again.

"You-" His voice cracks, and he fights to get it back. Not to go silent now, when he has to say this, the thing he's always held inside. There's never been a grave he could cry at, there's never been a body to bare his heart to. Not since-

"You could have killed me yourself, and I'd have let you do it." The words come out too quickly, they run together and he's breathless at the end of the sentence. He grabs at Nanda's hand with both of his, holding so tightly he can feel Nanda's bones move, can hear the slightest hiss of breath as he winces. "And you might have. Even if all you did was send me back, they'd wipe it all away again. I'd lose too much, I'd lose you, you shit, and I didn't want to lose you. When you died, I thought-"

"I wasn't dead-"

"I didn't fucking know that!" He can't scream anymore, not like he used to. His voice only turns to wind, the rasp of an oncoming storm. Nanda is a rumble of thunder, and Jameson the leaves shivering on branches about to blow down and die. "If they found me, they'd blame me, and they'd send me back, for being defective, for being a fucking reject, for-... they'd take you away. They'd take you away from me, from my head."

He pulls Nanda's hand to him, leans forward, his forehead resting against the warmth of Nanda's palm, those fingers curved slightly over the top of his head. Like a god giving benediction, maybe. Like he could be lifted up or shoved off a cliff with just one motion.

"I couldn't lose you, not because I wasn't right. I couldn't fucking lose you. If you knew I could read, if you sent me back-... if they sent me back after you died-... they'd take you. I couldn't, I couldn't lose you. I couldn't. You're mine, god damn it, you were mine!"

"Pet-"

"I had to keep you mine." He drops his grip on Nanda's hand, but it doesn't move away, and neither does he. "I had to keep you in my head, because-... because if you were gone, and I didn't know you, then why was I ever here?"

He's talking about Nanda, and he isn't. There's some other face beneath it, another voice, another taste. A smile he'd known from his first memories, a loss he couldn't recall because it had been a loss too great to bear losing.

He doesn't let that other face surface. Some part of him knows the name but he holds it deep, deep down. "I'm what I am because I thought it was okay to lose, to forget, but when you were gone, I, I couldn't, I couldn't lose again. I couldn't forget you again. Don't you fucking understand that?"

Nanda stares at him, slightly wide-eyed, an expression Jameson has never seen before in his handsome, angular face. There's so much more silver in his beard now than there used to be. But they both look so much older, so much different, now.

The silence draws out, between them, and Jameson twists. Lightning threatens. There's no rumble of thunder, only the weight of something about to break overhead and if it does, he'll drown.

"Well?" His voice shakes, but he covers it up with rage. He always covers up his fear with anger. It's the only way he's lived this long. It's safe and easy. "Lost your fucking voice now, all of a sudden? Huh? You gonna fucking say something to me, you piece of shit, you were dead and how goddamn dare you come back and take me like nothing ever happened, like I didn't-... like I didn't have to live without you, for so long without, like I-"

He never finishes the sentence.

"Shut up," Nanda snaps. It's a growl, a snarl, and Jameson thrills to the sound of his voice. His hands are there, they shove Jameson to the side and then back. Nanda hits something along the side of his seat and the back drops flat. Jameson gasps as his head bounces back against the headrest, and then Nanda is on top of him again, yanking his shirt up with a ferocity that feels like the cloth burns along his scarred skin as it goes. His wrists are tangled in the cotton and Nanda grunts, irritated, and leaves it there as he works at Jameson's sweatpants, yanking them down off his hips until he's nearly naked, on his back in the passenger seat of a car, on the side of the road.

"Nanda-"

"I said shut the fuck up-"

Nanda's hand claps over his mouth, and his protests are muffled at first. Then they aren't protests at all, as Nanda's lips are hot against his neck, and then his teeth dig and his tongue works against the reddening skin he's just bitten.

Nanda's hand closes around him, between his legs, and Jameson cries out, all but levitating off the seat into scorching touch. He's dizzy, with the way all his blood suddenly shifts to meet that hand. He can barely think. Nanda's strokes are rough and fast, and Jameson rolls into them, again and again. All his thoughts are washed away by the lust that floods him.

Somewhere under that, though...

He's still afraid.

It could end any second.

It could all have been a dream.

This might have been the wrong choice.

Or it wasn't a choice at all.

Nanda yanks his hand back and Jameson whimpers at the loss, whines like an animal in heat, only to have Nanda grab him and roughly turn him over, throwing him back down. They're closed in this car, the space too small for it. His elbow bangs on something, his feet are pressing up against the rough carpet under the dashboard. But that hand is off his mouth, then. He can breathe, and he can make a sound that isn't entirely human as Nanda's mouth is back on his neck, the heat of his chest against Jameson's shoulder blades, the hardness of him pressed just where Jameson wants it, always wanted it

Didn't always want it-

"Nanda... please-... just wait-"

"I don't wait for you," Nanda whispers against his ear, nips at the shell. He can't stop himself from moaning at the feeling, as broken as that sound is now from his ruined throat. "You wait for me, when I say. You don't tell me when."

Jameson's eyes open, then. He's staring into an expanse of stars through the back windshield, and the sky is so goddamn empty between them, isn't it? Between the tiniest points of light, dead suns, and maybe their planets still revolve around them in the darkness.

"... I was learning," He whispers.

Nanda pauses. His breath is deafening against Jameson's ear. "What?"

"... I was learning how to say when."

He's a planet orbiting a dead star.

"Pet-"

"... I loved you."

"Loved?"

He's crying again. Goddamnit, he's crying again, and his shoulders shake with the sobs he can't hold back any longer. Nanda exhales and drops, weight against him, reassuring and real, alive. "I still love you, but I love-... I love-... I loved that I learned to be-... to b-be Jameson, fuck, stop it stop it stop crying, you shit, you fucking, just stop fucking crying!"

"Sssshhhhh. It's okay." Nanda's voice is a rumble, and the world shakes a little, gentle as a shower of rain. But he can't taste the rain here, not so far away from Allyn.

He can't taste the rain, only copper and sweet.

The stars blur into nothing, they're lost to the darkness when he tries to look through the tears. Even if his vision clears, it isn't even the stars he'd be seeing.

"Nanda... there's someone else."

He only sees the memory of what's already been lost.

[marvellousimagines]

TW: Implied torture, blood and bloodloss, Cazador being Cazador

You tensed as the door to your cell opened, but let out a sigh of relief when you saw the familiar white curls of a particular elf vampire spawn.

“Astarion!” you called his name in surprise and relief, though not so loud as to draw attention. “You found me.”

“Of course I did, my dear,” Astarion replied. “Unfortunately, it took a lot out of me to just get here. Would you mind if I had just a little bit of your blood, help me get an edge over Cazador for our escape?”

Something didn’t seem quite right. Astarion seemed off, but that may have just been from hunger. This was the first time he’s directly asked for some of your blood since that first night when you woke up with him hovering over you. It had to be bad if he was asking again.

“Yes, of course,” you reply, tilting your head in invitation, the scars from Astarion’s previous bites on full display.

Astarion smirked, coming in close and biting down. You felt the usual pain, then numbness, as Astarion began to suck your blood.

He didn’t stop when he normally would.

“Astarion?” You prompted, giving him a nudge. You felt your extremities go numb, your vision tunneling. “Astarion, that’s too much!” You tried to push him off but the blood loss had you weakened. You blinked heavily, struggling to stay conscious and alert.

You heard a chuckle from Astarion, but it was not his voice. As he pulled away, the illusion magic faded, revealing Cazador in Astarion’s place.

“You are quite the willing morsel. I just had to see for myself how quickly you bare your neck for a bite,” Cazador taunted, running a finger down your throat. You were too numb, feeling too hazy to do much of anything except stare at your captor in fear.

At some point, Cazador had left. You weren’t sure how much time had passed as you drifted in and out of sleep.

By the time you recovered enough from the vampire lord draining your blood to just feel the usual post-bite wooziness, muffled sounds off in the distance caught your attention. You couldn't be sure, but it sounded like a fight, you swore you heard shouting and the sound of metal clashing.

After the sounds faded, your cell door opened and again Astarion stepped through. You flinched away, unsure if this was another trick.

“Hey, Y/N, darling, it’s just me,” Astarion said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Is… is it really you, Astarion?” you asked, afraid now of Cazador taking advantage of your trusting nature again.

A familiar, warm voice outside the cell behind Astarion answered for him. “Who else would it be, Soldier?” Karlach asked, and you flinched as you thought of the answer.

Astarion looked at you with sympathetic understanding, your reaction apparently telling him everything. You felt the familiar squirming of the tadpole that signaled a link to another and opened your mind to it. Flashes of panic, worry, as Astarion realized who took you from camp. His determination to get you back eclipsing the fear he felt marching right up to Cazador’s door. The blood of the vampire lord as Astarion stabbed into him while your other companions watched his back. Then finally, you as seen through his eyes, relief that you’re okay.

As you came back to your own mind, you saw anger on Astarion’s face, though not pointed at you. You were sure that, through the tadpole bond, he had seen Cazador's trick of using his image to lull you into a false sense of security. “Cazador’s dead now. We’re safe from him.” He held out his hand.

You took his hand and pulled yourself up. Your vision tunneled slightly at the sudden shift of position and you swayed a bit. However, you let yourself fall forward slightly, wrapping your arms around Astarion’s shoulders in a hug and burying your face in his chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling, now let’s get you out of here,” Astarion said gently. Once it was clear you couldn’t make it out under your own power, Astarion carefully lifted you into his arms to carry you out of Cazador's dungeon.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Confrontation (Magician's Bait, Part 4)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 11: Used as bait / Held for ransom / "It's a trap!"

WoW Birthday Whump Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

Happy birthday to @writer-of-worlds! 🎉🎉🎉

TW: kidnapping, magic whump, referenced past whump, blindness, deception, trouble breathing

first part | <- previous part | next part ->

Context: Damian's rescuer approaches, and his captor brings him out of his cell to witness her defeat of Caiya Ebony. But something's... off about the whole thing.

-----

The whispering was beginning to grow unbearable.

Damian didn’t know what the Stalker had in mind with this particular spell. It didn’t seem to do anything useful besides incessant noise. Perhaps that was the point.

The words were familiar yet strange, like someone mumbling in his secondary language, using unknown rhetoric. No matter how hard he tried, Damian could not recognize any words. They were not human, not elvish. Draigo, perhaps?

He knew that he did not know the exact dialect of the whispering, but that did not stop his mind from grasping at vowels and grammar for a translation.

This was possibly worse than when she’d starved him.

After the day Damian had pleaded with her for water, the Stalker had come in daily as always. But along with temporarily freeing him from his bonds, she also muttered two runes in quick succession. And his hunger and thirst would evaporate like mist in the sunlight.

At least the dehydration had been natural, a normal process of his bodily functions from lack of water. This was not.

Damian wished, not for the first time, that his hands were free so he could cover his ears and block out the unbearable noise. The hissed “s” sounds, the sharp “t” and “p” and “c”, it all drilled into his skull like a sharp, thick needle. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, ignoring the pain as his skin, bruised from many performances of the same exercise, protested yet another assault.

But it was the only thing he could do to distract himself.

The door abruptly opened, slamming into the wall. Damian flinched, his body straining against the ropes binding him to the chair. He’d been so focused on tuning out the whispering that he hadn’t noticed the approaching footsteps of his captor.

The Stalker’s first words were a rune, spoken with the same harsh tone as everything else. Damian exhaled in relief when the voices were immediately silenced.

His relief was short-lived.

“My outer wards have finally been disabled,” the Stalker said, not bothering to disguise her glee. “Your rescuer approaches, princeling.”

Damian closed his eyes, trying to hide the despair washing over him, threatening to drown him.

She cackled at his resignation. “Oh, princeling,” the Stalker teased, “did you really think a savior would never arrive? Do you really place so little value upon yourself?”

“I suppose… it was too much to hope they’d never find me.”

His captor’s laughter was strangely beautiful for someone with such ill intentions. “I can’t believe,” she said, gasping for air, “you are still so naive! So naive! This is the heir to the throne of Caenum!”

She spoke a rune, and the ropes binding Damian to the chair vanished, leaving only the ones tying his wrists together. The Stalker yanked him to his feet by the shoulder and dragged him out of the cell. He stumbled over the uneven ground, trying to keep his footing despite her cruel pace.

They walked along a corridor, he guessed, judging by the straightness of the path and the way their footsteps echoed off the nearby walls. The air was colder here than in the cell, and Damian thought he detected the faintest scent of rain. Long ago, he had assumed they were underground, but they mustn't be too far from the surface.

His first indication that they had entered a large room was how the sound of their footsteps changed. The second was the abrupt right turn the Stalker made. The sudden change in movement caught him off-guard, and he stumbled.

Hands bound behind his back, Damian couldn’t catch himself, and the Stalker didn’t bother to keep her grip on him as he fell past her. His knees stung from the impact, and shockwaves of pain traveled up and down his body when his shoulder hit the ground.

The Stalker didn’t help him back to his feet. Instead, another spoken rune reached his ears, and a rope wound itself around the bonds on his wrists, tethering him to what he assumed was the wall.

Air displaced around him as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. He ignored it. When he finally maneuvered his body the right way, the touch of the Stalker’s hand on his face startled him.

She placed both her hands over his unseeing eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” she said softly in his ear, “about how you won’t be able to properly witness the defeat of the magician who’s come to save you.” He didn’t need to see her face to know she was grinning maniacally. “Let’s fix that, shall we?”

Damian had gotten used to the runes having very mild effects. Ropes appeared, hunger and thirst banished, incessant whispering voices, all of them were simple and had one purpose.

So he had thought, anyway.

For one thing, the Stalker spoke multiple runes in quick succession. Three or four, perhaps? Damian lost track as a headache appeared in the form of pressure behind his eyes. Her hands on his face became cold, as if they had changed into ice. He gasped as the pressure intensified, almost like his eyes were about to burst from their sockets.

Just when he feared it would never end, the Stalker pulled away, and the pressure abruptly vanished. His sight returned slowly, similar to how his eyes would adjust from light to darkness or darkness to light. The Stalker retreated, leaving him to his own devices as he examined his surroundings.

He was attached to the wall of a large circular room, almost like an arena. The ceiling was higher than he expected for an underground room, tall enough that Damian doubted he could touch it even if he jumped. The floor was broken stone, and an entire portion had collapsed completely, leaving a pit halfway across the room. 

The room was well-lit despite the absence of a light source. Runes again, no doubt. Several openings in the walls lead into corridors, all identical. Damian considered the state of the room, the corridors, and what he recalled of his cell. “We’re in the catacombs, aren’t we?”

The Stalker smirked. “Well done, princeling.” She couldn’t have been much older than Damian, with long black hair tied back into an elegant braid so complex it had to have been done with magic. She wore practical but expensive clothing: black trousers and a deep blue blouse, with a dark brown duster overtop. All had numerous pockets, and she had a pair of knives strapped at her sides.

Those knives probably had dozens of runes inscribed upon the blades. Damian vaguely recalled Caiya mentioning that designing the runes for her knife was considered a ‘final exam’ for a magician. And that it was to be used as a tool for carving runes or preparing food, not as a weapon.

Damian suspected the Stalker didn’t ascribe to such moral teachings.

As if in response to his thoughts, the Stalker casually drew one of the knives, flipping it between her fingers with the sort of ease that comes from experience. She noticed him staring, her smirk widening into a maniacal grin. “Soon enough, princeling, you’ll be begging for me to drive this into your throat.”

Damian swallowed uneasily at the thought. “You…” he stammered, “you’ll be waiting a long time for that.”

She barked a harsh laugh. “We’ll see about—” she cut herself off and sheathed the knife. “My last ward���s been tripped. Your savior has arrived.”

Damian stiffened, glancing around hurriedly, searching each tunnel and corridor. Perhaps if he could warn Caiya before she got there—

Movement in the corridor directly across from where he was seated caught his eye. It couldn’t be the Stalker, for she was beside him, enjoying his fear.

“Stop!” Damian shouted. His words bounced off the stone walls. “It’s a trap! She won’t—!”

The Stalker spoke a sharp rune. The air abruptly left his lungs, halting his pleas. Damian gasped for breath, panicking as his lungs refused to expand. She tsked softly. “None of that, princeling.”

He finally managed to inhale, but the air escaped as quickly as he drew it in, bringing barely enough oxygen to stay conscious. The Stalker shook her head at his predicament, her smile vanishing as she turned away.

Damian watched as Caiya stepped out of the corridor. Her head was covered by a gray cowl, hiding her face. From this distance, he couldn’t make out much detail, but he thought the markings on the cowl were runes painted onto the cloth in red ink. Or blood. Her knife was strapped to her right thigh, and she wore brown trousers and a green, mottled jacket beneath the cowl.

A spoken rune broke the tense silence. Immediately, the entrance to every corridor shimmered, a magical barrier blocking all paths in and out. No escape. They were trapped.

“Took you long enough!” The Stalker called, her hands on her hips. “Are you really so incompetent that you do not know a simple tracking spell?”

Caiya cocked her head but said nothing in reply. Something’s off, Damian realized as he struggled for air. She never resists a chance to have the last word.

The Stalker stepped forward, waving her hand at Damian behind her. “Well, Miss Ebony, no matter what means you used to get here, the ends still remain the same. I challenge you to a duel. To the death. Winner gets to keep the princeling and her life.” She stuck out her hand mockingly despite the magician being several meters away.

The magician regarded her in silence. Slowly, she raised her hand and removed the cowl, casting it to the side. The rune-marked cloth slid across the floor and fell into the pit. “I accept your terms,” the girl—who was very much not Caiya Ebony—said in a soft voice that carried across the room.

“Swear on it,” the Stalker insisted. She must not have known what Caiya looked like. Or she didn’t care.

“You challenged me. Swear it first.”

“I, Natali Tallis—” Damian flinched at the name, that of a famous long-deceased magician— “swear on my life that the victor of this duel will walk away with her life and the life of the prince.”

The ghost of a smile touched the edges of the girl’s lips. “I, Reese Takari, accept these terms.” With those words, she drew the knife at her side. “Allez!”

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

[cyberneticatoms]

no way is that NEPTUNE JONES..they’re a 36-year-old SYNTH notoriously known for being CODEPENDENT & DISTURBED but there are some people who have seen them being FAMILY-ORIENTED & OPEN-MINDED. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of clothing speckled in paint stains, metallic fence under your fingers, and blasting music late at night, but that could just be because they’re considered the TECHNICAL PACIFIST around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..

↳ 𝚀𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚂

NAME: Neptune Lane Jones NICKNAMES: Po, Poseidon, Broseidon DATE OF BIRTH: October 14th (36) HEIGHT: 5'11 AFFILIATION: Citizen Uprising OCCUPATION: Private Investigator at Jones and Jones Investigations FACECLAIM: Max Thieriot

TW: death, murder, kidnapping, mental manipulation, abuse

↳ 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳

❖ Neptune's parents were murdered when he was around 8 years old, after which the murdered kidnapped him. During which he was constantly reprogrammed to love his captor. There are blanks in his memory due to this, and at the time frequent parts of his body would become dead weight due to his captors lack of skills. ❖ Eventually he was rescued by police one of which adopted him. He was in therapy to work out what memories were false and which were real, due to this he still struggles with dissociating. While they were able to repair much of the damage done to his physical body, he still needs frequent check ups as his nerves occasionally shut down. Not enough to make his limbs go dead like they had, but where he stops feeling touch all together, regardless of it's pain or pleasure. ❖ He later bonded with a runaway named Clara, who eventually was also adopted by his parents. Her becoming his older sister and helping him through his therapy. ❖ Later he joined the NAVY when he was unsure what else to do for work and wanting to make his parents proud. He eventually became a NAVY seal. ❖ Once when coming home to his apartment, he found a 15 year old Karma hiding out. After letting her spend the night, he brought her home to his parents, the family fully adopting her not long after. ❖ Neptune is incredibly protective of both his sisters, idolizing Clara and seeing Karma is his person. Which is why once he finished his service he joined the investigation agency wanting to support his older sister.

↳ 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲

• Actively dislikes going to the doctor and strangers touching him, however he's very affectionate with people he considers to be his people. • Currently has two tattoos, one on his left arm of a chameleon in multiple colors when Karma couldn't pick one. On his right arm is an arrow that tapers off into flames for his other sister Clara.

[cozycompositions]

Hello, Lovelies! Thank you to @that-gal-kay for helping me finish this bad boy!

@juneofdoom Alternate: “Abandoned” and a side of Day 27: “I’m so sorry”

TW// graphic depictions of gore

The redcoat’s shot fires, and echoes a little bit too realistically in Alexander’s ear, but he can’t focus on where the second shot had come from. He can’t focus on anything except for his comrade’s limp form, body, corpse that is now laid across his legs. The body is bent unnaturally, the neck twisted and eyes staring directly into Alexander’s. A small hole is pierced right through the man’s skull, almost perfectly centered right between his eyes that no longer can see the world. Alexander is sure he can see bits of brain blown out on the floor in front of him.

Hot tears begin streaming down his face and Alexander for once doesn’t care because this man who has done nothing but be kind and protect Alexander is bleeding on top of him - why is he still bleeding, he’s dead, oh God, he’s dead - and he will never cry again.

Alexander’s chest heaves far too fast as his breathing attempts to catch up with his racing heart (it’s almost as if he had stolen all the heartbeats of his fallen comrade).

Terrified moans fall from Alexander’s lips without his permission as he realizes there is blood rapidly cooling against his face. He writhes, attempting to get away from the body, but his bonds won’t allow enough movement. He’s trapped under the corpse.

Alexander is full on sobbing at this point, fully unaware of the brawl happening only feet away from him. Suddenly there’s arms on his, the body is being moved, and a frantic yet soothing voice is calling out to him.

“Alex! It’s me, it’s me. It’s okay, you’re okay. Oh, dear boy, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” John tries reassure him. The body has been moved, and oh, he hadn’t even realized his bonds had been cut and he was free to move. It didn’t matter, though, because his dead comrade is still there, and looking at him accusingly, and it hits Alexander like lightning that he would never see his family again, only Alexander’s pathetic face that had gotten him killed-

A wail tears from Alexander’s throat as he stares at the eyes of the corpse. John pulls Alexander impossibly close to him, tucking the smaller boy’s head into this shoulder.

“Don’t look, Alex. It’s okay, just don’t look. It’s not your fault. I promise, it’s not your fault. I’m so sorry we didn’t get here on time, you did so well…”

Alexander knows John continues, but he’s too far gone to hear any of it. His sobbing does not cease as John shifts him and helps him to his unsteady feet. Alexander’s gaze finally moves from the corpse, and he notes that their captor is dead too. Good.

John stoops down and scoops his gun off the floor from where he had discarded it. Wordlessly he takes Alexander’s arm and leads him out of the hut (his cell).

Without a glance back to his fallen comrade, Alexander steps into the sunlight for the first time in weeks. Soon the sun will dry his tears, later he will drink to his friend, but tomorrow there is a war to be won. And he is going to make them all pay.

[ccieatchildren]

Whumpay 23 Day 3: Physical Torture

TW: Hand Torture

The bonds were too tight around their wrists, cutting off any blood flow to the appendages. Whumpee sent off a quick prayer to their deity that they got out of this alive, though they weren’t sure their plea would be heard.

“Awake already?” Whumpee turned their attention to the person in the room with them. They were dressed impeccably, not a single strand of hair or button out of place. “I figured you would be out for another hour or two, most people should,” they laughed, “guess you’ve done this before.”

Whumpee flinched, they were right, this wasn’t the first time they’d been kidnapped, but Whumpee had always managed to escape before their captors got back. 

“I’ll cut to the chase then, I need to know about the inner workings of the agency, and you seem like someone who would know a lot about that. So, why don’t we help each other? You give me the info, and I’ll make sure you get out of this as fit as a fiddle. If not,” they turned to the table behind them, “I’ll have to end up using some nasty methods to get it out of you.” 

Whumpee eyed the various tools sitting next to them. There were an assortment of knives, pliers, hammers, and other heavy duty instruments. Whumpee could already feel the sweat forming at their brow. 

“So, tell me where they keep the documents about the Metro Job.”

Turning back to their captor, they stared at them, hoping the pleading in their eyes conveyed their inability to help.

“Not gonna talk, huh. That’s okay, I can work with that. I always knew you were gonna be a tougher nut to crack, especially with you being such a quiet fellow.” Whumpee’s gaze turned into a glare. Why couldn’t people understand that they weren’t just quiet, they literally couldn’t talk. 

“Now, now. Don’t go lookin’ at me like that,” they grabbed a medium sized plier from the table, “it makes me feel bad.” Whumpee watched as they brought the tool to their right hand, still bound to the chair arm. “And if you make me feel bad, I want to make you feel bad too.” A grin spread across their face.

Whumpee jerked in their chair, revamping their escape efforts. Their hands were tied down, meaning they couldn’t even talk like they usually did, another reminder of their precarious situation. They opened their mouth in a last ditch effort to explain the situation, maybe mumble a broken ‘please’, anything to make them realize that Whumpee was not the right person to ask. But, nothing came out. For the first time in a long while, Whumpee cursed their muteness. 

“Hmm, most people at least say something when I bring out the first toy. Whatever, it’s fine. You’ll be talking soon enough.” Their captor placed one edge of the plier under the nail on their ring finger. Whumpee started to shake even more now, aggressively pulling at their restraints and shaking their head. 

No!

Soon the plier was fully clamped down around their nail. “Now, since we just started I’ll give you another chance. Tell me where all the classified documents are stored and how to access them.” 

Whumpee just continued to spaz out in their chair, hoping to dislodge the tool or break the chair or snap the rope, something. 

The person sighed, “fine. I was trying to be nice, but you’re just taking that for granted. Maybe you’ll talk after I take a few.” Whumpee turned their head to look away as their captor pulled up the pliers, ripping the nail off their finger.

There was a sharp burning sensation on their ring finger and a shrill scream bubbled out of them. “So you can talk.” 

Whumpee could feel the blood pool in the place where the nail used to be, dripping down their finger and creating small plunks as they hit the floor. They turned to look at the damage only to find the tip of their ring finger covered in red, emphasizing the pain they felt. It seemed to spread across their whole hand, and Whumpee wished the bonds had also cut off their nerves. They turned to look up, unable to stomach the sight anymore.

“Seriously! Still not talking? C’mon man. You look like you can barely handle this. Y’know it’s only gonna get worse, right? Just answer me now, and I promise we can be done.” They waited for Whumpee’s response, but they were quiet. There was no point in trying to convince this person that they genuinely couldn’t help them, they wouldn’t believe Whumpee anyway. Their captor voice took a darker and angrier tone, “fine! Be that way. I can keep going forever.”

As Whumpee stared up at the ceiling, they realized they should’ve asked their god to let it be quick.