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twoheartshookingup · 2 years ago

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Claws | r.h.

Summary: after your breakup you try to pretend that everything is normal. But the constant open wound means that you make a decision you weren’t sure you could make. A follow up to kitten, part 2/3.

Warnings: kinda dubious consent, like only slightly but still, oral sex (f receiving), desk sex, fingering, unprotected sex, spanking. More plot than porn tbh. Also unresolved angst.

The saying was time heals all wounds, but it sure as hell didn’t feel that way. Although maybe time would heal the wounds if you could actually get away and heal. Instead every day you went into work you saw your ex walking down the hallways in his perfectly tailored suits, the dark wool that you used to tease him for hanging up so carefully whenever he took them off. One day he wore a tie you bought him and it was as if a knife was plunged straight into your heart.

You tried. You tried to be happy - getting happy hour drinks with Luca and Street after work, going to Deacon’s once a week to babysit so he and Annie could have date night. The rest of your team knew you weren’t doing ok, Hondo getting you to come over for dinner, Tan checking on you after work, Chris turning up at your apartment one afternoon you were off work with romcoms she hated and a bottle of wine for you so you could cry it out. None of them knew who you were so cut up about, you’d just said you’d fallen hard and fast and it had ended really badly. All of which was true.

Because you’d fallen for Hicks, your commander and basically the only man you weren’t allowed fall in love with. And when push came to shove, he’d chosen swat over you. So you’d done the same.

You weren’t proud of the sobbing that had happened as soon as you closed your apartment door that night, slipping the chain into place before sliding down it crying. The tears were uncontrollable as heavy sobs gasped from your chest for everything you’d lost. His “kitten” as you’d left his office filled your head as you grieved.

That weekend wasn’t a good one. The fates took mercy on you and you weren’t called in, instead moving from the couch to the bed and back, ordering takeout that you were pretty sure wouldn’t be eaten (and you were right on that) to mean you had to look presentable.

Two months should have helped, after all you had only been together for four. But it didn’t.

The realisation that you probably had to leave swat had been building in your stomach for a while. You couldn’t heal while you saw him, you couldn’t discover who you were anymore. Instead you just wanted Bobby back, the way his fingers played with your hair in bed. The way he’d hold you and say the filthiest things while showing how much he cared for you.

But somewhere along the line you’d fallen in love with a grouchy older man, and you needed him to be completely out of your life. The time in swat had served you well, you could transfer to a detective track. It wouldn’t take long. Maybe even a totally different division, out in Hollywood or one of the beaches. Live your life forgetting that Metro swat ever existed.

Hondo was the first person to talk over your decision, and he looked at you with wide, caring eyes when you mentioned it.

“I thought you loved swat?” He asked, pushing the dessert you’d brought towards you.

“I did. I do. But…it holds too many memories for me, and they’ll eat me alive if I don’t get out. I need a chance to just get to be me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I need to leave swat.”

It was the first time you’d said those words aloud but as you let them settle around you they felt right. It wasn’t where you could be happy anymore.

“Ok. You can talk to Hicks tomorrow, give him the letter to be reassigned. It all has to be approved through him, but as long as you’re sure then I’m on your side.” Hondo looked like he was about to cry, standing and wrapping his arms around you. “You haven’t been yourself. Is this going to help?”

“Yeah, it is,” you replied wetly, burrowing into his chest for the tightest hug he could give. “I just can’t stay there anymore.”

That night when you got home you called each member of your team individually to let them know, tears from all of you as you did. Luca immediately went into denial, but all that did was confirm that telling him over the phone was the best idea. If it was in person you probably would have given in. But everyone promised hugs and goodbye drinks, knowing it was the right move for you. Even if they didn’t quite know why.

The next morning arriving to work was bittersweet. You had the transfer forms ready, a friend in Pacific had let you know that there were spots open so you’d put it down. Once you were changed, Bobby was your first stop. A deep breath before knocking on his door, his deep voice telling you to come in, had your adrenaline going.

“Officer. What can I do for you?” His tone was harsh, and you held your head up high.

“I’ve already spoken with Hondo about this, but I’ve decided to leave swat. I need you to approve my transfer to Pacific.” The form was handed over and you were careful to avoid touching his fingers as he took it.

It was quiet for a moment and you stood there, watching him read and his face changed. You’d never tell him he had the worst poker face when he wasn’t looking at a person directly, and some sick part of you felt smug that you’d blindsided him.

“You’re leaving?”

“I can’t stay. This entire building it…it’s haunted for me. I need to go. Please approve it.” It was the most plaintive you would let yourself sound, trying not to cry in front of your ex as you essentially begged him to let you go.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He bent over and signed it, putting the request on his out tray. For the first time he looked every single one of his years, and you hated it. You hated that things had blown up so badly, that you still hurt. That you were leaving a job that you loved because you needed to heal and you couldn’t do that here. And the part of you had fallen in love with him - that was still in love with him - hated that you’d hurt him like this.

“I’m gonna go do some training.” You were about to turn, tracing your eyes over his form for the final time, when he spoke.

“I miss you, Kitten.” You were frozen in your spot, unable to think. The pet name was rolling around in your head, the way he’d started calling you that because you curled into him seeking warmth in bed.

“I miss you too, Bobby.” You spoke before thinking, the truth falling from your lips without meaning to.

“Can we fix things?”

“I don’t think so.” At your words he straightened and looked at you, and you could see all the emotions you’d both been hiding reflected in his eyes. But you needed to remain strong, had to just admit it wasn’t going to work.

But then his hands were on your hips pulling you to him, his lips covering yours and kissing you deeply. And you could never resist. Not him.

Your fingers laced around his neck to hold him tightly, one of his hands reaching down to grope your ass and give it a spank, making you press against him.

“I need you, Kitten. One last time?”

You nodded, unwilling to speak. You wanted to blurt out that you loved him so you couldn’t speak at all. But he pulled you to his desk, settling you on it as he held you and undid your pants and pulled down your underwear.

“I missed this.” It was one finger then two pushing into you, making you bite your lip with pleasure. You wanted to scream but that was the one way to make sure that people knew what was happening. Instead you threw your head back, focusing on the pleasure he was giving you when his lips joined his fingers and wrapped around your clit. The orgasm was strong and quick, your body reacting to him the same way it always did.

Once you came back down to earth you saw him smirking, his fingers still in you and pumping slowly.

“I forgot you could sound like that.” It was nearly melancholy and you refused to let your encounter be like that. Not for the last time.

“Make me do it again.” Your hands went to his belt, and you pulled his trousers and briefs down, revealing his already leaking cock. Before he would enter you he held out his fingers, watching you clean your juices from them. He groaned at the sight, your tongue lapping at him.

Once he was happy he got into position, sliding into you. He stretched you perfectly, your walls welcoming him in. It was slow and lazy, kisses mixed with thrusts as you held onto each other and chased your peaks.

“Let me hear you. I want to hear the noises you make.” Your little gasps and mewls were met with his groans, hands holding wherever they could. It was desperate and all you could think was you wanted this for as long as possible. You didn’t want it to end. Once it was over that was it and all you wanted was for him to stay there with you forever. It was sick and masochistic and you hated that you felt this way, but you couldn’t deny it.

Your orgasm washed over you, and you could feel Bobby get closer too. His hips stuttered as he came, his head nuzzled in your shoulder and holding you tightly. You didn’t want to separate, didn’t want him to let go. How could you give this up?

“I love you.”

No. No. This wasn’t allowed. No. You pushed him away, ignoring the missing feeling as he left between your legs.

“Kitten I’m sorry but I do. I love you and I miss you and I want this. I want us.” He seemed desperate and you wiped away angry tears that were falling.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. You’re the one who chose swat over me. You’re the one who didn’t talk about what was happening, who told me that it was up to me to decide. Well I’ve decided.” You stood and pulled your clothes on, righteous anger flowing through you now you could say it to him. “I was going to leave so we could have a relationship. I wanted to talk to you about it, make sure we were on the same page. Tell you that I loved you. But you told me you’d chosen swat ahead of me. And I needed to put my career first.”

“Kitten, wait, we can-“

“Don’t call me that again. Ever.” Your anger was clear. “This kitten has claws, and I’m done. Whatever we have, I’m done. If you really loved me, really, truly loved me, you’d have talked about what our options were before you made your decision. But you didn’t. I have another two weeks at swat, don’t do this to me. Just let me go.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” You filthy liar, your brain screamed at you. It was the last thing you wanted but you couldn’t tell him because yet again he put his decisions and wants ahead of yours and you couldn’t do it.

“Sure. I’ll get this filed today.”

You went straight to the locker room, splashing cold water on your face to calm yourself before going out to the training area to your team. For the entire time you shadow boxed with Luca you could feel eyes on you, but you ignored it. He didn’t deserve any of your thoughts, so you focused on your training. Today was a mistake. You would make yourself be happy without him.

#robert hicks x reader

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lepusrufus · 3 years ago

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Double edged scalpel ch. 3

Ch.1 Ch.2

Summary: "it matches your eyes"

----

Cleaning Cassandra’s study became routine. Once a week, her chores were swapped for a two way -for now- trip to the dungeons. Despite every other maid looking at her with utter pity in their eyes, the redhead was not really complaining. She would take Cassandra’s mock autopsies and weird collection of specimens over dusting an ancient opera hall any day. It gave her an odd sense of nostalgia, almost as if she was back with her classmates studying forensic pathology and a friend threatening to throw a severed hand at her.

She also got to see glimpses of Cassandra. Not that they talked, oh no, the brunette would simply observe her and come up with the occasional task to get a raise out of Nicole and, when it failed to do so, she would grumpily go back to whatever she was doing prior. Her study, however, was an open book. While cleaning the shelves by the desk, Nicole took her time to read the title on each and every worn spine of her books. A lot of them more or less outdated medical books, some relatively modern looking textbooks, even an occasional novel tucked in between its more science oriented siblings. The adjacent wall was full of what looked like hand drawn diagrams, messy notes pinned by tape or even sticky notes. Nicole even noticed a family photo taped to that same wall. It was black and white, with the castle’s courtyard in the background, the three sisters standing in front of their mother.

Cassandra was sitting in her chair, occupying herself with her sickle when all of a sudden she stilled. She pulled out her pocket watch, softly cursed under her breath and pushed herself out of the chair. She was about to exit the room when she probably realized that Nicole was not supposed to be there by herself.

“Ugh...Follow me. I can’t leave you here alone and I need to get something.”

With the mop abandoned by a wall, Nicole followed the brunette’s hurried steps through the main hallways of the castle, occasionally crossing paths with another staff member. It took no more than five minutes to get to their destination. Bela and Daniela could be heard from inside a room near the castle’s main entrance when Cassandra pushed open its ornate door and stepped inside. Nicole took two steps behind her when a familiar voice called out.

“Ah, Nicole darling! I see you’ve settled in,” Duke said in his usual cheerful tone.

It did little to stop her stomach from sinking a little when three sets of golden eyes snapped in her direction. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care when he went on. “I hope my favorite clients here are treating you well.” Oh god please shut up. “Lady Cassandra! Your package is also here.”

She wordlessly took a wrapped box from him and, with a thanks, went out the door. Not wanting to fall behind, Nicole gave Duke a small wave and a smile before turning around to follow. She had to almost jog to keep up with her long strides. Damn you short legs.

“How on earth do you know him?” Cassandra’s question was accompanied by narrowed eyes.

Was there any point in lying? Lady Dimitrescu already knew so her ever so nice middle daughter could always find out too.

“He’s the one that brought me here.”

“From the village?”

Nicole rubbed her temples. “From a hotel bar in the nearest big city.” She was beyond done with this conversation.

Cassandra stopped in her tracks, grabbing the other girl's shoulders when she almost crashed into her. Was that a genuine trace of concern in her eyes?

“You mean you’re not from here? Does mother know?”

Nicole nodded, but before she had time to add anything else, another voice called out for the brunette from behind the pair. It was Bela, the sound of heels on the marble floors echoing around them as she approached.

“Cassandra, dinner is in two hours.”

“And?”

“And you said you would take care of the meat. Did you?”

The blonde scoffed at her sister’s widened eyes, then hooked a finger around the chain connected to Cassandra’s watch and clicked her tongue when she saw the time.

“If you insist on carrying this around at all times, you could at least start making use of it. You have around twenty minutes.” Her voice was icy cold, as opposed to Cassandra’s stammered reply.

“Wait, can you stall the cook for a bit, there’s no way I can do two bodies in twenty minutes!”

“Sorry Cassandra, that’s out of my hands.” And with that, the blonde turned on her heels and left the two of them at the entrance of the dungeons, Cassandra damn near seething.

The two wasted no time in hastily descending the stony dungeon steps, Nicole going back to the study while Cassandra went towards the cells. After no more than two minutes, she came in and haphazardly threw a body on each table.

The most logical thing to do would be to go about her chores and not risk attracting the brunette's wrath upon herself. But logic was out the window the moment she stepped foot into the Duke's caravan to come to this place. Besides, staying on Cassandra's good side was far better than mopping the floor in hopes she wouldn't snap one day and throw her in one of the moldy cells.

"Would you like some help with those?" Nicole asked tentatively.

"Can you help?" Cassandra didn't even look in her direction, only throwing a hand in the air and taking out what looked like freezer safe bags from a cupboard.

"...Yeah."

Golden eyes turned to her and the brunette stilled for a second. Skepticism and confusion both obvious on her face at the idea of this small meek maid offering to help out in chopping up a human body. She realized however that the alternative wasn't much better so with a raised eyebrow she put a scalpel and a pair of gloves on the table closest to Nicole.

"Suit yourself. And don't make a mess." Oh you're to talk.

Now, admittedly, performing an autopsy wasn't exactly the same as straight up butchering a human body for consumption. How different would it be though? The organs just needed to be separated and the limbs cut. She tried not to look at the face while making the first incision.

---

It took 17 minutes for both of them to finish. All the bits and pieces were separated and secured in bags just in time for a knock on the door. Cassandra threw her gloves in the sink and went to open it, letting an older woman only vaguely familiar to Nicole inside.

"Lady Cassandra, I didn't know you had help," she raised an eyebrow at the redhead awkwardly standing by the table she had worked at, scalpel still in hand.

Cassandra only grimaced and with mock cheerfulness in her voice said, "Surprise."

The older woman, presumably the cook, motioned for the maids that came with her to take the bags and, with a slight bow of the head to Cassandra, they were gone, only the bloody mess on the tables left behind. The brunette let a sigh escape past her lips and turned to Nicole. Her yellow gaze examined the now bloody uniform for a moment.

"A shame this got dirty," she said, approaching the redhead.

Tiredness and holding her tongue never mixed well within Nicole, so at the obviously fake apologetic tone she allowed an edge of snark into her reply.

"Oh don't worry, the maids are all quite good at washing out blood stains. It's part of the job requirements."

Cassandra just chuckled and rolled her eyes at the sass.

"Just ask the head chambermaid for a replacement. This is seriously ruined," she said toying with the hem of Nicole's white blouse, now soaked in crimson. "Your face however, we can still salvage that."

Nicole furrowed her brows and brought a hand to her cheek, cursing herself under her breath upon realizing that she was still wearing the bloody gloves and had just smeared even more on her face. She took them off and threw them on a cleaner spot on the table to be retrieved later. Meanwhile, the brunette moved to the sink and returned shortly with a damp handkerchief.

She grabbed Nicole's chin between two slender fingers and tilted her head upward. Nicole could feel the metal of the table's edge against her lower back when she instinctively tried taking a step back. She had no way of escaping. Not that escaping even as much as grazed the surface of her mind when she locked eyes with Cassandra, an uncharacteristic sort of softness in her gaze. She took her sweet time passing the damp fabric over the blood stained skin. Then, after she seemed content with her handywork, she dragged her fingers over Nicole's cheek in a caress that sent a small shiver down the redhead's spine.

"There. Good as new," the brunette hummed.

It was a complete lie and they both knew it. The blush now present on Nicole's cheeks was probably just as bad as the crimson stains she was sporting mere moments ago, she was quite sure of that. By some mercy of the crow woman these people worshipped though, Cassandra didn't acknowledge it and simply moved back to her desk, leaving Nicole frozen in place.

After a few seconds of silence, Cassandra chuckled and, without turning from whatever she was scribbling in a notebook, said:

"Those tables won't clean themselves darling."

Oh shut the fuck up.

---

Most staff members preferred to spend their free time in the gardens, be it the inner courtyard or the fenced in garden at the back of the estate. Nicole was no exception to that. When she had time, she liked to grab a hot cup of tea and sit down in this small nook of the garden where a small, almost knee high bench was overshadowed by large rose bushes. Nobody else seemed to come there if the old cracked wood of the small seat was anything to go by, except maybe the gardener for occasional maintenance but she was nowhere to be seen most times.

The quiet was interrupted by a distant set of heavy steps. Steps that Nicole ignored. She wasn't in any off limits area and this was her day off. She wasn't doing anything wrong and, therefore, had no reason to believe whoever was walking around was there for her. Until the steps became louder and the sound of heels clear on the stony path.

"There you are," Cassandra's voice almost made Nicole spit out the tea she was currently drinking.

The brunette laughed at that, in an oddly good mood and stopped to stand in front of the redhead. Cassandra's "good mood" made Nicole highly suspicious given past experience. She set her cup down and, with a cough to clear out her offended airways, stood and addressed the brunette.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, my lady?" Aside from having my one free day interrupted. Again.

She saw Cassandra pout for a brief moment but it was quickly replaced by her ever so characteristic smirk. A smirk that Nicole would never admit was awfully attractive paired with the sharp features of her face. At least not out loud.

"I have wonderful news for you," she said, tilting Nicole's head up with a hand, thumb distractingly close to her lips. "Cynthia, our cook, said she really appreciated the way you sectioned that body last week. So mother decided to give you a ...promotion so to speak."

Nicole had yet to decide whether this was indeed wonderful news or not, but the part of her brain that was seeking some kind of thrill made that decision for her when Cassandra leaned in close to her ear, lips tantalizingly close to the skin.

"Congratulations, from now on you're only working with me in the dungeons."

Cassandra didn't want to kill her did she? She did say that Nicole was intriguing to her and therefore the redhead was somewhat safe from ending up on one of the autopsy tables herself. At least that's what she told that part of her mind still somewhat concerned about self preservation that was screaming at how risky her next move was.

She gingerly placed her hands on the brunette's hips, tilting her head in a way not unlike Cassandra did mere moments ago.

"Does that mean I get to teach you proper autopsy technique?"

Thankfully that got a chuckle out of her, moving back just enough to be able to look into Nicole's green eyes. "Assuming you manage to keep your tongue long enough."

She couldn't do much more than let out a soft laugh at the absurdity of her situation. There she was, in the garden of a castle in the middle of nowhere with the Lady's sadistic daughter mere inches from her. She decided that at that point in her life if she was going to die, she may as well go out in style, and what on earth could top falling for one of the most dangerous women in a village full of horrors. She shifted her hand slightly, bumping into the handle of the sickle strapped to Cassandra's waist.

"May I?" She said barely above a whisper, fingers wrapping loosely around the weapon.

Cassandra gave her an incredulous look, trying to understand what on earth she could want with the weapon. She was aware she couldn't hurt her right?

A small shrug was all the permission Nicole needed. She undid the leather strap that kept the sickle in place and moved back only a bit. Enough to step on the small bench and lift herself. She felt Cassandra's hands placed on her waist for support, almost mimicking the gentleness of Nicole's touch from earlier, when she raised herself on her tiptoes. She took hold of one of the roses above them -a yellow one- and with a quick swipe she cut the stem. The brunette watched her take her sweet time scraping off any thorns before her hood was taken off and that same rose was now placed in her dark wavy hair, right above her left ear.

"Mm… it matches your eyes. And necklace," Nicole added, bending down to return the sickle to its rightful place.

Cassandra crashed their lips the next second, her hands pulling Nicole closer from where they were placed on her hips. After a second of shocked stillness, the kiss was returned, their lips tentatively sliding against each other. "Tentatively" didn't last long however, as Cassandra pushed forward, pressing the her against the stone wall behind them eliciting a small moan from Nicole, who's hand ended up tangled in black locks. She tugged on them slightly once she finally needed to breathe and Cassandra pulled back only a bit. She let their foreheads rest against each other and felt Nicole's soft laugh on her lips.

"Do you even need to breathe?"

"No," the brunette answered simply.

Nicole blinked in confusion, not expecting her half joke to turn out truthful but before she could speak, Cassandra took a hand off her waist and pulled something out of a pocket.

"Here," she pushed a familiar looking object into the redhead's hands.

"Y...Your key to the dungeons?" She was still trying to get her thoughts organized into some sort of coherence when Cassandra rolled her eyes.

"It's a copy. So I don't have to escort you every time you come down there, which," she added with a gloved finger brushing against her lower lip, "is gonna be more frequent now."

Nicole nodded, not really trusting her words. She didn't need any though, as Cassandra simply pushed herself off the wall and turned on her heels to leave.

"See you tomorrow at dawn."

And with a smirk, she broke into a swarm of flies and disappeared down the stony path.

#youre either gonna love this or despise it bc of the pacing #hey i never said i was a GOOD writer #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #unhinged maiden™ my beloved #double edged scalpel #fanfic

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whumpzone · 4 years ago

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Tomas and Rowe - Part 16

in which everyone has a bad time. except kasia. he's having fun

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lavmars @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it @haro-whumps @simplygrimly @alex-ember @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @mnmlover2002 @jordanstrophe @princessofonward @xmonster-under-the-bed @as-a-matter-of-whump @5boys1house @crystalrainwing @starnight-whump @chifechi @unicornscotty @penny-for-your-whump @getyourwhumphere @likeit-or-whumpit @jasm0307 @lightdrinker @hurting-fictional-people @captainseconds @glamrockgregory @justbreakonme @downrivergirl914 @cdragontogacotar @whumps-up @vaguelyhumanvoid @kim-poce @kween-pinescales

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, force feeding, stress positions, references to mouth whump and burns

Rowe took to repeating the affirmations every day, whispering them past the newly empty gaps in his gums. When he did them, he could forget for a little while that he was going to die in his cell. At least he could die as something. He wouldn’t let Kasia turn him into an empty husk.

I have worth.

I don’t deserve pain.

I’m a person.

He was careful, of course, to lock them away when Kasia visited. He tried not to associate them with pain; he said them every day when he woke up, not when he was freshly hurting. He didn’t want to ever, ever, say them in front of Kasia.

He knew if he did it would just get him another beating, but they were his. They were precious. They were a relic of Master that Kasia couldn’t corrupt.

He just had to keep his stupid mouth shut when it mattered.

For the first time since his arrival here, Rowe spent a whole day alone. The hours ticked by as he started to see shapes in the floor, and wondered if Kasia would ever return. Was this it? Had he got bored already? Would Rowe be left to die and rot after less than a week, his capture so recent he could still feel Master’s hands in his?

In reality it only meant that when Kasia did come back the next day, Rowe despised himself for the brief flash of relief. The man he was at the mercy of had returned to torture him another day.

Kasia had brought more chains, and restraints, always in his duffle bag, and Rowe had quickly learnt to shrink away at the mere sight of it. Rowe stayed curled up on the floor as he entered, eyeing him like a kicked dog.

“Did you miss me, pup?”

“Please,” he replied hoarsely. “Please give me f-food. Please.”

Rowe would never have dared beg with his first Master. But he had always known that he would be fed, eventually, once he had learnt his lesson. And of course, he’d never needed to beg Master Tomas. But here, there weren’t any rules. Nothing was guaranteed. So fuck it, he might as well try to prolong his life.

“Today’s your lucky day. I actually brought something. You’ll have to earn it, though. No getting on my fucking nerves, yeah?”

You’re the one who chooses to come here, Rowe thought despairingly.

“Okay, okay, just please-“

“Didn’t you just hear me?” Kasia kicked him in the stomach and Rowe moaned. He nodded, wincing as the burns on his neck pressed together.

“Arms up, come on.”

. . .

Tomas had made it from the shower to the downstairs sofa, and he was content with that. Not proud, no, proud would imply he was happy with himself in some way, but at least he wasn’t completely catatonic today. Luca had texted saying to answer the door if it rang, and a part of Tomas still wanted to impress him, despite it all. So he had showered and brushed the last of the blood from his hair. God, how many days had it been?

A small movement on the floor caught his eye. A spider, out of reach, too far to feasibly get him. He felt acutely aware of his own apathy then, as instead of shrieking or running away, he just stared.

The chance of the spider hurting him was practically zero. And yet he was still afraid. Afraid of it crawling over his skin, afraid that it might come near him in the night when he was asleep and vulnerable, and although he knew deep down that it wouldn’t, there was always the possibility of it deciding to run up his leg at any given moment. Even being near it made him afraid.

He thought of Rowe. He felt like he understood something. He sighed.

Luca arrived not half an hour later, banging on the door and shouting for Tomas as if nothing was wrong.

“Hey! It’s me- don’t leave me outside on this cold night. I’m only an orphan boy.”

Tomas pulled the door open. He couldn’t smile, but seeing Luca felt like the weight in his stomach was lifted slightly.

“It’s not cold. And you’re not an orphan.”

“I am happy to see you, though,” Luca said calmly. He was holding a basket, its contents hidden under a teatowel. “I brought you a pull-yourself-together hamper. Some ready meals, dry shampoo, fruit, and stuff. And the teatowel. ‘Cause why not.”

Already Tomas could feel Luca’s warmth seeping into him. He put a hand over his mouth and nodded. “Than- thanks, thank you, you know you don’t owe me anything-“

“I know, handsome lad. But the thought of Rowe being kidnapped is- god, it’s awful. Don’t worry, I’m here of my own free will. Sometimes you just need someone else in the house.”

Tomas let him inside, feeling guilty about the mess, then feeling guilty because he was the one who allowed it to accumulate.

“Let’s open a window,” Luca suggested, and Tomas sloped over. “Want me to get that spider?”

He shook his head, trying uselessly to hide his face. “It’s fine, it’s fine, you can let it stay, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m-“

His own voice cracking cut him off but he pressed on.

“I’m fine, I really am.”

“You’re not. It’s okay.”

“Just- how- how the fuck did I let this happen. How did I not, I mean, I trusted him this whole- whole time and now it’s all gone wrong and-“

He sat heavily on the floor, leaning his face into the side of the sofa, not blinking, not seeing. He breathed out and time seemed to slow.

Luca’s hand rested on his shoulder, a gentle pressure to his fingers.

“What’s done is done. You can’t help Rowe by falling apart, and you definitely can’t help yourself like that either. It’s, ah, it’s hard. It’s really hard. But you can collapse and cry and disintegrate when Rowe is back, I promise. Do you know where Kasia lives?”

Tomas nodded. “I haven’t even thought about that. I can’t believe myself.”

“Hey, no falling apart okay?” Luca’s tone was firm, and it made Tomas pull his head up, to look at him. His hair, braided in two chunky plaits, hung asymmetrically, one past his collarbone and one down his back. His eyeliner was winged like the letter V, drawn out in a point that came sharply back over his eyelid. Pretty. “That’s good to know, though. You could catch him on his way in or out, try to strike up a deal, I don’t know. I’ve not exactly had any experience with kidnappings either.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking stupid isn’t it. This whole situation is stupid. Fuck.”

Luca just looked at him, a sad smile ghosting over his face.

“I just can’t stop thinking about all the things that might be happening,” Tomas confessed. “He’s unhinged, he really is. He’s sick. And he’s got Rowe and the police don’t care, no one cares.”

“I care. You care.”

Tomas didn’t reply and the words hung over them. Two people caring wasn’t much. But, he supposed, it was better than nothing.

. . .

Rowe’s arms would dislocate, they would they absolutely would, Kasia was setting him up to dislocate both his god damn shoulders or arms or whatever. Rowe could hardly tell where the pain was located, it felt like it was everywhere, burning through his like a fire burns a taut string.

The food- dog food, but still edible, still something- sat before him, emptied on the floor, and from where Rowe knelt he should’ve been able to lean and eat easily. But Kasia had his arms bound and tied to the bars of the cage door, pulling them back and turning any movement into agony. Not only was he bent out of shape, but the burns along his shoulders were irritated awfully. He was sure his skin would burst open any second.

It had been twenty minutes at most, and already he was exhausted. Sweat rolled down him, dripping off his nose. He could hardly breathe.

Kasia’s heavy boot pressed down on the crown of his head, and his moan quickly became a scream of pain.

“No, no please!”

“I thought you were hungry. I’m helping.”

The pressure doubled, forcing Rowe’s face closer to the dog food, until he was close enough to open his mouth and take a bite. Disgust flooded him, and it only increased when he chewed. He swallowed past the collar, his throat pressing uncomfortably against it, and oh god, it felt so good, it was food in his belly, he was thankful for it despite everything. Kasia seemed satisfied and released his boot, sending Rowe’s head springing back to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. The skin near his burns had ripped and were bleeding, but nothing was dislocated.

“You’re definitely still hungry. How about another bite?”

Before Rowe could speak, Kasia had grabbed a fistful of hair, shoving him down, the sudden pull on his arms a thousand times worse than before, worse than anything, the pain was clouding his mind and he couldn’t think of anything but the barest, most built-in responses.

He screamed.

Spit flew from his mouth. Kasia kept pressing, his fingers curling tighter together, and the burning on Rowe’s scalp joined the rest of his body. His fingers were surely purple with how hard Kasia had tied them. Rowe had lost all feeling beyond his wrists.

“Please!”

Kasia ignored him.

“Please, st-stop, please M-M-Master Tomas help me-“

“He’s not fucking coming you stupid dog,” Kasia growled and pulled Rowe’s face all the way down, cracking his chin against the concrete, a deep shooting pain through his face and remaining teeth. He moaned. More skin tore along his shoulders. “No one’s coming to save you.”

A kick sent him lurching to the side, twisting his body until he was sprawled with his back to the floor, staring up at his bound hands, which were a mixture of blue and purple and were not moving at all.

He turned his head to see Kasia grabbing a fistful of the dog food from the floor and stepping over him.

“Mouth open.” Rowe complied and Kasia smiled mockingly. “Good boy.”

The dog food was shoved in, packing against the walls of his mouth, Kasia’s fingers prodding his gums, and it took everything not to vomit. His stomach heaved but nothing came. All he could do was be a good boy, and eat.

“Tomas isn’t your Master. He’s not coming.”

Present tense, thought Rowe as his eyes watered from the taste. He’s not dead.

. . .

Tomas couldn’t stop his legs from shaking as he stood on Kasia’s street, his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. Yeah, the shaking was definitely just from the cold. Sure.

By the time Kasia appeared, it was night. He stalked down the street, stumbling slightly, and Tomas realised he was drunk. If he hadn’t had a reason to be there, he would have walked away right now, and fast.

When Kasia got close enough, Tomas stepped out of the shadows, forcing Kasia to stop and fix him with a glare.

“Give him back.”

“Or what?” he asked flatly, as if this meeting was no surprise. “Hah, you look like shit Tomas.”

“Give him fucking back, what do you want for him, money? You’re torturing a human being you sick fuck.”

“I’m having some fun with a Pet,” Kasia smiled. “And if you start whining like this I will just kill him.”

Tomas stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”

“You so sure about that?”

“Let him go.”

“No,” Kasia pushed him once and Tomas stumbled back, hitting a wall. He blinked and Kasia’s face was pressed up in front of his. He stank of booze and cigarettes. “Fuck off or I’ll kill him. I’ll hurt him worse to make up for this, too.”

“No, fuck no just leave him fucking alone-“

Kasia swung once, but mercifully something made him miss. Carelessness, the alcohol, perhaps just the assumption that Tomas was too pathetic to move out of the way. His fist cracked against the wall and as he shouted in pain Tomas considered kicking him between the legs, spitting on him, whatever. But Rowe’s life was at stake so, like the coward he was, he ran into the night, Kasia shouting taunts behind him.

Luca looked up when he pushed through the door, panting. He’d run the entire way. Luca stayed silent; the look on Tomas’s face was telling enough.

“I’m a fucking failure,” he whispered, and started to cry.

#whump #pet whump #whump fic #dehumanisation #tomas and rowe #mine #enjoy!#i hope this is a satisfying chapter #will tungle tag people in this? who knows

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eddiesfaerie · 4 years ago

Text

Pet

Summary: You accompany the Supreme Leader to one of his meetings. Unsurprisingly, you become desperate for attention. (2.2k words) ao3 link here

Warnings: NSFW, noncon/implied noncon, f!reader, exhibitionism, memories of sex lol, thigh riding, canon typical violence, violence against reader??, Kylo Ren is not nice, choking, slapping, mentions of blood, bondage i guess (let me know if i missed anything!)

@elmidol: Kylo + “Tell them to fuck off.” okay so maybe i went off with this request... i literally couldn't help myself so i hope you enjoy!!!

The transparisteel of the throne room is always cold beneath your knees, you flinch anytime your thighs come into contact with it if you shift your position too much. It often left you with purpling bruises on your kneecaps, ones that never seem to fade anymore.

You accompany the Supreme Leader in any and every meeting he wants you in, which as of late, has been to every single one. If he asks for you, you’re there. At this point, you assume it’s just some form of punishment; because as much as you’re expected not to speak, you’re expected to stay awake and attentive.

Half the time you let your mind wander off into some fantasy. Sometimes it involves the Supreme Leader, remembering how he fucked you the night before, wondering if he’d do that thing with the Force again.

Other times it was about escaping. You were punished by him for both sorts of daydreams. Now you just try to keep your mind as blank as possible. Sometimes you almost manage to reach a meditative state if the meetings are long enough.

The air of his throne room is cold. Everyone else is dressed normally, of course. You don’t doubt that you’re the only one shivering in your own flesh. The thinnest scrap of useless silk cascades down your body, completely see-through and hides nothing of your body for anyone who dares sneak a glance in your direction.

Besides the scrap of material you think someone referred to as a dress once, the only other thing you wear is your collar and chain - a heavy, thick metal, one they definitely use on the ships and TIE fighters, you’ve concluded. It’s sturdy and basically indestructible to anyone who wasn’t Force sensitive.

The metal was branded ungraciously with anything but fancy letters or delicate swooping and curling. No, your Supreme Leader didn’t care to spoil you with niceties. Thick capital letters branded on to the front of the collar spelt out R-E-N.

Ren.

You're his. His thing, his object. Whatever he wants you to be, you became that. You belong to him. And you’ve long since accepted that. Once you stopped struggling, it became easier and at times… enjoyable.

You also think that the Supreme Leader’s become more comfortable around you as time has passed. He’s not as harsh with you anymore, not nearly as cruel as your first few weeks with him. He was nowhere near easy, or nice, or kind, or loving. He was none of that, but you were starting to like how sharp his edges were, how cold he could be.

It became a little game of yours; seeing how long it could take for you to crack him on certain nights, how long until he let you massage his shoulders, his arms, his thighs or let you suck his cock on your own accord. It’s rare but it actually works sometimes. Sometimes he lets you in.

If he’s tired enough, fucked out enough, or just had enough, he’ll let you do as you please, like a little fish cleaning up after the shark’s mess; he’ll let you have some scraps.

Sometimes, he hand feeds you the scraps. Like right now.

Your head is resting on his thigh as he sits back extremely reclined, leisurely, unbothered yet so, so bored. And his hand is on your skull, fingers scritching at your scalp.

It was intoxicating, he was intoxicating. You could fall asleep just like this -

But you can’t. The rule. The rule! You have to stay awake even though he’s visibly slacking right now, probably dozing off to some fantasy as he mindlessly scratches at your head.

You sneak a peek up in his direction only to find his eyes already on you. You nearly squeak as you look away, back at the people congregating in his throne room for whatever ‘important’ reason.

His eyes burn like suns, they welt and blister your skin and you try to clear your mind, making it a place of disinterest to him so he doesn’t feel the urge to go swimming in and around your thoughts as he so often does.

A quiet murmur resonates throughout the room, coming from no direction in particular, it’s just simply there. It’s the incoming of his voice through the Force, you know this now, you’ve become accustomed to it. It ripples towards you like tiny waves in a pond before you hear his voice clear and deep in your head.

“Come.”

His hand steadily leaves your scalp, coming to rest gently on his thigh; his way of asking you to come sit on his lap. He’s never asked this of you while in a meeting before, he never really cares to give you that much attention, fearing it'll give you an ego, make you think you're special or something.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, uselessly debating over something you have no say in.

Having already wasted enough of his energy on asking you politely, the Supreme Leader pulls on your chain, sending you hurling up off the ground and straight into his lap. You make an ugly noise, one of surprise and fear as you fall into him almost gracefully thanks to the tiny invisible touches of the Force along your skin.

He steadies you against him with one hand on your waist and the other pulling your chain tight, pinning your back to his wide chest. You straddle only one of his enormous thighs - bare cunt pressed flushed to the rough material of his pants - and he keeps you there, holds you still while you try to regain your breath from being moved so quickly yet so effortlessly.

You keep your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out the several pairs of eyes that are taking in the scene before them, trying to tame your nerves and swallow down your shame and embarrassment. You're so visibly flustered, no doubt the Supreme Leader's getting a kick out of this.

You hear more rippling murmurs approaching you. Then a smooth leathered hand on your thigh, squeezing the flesh tight in his crushing grip.

“Eyes open, pet.”

You hesitate too long, still trying to regain your breath. That same hand on your thigh comes down hard, smacking your skin and letting the sound of slapped flesh and your wanton cry float through the room.

You try to curl towards him, to hide yourself in his broad frame but he holds you and your chain tight. His voice fills your head.

“You do as I say.”

You begin to answer him with a nod of your head but he cuts off your attempt.

“Out loud.”

You close your eyes and take in a deep, shuddering breath. Nothing could have prepared you for this unique type of degradation today. “Yes, sir.”

Only a few heads turn, no one daring to stare at you for too long. Like he had called you, you were his pet, that granted you some level of security.

The Supreme Leader makes some sort of contented sound with his throat. Whoever was speaking continues on with their speech while you finally manage to come down from such an overwhelming ordeal.

His hand stays on your thigh, tenderly massaging the flesh where he had hit you, emphasizing the sweet sting and letting it resonate throughout your body until it finds its way to your clit. The little pearl buzzes, needy for attention but you refrain from begging for mercy, for him to finish you off.

It's too easy for him to get you worked up. He must have been experimenting on you or something, like Pavlov's dogs or whatever. Anytime he touches you, even in the slightest, it sends you reeling for more, it turns you into some desperate whore, needy for whatever he would give you, whatever he deems you worthy of. Whether it was his spit or his flaccid cock in your mouth, you take it and accept it eagerly-

“Quiet.”

His sudden booming voice fills your head and sends you squeaking a silent apology back to him, your hips involuntarily jerking on his thigh. He pulls on your chain again, your back becoming flush with his chest, the length of your pussy dragging along his thigh leaving an embarrassingly sticky trail in its wake. You keen at the sensation, wondering if he was doing this to you on purpose.

“Doing what?”

You huff out a non-response, telling yourself you would roll your eyes right now if it wouldn’t get you-

“Punished.”

You audibly groan, rocking your hips onto his thigh on purpose this time. Fuck, he was so infuriating, so difficult to deal with. You’re thankful you’re just his plaything, not someone who has to deal with him professionally. He’s impossible.

You ignore the heads that turn in your direction this time and focus on the unsatisfying clench of your pussy around nothing. You know he feels it, feels the way your pussy is throbbing with its own heartbeat for him right now. He knows how desperate you are, he must…

Silence.

No response from him.

Maker, you could cry right now. He's usually so easy to rile up. So easy to frustrate, to annoy, to anger.

Yet he gave you no bruising grip on your thigh or waist, no warning for you to stop. Nothing.

His hand retreated from your thigh and now lounged on the armrest of his giant throne. His other hand doing the same. You feel the warmth radiating off of his chest leave you as he leans back against the throne. He was spreading himself out so wide and so far away from you.

You know he must still be wandering around in your mind, he has to be. There was no way he wasn’t doing this on purpose.

So you project.

You imagine all the ways he’s taken you, all the places and surfaces he’s bent you over just to relieve his tension, his anger, not caring if you came or not. You often did but it was never with any special care from him, just the pure shock and intensity of his fat cock, impaling you over and over again until you couldn’t help but cum all over him and sob from overstimulation, begging for more despite the pain, despite the blood-

The lights in the room flicker and whoever’s speaking stutters at the sudden distraction, but then continues on discussing… whatever it was they’re discussing.

You continue as well, remembering all the different way he’s punished you: for accidentally chanting his name as if in prayer when you’ve become so cock drunk and fucked out that it was the only thing that you could possibly think of.

Kylo, Kylo, Kylo.

You remember how he’s slapped you, hit you with the unforgiving and weighted metal of his lightsaber hilt. How he’s bruised you, burned you, marked you with his teeth, his lips, his weapon. You remember it all and you shamelessly rut yourself against his thigh, the building pressure in your clit making your mind blank to anything else except getting yourself off on him.

Fuck, you need him. You need him so badly, need him like the moons need their planet, like a planet needs their all devouring sun, a celestial body to rotate around or else they become meaningless, drifting off into space without a serving purpose.

Your body withers against his, your back threatening to arch off his chest if it weren’t for the death grip he’s got on your chain right now, keeping you in place like an obedient dog.

The lights continue to flicker. The muruming waves return and you scramble for what’s about to come next.

“Tell them to leave.”

His voice is steady yet it crackles with hopeful embers threatening to combust into something fiery and deadly.

What?

The lights in the room buzz loud and shine brighter than they ever have, like the stars in the sky before something magnificent happens. They shriek with strain until they burst, sending shards of glass flying throughout the room as they burn out, no doubt cutting people in the process.

A figment flies by your cheek and slivers your skin. You hiss at the contact, feeling something hot and thick roll down your cheek in its wake.

“Tell them," his voice booms, "to fuck off.”

“L-leave.” You speak, voice small, unsure and terrified. You’re not certain if anyone even heard you based on the minimal reaction you got. A few heads turn, surprised to hear the timid voice of the Supreme Leader’s pet.

Yet no one budges.

Your Supreme Leader’s hand snakes its way up to your throat, resting above your thick metal collar and crushes your windpipe in warning. You try again, this time, like he asked.

“F-fuck off.”

Someone, an idiot, dares to speak up with a voice quivering worse than your own, “S-Supreme Leader?”

“You heard her.” It’s the first time he’s spoken in hours. His voice is terrifyingly calm and sickeningly deep, you feel it resonate throughout your entire body, landing in the depths of your belly. You whimper pathetically, anticipating whatever storm is about to come.

Everyone stands, chair scraping against the floor and they file out through the giant throne room doors, letting the thick and heavy material seal you two away until your Supreme Leader is through with you.

#ummm why am i really happy with how this turned out #kylo ren x reader #reader insert #smut #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x you #kylo ren #my writing #request #elmidol

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odetojeons · 4 years ago

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Hello! Idk if you’re taking asks rn, but what are your opinions on Soonyoung’s kinks? I loved reading the other ones!!!

awwww thank you!! AND OMG KWON SOONYOUNG!/!/&2&2/$$2@:@: everyone saw that video of him right? mf suddenly appeared to murder us all with no regret or warning whatsoever. AND THE COMMENTS FROM THE OTHER MEMBERS??? I might commit a crime if I don’t get more of those videos.

Breeding Kink — I even WROTE this. It was a request but I’m so happy someone else thought about it other than me. Because Kwon Soonyoung is all about fucking you again and again and again, until you’re full of his come. He would be so horny, wouldn’t stop it as long as you don’t tell him to — and trust me, this man has a lot of stamina —, and honestly it’s something animalistic, primal of him to want to see you full with his seed and come dripping down your thighs

Pet Play — HELLO????? His tiger agenda screams this. I don’t think he’s completely into pet play though, Soonyoung would be more into wearing tiger ears and even a tail butt plug so he feels more like a tiger — and, of course, he growls, and it’s not even funny or cute, it’s so deep and rough it shakes you to your bones. Or make you wear them too, all pretty and gorgeous for him, and it would turn him on so much. OH AND. A leash. Definitely a leash. Soonyoung would put you on all fours, fucking into you while you use tiger ears and tail, and he would pull on the chain of the leash, making you arch for him.

Wall Sex — Not a kink, but after that unholy video I can’t stop thinking about Soonyoung fucking someone against a wall. It’s just so damn hot, how he would sink his fingers on your thigh to hoist you up and make you circle your legs around his waist, growling with his lips pressed between the juncture of your ear and neck and rising goosebumps all over your skin. He would have no mercy, brutal as he pulls you down on his cock at the same time he fucks up into your hole, sending your body into an up and down motion.

Possessive Sex — Although I think he gets easily jealous, his show of possessiveness isn’t (good) intimidating like Wonwoo’s, but rather cute even. He would want you to wear his shirts, especially if they have his name on it, would want you to smell like him and be full of bruises and marks after he ruins you on the bedroom. Or the way Soonyoung would grab the back of your thighs and push your legs up until you’re almost bent in half, just so he could look at his come dripping down your hole.

Spitting Kink — OH MY GOD, I can’t stop thinking about this. Soonyoung hooking two fingers in your mouth, prying your jaw open and just spitting down your throat. He would press on your chin, make you close your lips and then wrap a hand around your throat so he could feel you swallowing it. The shiver that would rock down his body would be no light one, because holy fuck, Soonyoung is dirty and he wants to make you his, his, his.

Messy Sex — As in he enjoys all types of things that would make the sex potentially messier. The tears in your cheeks when Soonyoung fucks you so hard you don’t even know your own name; his come panting your face, your stomach, your inner thighs, your hole, your ass, any place really; your come or squirt when he makes you orgasm hard enough to the point you think your eyes won’t turn back from how far they rolled; and even the drool running down your chin when you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut.

Lap Dance — SHUT UP I’M DYING HERE. I think he would actually love being tied up, yes, tied up to a chair and have you dancing and rolling your hips all over his lap. Or even,, oh my god, or even him doing so, dirty dancing for you until you’re crying, begging for him to touch, and what the fuck this man is the embodiment of sin.

Bondage — Don’t think he would be into the heavy ones though, would rather put some silk around your wrists and tie them to the headboard, or even tie them together on your back as he fucks you face down, ass up. But I also think Soonyoung would love to wear a rope dress. Yes. Like as in that shibari thing in which you put ropes around your body, not restricting but just to, I don’t know, be beautiful. And hot.

Leather Kink — I just think that Kwon Soonyoung with a leather harness is the greatest enemy of my heart’s healthiness. Like just, just IMAGINE how hot he would look with it on, the sweat turning his skin into a beautiful gold, you laying half on your stomach and half on your side because one of your legs is thrown over his shoulder where he kneels in front of you, the position giving you the privilege to see his harness. Or how insanely good it would be to feel the leather of his gerthers hitting the back of your thighs every time he fucks into you. Damn. I’m not even alive anymore.

Choking — Oh, yes. Not in the sense of restricting your air flow, but rather the mind numbing pleasure of putting his hand around your neck. Because of Soonyoung’s sense of possessiveness, a dark side of him loves the feeling he gets when he sees how his you have become with his fingers around your throat. Does that make sense?

Collar Kink — Yes. A collar. That kind of collar. The ones you use into dom/sub relationships, and as much as I think he’s not too much into power play, I also think Soonyoung would love to see a pretty collar around your neck, especially if it has a little bell on it that he can hear ringing every time he fucks into you. He would hook a finger on it, pull at it so you could arch your back and offer yourself up for him to take and take and take.

Spanking — Can I just say that Soonyoung gives me the vibes that he’s the type of person who would lay you across his lap and spank your ass until it turns red with the print of his hand. I don’t even know what else to say, just that Soonyoung overall is fucking dirty. Nasty. Filthy. I love this. I love him.

I hope you enjoyed it!! Tell me what you think later ♥️

#seventeen imagine #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung imagine #soonyoung smut #hoshi imagine #hoshi x reader #hoshi smut

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tenthgrove · 3 years ago

Note

This request is a pass for you to post some yandere SorLato headcanons! :D have fun

I Love My Followers

Sorbet and Gelato x Reader (GN), Yandere, SFW

CWs: Threat of physical abuse, normal yandere stuff

So, we've already established how you found yourself as Sorbet and Gelato's darling and a few other snapshots of your life settling in with them. But here, we're going to go through precisely what happens between your abduction and finally making peace with your obsessive new husbands.

Partially to gage your resolve to escape, and partially for their own enjoyment, Sorbet and Gelato left you conscious for the entirety of your abduction. Once you're safely in your new home, however, they let you have the mercy of being drugged unconscious, letting you sleep peacefully until the morning, when they'll be better ready to explain to you the predicament you're in.

For the first couple months of your stay, you'll be sleeping in the basement. Callous as that sounds, they spared no expense in making the place as nice for you as possible, painting the walls in your favourite colour and furnishing it with a comfortable mattress, complete with enough blankets and pillows to bury a man with. You'll sleep well down here.

There's also a television to entertain yourself with (though they'll take away the remote if you've been bad) and a curtain to block your view of the rest of the room if needs be. At they end of the day they're still career assassins and the basement may become needed for... other purposes. They don't want you to have to watch anything that might needlessly traumatise you further.

You wake up in the morning no doubt in a great panic. Chained to the wall by your wrist, you're helpless to do anything until one of them finds you, which probably won't be long as Gelato has been awake all night with excitement. Once he and Sorbet are both present they reiterate the events of your kidnapping unless your trauma blanked it out (they aren't deceptive yanderes, they are very keen to be open with you about your situation). They also promise repetitively not to kill you.

Once you've had a couple hours to calm down a little and have had some food put in your system, they come to give you a more in depth explanation of what their motives are in taking you. They explain their love for you and the many reasons why pursuing you the normal way would never have worked out, and promise that as long as you are good for them, they're going to treat you very well. This is elaborated upon in your next, and final rundown of your situation.

At the end of your first day, once you are fully lucid enough to think, Sorbet comes down once more carrying a heavy bag of tools. He talks you through what they're going to do if you break the big rules they've set down for you, namely the ones about running away or attacking them. He holds the tools- switchblades, buzzsaws and pliers, against your trembling skin, to really hit home how much you do not want them to have to hurt you that way. Once he's done with his demonstration, Sorbet gives you a little kiss on the forehead, repeating that he's sure he won't ever need to do any of that to you, right?

Your first couple of weeks are very restricted, only allowed to leave the basement for a bathroom visit every few hours or so and a nightly bath. You're allowed to watch TV barring any bad behaviour (if you're good, Sorbet may even install a few channels from your home country to give some comfort) but it's likely you'll spend much of the time sleeping to escape from your fears. Gelato bothers you for affection whenever he gets a free minute, while Sorbet keeps his distance, preferring to let you come to terms with your new surroundings alone and see for yourself they have no nefarious intentions.

Something you learn early on is that the pair regard you already as their spouse. While you're under no obligation to treat them as such, they fawn over you insistently as their sweet little wife/husband/spouse. After all, they call themselves married, and treating you as any less would just be unequal. Look! They even bought you a ring, to match the pair they bought for each other all those years ago. If you take it off they won't make you put it back on as long as you don't throw it away, but seeing it cast aside on your night-stand their eyes seem... hurt.

In spite of your predicament you're certainly quite spoiled. Gelato badgers you constantly to know your tastes in food so he can make it for you, and pretty much anything you ask of Sorbet is granted as long as it isn't more freedom- that can only be earned. Little by little, you earn more time out of the basement, starting with just a few supervised minutes a day and stretching into hours.

Still, this laxness may renew your desire to leave. You know what the punishments are, god, you don't think you'll ever forget, but if you could just sneak out while Gelato isn't looking surely you can make it out in time? Unfortunately for you, leaping out of the window you find yourself in a woodlands wilderness. Getting out of here will not be easy.

You trek through the trees, certain that surely these woods must have an end, and surely your captors wouldn't be able to find you if you yourself are having this much trouble with navigation. A pity you're up against individuals trained in manhunting. You don't stand a chance.

As you cry in terror, the pair dragging you kicking and screaming back to their house, they give each other a look. They know what each other means. There's no way they could bring themselves to hurt you. After chaining you back up again they decree they've decided to let you off this once, but not to try something like this again. Instead of torture, you are sentenced to a few days left in the dark with less trips to the bathroom and verbal attention. Hardly a pleasant time, but a huge relief compared to what you were expecting.

As the next week dawns and your sins are forgiven, you find yourself shying away less from their affections. Maybe it's just gratitude, maybe you're desperate to get back in their good books and earn back all the privileges you had before. Maybe Stockholm Syndrome really is setting in. After a while of this, Sorbet and Gelato announce they've come to a decision- since you're beginning to love their embrace so much, maybe it is time to start letting you sleep between their arms at night.

#yandere cw #sorbet and gelato #sorbet and gelato x reader

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falling-pages · 3 years ago

Note

I'm Sorry but your writing is so captivating that I had to jump on your prompt list if I could. What about "I can’t go back, please...I’m sorry." For Hikaru x Haruhi ? 🤧💜

Yes!! Thank you for the angst inspo 😈

(ask list closed)

"I can't go back, please, I'm sorry."

Hikaru Hitachiin x Haruhi Fujioka

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, heavy on comfort

WARNINGS: This contains trauma, ptsd, nightmares, and memories of kidnapping and abuse. Please read with caution.

Silver manacles around her wrists, clanking cold against her skin. Darkness over her eyes, ratcheting up her sensitivity to every sound. Wetness blooming against her side, pain leveraging through her head, the slaps from brutal hands and kicks from unyielding feet. The thunderstorm brewing outside her cage. And the horrific, never-ending voice of the man who tormented her.

Scream as loud as you like. It won’t help.

You didn’t think he’d come for you, did you?

He has prettier and richer playthings at his disposal.

Do you really think you’re worth such a high price?

You’re mine, now, doll.

Haruhi’s eyes flew open in tandem with her scream, staking the night’s silence with her terror. She fought against the silk sheets tangling her limbs, cried as loudly as her voice would allow her. Even sitting up didn’t help, the heavy comforter trapping her in bed, and the silence choked her throat, splitting the oxygen straight off until she couldn’t breathe, clawing for anything, something, a liferaft before she drowned.

“Haruhi!”

Her fiance bolted upright, hazel eyes shining in the moonlight. They shared her terror as he grabbed her shoulders, the weight forcing air back into her lungs. She wrenched her eyes back shut--she couldn’t look at him, not when the face of her kidnapper still flashed in her vision.

Shaking, she grabbed his shirt, fisting the soft material to ground herself. He took the invitation to wrap his arms around her, watching as she buried herself in his chest, inhaling that sweet scent of home.

“Hika,” she wept, staining his shirt with tears and his heart with fury.

Hikaru swept his hands through her hair and down her back, detangling with one while rubbing circles with the other. Her cries were beyond gutteral, beyond desperate, straight up inhumane, and they tore as much at his soul as they did at her throat. It had been nearly a month since her rescue, and even though she had made much progress in therapy, she could barely hold onto her humanity when the nightmares struck.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, drawing shapes along her shoulder. Her skin rippled with goosebumps, warm from his embrace, but foreign. “Remember what the therapist said. Cling to what makes you feel safe. The nightmares will pass.” He grit his teeth and she clutched him tighter, snuggling further into the warmth and safety of his neck. “That man can’t touch you. He will never touch you again, I fucking swear.”

It was a bad idea to mention him, he knew, but his anger surged through his body and choked a growl from his throat. Even the memory of finding her, chained up like a dog in a cage, dirty and malnourished and blindfolded, evoked an anger so deep within his core he wasn’t sure if it were entirely human. But then again, that man certainly wasn’t, and Hikaru felt his anger justified.

Not strangling the man on sight was the only shred of mercy he could manage.

“Listen to my heartbeat,” he suggested, guiding his beloved’s head lower down his chest. He rubbed behind her ear, a soothing weight to counteract her spiraling feeling. Following what the therapist suggested, he straightened his posture, making himself as big as possible for her to cling onto. “You are so strong, my beloved. You’re going to get through this night.”

Haruhi only whined his name again, and he pulled her closer, completely onto his lap and settling her legs. She shook like she was going to fall apart, like she had before; it was his job to ensure that she never would again.

“You’re alright,” he continued. “You’re safe. You’re in our bed, in my arms. Safe and warm. Nothing can get to you here.” He smiled, kissing the top of her head. “You’re so strong and beautiful, baby. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You’re gonna be okay.”

She sniffled, and her voice was barely detectable from his chest. “I can’t go back, I can’t go back, please…”

His heart squeezed. “He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s in prison, and he’s going to stay there for a very long time. There’s no way he can hurt you from there. You don’t have to be afraid, baby, you’re never going to go back there. You’re safe here.”

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” she whispered. “He said such awful things, Hika, and I believed them, I...I believed him, I didn’t think you’d come…”

“Shhh, Haru. None of that.” He propped her up to look at her, so she could see the truth in his face. The broken moonlight reflected in her doe eyes, making silver the unshed tears welling within. He held her gaze, waiting for her to be back in the right headspace, before continuing. “Everything that man told you was a fucking lie. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no mountain I wouldn’t climb, no ransom I wouldn’t pay.” He brushed his lips against her forehead, calming her as she shuddered. “I would pay ten times what he asked to make sure you were okay. The nightmare is over, and you’re with me. You’re okay. I'm...I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

She groaned, holding onto him as another memory washed over her. Alone in the parking lot, loading groceries, the screech of car brakes, cold handcuffs around her wrists and and even colder hand over her mouth, restricting her screams. The cruel words whispered against her ear, the grating laugh as she struggled, the terror as they slipped the mask over her eyes. The wetness of a tongue stroking up her neck, biting the lobe of her ear, a voice whispering the astronomical price of her ransom and reminding her of the snaking words force-fed every moment of her captivity.

No one is coming to save you.

And then, a different voice, piercing through the darkness, stilling the hellish pace of her heart and thoughts.

Haruhi.

Haruhi, I’m here.

She looked back up at him, intimidated but comforted, as he spoke words of gentleness and love. His long fingers stroked her hair and drew patterns against her back, stars and hearts and even his own name, over and over again:

Hikaru. Hikaru. Hikaru.

She was safe, she was his, and she would never have to face that bastard again.

Kofi

#ouran high school host club #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #hikaharu #hikaru x haruhi #tw kidnapping #tw torture #tw trauma #tw ptsd

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: A King’s Wrath.

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Yandere!Overblot!Leona/Reader

Synopsis: Last time Leona lost control, you had help. Back-up isn’t a privilege he seemed intent to give you, this time around.

TW: Graphic Violence, Blood and Delusional Mindsets.

Overblot was a terrible thing.

You should know, you’d been around it enough to see the signs, to recognize just how depraved it could make the people you thought you knew. It was messy, it was desperate, it was an affliction you couldn’t fight off until it’d already ravaged your peers and hurt your friends. It was a curse, in every sense of the word. You were almost glad you hadn’t been born with magic, somedays, when you got a chance to see what it could do if it got out of hand.

Leona, in particular, was not a man to be underestimated. Even before you really knew him, when you were still confused and lost in a world you barely understood, you hadn’t been able to recognize the monster he turned into at the slightest hints of imbalance. You could barely stand to watch, the sight bringing tears to your eyes as surely as the sandstorm he’d summoned, but you’d figured that would be a one-time offense. It was over, and his childhood strife was behind him. He’d grown from it, and you’d helped him. You were proud of him, even if you’d never dare to say that outloud. He didn’t need the ego boost, and you didn’t need to deal with another cocky, self-satisfied lecture on the vastness of his superiority.

Well... you thought he’d gotten better, at least.

You were starting to think you’d gotten your hopes up too soon.

You could feel it. The electricity in the air, the searing warmth mingling with a distinct, sudden chill, neither feeling managing to completely block out the other. You were sweating, but you were shivering. You were scrambling backward, searching for ground that wouldn’t fall out from under your feet, but you were frozen in place, rooted to the soil that wanted so badly to push you away. It’d been instantaneous. One moment, he was guiding you into the forest surrounding the academy, your hand in his and a whine playing on your tongue about his bone-crushing grip or his unmatchable pace, and the next, you were like this, his expression fallen and his confident confession crushed and discarded by your awkward, rushed rejection. It’d been too blunt. It’d been too harsh.

It’d been honest, and you could never be honest with Leona.

You weren’t dumb enough to try to talk him down or take him on. You were alone, painfully, stupidly alone, out of the reach of the Headmaster or Malleus or someone who could help you, not that you had the right to be picky, at the moment. You wished you’d insisted on taking Grimm with you, or Ace or Deuce or anyone you could’ve convinced Leona to bring along, but you didn’t. Your only chance was to flee, to push yourself to your feet and run for it, even if you doubted you’d be able to make it. Still, it wasn’t much of a choice. Cramping lungs and sore legs were far preferable to the creature you’d left behind you.

Leona wasn’t one to be neglected, though. Already, you could hear him catching up to you, recovering from his blind rage and falling into a targetted, pointed wrath, putting your suffering above the destruction of trees and flowers that’d only witnessed his humiliation. Dust hung in the open air, fragrant and overwhelming, your eyes stinging and your throat going dry, although you couldn’t be sure whether that was Leona’s magic or your own suffocating fear. Each crushed leaf made it worse, every noise sending a jolt through your chest, giving you a new reason to run faster, to scream louder. Somewhere in the distance, Leona laughed, the noise throaty, threatening. Easily drowning out your voice.

But, he could laugh all he wanted. You could see a soft glow, the lights of a dormitory, although you couldn’t guess which it was. It didn’t matter, though. Soon, you’d have help. You’d be safe--

Without warning, the ground underneath you fell away, turning to something malleable and pliant. You slipped before you put a name to it, falling into the shallow pit of sand that’d formed between you and a kneeling Leona, a single palm carelessly pressed to the ground. You tried to get up, but even like this, Leona was faster than you, moving like a predator seeking out its prey, his fist closing around your wrist and wrenching you to your feet before you could stand on your own. The pain was immediate, burning. As if your body was trying to tear itself apart, and you just had to stand back, watching as defined trails carved themselves into your skin. There was blood, but it disappeared as it washed over his hand, mixing with the blank ink that already stained his fingertips. You wondered if it would leave a mark, when he turned back.

If he turned back.

A low, wordless groan forced its way from your grit teeth, and Leona pushed his shoulders back, taking on the air of a victorious warlord as if you’d already admitted defeat. You supposed you had. “Does it hurt?” He asked, a cruel lilt heavy in his voice. You didn’t think before nodding, hoping for the smallest hint of mercy, but Leona only cocked his head to the side, the gesture unnaturally angular, drawing attention to the lopsided smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. Rigid and symbolic, not unlike his touch. “Good. I’m not wasting my time, then.”

Claws found their way into your skin, and it dawned on you that he might want a response. You didn’t have much of a choice than to give one to him. “Leona,” You forced out, his name half a gasp and half a mumble. “This isn’t who you are, you’re… You’re in danger. If you don’t snap yourself out of this, your body’s not going to be able to--”

“I think this is exactly who I am,” He growled, cutting you off with little more than a snarl and a narrow-eyed glance. “I tried to be nice. I tried to be your friend and play your little, oblivious game and be patient. Do you know how long I spent sitting back and waiting for you to come around?” It was a question that didn’t warrant an answer, a single talon driving itself into your flesh, nearly cutting to the bone. You screamed, and he rose his voice to speak over you. “I spent so long acting like your friend, you don’t have the right to--” He interrupted himself with a hitched breath, his mouth closing and his jaw locking into place. And yet, he wasn't any more rational when he decided to continue. “It was pointless. You denied me, and you made it pointless.”

“I-I’m sorry.” An apology felt right, albeit manufactured. He’d told how he felt, and you hadn’t shared his sentiment. He’d said he loved you in that lackadaisical, noncommittal way of his, and you hadn’t known to take him seriously. There was nothing to be sorry for, not from your perspective. Leona was just a brat who’d never been turned down, not by someone he considered so far below himself. Still, you were the one who needed a reason, an excuse that would calm him. A selection blended together on your lips, forming something more incoherent than soothing. “I didn’t know you were… I don’t know what I was saying, I want to be with you. We can be together, but first, you have to stop, alright?” You did your best to sound sympathetic, letting your words draw out into something tender. Something compassionate, despite the pain slowly spreading to your shoulder. “You have to let me help you.”

“You’re the only one that needs help, herbivore.” You were used to the pet name, the playful jab at his place on the food chain, but it didn’t sound like a buy for your annoyance, not when he was standing behind you, his brute force only outmatched by the sweltering heat that surrounded him like an aura. It was a warning, now, a reminder that he had fangs and strength and magic and you didn’t. “If anything, I should’ve done this months ago. It’s so fucking easy.” You can practically hear his sneer. It wasn’t like he made an effort to hide it. “It’s not like you would’ve been much of a challenge, even without the extra blot.”

At that, Leona let you go, more out of disgust than concern. Automatically, you reeled back, bringing your injured arm to your chest as you moved to run, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you managed to turn around, his heel made contact with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground with a new ache forming in your calf. In the blink of an eye, his fingers were entangled in your hair, his magic thankfully, thankfully neutralized but his grip so tight, you almost wished he’d just put you out of your misery.

Unfortunately, Leona had never been kind.

You couldn't speak, but he didn’t seem to mind. Rather, he was content to jeer and grin and laugh as you writhed, your hands clamped around overgrown grass in an effort not to lash out and anger him further. But, not fighting back was a double-sided blade, one that gave Leona the authority to assume he’d won. “It’s my fault,” He admitted, abruptly, his faux-empathy layered on so thickly, you didn’t have to wonder if he was trying to be honest. “I should’ve known someone like you would be too dense to understand. You’d never give me what I want, not unless I force it out of you.”

You stiffened. You felt him pull back, letting go of you entirely, but you didn’t dare try to get away. “I don’t… What do you want?”

“I can’t have a throne, can I? I can’t have your heart, and I doubt you’re going to hand it over now.” He sighed, the sound a wistful thing. One that left you more unnerved than his threats ever could. His hand came down again, petting over your hair so gently, you were tempted to melt into it for a brief, fleeting second. “But…”

He was gentle, then he wasn’t, his foot pressing into the small of your back, shoving you to forward without a chance to prepare yourself. Involuntarily, you glanced over your shoulder before yiu could hit the ground , taking in the shadows that danced around him for the first time. The brightness in his eyes, golden and unfamiliar, the shape of something primal and animalistic looming behind him. The cruel, possessive smile on his lips, a smile that only broadened when you failed to look away.

“You can still bow.”

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livingforthewhump · 4 years ago

Note

Oh I just saw that was already requested so ‘taunting’

:)))

Blue fire requested; red for posted.

First Previous Next

—

“Please,” Caroline gasped, crumpling to the floor as his power leached from her body. Bruises were already forming from his recent abuse, and she wasn’t sure if she was grateful or not to finally regain control of herself. “Please stop.”

Paladin backhanded her, eyes glowing in fury. “You think you deserve for me to stop?” He grabbed her chin, digging his fingers into her jaw hard enough to force it open for no other reason than to make her helpless. “You think after what you did today, you deserve rest?”

He kicked her stomach and she doubled over, gasping for air as reflex tears came to her eyes. Paladin dragged her up by her chin. “Answer me. What do you think you deserve? Hm?”

Her hands grasped weakly at his wrist, jaw aching from where he held it. She had never seen him this angry before, and it chilled her to her very core, driving all rational thought out of her mind. In the face of this, there was no option but doing what he wanted. And that terrified her.

“I- I deserve punishment.”

He dropped her, letting her collapse onto herself. “Correct. Why?” His voice was as harsh as a whip, and it made her shudder to consider what might be coming next.

“I was, I, I was bad,” she choked out between sobs.

“Yes, doll, you were. Very bad. I hope you’re ready to pay for it, and see that it isn’t worth it to defy me.” His voice that had been seething with anger returned to his usual soft, controlling tone, somehow far more sinister now that she had seen the darkness it had been disguising. “I think you need to be reminded of what you are. How helpless you are.” She heard his heavy footsteps cross the room, then chains clacking.

“On your knees, doll,” he said sternly, approaching again. A shudder ripped through Caroline as she shifted her weight onto her knees, still curled in on herself in a desperate attempt to escape what was coming. “Arms behind your back,” Paladin commanded, and she obeyed. Heavy links circled her wrists tightly, and she wondered if he was going to break them again.

“I won’t do much damage right now,” he murmured as if he could read her mind- maybe he could- and cinched the chains tighter until she whimpered softly. “I still need you able to fight.” The chain clinked high above her, seemingly being attached to something on the ceiling, and pulled through until there wasn’t any slack.

She felt Paladin’s suffocating presence as he knelt down beside her, brushing her hair away from the back of her neck with feather-light fingers. As her breath stuttered from the contact, he looped a smaller chain around her neck multiple times, pulling it flush with her skin and a bit tighter than she found necessary. Just tight enough to make her afraid. To make her gasp for air when there was plenty available.

Paladin fastened the chain around her neck to a loop on the floor, forcing her to bend over to keep the chain from pulling too tight.

“There we go,” he said, standing up. “Just like that, doll.”

Unexpectedly, he gave the chain reaching up to the ceiling a slight tug, pulling her arms back more than was comfortable.

She whined in fear, a broken “please” somehow making its way out of her.

“What was that, doll? Do you have something to say to me?” He went in front of her, fondling her hair and relishing her immobility.

“Please,” she gasped. She hated this, this suffocating weight, this not being able to move, being forced to just sit there and take it. She would do anything, no matter how degrading, to get in a position where at least that decision was hers to make. “Please, stop.”

Paladin laughed. “Aw, isn’t that sweet. Are you going to beg for me, little one? So that I’ll let you down, give you another chance to be good?”

Caroline nodded desperately against his hand, tears running down her face in as much shame as fear. She cursed him. She cursed herself. And she begged. “Yes. Yes, please, please let me down. I’ll be good, and, and make you happy. I’ll let you control me and, and, and whatever you want, just please let me down.”

He allowed her to babble on until she dissolved into tears, running his hand through her limp hair. “Poor dear, you really don’t like being restrained, do you? I wonder why.” His hands slid down to cup her chin, pulling her face up to him even as it made the chains around her neck tighten. “It doesn’t really matter, though. Do you know why?” His thumb swiped a tear from her cheek while she stared at him with wide, glistening eyes. “Because I want you to be like this. I want to see you helpless, completely at my mercy. I don’t just control you when I’m in your head, doll, I control you always. And seeing as how you’ve been so very disobedient, I want to see you make up for that tenfold. After all, if your voice was strong enough to defy me, I want to know just how strong it is.”

Paladin stood and circled behind her grabbing hold of the chain and hoisting it higher. She gasped, screwing her eyes shut and letting her head fall back near the ground.

“How long can you scream for before you lose your voice?” Paladin mused out loud, a wicked smile carving its way into his voice. It was when he got gleeful that he was the worst, the cruelest. Caroline sobbed. “Two hours, three? Maybe you’ll pass out from the pain before you scream enough. I’m curious to see what comes first.”

“No,” Caroline said. “You, you told me you wouldn’t do damage. You need me to fight.”

He hummed. “I’m sure you can fight just fine with a few injuries. Really, dislocated shoulders won’t take too long for me to fix, and they’re oh so painful.”

“Please, no,” Caroline screamed, and Paladin chuckled again.

“You’re making orders now, doll? Very well. Prove to me that you don’t deserve this. Stand up and walk away, if you’re so independent.” He stepped back, waiting, and all she could do was try to stifle her tears. “You see? You can’t even move without me.”

She screamed at a jerking pressure on her shoulders and the following thud as they were yanked out of place, Paladin’s fingers bruising her arms. He released them, letting her hang from the mutilated limbs before tugging the chain again, higher this time. The chain around her neck tightened as she tried to compensate, stealing her air. She momentarily panicked and thrashed before Paladin got a grip on her hair, holding her head still and steadying her.

“Poor doll, so frightened.” He pulled on her hair so that the chain on her neck tightened severely, stopping her breath entirely. Her mouth fell open in search of air that she was not being allowed. He crowded in close. “It’s going to get so much worse. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I’m going to drag this pain out much longer than you think you can go, and then I’m going to leave you here. How does that sound?”

She couldn’t respond, too busy trembling under the lack of air, and he finally released her only to crank her arms higher. The angle of her arms was sickeningly steep, her knees barely on the floor as most of her weight was transferred to her ruined joints. Caroline screamed, sobbing senselessly. She was pulled in two directions, the tension of the chains such that she couldn’t breathe normally and keep added pressure off of her shoulders.

“Scream louder, doll,” Paladin taunted. “If you lose your voice I may let you down sooner.”

His foot was suddenly pressing between her shoulder blades, shoving her down. She couldn’t tell if the screaming that drowned out everything other than the pain was in her mind or coming from her raw throat. Her existence became pain.

—

Tag list (message me if you want to be added or removed): @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @jkoo7jkoo5-baby-susan @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @cherryblossomskye @utopian819 @whumpkitty @whole-and-apart-and-between @written-to-death @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @villain-enthusiast @hurting-fictional-people @kixngiggles @onestopheroxvillain @lave-whump @bibliophilelifestyle @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams

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7-wonders · 4 years ago

Text

Circling the Drain

Summary: It's a race against time...wait, why do people say that? It's not a race against some outside force, it's a race against a crazed back-from-the-dead mafioso with a vengeance.

Word Count: 3454

A/N: I tried something a little different for this chapter in terms of formatting, mainly because there was so much I wanted to fit in different POVS. Uhhhhh let me know your thoughts and like, comments and reblogs make my world go round. ALSO that second gif is exactly how I imagine a certain scene (you'll know it when you read it).

Warnings: Very torture heavy chapter. Blood, torture methods, guns, knives, kidnappings, talk of death. You should probably go pet some puppies or kittens after you read this.

Duncan

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed since Duncan was last outside of this small concrete room. There’s no windows to let light in, no clocks to denote the hour, and no sort of schedule that he can catch on to. Although, even if there were a schedule, he would be too delirious from sleep deprivation to realize that there was one. The only thing that Duncan can count on is the unending torture at the hands of his uncle.

All of the crisis training in the world wouldn’t have prepared him for the physical and mental torture that he’s been put through. Though he doesn’t know it, it’s been almost seventy-two hours of this absolute hell, of Bill beating him black and blue, taunting him, slowly ripping out fingernails one by one (somehow, he still has six, though one of the six is just barely hanging on), refusing to let him sleep, and tasing him back to consciousness whenever he tries to close his eyes. This most recent time, the throbbing of his head had begged him enough to where he finally closed his eyes, only to be jolted up with a rush of electricity running through his body and seizing his muscles.

“You still think you’re getting out of it that easy, huh? That you can fall asleep and bide your time until you’re ‘rescued?’” Bill chuckles. “No, it’s not that easy.”

“Just kill me already, if that’s what you’re planning on,” Duncan says through clenched teeth, glaring up at Bill through the one eye that’s not completely swollen shut.

“Is that what you want? You want me to kill you?” His obviously-fake concern would enough to make bile rise in Duncan’s throat, if he had actually had anything left in his stomach.

“You want me to beg for it, don’t you?”

“I guess I underestimated you. Turns out you do have some sort of critical thinking skills.”

Duncan defiantly turns his head, refusing to give Bill what he wants. Realizing this, Bill begins to walk towards the door. As he does, going to flick off the single light bulb in this place, Duncan’s chest tightens in anticipation of the claustrophobia he’ll surely begin to feel (most likely a side-effect of what he’s gone through, considering he’s never been scared of dark spaces before) and he scrambles to stall him. “So why are you keeping me alive?”

Bill stops for a moment before slowly turning around. “I already told you.”

“No, I know that you want revenge. But what’s your plan? Why waste your time? Surely you’ll at least give me the honor of knowing what I’m dying for?”

His jaw clenches, not pleased with that last question, but he doesn’t hit Duncan. Yet. “I’m taking back what’s mine, and then some.”

“And you think Mom’s going to be okay with that?”

“Your poor mother is going to be more than okay with that when she finds out that the Coven killed her only child.”

Slowly, it dawns on Duncan. “You’re the one that’s been killing people in the Coven’s style and leaving them in our territory?”

“Of course I am!” Bill holds his arms out as if to say ‘tah-dah!’ “Cordelia Goode would never be so bold as to do that! But after I kill you, drain you of your blood, cut your tongue out, dump you in the Potomac, and reappear into society, people won’t care about that little fact. Especially after I reveal that it was the Coven that prompted me to fake my own death and go into hiding for years.”

“How long were you planning this?”

“About a year before you stabbed me, when I realized that you were far too…” he grits his teeth, “charismatic to not end up with the family business eventually. That’s why I always made sure that the police and paramedics were well-paid, just in case the day ever came that I needed them to lie on my behalf.”

“You have it all planned then, so why not just do it and kill me now?”

“Well, there are a couple of minor issues I still need to work out.” Bill glances at Duncan slyly. “Such as what to do with that girlfriend of yours.”

In a flash, Duncan sees red. He lunges, forgetting the fact that he’s chained to the radiator and can only go so far until his ankle is jerked violently and he falls back to the ground. “You leave her alone, she’s done nothing wrong!”

“You’re right, she hasn’t, but (Y/N) knows too much.”

Duncan’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that Bill (predictably) knows more than he should.

“I’m thinking a suicide? It’s very believable, what with the grieving girlfriend and all.” Bill steps forward and, ever so slowly, places his foot on one of Duncan’s hands. “Maybe she slits her wrists in the bath? It’s very easy to overpower someone when they’re vulnerable. Or perhaps she overdoses? That’s not my preferred method, though, far too much room for someone to survive an overdose. Tell me, Duncan, how would you prefer that she die?” With each possible method, Bill continues to lay more pressure on Duncan’s hand until Duncan is moaning in pain.

“Don’t...hurt her,” Duncan pants.

Bill finally removes his foot, giving Duncan a moment to breathe before he stomps on his hand, digging the toe of his shoe in until Duncan is screaming and Bill is sure his hand is broken. “I think she’ll jump into the Potomac with a weight tied around her ankle. The poeticism--her drowning in the same river that your body will be found in--is something that’s just too good to pass up.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you again and make sure that it sticks this time.” Tears are streaming down Duncan’s face, though whether that’s from the physical or emotional agony he’s in, he can’t be sure.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Bill smiles, walking to the light switch and flicking it off. “I’ll be back in a bit, and then our final act can finally begin.”

This time, Duncan doesn’t stop him before he leaves, barely letting the door close before his willpower crumbles and he begins to sob. Cradling his injured hand, he has to force himself to look at the now-mangled fingers. He gasps, attempting to straighten them out, but they refuse to even twitch in response. It’s now that Duncan realizes that the true torture is waiting. His mind and body shattered, he now has to be at the mercy of Bill Shepherd before he can finally die. He’s never wished for death before, but now, he feels a pang in his heart for every one of his victims that have had to wait, broken and bruised, for Duncan to kill them.

You

“Does this location have any significance to you?” Cordelia asks Annette, pointing to an address hastily written down on a scrap of paper. The address corresponds to a building, fairly nondescript, but obviously holding some sort of significance.

“No, it doesn’t.” Annette shakes her head.

“That’s because this is the location of the first school that I opened here in D.C. Bastard’s really going all in on trying to frame me for everything he’s done.”

(Y/N), who had previously been dozing off on Langdon’s lap (Langdon had already made her swear not to tell anybody or else he would kill her in her dreams like Freddy Kreuger), sits straight up at this moment. “What makes you think he’s there?” she asks.

“This car.” Cordelia pulls another paper out from the folder she had brought with her, this one a picture of a Mercedes E-Class. “It’s been back and forth from Umbra to the old school numerous times in the past two days. License plates are registered back to Umbra.”

“So it’s definitely Bill, then.”

“I’m not typically a betting woman, but I would put money on this. Surveillance indicates that this car has been parked in front of the Goode Academy for six straight hours now.”

(Y/N) doesn’t know much about hostage situations, but she has to assume that Bill being where Duncan is held captive for an extended amount of time means nothing good.

“We need to move now, then,” Annette says. There’s no question behind her voice; she’s going to get her son.

“Yes. Your team?”

“Myself, Langdon, and (Y/N).”

Cordelia glances warily at (Y/N). “Do you have combat experience?”

“Duncan trained me to fight, and also did some weapons training with me,” (Y/N) says.

“That’s good enough.” (Y/N) tries not to be offended. “I have myself, Madison, Misty, and Mallory.”

“We’re going?” Mallory, a brunette wearing a gold headband, says.

“I need my best girls, and you three have proven yourselves.”

“Alright then, let’s go.” Annette grabs a key from around her neck and unlocks what you thought to be a closet door, opening it to reveal a weapons cache large enough to rival a small government’s. “Stock up.”

“Which gun are you most comfortable with?” Langdon asks (Y/N), the two standing side-by-side after everybody else has had their turn.

“Uh, I don’t really know the names. It’s a handgun, and it’s black.”

“Probably a Springfield, then.” Langdon hands (Y/N) a gun that looks similar to ones that she’s handled before. “It’s already loaded.”

“Thanks.” She glances at Langdon after holstering her own weapon, watching as he selects numerous guns of different sizes. “What if we’re too late?”

“We won’t be.”

“But you heard what Cordelia said. Bill’s been there for six straight hours now. He could have--”

“You’re right, he could have,” Langdon interrupts. “But we can’t go in there assuming that the worst outcome has come true. We have to have hope. If nothing else, there’s always hope.”

“I have hope.”

“Good, because I do, too.” Langdon grabs a knife from the weapons closet, twirling the tip of the blade on his index finger. “Now let’s go get Duncan back.”

Duncan

Bill stands before Duncan, twirling the tip of a knife on his index finger. “I’ve held onto this for six years now. Do you recognize it?”

Of course Duncan recognizes the knife that he stabbed his uncle with. In his dreams, he can still feel the cool leather handle gripped tightly in his palm.

“It’s something of a treasure to me, although it certainly didn’t seem like it at first. I’ve come to recognize the significance of holding the thing that almost killed me, and I like to keep it as a reminder.” Bill holds the knife out to Duncan, knowing he’s too weak to fight him for it. “See that on the blade? Why don’t you read it for me?”

Cursive lettering is engraved on the blade, though it was not there when the knife had been in Duncan’s possession. “Memento mori,” Duncan mutters, trying to remember his Latin lessons from high school.

“It was an extremely popular phrase during the medieval period, specifically when it came to funerals. ‘Remember you must die.’ It’s a warning, a reminder. That’s what this knife has become to me, a reminder of the inevitability of death. It also reminds me that I’ve survived death before, and I’ll surely survive it again.”

“Quite the sense of humor,” Duncan remarks dryly.

Bill shrugs, bending down to Duncan’s level. “A little gauche, perhaps, but I enjoy the significance of the phrase.”

Duncan’s about to ask him what the point of this is when Bill shows him by shoving the knife into his abdomen. Duncan grunts in pain, gritting his teeth and glaring at him. “Of course you’re going to stab me just like I stabbed you.”

“Do you know how I managed to survive?” Bill asks.

“I’ve tried not to think about it much.”

“I survived,” Bill continues, “because you were too stupid to realize that you needed to pull the knife out. What do all of the medical professionals say when training civilians on dealing with stabbings? ‘Don’t remove the weapon.’ That’s the only thing keeping them from bleeding out, and it’s what kept me from bleeding out.”

“I had assumed I severed your abdominal aorta, what with all the blood.”

“Exactly, ‘assumed.’” Bill digs the knife around to watch the way that Duncan tries not to scream before pulling it out and watching as blood begins to pour out of the wound. For every beat of Duncan’s frantic heart, trying to pump blood to the source of the injury in an attempt to clot it, more blood pulses out. “Never assume things, my boy.”

Though his head is starting to spin, Duncan finds just enough rage to spit at Bill. “Go to hell.”

“From the looks of it, you’ll be there long before me,” he says almost gleefully before pulling out a gun and shooting him in the thigh. This time, Duncan openly screams. “Just wanted to make sure you actually die, if the stabbing wasn’t enough.” Bill’s extremely nonchalant, as if he’s discussing the nuances of the Nationals rather than talking about murder.

Bill grabs a key and unlocks the chain from around Duncan’s leg, knowing that he won’t have the strength to escape. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you.”

“Fuck you,” Duncan responds, but Bill’s already gone.

Duncan moans in pain as he stares at his wounds, feeling the stickiness of blood beginning to pool under him. Lifting a shaky hand, he presses it to his abdomen to try and slow the bleeding. As he swallows deeply, realizing that he very likely is going to die shortly, he thinks about a number of things, mainly regrets.

He wishes that he had realized earlier that his mom was just as much Bill’s victim as he was.

He wishes that he appreciated Michael more for the brother he had been to him.

He wishes that he had told (Y/N) that he loved her more often.

But most especially, Duncan wishes that he had just put a bullet in Bill’s head that night instead of stabbing him. Then, he wouldn’t be feeling this intense cold begin to settle in his bones as he’s forced to slowly die on the concrete floor of a basement. Facing the Grim Reaper head-on is not nearly as dramatic as he thought it would be.

You

Watching the Coven, Langdon, and Annette taking out the defectors is not nearly as dramatic as (Y/N) thought it would be. Wisely, they had requested that she stay behind until the perimeter was secured. It’s much quieter, and a lot less bloody; as it turns out, members of organized crime do have consciences, and chose to subdue those not directly a threat. After Langdon finishes tying those who had remained loyal to Bill together, Cordelia motions for (Y/N) to follow the group into the old school.

The proud sign that once declared this building the Goode Academy now lies in the dirt of the overgrown lawn. The doors are open, solely because the rusted hinges make it impossible for them to remain closed against a gentle breeze. The further that they make it inside, the more frantic (Y/N) is. She knows that they’re close to Duncan, she just doesn’t know what state they’ll find Duncan in. Before they can make it too far with Cordelia as their guide, Bill appears. Instead of holding a machine gun, which is kind of what (Y/N) had expected, he has a concerned look on his face.

“Annette, thank god you’re here! I know this must be confusing to you, but when I heard that Duncan was missing, I knew that I needed to save him from the bitches that had sent me into hiding years ago.”

Confusion blankets (Y/N)’s mind as she tries to figure out what’s going on, but Annette doesn’t feel the same. “Cut the shit, Bill. I know what you’ve been doing.”

Bill laughs. “You’re going to let Cordelia Goode manipulate you into believing her, after she tried to kill me?”

“You’re an idiot. You think I don’t smell the blood in the air?” Annette laughs viciously, a verbal slap in the face. “Where’s my son?”

Like a switch was flipped, the worry on Bill’s face falls into contempt. “You’ve always been too emotional for your own good, Annette.”

“‘Family over everything,’” Annette quotes. “Remember that? What happened to that?”

“That died the day that that--that mistake came back from boarding school and decided that our business, the empire we built from the ground up, was his birthright.”

“You never were good at sharing, were you?”

The siblings stare at each other for a moment before Bill sighs. “You could have just been complicit, but no. Guess I’ll have to think on the fly, then.” He pulls out a gun and cocks the hammer back.

Before he can fire, Madison and Mallory appear from behind him, having snuck into the back. Madison knocks the gun out of his hand, the weapon firing into the ceiling, as Mallory socks him in the face and drives him to his knees. Both women force his hands behind him, holding him still as Cordelia walks up to him.

“The door to the basement is in the kitchen, hidden behind the left wall of the pantry,” Cordelia says to the group.

(Y/N)’s off, moving as fast as she can while maneuvering through the unfamiliar house. “Wait, you can’t do this. Annette, you aren’t really going to let the Coven, of all people, do this to me?” Bill pleads.

“I can actually, and I will. After all,” Annette turns to Cordelia, “we have a deal.”

In the kitchen, (Y/N) throws open the pantry door, pushing and shoving and pulling at the left wall before it finally opens to reveal a set of stairs.

“Girls?” Annette calls just before she reaches the door. “Make it painful.”

(Y/N) runs down the stairs, hands scrambling along the wall until she comes across a light switch. Flicking it on, her eyes look around the room until she sees a lifeless figure on the floor that’s surrounded by a pool of blood. A cry is ripped from her chest as she falls to her knees beside Duncan, hands hovering above him as she tries to figure out what to do first.

He’s pale, scarily so, and he’s breathing so shallowly that she can’t tell he’s breathing at first. Somehow, with all the blood, he’s still breathing. All (Y/N) can focus on is the fact that he’s still alive (later, she’ll wonder how she didn’t even flinch at all of the injuries and the blood, oh, the blood) as she rips her shirt off and presses it firmly against the wound on his stomach, calling his name over and over again in increasing levels of desperation.

From behind her, she can hear Annette scream and yell for Langdon to call an ambulance. She can feel the presence of somebody next to her as they catalogue where Duncan’s hurt, but she can’t bring herself to look away from Duncan’s face. His perfect face, that she’s kissed over and over a thousand times and has taken immense pleasure in watching a blush rise to the surface. His perfect face that she’s now slapping to try and get him to at least show some sort of response.

“You don’t get to die like this,” she tells him, hoping that he’ll somehow manage to hear her. “You said that you didn’t want to be the reason I suffered, but look at you now, making me suffer. Don’t keep me suffering like this!”

Slowly, and just barely, his eyes crack open just enough that (Y/N) can see a hint of blue. His lips move, saying something without audible sound, and she brings her head down to his to try and catch what he’s saying.

“An angel.” She finally makes out what his reverent whisper is over the wail of the incoming ambulances, and laughs brokenly as her head falls onto his chest in relief.

@sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @ajokeformur-ray @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @michaellangdon @jimmlangdon @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonslove @born-on-stgeorges-day @xavierplympton @michaelsapostle @venusxxlangdon @wroteclassicaly @idespac @tcc-gizmachine @dyns33 @hexqueensupreme @hecatemacbeth7 @youngandfleeting @lambofcairo @myluciferiscody @anacerta @ladyren33 @ladyrindt @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @blakewaterxx @9layerdevilfoodcake @angelicmichael @takingback-thecrown @etherealsxnder

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd x reader #michael langdon #ahs imagine #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #hoc #hoc imagine #house of cards #house of cards imagine

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hope-to-hell · 4 years ago

Text

Because pirate Walker got into my head and wouldn’t leave.

When We Were Pirates, 1.6k words (how?). Warnings: dubcon/noncon, captivity, restraints, public sex, fingering.

Your senses filter in one at a time. The smell of salt air. The sound of waves. A gentle rocking motion beneath you. The heavy weight of manacles on your wrists.

Wait. Manacles? Your eyes fly open and he’s there, crouching down to lift your chin gently with one big, salt-rough hand. His eyes are deep blue and burning with infernal fire. “There you are, my pretty little thing. Wondered when you’d decide to join us. My name is Walker, but you can call me Sir.”

He tilts your head side to side, appraising. His fingers are warm, calloused, the tips digging into your cheeks just a bit too firmly for comfort. And he likes what he sees: you, disoriented. A little afraid. Your pupils dilating at his touch, betraying you. His voice is low and sweet, promising the darkest, most vicious pleasures. “I’ll enjoy ruining you, pet. By the time I’m done, your sweet little cunt will cry out to be fucked every time you see me.” And louder, so his men can hear: “This one’s mine.”

And to stake his claim he has you right there, cutting your clothes free, your nipples pebbling in the briny air for him to tweak between his calloused fingers; gooseflesh rises on your thighs as he kicks your ankles apart with a booted foot, as he plunges two fingers cruelly inside you. And oh how the crew murmurs as they watch, how they spit their jealousy at Captain Walker’s claim. Your cheeks burn even as you shiver, as you can’t help but rock your hips into his hand because his thumb is on you and fuck that’s good, somehow, the exposed nature of this act heightening all your senses. Walker— Sir— keeps you trapped within his gaze, bound to him by the motion of his hand.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs as he’s pulling you apart with his thick fingers. Your eyes flick to his and you are caught, dragged under by that bright sea-ice stare. Your thighs are shaking and wet with need, and you can feel orgasm approaching like a wave, inexorable. “There you go, that’s my good girl. Come for me,” and to your shock and horror you do. Slickness coats his fingers as you clench around them; when he holds them to the light your need is evident. And he slips them into his mouth to lick them clean, to savor your taste on his tongue.

“Oh I am going to enjoy you.”

And with a hand firm on your chains he drags you to his quarters, binds you naked to the bed. It’s unspoken but it’s obvious: you’re there for him to use, however and whenever he sees fit.

Days pass in this way. He lengthens your chains so that you can walk about the room, so you can sit at the table to eat with him. No cutlery, he’s not stupid. But he brings you books now and again, and teaches you to read his charts and maps while he strokes a hand over your naked flesh and chuckles, “try again, pet. Focus.”

“Come here.” His voice is a rumble of thunder, his skin golden and striped with deep shadows in the lamplight. When he sits in his chair he is close enough for you to approach, to stand beside his chair and wait. Close enough for him to stroke a finger under the edge of your cuff, to feel where it meets your wrist. “Pretty little thing. I have a task for you.” He opens his flies and draws out his cock; it’s intimidatingly large, thick and veiny. And when he says “sit on it,” it makes you gasp.

And he laughs, the bastard, when you climb onto his lap and fail to get him inside you. It aches and burns and you could scream with it, but you are good (good girl, trying so hard for me, so pretty when you struggle. Your body doesn’t know me yet, but it will) and you do your very best. But he is not without mercy. He orders you to stand, and with tears of frustration still drying on your face, he sets to work.

Walker bends you over the desk, over maps and leather folios, little tchotchkes, detritus of a life at sea. “Hands on the desk, pet, and don’t move. Let’s open you up.” He strokes a big hand down your spine, over the swell of your naked ass. It’s warm but you still shiver at the touch. His thumbs stroke over the globes of your ass and inwards, til he can slip them into your folds, already starting to glisten. “Pet.” His voice is speculative as he considers the wetness there, as he sees the twitch and ripple of muscle. “You liked that, didnt you, trying to get me inside you. Why?”

“I—“ it’s mortifying, isn’t it, trying to put a name to that feeling, that dark thought that makes you burn with shame, even more than your exposed position does. “I thought about. About you. Forcing me down onto your cock. Being rough. Making it hurt.” Your cheeks are so hot, little fires licking over them and down your neck.

A hum, thoughtful. “No, sweet thing, never that. You’ll struggle with it, you’ll stretch and stretch until it feels like you’ll burst, but if I hurt you it’ll be with my hands. I take care of my things, pet. And this? This is mine.” And you scream then, because his tongue is lapping at you, it’s in you, as his thumbs peel you open and he licks into the very heart of you.

And this is good, so good; there’s still that fluttering strangeness of being considered, of being appraised, but his hands and mouth work together on your cunt, thumbs pulling gentle but firm while his tongue works you all over, sending your thoughts in a spiral that empties out into the stretch of his preparations. It’s not something you’d ever even considered a man might do for you. But he seems to enjoy it so much, breathing harshly through his nose as he seemingly tries to devour you.

He replaces thumbs with fingers, two at first with his tongue lapping between them. Then three, stroking your walls in the gentlest lover’s caress. And when he is satisfied, when three fingers slip and slide through you with ease and you’re gasping, it’s “you’re ready, pet. Up you go.”

And there you are, bracing your hands on his thick thighs. He strokes a hand down your spine on the way to close a hand around his cock, which if anything is even harder after all his preparation, already pearling with precome. He brushes the head through your folds, and with the barest twitch of his hips, he slips inside. It’s thick, so much, and all at once. The stretch is tremendous even now, even with all his preparation. He pulls you down by the hips, slow and inescapable, until he is fully seated and you’re gasping with the sheer size of him, with all the sounds you try to hold back but he catches them anyway. “Pet. If I wanted you quiet I’d gag you. Scream and cry all you want, it’ll end the same either way. I’ll fill you up til my come is oozing out around my cock, sweet thing, and you will stay there to warm me until I’m ready to have you again.”

Like this, he’s able to have complete control. With the way your thighs are spread open and draped across his legs, you have no leverage. It’s all you can do just to hold on, clutching at the arm barred across your belly. And you are soaking his thighs, oh you filthy little thing. And your cries rise above the other sounds of the room, above the soft scrape of chains and the creak of the ship as it rocks gently in the night. Each oh and please and I need drive him harder; he lifts you with all the force behind his hips and thighs. He buries his face in the side of your neck, teeth a gentle scrape, his free hand coming down to circle fingers around your pearl just right. He draws slickness from where he has you pinned on his cock, groaning at the feel of you stretched so tight around him, look at that, you take my cock like you were made for it and as your cries echo louder he pulls you closer against him, fucks into you harder, until he hears what he wants, hears that

“Please Sir, please. Let me come, I need—“

And he can hear it in your cries, can feel it in the way you ripple around him. Just a little push is all you need, just a little

“Now.”

And if you were racing to the finish, he was holding back by his fingernails because as you clench around him he pulls you down somehow farther onto his cock, fucks up so deeply into you it feels as though he’s hitting in your throat; he lets go with a roar and his teeth bite bruise-deep into the side of your neck. It’s enough to drive reason from your mind, to send you drifting in a haze of sensation. Everything falls away except the feel of his last twitching half-thrusts inside you and the softest, almost reverent words whispered into the side of your neck.

“Oh pet. So good, so perfect. But it isn’t over, sweetheart. Rest a moment, gather your strength. I still have so much I want to do to you tonight.” And in time, when you feel him start to twitch and swell inside you once more, he does. He shows you everything.

#august walker #my fic #mission impossible #mission: impossible fic #mission: impossible fallout #august walker x reader #august walker x you

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yan-twst · 5 years ago

Note

hey there! i love your work! can i request the dorm leaders + their darling dying? particularly if it was due to an accident, the dorm leader’s own actions/punishments, or even (if you’re comfortable writing about the topic) by their own hand? thank you! 💞 i hope you’re doing well ~

warnings: this is just dark like very dark and messed up! mentions of death, violence, abuse, blood, self harm- like, everything like that is here. on top of that general yandere warnings. this one is heavy on violence and abuse so please be careful when reading if this could affect you! (-｡-;) also lots of mentions of stuff that could be potentially triggering to people with eating disorders!

riddle rosehearts

he didn't mean to. that's all he can think of as he watches his darling lay on the floor of his room, blood slowly pooling under them. he's shaking and hyperventilating- no he didn't mean to he didn't mean to hedidn'tmeantohedidn'tmeanto-

he feels like throwing up as he backs away. it was over so quickly- he just didn't mean to get so angry, but he did, and all it took was one swing of his staff against his darling's head and a sickening crack and now they're- they're-

he forces himself to search for a pulse, but his hands are shaking too hard. his darling can't die, this can't be real; he wouldn't ever hurt them badly...! but their body is slowly growing cold under his hands, and he's feeling sicker and sicker by the second

he wishes he could just die in their place- what did he do? when trey finds him sobbing over his darling's body, the third year assumes that riddle's darling collapsed and hit their head; riddle is too shaken to deny this. everyone in heartslabyul believed that his relationship was perfect, nobody would suspect he'd been the one to deliver the final blow: and it makes him sick

he stops eating, stops attending classes, and lets himself slowly waste away in his bed. it's bad enough that crowley considers sending him home, but trey quickly objects: the last thing riddle needs is his mother's treatment... everyone tries to help him cope, help him move on, but he just doesn't get better. he doesn't want to get better, not when the guilt is eating him alive.

he feels like his darling is watching him, even after their death. it's like a punch in the gut, thinking of all he did: he was a kidnapper and a manipulator and an abuser and he killed them, he killed his lover who he kept by his side by force- the thoughts make him even sicker. he's slowly wasting away, refusing food and water...

the only way to save him at this point would be a spell to make him forget his darling ever existed... and his friends are so desperate to at least save him- thinking that he's just a mourning lover who lost his beloved too quickly- that it's not too unreasonable to expect them to do so.

leona kingscholar

those close to him knew he didn't mind getting a bit... rough, with his beloved. whether it was the servants back at home, or ruggie who didn't want to get on leona's bad side, nobody interfered: after all, they always claimed they were fine and happy with leona! ... though most of the times leona was keeping a tight grip on theis shoulder as they spoke those words

it's nobody's shock when a mysterious deep scratch becomes seriously infected on them. both leona and his darling deny that he was the one who caused it- but... well, it's clear to those who knew of how violent leona could be when unhappy with his darling that he was the only possible culprit.

the fact leona has terrified his darling into complete submission and obedience now shows its deadly side, as it turns out they'd been hiding the highly infected scratch from him in fear of repercussions, and when medics have a look at it, his darling is at death's door. he barely has time to process what's happening, before his feverish darling just... passes away in their sleep, with no chance to even call a magic healer who could have helped

nobody has seek leona in worse shape before. he doesn't even attend the funeral, and he doesn't let anyone (not even ruggie) get near him- he appears like a feral beast, destroying anyone and anything that crosses his path. his mourning is destructive, and it doesn't take long for him to be called back home before he turns the whole savanaclaw dorm to sand

he's inconsolable, and he doesn't let anyone near. he knew very well that what he was doing to his darling- keeping them under his control by taking advantage of their fear, forcing them to play the part of the "happy lover" despite them being terrified of him- was wrong, but in the end, he loved them more than anything.

and in their own way, he knew they loved him: even when they had the chance, they never begged his brother or crowley for help... almost as if they believed he could change for the better. but he didn't, he essentially killed them.

he'll just isolate himself. go somewhere far away where he can misserably live the rest of his days alone. all he does is sleep and mourn, hunting to feel relief from his pain in the form of violence- but even then... he's just never coming back from this

azul ashengrotto

he just wanted to teach them a lesson. once again his darling had tried to escape him, to escape his love, even though they'd sworn to stay with him- even though they'd signed a contract promising to stay- so he'd punished them accordingly. after a painful, near-drowning dip in the freezing cold ocean, he'd just left them in the bathroom to cry and beg for mercy... but when he came back less than a day later, they were just... dead on the ground

hypothermia. his darling's blue fingers, their huddled up form as they tried to preserve heat in their last moments: he feels himself grow lightheaded and tears blur his vision as he picks up their cold, lifeless corpse. how...? it's too late when he notices the place where he left them: there's no towels, no hot water, and the temperature is cold. the fact his darling was just violently dragged around the freezing cold waters before- the fact they were already weak from being kept in captivity...

the twins arrive immediately when they hear azul's screams and wails coming from the bath. there's not even a chance to ask what happened: he's crying, sobbing as he apologises to his darling's cold, damp corpse. the eels quickly realize what's happening- and though upset, jade immediately volunteers to hide the corpse. they have to, or else they're all in serious trouble. floyd has to pretty much tear the corpse out of azul's grip.

azul feels like shit, he wishes he'd died in their place- but he doesn't want to be imprisoned. he didn't mean to- how could he ever want the person most important for him to die?! the general student body interprets his mourning and guilt as the reaction to his darling "mysteriously going mising"- each time someone tells him they hope that his beloved is found soon, he wishes he could just die on the spot

he doesn't have a will to take care of himself or the lounge anymore- all his duties fall onto Jade. watch what he eats? who cares- not him. he swings from eating whatever he wants to try and fill the void in his heart to going days on end without even leaving his bed- it's unhealthy and it's worrying, but... what can he do? he killed his darling, left them to die alone- he deserves nothing.

kalim al-asim

it's everything he feared, happening at once. just one time- one time- he takes his darling out to eat because they've been behaving so well and it's their anniversary- and they look so happy to be out of their chains and out of their room! and then- and then they take a bite of their food and it's nearly inmediate, they collapse and cough, and then it's over.

he should've known better. he HAD to know better. hadn't he been telling his darling the reason why they had to stay locked inside was for their safety? hadn't he promised he wouldn't allow them to be harmed? this- this had happened before with jamil, but jamil had lived. his darling died.

his guilt and pain are immeasurable. he cries during the funeral, loud enough that even his own family feels like they can't approach him. even jamil can't help but feel bad- even knowing all what kalim did to his darling. it's like the spark inside of him was extinguished, all his joy snuffed out

he commissions paintings and works of art of his late darling to an almost terrifying degree. he needs to keep them around, to keep something that makes him feel like they aren't gone, but everytime he gazes at the expensive oil paintings of his darling, he's crushed by pain and becomes as inconsolable as the day they died

there's no more parties. how could he possibly throw a party- no, how could he possibly dare search for happiness knowing what happened? he feels like he doesn't deserve comfort or joy. he turns down all of his friends and family's attempts to help. he feels like hurting and being misserable is the only way to make it up to his darling, even in death

he'll pretend to move on, for everyone's sake- it's painfully obvious he's faking his happiness, but... nobody knows what to do to help, so they just accept his poor acting. nobody brings up how he sleeps cuddled with golden chains (that only jamil knows were the ones used to keep his darling in their room), or how he keeps all his darling's belongings untouched like if they could return any day- in the same way nobody, not even jamil, acts like they notice the scars that appear on his skin, which was once unmarked.

vil schoenheit

he knew that using so much love potion had to have... some negative side effect. however, he saw it as a necessary side effect; his darling was just lost and needed a bit of help to love him! besides, he himself brewed the potion with the highest quality ingredients, and sure it was worrying that his darling was becoming resistant and needed larger and larger doses each time, but he never expected them to just... drop dead when he gave them their morning's dose of potion.

love potion overdose- now that was a way to die that didn't appear in any textbook. vil wouldn't be able to process the events: his darling just fainted, right? how silly! he'll just- he'll just tuck them into bed, they need beauty sleep, and he'll... and then he'll...

when he finally feels his darling's cold body, with no heartbeat as he places a hand on their chest, it feels like the world is falling around him. how was he supposed to know this could happen?! he tries as many healing and health potions as he can, but... in the end, he specializes in poisons, and his darling is already dead. it's merely a fool's errand

he cries. he crie and cries- how dare his darling die?! how dare they abandon him?! he wails until his eyes are red and puffy, until his makeup is ruined. he doesn't know what to do; he doesn't want anyone to see his darling like this. soon enough death will take its toll on their beauty- the thought makes him feel even worse.

just like how the dwarves in the ancient legend preserved the princes's body in a clear casket to admire her beauty even after death, vil will do exactly that. finding a spell to preserve his darling's body is exhausting, and he risks his own skin by losing sleep and stressing over it (he's running against the clock and he knows it. he has to hurry, before his darling's beauty fades), but he's successful

he keeps his darling- a corpse that won't decompose, their body cold but skin as soft as when they lived- in a glass casket in his room. everyday, he carefully does their makeup and dresses them up, still making them go through his skincare routine even after death. in all honesty, the routine is what manages to keep him from losing his mind; he doesn't see how misserable he is, desperately taking care of a corpse.

he has to work harder on his makeup now. no matter how much he tries, he can barely sleep: he tries so hard to push back the thoughts that plague his mind (the thoughts that tell him if he'd been a better lover his darling would be alive, that if he'd been better his darling would have loved him without the need of a potion, that he was the one harming them from the very start whenever he knowingly destroyed their self esteem so he could manipulate them with more ease)- everyone bites back comments in fear of invoking his anger, but... it's visible, how much he's suffering.

idia shroud

is this the gods' punnishment for his actions? does he just deserve nothing in life? he holds his darling's lifeless corpse in his hands and wails. he doesn't even know how they died- was it just too much? the isolation, the stress... he thought he was doing a good job at caring for them, but clearly he wasn't, was he?

he'll rebuild them- he'll bring them back. he doesn't care how unethical it is- he has to get his darling back. what were all his efforts up until now for? stalking, kidnapping his darling; was he truly about to throw away all that work? he wasn't- not at all

he tries his best to keep ortho in the darl about the truth. no, no- his darling is just... taking a nap. yes, a special nap, suspended in a mysterious blue fluid in a large tube in idia's room- just... a nap... of course the younger shroud doesn't believe this, but even the child can see the pain in idia's eyes and doesn't question further

it's because of ortho's concerns that idia doesn't spiral into absolute missery: otherwise, he doesn't even know if he'd have the will to keep living without his darling. the younger one cheers him on, telling him that he'll absolutely succeed! ... even if idia has low hopes on actually managing to artificially revive his darling, his brother's words keep him going

he takes to talking to his darling's corpse, suspended and preserved in the tube. he'll save them soon. he'll make it so they can walk around his room again- he even promises to let them go out if he just manages to finish the work- he just has to work harder. he needs to work more.

he has no clue how long it'll take him, or if he'll even succeed. but he has to keep going. there's only two things keeping him alive- ortho, and the need to hold his darling again. he needs them. he has to get them back.

malleus draconia

there's always a level of risk when applying a sleeping curse, of course. he knows this very well, but he trusts his magic. he knows he's good at what he does; so why has his darling's heart stopped beating...?

he'd grown so used to simply casting the spell when he went to class and undoing it when he returned, he almost missed the change and left for class. but he did notice- when he cast the spell, instead of falling into a peaceful sleep... his darling seemeed to jerk awake for a second, then close their eyes: and after that, he couldn't see the rise and fall of their chest. a nervous hand pressed against their chest, and found no heartbeat

he's lost and scared. suddenly, he doesn't feel like Malleus Draconia, ruler of the dark fae- suddenly he feels like he's a little baby again, crying because he's scared of thunder. all he can do is fall back in shock and call for lilia- please. please come help him. he made a mistake.

lilia can comprehend very well what happened. the sleeping spell failed- perhaps malleus' darling was too frail, their constitution worsened by the constant sleep and captivity. there's nothing the ancient fae can do: once death has taken a human, they're gone. all he can do is hug malleus, to try and comfort him like he used to when the dark fae was a child.

malleus knew that humans had short lifespans. lilia had warned him about this, about the pain human lovers would bring; that was one of the reasons why he'd brought his darling to his dorm and forbidden them from leaving, so he could do the most with the time they had. and yet- even for a human, this was too soon. far too soon. how could life be so cruel? how could he lose the one person who understood him and loved him? perhaps everyone was right to steer away from him. perhaps he did just bring misfortune wherever he went

lilia, silver, and sebek can only watch as malleus becomes lonelier than ever. the dark fae has rarely mourned before- and even though lilia is trying his best to guide the young lord through the process of grieving, malleus is just not taking it well at all. he killed his beloved- as much as his dormmates try to convince him it was a freak accident, that he had no hand in it, he knows better. perhaps what hurts him the most is his darling's peaceful face after they passed- they never held such an expression around him, not since he took them captive... were they so happy to have escaped him, even if it meant death?

#twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia

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midyxthcrisis · 4 years ago

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let them go - part two | j.t.

warnings: violence, swearing

also i’m so sorry the ending is a bit rushed! this part was getting rather wrong so i did the best i could

part one

As it turns out, it wouldn’t be long before you saw Boy Wonder again.

The only thing that standing in your way was the asylum that you were trapped in. You didn’t quite know how it happened, though in all honesty the only thing you were focusing on at the moment was the dark room you were trapped in. All you could remember was that you and the others had gotten separated and then there was nothing but black. Then you woke up, a heavy shackle around your left ankle in order to prevent you from moving too much about the tiny room.

You had screamed until it was physically painful to do so. You had screamed everything you could think of. The names of your friends, pleas of mercy, swears about how the bastards were all going to hell. And without quite realizing it the room had filled with ice and frigid air. There even were a few snowflakes falling from seemingly nowhere. You knew that you had abilities. That was why your family moved to Gotham and why Dick had been so kind to you over the years. Why you were here now. You just didn’t realize you were this powerful. If you managed to create a layer of ice on the walls without even thinking about it, imagine what you could do if you actually intended on doing it.

With a deep breath and a shaky hand, you grabbed the chain keeping you from reaching the door of the room. There was a surge of energy that flowed through you as you thought about the chain beneath your skin freezing and breaking. Before you knew it you heard the sound of just that. A breathless laugh left your lips at the sight of it.

“Holy shit, I can do that.” You were saying it to nobody in particular, but now that you were aware of your abilities it seemed to be that years of pent up energy started coming to the surface. You stood up on shaky legs and made your way over to the door. It was a rusted metal door, one that clearly hadn’t been used in years. Your head tilted to the side slightly as you lifted up your hands. You didn’t know it, but your eyes had turned a pure white and were almost glowing in a way.

The rusty hinges were soon covered in ice. It felt as if you had blacked out after the door fell to the ground when the hinges froze and broke. Your chest heaved up and down rapidly. The energy was still flowing through you, and it was clear by your glowing eyes and frosted hands. As you walked down the hallway a trail of ice followed in your footsteps. It was hard to believe that this was the same person who just a few hours prior was curled up on a couch watching cartoons and drinking illegal beer.

As you continued to walk it was clear you weren’t the only one who had broken out. Rachel was quickly making her way down the darkened asylum hallways, a new woman by her side. The young girl had a smile on her lips when she saw you.

“So, new look?” Rachel asked, her own breathing rather labored.

“Yeah, something like that. Where are the others?” You were beginning to calm down by then, but there still was an icy air surrounding you.

“We were about to get them, wanna come along?”

“I need to find Dick. Now.” You were more concerned about Dick than you were about anything else. If you lost Dick you didn’t know what you would do. He was the only person you had left.

“Um, yeah, we were on our way to Gar. He can turn into a lion, after all. Could be beneficial.”

There was a smile that threatened to come to your lips at the small joke Rachel managed. You agreed to continue on with them while they went to find the green-haired boy. You could see how the two had gotten close over the few weeks that they had known each other. It made another warmth flourish in your chest whenever the two would interact with each other. So without any more words, the three of you quickly walked through the maze of halls that the asylum had.

The sight you came upon was one that would stay with you for the rest of your life. Gar was completely nude and in a cage, his wrists bound and above his head. It was clear there had been some sort of torture inflicted upon the boy. It made your blood boil. How anyone could treat the person who had shown you nothing but kindness like an animal made you want to punch someone.

You had never been a violent person. Of course you had gotten into fights and knew how to fight, you had lived in Gotham City for most of your life, after all, but you weren’t one to actively seek put fights. But right now, seeing Gar tied up, it made you want to kill someone. And you almost had. A man in a white lab coat found your little group. You nearly lost control, your eyes turning a bright white and your hair stood on it’s end as you began to charge at the man.

Rachel had stopped you.

She had stopped you and attempted to reason with the man. He didn’t get the chance to do anything to the girl, as Gar had transformed into his tiger form and killed the man. When Gar shifted back the poor boy was covered in blood and shaking. You felt bad, for sure, but you were grateful that he had intervened.

“Nice, kid. Rachel you get him clothes. I’ll go find Dick and Kory.” With that you left the three to tend to themselves. It was clear that you could handle yourself. It had been one hell of a ride so far, and you had an impression it wouldn’t be letting up any time soon.

And you were right.

The five of you barely made it out of the asylum alive, but you had. Though you all knew Robin died with the burning of the building. With minor scrapes and bruises you all hobbled back to the safe house. You felt lonely without Jason there. Gar was still spending time with Rachel, and Dick seemed to be growing closer to Kory. You had debated texting Jason several times but that meant you would show him that you were interested. It wasn’t that you were interested in Jason Todd, he just didn’t need to know that. So you sat in the bathroom and tended to your own wounds. It was rare for you to get hurt doing things but whenever you did Dick would be there to clean them for you.

It was hard saying goodbye to Dick. He was the only person you had in your life for so long, though now you knew that you had your own little family with Kory, Gar, and Rachel. You two promised each other that if anything came up you would immediately call. You knew that Dick meant it more for you, but you would hold him to that. If anything happened to him and Dick didn’t call...

You didn’t know what you would do.

And boy did something happen.

The first few days at the house Rachel’s mother had brought you to were the closest you thought you would ever get to having a normal life. That was, until Gar got sick. He got really sick. The first thing you thought to do was call Dick.

“It’s Gar, I think he’s dying. I-I don’t know what happened. He was fine a few hours ago!” At this point you were standing on the porch of the home. You didn’t want to scare Rachel any more than she already was.

“Okay, Y/N, calm down. Take deep breaths, remember? Donna and I will be there as soon as we can. Wait for us outside,” You began to question the odd request, “Just do it Y/N.”

The tone in his voice was one that you knew well. It was one that meant he was serious about what he was talking about. One that you knew not to question. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as you leaned against the banister of the porch. You weren’t sure what happened next, it seemed as if the world went black for a couple seconds, but you were blown off of the porch and were laying in the middle of the yard. You could hear the sound of a car coming up the gravel driveway through the ringing in your ears. Dick’s voice came as a comfort to you.

“Shit, Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” You managed to sit up, though you were nearly on the ground again when you saw what was in front of you. It seemed to be a sort of barrier surrounding the home. Why you had been ejected from it, you didn’t know.

“Holy shit.” Those were the only words that you could think of in that moment.

Then Dick started running at the barrier, and before you could do anything he was gone. The only natural thing to do was run after him. The three of you were met with resistance, leaving you outside of the barrier with no foreseeable way inside.

- - -

The sound of the car came as a relief. It had felt like days since Dick ran into the barrier, when in reality it had only been a few hours. You knew that Hank and Dawn were coming. You had only met them for the first time a month ago. They had both lived up to the stories Dick would tell you about the Titans.

Who you didn’t expect to be there was Jason Todd.

“Boy Wonder. You missed me that bad?” A teasing smile was on your lips as you looked up at him from your seat on the ground. You managed to ignore the looks coming from the others, though you did take note of Kory’s smile. And of course the smirk that came to Jason’s lips.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Once you had filled the three newcomers in on what exactly was happening, you all began to try and form a plan in order to get into the home. You were the only one there who didn’t have experience in the field. You had only asked Dick to train you a month or two into your stay with him. So, you just stood behind the rest of them and watched as they argued. Though you would never admit it, your eyes were mainly on Jason. The way his eyes seemed to glow in contrast to the mask that covered them. The way his lips would quirk up in a slight smile every time Hank would make a jab at him.

You were so caught up in your staring that you almost missed the barrier surrounding the home disappearing. The planning stopped in its tracks, and with hesitation everyone agreed to go inside. You needed to save Rachel, Gar, and Dick. If you let anything happened to Dick you would never let yourself live it down. As you were about to step past the threshold you felt a hand grip your arm tightly. You whipped around to see Jason staring you down.

“What are the odds we’ll make it out of there alive?” There was an edge to his voice that you knew all too well. It was fear. You gave him a soft smile and took his hand into yours, a reassuring action and nothing more.

“Stranger things have happened.”

You turned, hand in hand with Boy Wonder, and walked towards the house.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #robin x reader #dc titans #red hood x reader #batman #teen titans

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years ago

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You Belong With Me - Chapter 34

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 6972

Chapter Warnings contain major spoilers so they’re at the end of the post, but please scroll down to check them if you need to! This chapter gets a bit heavy <3

Logan inhaled slowly as he cast one last glance down the empty corridor behind him. He could feel Dee's impatience growing behind him as he took another step towards the fae's cell. Still, he felt himself pause, subconsciously doubting his choices as he turned to to face the wall outside Dee's cell. A dim, amber light fell from the small sconce burning on the wall to his left. He quickly reached up to the thin torch, wrapping his fingers around the wooden base. With a light shove, he dislodged the lit torch from its holder and turned to step through into the grey light of Dee's cell.

He slowed, holding the torch out in front of him as he ducked through the doorway. He turned his body, edging carefully along the back wall, scanning the cell in front of him to catch sight of Dee's shadowy figure. The hairs on the back of his neck started to raise as continued to search the dim cell for the hostile fae. He barely kept the fear that his enemy had escaped at bay with the knowledge he’d heard the man's voice only a moment before. Logan could feel his energy. He had to be here.

Finally, his heart jumped in his chest he caught the subtle glimmer of his torchlight reflecting in Dee's eyes at the back of the cell. Logan straightened upright with a questioning glance. Dee’s restraints appeared to be pulled taut and Logan could only guess the fae was as far back into the cell as the chains would allow. Logan continued to hold the torch out in front of him, crouching defensively as he quickly glanced up and down at the thin silhouette standing in the dark abyss of the back of the room.

“Well, well,” Dee's dry laugh sent chills down Logan’s neck. “I almost didn’t think you had enough of a spine to ditch the prince's lap dog—”

“Don't.” Logan gritted his teeth as he cut off Dee's attempt to get under his skin. He kept he gaze trained carefully on the billowing figure as he reached upward to place the torch in his hand into the empty sconce across from Dee's cell. The thin torch barely illuminated a small radius in front of him, barely keeping the shadows close to him at bay. “I'm not here to talk about Virgil. Refrain from insulting my friend or I’ll—”

“Or you'll what?” Dee's wry grin stood out starkly against the shadows around him as glared threateningly at Logan. “Leave? If you had a shred of common sense, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.” Dee scoffed as Logan's expression soured. “Unfortunately for you, you’re the one here who wants something. So, I think you'll find I can speak about your friends anyway I damn please.”

Logan stood against the far wall, rigid with irritation at the truth of Dee’s statement. He clenched his jaw as his eyes shot daggers across the room at the faint silhouette of Dee leaning against the wall at the back of the cell in front of him.

“That’s what I thought. You’re as weak as I expected.” Dee sneered. A slight hiss escaped his lips as he struggled to contain the disdain in his voice. “I may be the prisoner, but you’ll never hold power with me. You’re merely a pawn in the bigger game I'm playing.”

Logan paused, blinking in surprise. His careful, guarded expression faltered briefly as the air wavered with an emotion he didn’t recognize. He parted his lips slightly, subtly tasting the unfamiliar feeling in the air. He stared into the dark blankly for a moment, trying to parse out some meaning to Dee's quickly shifting emotions before bitterly swallowing back the urge to comment and moving on.

“Well, clearly you wanted me here, Dee. The pawn moved where you expected, and now it's your move.” Logan pulled his shoulders back, not allowing his emotions to breach his carefully neutral expression. “So, are you actually able to tell me what happened to my parents or was this merely a ruse to get me alone?”

The silence hanging in air between them would have been deafening if Logan's heart wasn't pounding in his chest as he waited for Dee’s answer. He stared rebelliously into the subtle reflection of light in Dee’s unblinking eyes for what felt like an eternity, willing himself not to show that even without access to his power, Dee’s cold gaze sent a chill down his arms. Eventually, he couldn’t help but take a step back. His arm brushed the surface of the wall behind him and he jumped, almost missing the words that left Dee’s lips in that moment.

“You really don’t know anything. Do you?”

Logan paused, slowly glancing up in the cell as he processed Dee’s words. “What?”

“You don’t have parents.” Dee stated dryly. “You had Tara. “

The light Dee’s eyes flickered as he blinked and Logan tensed as he waited for Dee’s to continue.

“Actually, come to think of it. Tara wouldn’t have been able to resist my invitation either." Dee mused quietly. "It was easy to tempt her with knowledge. I would have pitied the fool who dared stand in her way of what she wanted to know.”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as the name seemed to resonate with familiarity in his mind. “T-Tara?”

“That was your—” Dee snarled with disgust. “—your mother's name. Her full name was Taranis of the Southern Sky, but she went by Tara.”

“Taranis of the Southern Sky?” Logan spoke slowly tasting unfamiliar words as his mind race. He almost found himself stepping forward in curiosity, but immediately halted, remembering whom he was speaking. With a twitch of a frown, he glared across the line of the cell bars. “Like the planet?”

Dee’s scoffed at Logan’s timid question, and amusement radiated out of the cell. “Yes. Though in the interest of being entirely accurate, the planet was named after her, not the other way around.”

Logan narrowed his eyes into the dark, taken aback by the sudden lack of malice in Dee’s voice. “What do you mean?”

“Humans are nothing but parasites on this land.” Dee drew out his words thoughtfully. “They’re disgustingly cruel, but even I will admit their tendency to connect two completely separate ideas by a mere thread is endlessly amusing.”

Logan stood motionless, listening to Dee as he reflected nostalgically. He held his breath not wanting to draw Dee out of his seemingly peaceful state by reminding him of who he was speaking to.

“The planet you’re referring to glows a brilliantly bright blue, just like Tara's lightning.” Dee mused quietly. “That's all the connection humans needed to connect her power to the celestial body in the southern sky. She even added it to her own name in appreciation of the connection.”

Logan stared into the darkness, nearly paralyzed in disbelief at what could only be sadness in Dee’s voice. “I-I thought—” Logan paused, staring nervously as Dee's eyes turned up to him. “—I ‘ve read extensively about the mythology associated with Taranis. Everything I’ve read implied that it had been named after a god of thunder.”

Dee was silent for long time and Logan couldn’t help but jump when he finally let out a deep sigh. “One of humans’ less endearing tendencies is their absolute inability to recognize the value of all of their own members. Some of them may even be tolerable if their leadership wasn’t worthless.”

Logan was quiet as Dee’s eyes flickered dangerously in the dark.

“She was a goddess in her own right, though thunder was far from her only claim to power. Humans have oh-so-kindly altered her myth to fit their own narrow view because they’re threatened by someone perceived as feminine having power.” Dee muttered bitterly. “Such petty cowards.”

“Was?” Logan struggled to keep his voice steady as he stared into the shadows at Dee. Dee started to move, pacing the back of the cell, but Logan forced himself to continue to speak. “You keep using the past tense to refer to her.”

“Well, I’m shocked.” Dee hummed condescendingly. “Maybe you’re not as much of an idiot as you look.”

Logan subconsciously took a step back into the wall at the venom that dripped from Dee's words, jumping as his back struck the wall behind him. He gulped, feeling the air shift back to the familiar aura of Dee’s hostility.

“You heard me correctly, Logan,” Dee’s eyes flickered in the torchlight as he snarled at Logan. “because that traitorous leech condemned her entire race to suffer and then left her only kin to pay her debt.”

Logan’s heart dropped as Dee stepped forward. His eyes glowed gold as he stared threateningly at Logan as he stuttered out a response. “W-what?”

“I don't have time to repeat myself, so get this through that thick skull of yours. She bolted. Well over a century ago, she took whatever reward the human king offered her, and fled the country, leaving you to the mercy of the human king. It's really no wonder you grew up to be the prince’s loyal pet.” Dee growled. Logan felt chills creep his neck as Dee’s anger turned to a smug satisfaction. “Not all is lost though. Fortunately for the Fair Folk, in her absence, the debt she owes passes to her next of kin and at the very least, she left us that.”

“D-debt?” Logan trembled. Even standing in the heat of the flames of the sconce above him, he felt his blood run cold.

“Surely, your dear prince told you what your mother did,” Dee replied in a disinterested tone. “though clearly he didn’t see fit enough to tell you who you were. I don't imagine you’d be here if he'd simply had the guts to tell you the truth.”

“What are you—” Logan muttered defensive, feeling his hands start to shake.

“Tara’s lightning is unmistakable. There's no way our dear prince didn't know exactly who he was speaking to.” Dee continued unempathetically, barely deigning to look at Logan as he started to crumble.

Blue lightning.

Dee's words trailed off as a loud ringing filled Logan’s ears. He slumped clumsily back into the wall behind him. Roman had reacted to his power and the air had flooded with regret.

He knew.

Roman knew.

Logan swallowed, almost choking on the lump in his throat as he slid down the wall. His muscles strained painfully as he became rigid, forcing down a vocal reaction to Dee's words. He squeezed out a few weak words, desperately needing confirmation of his thoughts.

“She was the Elder Fae.”

“Finally,” Dee growled impatiently. “Maybe there is a brain cell rattling around in that empty head of yours.”

“How—” Logan nearly retched as his stomach twisted and he curled closer to the ground. “That was a century ago. How is that—"

“Stop babbling.” Dee snapped. “Fae live for centuries. We simply age how we choose.”

"But that can't—" Logan choked on his words as he clenched his hands into fists. “I don't remember anything. I grew up normal—”

“Please,” Dee sneered. “I definitely don’t have anything better to do than refresh your memory.”

Logan shivered, barely functioning as he curled his knees to his chest. One thought seemed to keep resurfacing in his mind as grief racked his body.

Roman knew.

“Fine. You worthless—” Dee growled derisively, cutting himself off. His eyes narrowed on Logan as he hissed out his words. “She left you in the hands of her master, the human king. We only assumed she took you with her when she fled the country, but it seems she lost no more love leaving you than the rest of us. You were held by the royal family for two generations before we even realized they still had you."

Logan tilted his head up slowly. Dee’s silhouette stood out slightly against the wisp of moonlight from the narrow window behind him.

“We knew only Tara's magic could end the curse, so once we realized there was a solution to the Fair Folk's suffering, we set out to take you back. Unfortunately, our mission was ill-fated from the start and before we ever reached you, you disappeared. I personally mesmerized and interrogated every knight and guard in the castle. I even got my hands on that foolish king, but you were gone without a trace.” Dee paused, tone dropping as he grew deadly serious. “So, congratulations. You got two more decades of freedom out of disappearing, but it's time to pay up.”

“It's all my fault—” Logan dropped his gaze to the ground bitterly, feeling numb to the tremble in his limbs. “An entire generation gone—for me.”

Dee was silent for a solid minute as he stared at Logan curled against the wall. His gaze drifted up to the torch above Logan, pondering curiously. “I must admit I didn't expect you to take the blame so easily.”

Logan sucked in a breath as his stomach clenched. “They killed her.”

Dee blinked in shock. “What?"

“She died—” Logan dug his nails into his arms at the realization. “She died protecting me.”

“No—That’s not possible.” Dee whispered and Logan looked up, barely catching sight of the fae's eyes before they disappeared into the dark.

“The spell—or curse—” Logan whispered quietly. “Whatever term you prefer to use for the enchantment they forced her to cast.” Logan swallowed, casting his eyes to the ground. “R-Roman said that was the last request the king asked of her and it was too much for her to handle.”

“That’s a lie.” Dee hissed threateningly. “Tara was nothing short of a god. She knew her limit. She would have backed out, if she thought it would kill her. They couldn’t force her hand—”

“They had me.” Logan whispered quietly, running his fingers through his hair. “They took me from her and threatened to—Gods, it's my fault.”

Dee sucked in a sharp breath and was quiet as Logan's breath became rapid. When he finally spoke, his voice strained as he attempted to hold back his seething anger. “I don't mean to rain on your pathetic pity party, but no. If that spell killed her, it was because the king drained her dry of all her energy. I told her—I told her it was too much, and she cut me out. I tried to tell her but I never thought she'd take it that far.”

“She didn’t have a choice. The king left her with no other viable alternatives that would also keep me safe.” Logan felt his stomach unclench slightly at the soft regret in Dee’s voice. He put his hand down, pushing himself up of the ground curiously. “You knew her?”

“I considered her a friend,” Dee scoffed in disbelief. “though she was clearly a wonderful friend, running off to be some human’s lapdog and cutting off contact with the only people that could have helped her."

“The choice clearly wasn’t in her control.” Logan muttered defensively.

“Right, because choosing between her entire race and the allies she'd kept for centuries and you—” Dee sneered condescendingly. “would be a difficult decision.”

Skin prickling with anger, Logan's gaze narrowed into a glare. “Perhaps she made the right choice cutting you out, if this is how you treat your late friend’s only son.”

“You hold your tongue or I'll tear it out.” Dee snapped with a guttural growl as he took a step forward. “You may be her creation, but you’re not her son.”

Logan growled. “You’re the one who called her my mother—”

“I needed your attention, you pesky nitwit.” Dee’s voice dripped venom as he glared at Logan down the dark. “You are not worthy of her name. She was a goddess who was able to pluck the rain from the sky and the dirt from the land and she bind them together to make you. You are no more her son than the wind and the rain.” Dee's teeth almost illuminated in the dark as he bared his teeth at Logan. “You're simply a ragdoll she breathed a wisp of life into. Nothing more.”

“Clearly, she didn’t feel the same.” Logan growled, unable to hide how deeply Dee’s words cut.

“She was a fool.” Dee's sharp disdain cut through the air as his eyes flickered gold in the dark. “Even if she considered you her child, do you even know how many children have disappeared from their parents over the last century? Do you know how many were orphaned because their parents weren’t strong enough to fight off the humans who were hunting the Fair Folk?”

Logan swallowed painfully, breath catching in his throat. “I know—"

“No, you don't.” Dee hissed venomously. “Don’t pretend you have even a shred of understanding of how many lives were sacrificed to spare yours. Fae disappear and are smuggled over the border to be used for whatever power they have left. They drained of their will to live. They—”

“She didn’t know.” Logan whispered quietly, guilt rising in his throat as empathy welled in his chest. “R-Roman said even the king couldn’t have predicted the destruction—"

“What a comfort for the families whose lives were destroyed by their negligence.” Dee spat. His voice gradually raised in volume as emotion crackled in the air around him. “Who could have possibly predicted that humans would take advantage of the weakened fae?”

Logan looked up suddenly as a gasp escaped Dee’s lips. The sound of metal clanging filled the air as Logan tipped his head up to see Dee’s dark silhouette bent over staring at his wrist.

“Dee?”

Dee's eyes shot up to him with a feral growl as Logan suddenly scrambled back to the wall behind him. Dee hissed as Logan rushed to dislodge the torch from the wall and crouched back into the dark as Logan spun back around to rush the metal bars.

“Dee, you’re hurt.” Logan whispered breathlessly. He bit his lip, stomach twisting in empathy as the torchlight revealed streaks of red on Dee’s wrists.

“Keep my name out of your mouth.” Dee snapped. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You need treatment—” Logan muttered, ignoring Dee's hostile remarks. “I'll get Roman—”

“If you bring that prince anywhere near me, I'll tear out his pretty throat with my bare teeth—”

“Virgil, then.” Logan pleaded, suddenly growing frantic as blood dripped from his wrist."

“No.” The wounded fae snarled, baring his teeth at Logan as he paced the bars.

“I can't open the door without assistance—”

“Then, don't.” Dee snapped with a menacing step forward. “I didn’t ask you for help.”

“I don't accept that.” Logan's mind raced as stared at figure of Dee crouched over in the dim light of the back of the cell. His eyes widened as he noticed dark pools at the fae's feet. “I'll be back in a moment.”

“Where do you think you’re going, Logan?” Dee stepped forward, metal clanging as he rushed the bars. "We're not finished here."

Logan bit his lip, feeling a wave of guilt as he took in the full extent of Dee's injuries. A mixture of dried blood mixed with fresh as it streaked down his arms. He softened his expression. “There is a medical kit near the guard's quarters that I was able to raid for supplies for the antidote for Roman's poison. It was well stocked.”

Dee gritted his teeth silently, unable to stop Logan as he turned to place the torch back in it's holder.

“I'll only be a minute.” Logan whispered apologetically, briefly glancing back at Dee's deathly glare he ducked through the archway.

Getting to the medical kit proved to be as little of a challenge as it had been the first time he'd raided their stash of supplies for ingredients. Fortunately, they seemed to have restocked from his last encounter and even added to their extensive supply. His face twisted in disgust. Realistically, he knew he should be grateful he hadn’t needed to go far for supplies, but the sight of the growing collection sent bile rising in his throat.

Logan knew all too well the supplies were kept stock for when Remus pushed too far on his victims. There's no mistake that this was here to keep the prisoners comfortable. There had been many instances where he'd been left to bleed in the dirt without concern for him to believe that, but the few times he'd been truly afraid he may not survive the night, Remus had allowed one of the guards to haphazardly treat his wounds. The unforgettable experience of his wounds being treated so roughly sent shudders down his body, but he'd survived, perhaps thanks to the clumsy treatment he'd been granted. Still—He clenched his jaw, refocusing his energy away from the uncomfortable memory.

Subtle, colors filled the air as he quietly dug through the various pouches of herbs and oils, trying to guess what he might actually need. He’d only gotten a cursory glance at Dee’s injuries and hadn’t dared ask the already seething fae for a closer inspection.

What am I doing?

I mean, he knew he couldn’t just leave Dee to bleed out. He didn't have that cruelty in his heart, but nothing was stopping him from grabbing Roman or Virgil at this point. He'd walked away unscathed, and he knew they'd certainly help him if he asked, but he couldn't bring himself to break the small amount of trust Dee had placed in him letting him walk away.

Not that he'd had a lot of options.

Logan clenched his jaw and quickly hooked the waterskin he'd swiped from the guard's supplies on to his belt loop and shoved the rest of the bandages and a collection of salves and oils into his bag. He groaned and pushed himself back up toward the door, quickening his pace. Subtly, he gave a brief pause at the door, listening quietly at the door. He paused before pushing himself through the crack and making his way back to Dee's cell. Logan edged along the shadows near the walls as he deftly avoided the unobservant guards patrolling hallway of cells. His anxiety started build, creeping across his skin as he approached the figurative lion's den once more.

Logan slowed as he tiptoed into the hallway with Dee’s cell. He could see a subtle cloud of colors drifting out of his bag carried by the wind back the way he'd came. He could taste the herbs on the air as he stopped quietly in the hall outside the door, listening intently.

He heard a subtle whisper as he crept across the threshold toward Dee. Listening intently, he peered around the corner as the whispers stopped. Logan looked into the dark corners of the cell as he turned the corner, immediately spotting Dee’s eyes glowing their usual bright gold.

Logan stared curiously at Dee, who seemed to be too distracted to notice Logan re-entering the room. He carefully traced Dee's line of sight to the far corner of the room as he let out a distinct hiss while he appeared to stare at nothing. Logan froze in place, miscalculating a step as Dee's cold stare turned to him.

“Oh, good.” Dee snipped. The glow of his eyes flickered with exhaustion as he watched Logan slowly unfreeze and move quietly to the cell door. “My daring hero has returned from his harrowing journey that was absolutely not pointless—”

“Shut up.” Logan muttered in an exhausted tone as he grabbed the torch out of it's holder and turned to scan the walls of the cell. “You need treatment.”

“You can't get to me.” Dee spat coldly. "Therefore, this venture was pointless."

“I can, actually.” Logan stated dryly.

Dee paused, staring at him suspiciously. “How?”

“You'll see soon enough.” Logan’s chest tightened nervously as he turned to face the wall behind him. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the lockpicking set Virgil had given him. He hesitated, fidgeting with the tools in his hand as he cautiously kept the picks out of Dee’s sight. Picking the lock to the cell door would certainly easy enough. Virgil had implied that the locks in the dungeons were of amateur design, but doing so was as good as showing his hand to a man who seemed determined to prove himself Logan’s enemy, and Logan certainly couldn't see how that was a wise course of action.

Logan sighed, defeated. He couldn’t knowingly walk away while Dee was in his current condition, not even to fetch Roman. So, he steeled his stare and turned to move to the cell door fiddling with his picks.

“What are you doing?” Dee hissed the demand, staring at him..

“I think it is very apparent what I attempting to do.” Logan growled back. “Unfortunately, if you have questions, they will have to wait as I need to focus.”

Dee seemed to bite back a sour retort as Logan slid the first pick into the narrow lock. He glared silently at Logan, but allowed him to work in peace as he got a feel for the pins. Logan glanced up at Dee’s unblinking stare as he manipulated the last pin into place. He knew he could simply pop the lock open, but he let the pin fall out of place, but Dee’s injuries didn't appear to be an immediate threat to his life. To be perfectly fair, if he was being forced to show his hand on his new skill, he still didn't have to reveal to Dee that he was good at it. A few minutes passed as Logan played up his lack of skill, smiling subtly as Dee grew frustrated.

“Why don’t you give up? You obviously don’t—"

A single pop from the metal of the cell door stopped Dee’s statement in it's tracks. Logan couldn’t help the smug smile that spread across his face as Dee watched him slowly push open the cell door.

“Stay away from me.”

“I think we've established that's not going to happen.” Logan chided softly as he stepped forward. He kneeled down in front of the fae and held out his hand to Dee expectantly. “Give me your wrist.”

The scales on his face glowed a dull yellow as Dee hissed threateningly at Logan as he kneeled beside him, but much to his surprise Logan simply hissed back at him. Anger burned in Dee's eyes at the response. “Don’t treat me like a feral animal.”

“Don’t act like a feral animal.” Logan grunted as he gestured sternly for Dee to extend his wrist. He felt a small surge of empathy as he met Dee’s gaze. His scales dull glimmer gave away the exhaustion he was so clearly trying to hide.

Dee's heated glare would have withered his willpower away in any other circumstances, but right now, he had a job to do. His focus narrowed as Dee reluctantly held out his wrist. The wounds were not immediately apparent under the layers of dried blood, so Logan reached into his bag, pulling out a cloth to wet with his waterskin.

“Tell me if this hurts.” Logan muttered, not looking up. "I can be more gentle, if I need to."

“Like you’d care.” Dee hissed back, flinching at the feeling of the cold water as the cloth brushed his skin.

“I do care.”

Dee paused, staring at Logan uncertainly. “Why?”

“I simply don’t glean pleasure from seeing others in pain,” Logan whispered as he gently began to work away the layers of blood.

Dee scoffed quietly. “Well, I certainly have not extended you the same courtesy, so surely some part of you enjoys the reversal of power.”

“I want to help you, Dee. Any power you claim I have over you exists purely in your own perspective.” Logan stated without glancing up. He examined Dee’s wrist closely, knowing he couldn’t proceed with the cuff around Dee’s forearm in the way. He tilted his head up to Dee’s golden eyes. “I’m going to take your bind off, but I expect for it to go back after I've finished.”

“Starting to give commands already,” Dee muttered. “How noble our sweet ragdoll is.”

“I don't enjoy seeing you bound either, but I'm no fool.” Logan pulled out his tools and started to slide the pick into the lock, allowing his focus to drift from Dee’s intense stare. “You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear and I'm not interested in being a willing target of your rage.”

Dee was quiet as the first cuff popped open and Logan froze as it revealed several deep gashes underneath the cuff. Large, red welts raised on his arm around the cuff, an indicator of the powerful fae’s reaction to the metal. The welts and irritation were to be expected but Logan couldn’t deny the cuts looked more purposeful.

“The guards haven’t noticed your injuries?” Logan whispered, gently rolling Dee’s wrist to get a better look.

“You know firsthand they simply don’t care, especially since I’m not human to begin with.” Dee growled avoiding his gaze.

“But they should have reported it so that Roman could have done some—”

“Your idiot prince has no idea about my injuries. I can assure you of that.” Dee replied bitterly.

Logan swallowed, not wanting to admit the relief that washed over him at the thought that Roman had not been the one to be negligent of the fae's injuries. He bit his lip as he dropped his gaze. “Still, surely the guard would’ve approached Remus, given your relationship.”

“Bold of you to assume that Remus was not the source of my injuries.” Dee whispered tiredly.

Logan paused, looking up at him in horror. “I thought—"

“You thought wrong.” Dee cut him off, and Logan looked up to see him staring distantly over Logan’s shoulder. “I told you there was no affection between us.”

“Still,” Logan whispered. “I didn’t imagine he would hurt you.”

“It's my own fault really. I should have predicted he would become destructive if left to his own devices. He can't resist the temptation of hurting someone powerful when they're helpless in front of him.” Dee whispered quietly, still staring absently over Logan’s shoulder. “I’ve been his keeper long enough to know it's the way he was created.”

“His keeper?” Logan asked, his voice carefully neutral as he listened curiously.

Dee seemed to tense with the realization of what he'd said, but Logan remained patient. He kept working at Dee's injuries gently applying the soothing salve to his irritated injuries. The methodic movements seemed to lull Dee into speaking the words he seemed to desperately want to say.

“You may be the key to undoing the curse that Tara placed on us, but that doesn’t mean that the Seelie and Unseelie courts simply rolled over and gave up when you disappeared.” Dee started tiredly. His voice hung heavy in his throat as he watched Logan begin to wrap his arm. “There was a plot. When Roman and Remus were born, the courts were reeling with grief from the loss of our chance at redemption. You were gone, and with your disappearance, the courts lost all hope of lifting the enchantment. It was a dark time for our people, and in their grief, for the first time in nearly three centuries, they made the choice to create a changeling."

Logan paused as pinned off the end of Dee's bandages and moved to the next arm. He hung his head as he listened, pulling his lockpicks out of his pocket as he started on the second cuff

“They wanted to fell the humans from the inside out, create a kink in their rule that would destabilize their monarchy and maybe give us a chance to survive their systematic destruction. Unfortunately, as had been the case so many times, the universe seemed determined to foil our attempt at salvation.” Dee watched absently as the second cuff fell off his wrist, barely reacting as Logan set to work on clearing the blood off of the deep cuts. “Despite popular belief, changelings can't be created on a whim. They take seven years to grow and nurture for the right traits before they can be switched. Continuing our stellar streak of luck, on the night of their birth, a lock of hair was taken from the kings' son and the process of creation had begun. No one realized until later that twins had been born and we had created a changeling of the wrong child.”

Logan gently lifted his head as he worked the blood on Dee’s wrist, glad to see a slight glimmer to Dee's scales. “Why not simply correct the mistake and start over?”

“The lock of hair must been taken before the moon sets on the night of their birth.” Dee voice hung heavy in the air as he leaned against the wall. “We didn’t learn about the twins until weeks later. So, we had a choice. Work with what we had created or wait another generation to try again.”

“So, why you?” Logan asked quietly as he returned his gaze to the salve he was spreading on Dee's wrists. "How did Remus end up in your hands?"

“I have acted as the Seelie court’s ambassador to Unseelie court for well over a century.” Dee whispered sadly. “Actually, Tara had acted the Unseelie ambassador until she disappeared.”

“She was a dark fae?” Logan whispered.

“Dark and light have different meaning to the Fair Folk.” Dee growled in discontent. “Neither is good nor evil. They simply exist to balance the other.”

Logan looked up at the serious expression on Dee's face and nodded slowly, still processing the new information. He reached to his bag, pulling out a new strip of bandages.

“Remus was created to spread misery. He was meant to fell a kingdom, but we knew he'd need guidance. Tara’s replacement had led the mission to collect you, so the representative of the Seelie court became responsible for Remus.” Dee sighed. “I became responsible for him. Still, nothing we seemed to do was enough, and once Roman acquired his pet—” Dee stalled as Logan glared at him. “Once he acquired Virgil, he was untouchable. He overrode every bad decision Remus threw at him. We thought the game was over when Remus' bored attempt to murder the prince somehow turned up you.”

Logan pinned the end of the bandage in place and glared up at Dee defensively.

“Your eyes glowed while he was having his fun with you in the dungeons. That's how he knew. Honestly, you probably could have fried the little bastard if it weren’t for the shackles so conveniently placed on your wrists.” Dee snipped as he pulled his wrist back from Logan. "Fortunately, you weren't so lucky."

“You seem as determined as ever to hate me.” Logan whispered quietly, shoving his supplies into his bag. He glanced down at the shackles on the ground, but made no attempt to force Dee to replace them.

“I can't afford to believe that any piece of her lives in you. If I did, I may not have the willpower to finish what I started.” Dee replied coldly. “You have a debt to pay and if you won’t own up to it—”

“I will.”

“What?”

“Whatever it takes, no more lives will be sacrificed in my name.” Logan whispered, looking up at Dee’s subtly shimmering scales. “Show me what I need to do.”

Dee scanned his face, taken aback by Logan’s words. He watched curiously before testing Logan’s truthfulness. “Fine. Let me go.”

“I can't. Not yet. ” Logan added as Dee's eyes stare distrustfully up at him. He brushed himself off, glancing out the cell door. “I’m going to fetch Roman.”

“What?” Dee hissed, his mouth hanging agape.

“I'll do whatever it takes to end this, Dee. I give you my word.” Logan promised, holding his wrist tightly. “My life is in your hands, but I want Roman there. Whatever happens to me, I want him there.”

“I can’t let you do that, Logan.” Dee warned with a growl. "Don't walk out that door."

Logan took a step backwards towards the exit, holding up his hands in reassurance. “I promise I’ll return. My word is goo—”

A grunt escaped Logan lips as a body slammed into him from behind. Instinctively, he moved to slip out of his attacker’s grip but their grip was iron tight. He struggled for a moment, blue sparks erupting from his arms until he was forced onto his chest with a painful thump. He gasped a metal shackles latched around his wrists and his lightning vanished. He gasped, feeling his power dissipate as a familiar giggle sounded behind him.

“Oh, pretty boy.” Remus chirped happily in Logan’s ear. “For a second there, I thought Dee wasn’t going to let me out to play. He gets awful sappy when he talks about his dead friend—”

“Get off him and give me the key, Remus.” Dee ordered, not looking up at Logan as he shamefully hung his head.

“Dee, please.” Logan begged as Remus pulled him to his knees. He watched helplessly Remus tossed a brass key at Dee’s feet. “I said I’d do whatever you asked.”

“Gag him.”

“No—” Logan started to squirm, but Remus was prepared. He held him easily as he slipped a piece of cloth between Logan’s teeth.

“You had to have known I'd prepared for your visit, didn't you?” Dee drawled lazily as the binds around his neck and legs fell free. Immediately, he took a deep breath as the light from his eyes glowed brighter and a bright shimmer passed down the scales on his face and hands. “Nothing I've done has been left to chance. I kidnapped your prince and forced your hand on learning to use your power on your friends. I offered you the temptation of knowledge and tricked you into prying a confession out of that oaf of a prince. This was all planned for you to end up here understanding exactly why this is your burden to bear.”

Logan glared at him, shivering as Remus’ hands grasped his shoulders. Dee stepped toward him, raising a finger to trace the scar on his face. He nearly collapsed to the ground at the reminder of the last time he’d spent helpless with Remus.

“Our dear Remus has the unique ability to become undetectable when he needs to and fortunately you stepped right into my trap as predicted.” Dee smirked as his finger slid down Logan’s face. “The only thing I didn’t predict was your willingness to sacrifice yourself to make things right. Truly, that was a noble offer and one that won't go unnoted." Dee grinned as Logan's head shot down to the ground. "Maybe there truly is a glimmer of Tara behind those bright eyes.” Dee whispered as Logan hung his head to his chest as tears blurred his vision. “I don't want you to think this is personal, Logan. I’d be much happier walking you into this willingly, but I can’t take a chance that your prince wouldn’t be so honorable, so I'm sorry." Dee smiled sympathetically as Logan struggle in Remus' grip. "Truly I am, but too many people are relying on me to finish this for me to take chances.”

Logan slumped back, defeated in Remus’ grip. Dee's gaze only lingered on him for a moment before he tore his gaze away and looked up to Remus.

“Get him out of the castle. I will meet you at our rendezvous point,” Dee order sternly. “and Remus?”

Logan shivered as Remus’ hand brushed his neck. He resisted the urge to retch as Remus grip on tightened on his shoulder, but the feeling only lasted a moment as Remus' hand was immediately yanked away from him. He flinched, expecting a blow to the side of his head, but when none came, he timidly looked up to see Dee holding Remus’ hand away from him. Both the men's eyes glowed brightly in the dim light as they stared at each other. Logan froze watching as power radiated through the air between them. An uncomfortable minute passed before Remus’ glowing green eyes flickered and returned to their normal color. Dee continued to stare at the changeling, voice dripping with power as he continued.

“Not one hand on him that’s not absolutely necessary.” Dee hissed threateningly as Remus bowed his head submissively. “If even one hair on his head is out of place when I retrieve him from you, I will make you regret existing. Do you understand?”

“If control’s what you’re into, I’m not objecting," Remus quipped with a chuckle. "but I really think we should talk about these thing beforehand—”

“Answer me, Remus." Dee growled impatiently.

Remus glared at him petulantly, but eventually he turned his head down with a snarl. “Fine. Pretty boy stays in good condition until you come to fetch your toy.”

“Good, then go. I'll meet you as we planned,” Dee ordered sternly, shamefully avoiding the horrified look in Logan’s eyes as he pulled his sleeves over the bandages on his arms.

“Alrighty then, pest.” Remus’ high pitched chuckle sent shivers up his spine. “Time for a nap."

Logan’s cry was muffled to a whimper as Remus pressed a cloth against his nose and mouth. He struggled in Remus' grip. The corners of his vision darkened as his movements weakened. He fought to remain conscious, but the battle was already lost. Regret flooded over him as his muscles stopped reacting and he drifted restlessly into an uncomfortable sleep.

---

Chapter Warnings: Restraints, Anger, Angst, Death Mentions, Lashing Out, Mentions of Kidnapping, Medical Treatment, Injuries, Blood, Guilt, Very brief unintentional self-harm, mentions of genocide, Drugging, Actual Kidnapping, Unsympathetic/Questionable Janus/Deciet

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#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts logan #ts janus #unsympathetic deceit #unsympathetic janus #You Belong With Me #villain writes

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