#eheh violence >:)

[ying-doodles]

hold onto each other like they are the last thing you have left in the world.

:)

[saltymongoose]

Hey! I really like your headcanons and I wanted to send you send! Yandere Hank and Sheriff's older sister/brother Reader,who has a tough temper with everyone except his brother I would like to see how you implement this idea, and I apologize in advance for mistakes, English is not my native language.

Hello Anon, I really enjoyed this request, so thank you for sending it in. I hope you enjoy these (along with the rest of y'all of course). Your English is also really good, so don't worry! :) <3

The Start of an Extremely Unconventional "Relationship"

(SUM: Hank falls for Sheriff's Older Sibling who wants less than nothing to do with him.)

[TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Violence, Mentions of Blood and Injuries, Major Character Death (It's Hank, so nbd), Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, the Reader is extremely tired.]

▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ

When you were both growing up together, you’d always acted as another sort of guardian for Sheriff. It was only natural that you did so, as his oldest sibling and the first he could turn to whenever he got himself into trouble. Which happened a lot.

Whenever Sheriff got into a fight with his bullies or messed with someone he really shouldn’t have, you were the one he ran to when he realized he wasn’t a match for them. You couldn’t name the number of times you had to break someone’s nose or threaten them on his behalf.

However, even if you scolded Sheriff afterward for getting into all of the messes he did, you were happy to help him take care of them. It was just part of your responsibility to do so in your perspective, as his eldest sibling.

Plus, it’s not like it impacted your reputation that much to get into fights so often. People were kind of put off by your cold persona anyway, and you really couldn’t care less if they thought worse about you because you protected your family. (It’s not like anyone would fault you for having a soft spot for your troublemaker of a brother, but it did make how harsh you were to everyone else in school more jarring. Or was it the other way around?)

That’s not all either, since it’s not like Sheriff’s issues started and ended in physical fights.

You wouldn’t say that Sheriff was stupid - in fact, you’d argue vehemently that he was a very intelligent young man. But he was also the sort of person who had more “horse sense” than book smarts; intellectual in the way of the real world rather than the theoretical and strictly mathematical. Luckily, you had more than enough sense of both, so tutoring him was also one of your numerous tasks when your parents didn’t have time to.

Needless to say, Sheriff really admired you for how much you knew, and deeply appreciated you for what you did for him. Not only did you help him through his school, but you also protected him and even taught him to shoot when you figured he was old enough to handle a gun.

While you eased off on helping him so he could grow independent as you both got older, he still longed to make you proud - to prove to you (and himself) that the effort you and your parents put into raising him was worth it. This was one of the reasons he sought a lofty job in law enforcement, since he figured that type of authority would suit him and make him live up to these ideals you instilled in him.

However, he really reconsidered his choice of career when it brought you to the person he’d considered his nemesis, and the very same grunt who’d murdered him in cold blood: Hank J. Wimbleton.

Your first meeting with the mercenary was violent, but neither of you would’ve expected anything less. For Hank, it was a routine task of tracking down the Sheriff and trying to get rid of him. Or maybe he was just feeling particularly vengeful that day, you didn’t really know.

What you did know was that Hank’s first gaze upon you was short-lived but weirdly stifling. If anything, it was difficult to illustrate how oddly frozen he became when your furious glare met the red lenses of his goggles. It’s almost like seeing you was enough to force him to just stand there in the doorway as you blocked him from getting to your brother (who himself was tugging on your arm to try to get you to flee with him). 

He had his weapons out but he wasn’t actually doing anything with them, simply looking straight at you. Your dark leer didn’t earn any reactions, but the fact that you couldn’t make out anything about what the mercenary was feeling was very disconcerting. You were used to his violent side after hearing about it from your brother, so the absence of it was almost unwelcome.

For those few seconds, you felt an unsettling amount of dread.

In actuality though, Hank had been staring at you not just because you were an obstacle in his way, but because you were just so pretty he didn’t know what else to do.

It goes without saying at this point that he wasn’t someone who usually cared for physical appearances, but for some reason, you just struck him as someone that had to be admired, even by him. (No, especially by him, as he’d come to surmise.)

Maybe it was the controlled hate you clearly held for him within your eyes or the way your plush lips curled in a show of silent contempt. It could’ve even been the way you seemed so sure of yourself and your capabilities when you quickly aimed your shotgun right at him. He couldn’t pin down why you suddenly interested him so much, but that hardly mattered. Nothing seemed to now, except for satisfying this curiosity, no, want for more tantalizing reactions from you.

If you seemed so aggressive now, he wondered how violent you could really get. Perhaps you'd end up like him?

You were obviously more concerned about the safety of the Sheriff than you were afraid of him, which only made you more eye-catching. Breathtaking, even. Though you didn’t exactly give Hank much time to admire you.

Even if you’d been Sheriff’s role model, you truly weren’t anything like him; you preferred to take care of these sorts of issues as soon as they arose. Which in this case, meant taking advantage of Hank’s frozen state to fill his torso with buckshot until you knew he wouldn’t be moving again. 

You’re not sure if it’s because he let you or because you just got lucky betting on his incompetence this time, but you had killed him. That much you know for sure. However, because this is Hank, you taking his life wouldn’t be the end of it - it couldn’t be. Not when he was already so smitten with you at first glance.

(Neither you nor Sheriff thought that the event would be so impactful in the long run. Your brother was horrified of course, and panicked to you for days on end about how this would put you on Hank’s “list” as another loose end to tie up. You couldn’t help but laugh when he said that, which’d make him even more indignant and even pushy about it. You honestly couldn’t believe that Hank would have much of an interest in you, even after you managed to kill him. At most, you thought that he might make you into “collateral damage” if you were there when he attacked your brother again, but that wasn’t anything special.)

The thing is, the Sheriff was actually right. Just not in the way he thought, no, if anything the result was far, far worse than he could have predicted.

Hank was an unwelcome constant in your life after that. The bloody first meeting was replicated many times for months on end, as he deliberately sought you out for reasons unknown to you. You’d have agreed with Sheriff’s assessment of you being some problem for Hank to be rid of - perhaps even a new target by the S.Q. considering you might be a threat now. Unfortunately, that idea was defeated by the simple fact that Hank never took the first shot.

He’d simply barge (or break) into wherever you were, no matter what you were doing, and stare at you until you made the first move. It was genuinely bewildering, not only because you still didn’t know why the hell he bothered, but also because he didn’t massacre anyone else who was in the immediate vicinity of you. He just seemed satisfied being in your presence, even shaking excitedly whenever he saw your brooding form walk by. You really didn’t get it.

If you were in a good mood you’d just try to ignore him, but busying yourself with your job or simply pretending he wasn’t there could only work for so long. He just craved your attention for some reason; even if it led to blood being spilled, so long as he has some form of a reaction from you, he’s pleased with himself.

So he put himself in your way and disrupted you, mostly in a physical fashion. Seeing your expression twitch from that coldness you give everyone else filled him with an unfamiliar satisfaction, and the dark anger when he’s provoked you enough to deal with him was even better.

It felt good to be treated differently from everyone else this way, since he knows most of your workers are too inept to take the aggression that you’re capable of. Plus, to his absolute delight, you weren’t difficult for him to tick off. He knew you’d leap at the opportunity to put an end to your brother’s murderer. (Something he knew from Doc’s info about you, of course. For once the grunt was good for something other than giving him work and keeping him alive. Now if only he could get him to stop asking about you.)

Though, perhaps if you knew how much Hank truly reveled in feeling the true extent of your hatred towards him though, you would’ve made the decision not to engage in him so much.

Every bullet, burn, and stab wound was almost a gift from you in his eyes. The scars you left behind in your rage would be traced by his hands carefully after Doc had finished stitching him back together again. He didn’t know if what he felt for you was love (yet), but he adored the artful bruises and marks you left on him, and savored the more permanent indents you left in his flesh. Each commemorated one of his precious meetings and fights with you, so why wouldn’t he? He wondered now if you treasured the little nicks he accidentally left on you the same way.

(He knew you probably didn’t hold the same sort of infatuation for him, but he didn’t care. These were signs enough of the passion you must’ve had. After all, there is a very thin line between hate and love from what he’s heard, and with how vicious you were, you must’ve held a lot for him. He’s flattered.)

On the other hand, you simply found him as a very stressful, expensive annoyance. You could deal with the confusion from his lack of intent to seriously harm you (even if it was mind-numbing to consider, for someone like him). What you couldn’t deal with was the acts themselves and how he continued to be a nuisance in your life.

For one, it often led to you having to clean up the area that he’d broken into, because he never cared if you were busy at your job or just minding your own business at home. This also led to people like your coworkers and neighbors speculating and prodding you on how you knew him, which was another nuisance entirely. You don’t have any answers for them, which only makes their incessant questioning worse. Headaches are common for you now.

(It’s not like it would be very believable to say that he liked you enough to pester you. You didn’t even know if Hank could like people, and you really didn’t care enough to ask him what he thought of you. It already seems like it would be trouble if he believes you’re interested in anything about him. He already does, unbeknownst to you.)

It was also too much work to simply fight him in your opinion, even if you willfully did so. You just loathed having to waste the effort to get rid of him even for a little bit. It became so bad that you even griped openly to him about how you hated having to waste your precious ammo and medical supplies on a fight that wasn’t even worth it. Why would it be, to battle an enemy that never stays dead?

(You grimaced when you searched his now-cold body to find extra shotgun shells and packaged slugs, accompanied by a note holding a scribble of a heart drawn in scratchy red ink. He was giving you gifts now, ugh. And what the hell could that heart possibly mean? Did this mean he actually liked you or was this some sick psyop to catch you off guard and get him a win next time? You aren’t sure which is worse.)

Plus, to make matters worse, your brother also caught wind of it and it nearly gave him a heart attack. You, his dear older sibling, being under the scrutiny of Hank was the furthest thing from what he wanted. He knows you got into this just to protect him, and he feels almost nauseous with guilt over it already. So now you have to both reassure Sheriff that it’s not his fault (it’s not like he could possibly know just how delusional Hank was), in addition to risking your own life for practically nothing.

In contrast, however, Hank absolutely loves his interactions with you. Violence is his favorite thing to take part in, so if anything he considers these to be like little bonding sessions together.

He knows deep down that you two are far closer than that after all the time you’ve spent together, even if you’d deny it. The side you show him when you engage in your rather violent trysts is one you haven’t shown anyone else (mainly because there hasn’t been anyone you’ve genuinely hated so badly), so he knows that he knows you better than any other grunt.

Hank accepts you for who you truly are, despite how much you resist his strange “affections”. Besides, he knows what the two of you have is special. There’s nobody else in Nevada who can be yours to harm and come back from the grave so many times, just as he’s never enjoyed being at the mercy of someone else when in combat. Your connection was just unique like that, and he knew you had to have at least some inkling of similar feelings. It’s almost like you were made for each other, in a way. To him, you were so alike in your rage, no matter how much you’d despise that thought.

(He remembered how his hands trembled as he placed them over yours, the combat knife you held just inches away from his stomach You’d been getting better at this; you’d managed to nearly gut him within only a few minutes. He was proud, and he figured you should be too.

“You enjoy this,” he rasped and your frown deepened. “Fighting me. You put so much work into it, and I can see it.”

“Killing you.” You corrected simply, twisting your wrist to break his hold with a huff. “I enjoy killing you. And I’d love it more if you’d fucking stay dead, you prick.”)

Eventually, Hank even begins to want more than what you have now. Those minutes he spends in your presence whenever he, well, has time to die, simply aren’t enough. He knows it’s one thing to see you in your element battling it out with him, but now he feels the need to observe every other facet of your being. Which, of course, means spending a lot more quality time together.

Hank can be stealthy, but he’s not even trying to hide how he’s keeping tabs on you. If you’re at work, then he’s a customer, if you’re at home, he’s a guest, and if you’re visiting your family, he’s your chaperone. You just can’t put a stop to the constant visits he makes to do nothing but look at you. His place is that of an unwelcome voyeur into the once-peaceful routine of your daily life.

(Again, Sheriff is completely fear-stricken when he sees you walk in side-by-side with his killer. He knows you’d never let anything happen to him, but the shock of it is almost too much for him to handle. It’s obvious that you’re just as confused as he is, but you mask it with indignation at having to put up with the tall merc for longer than you normally have to.)

Usually, you have no issue starting an altercation just to get rid of Hank, but you really don’t want to do that around others more than necessary. Of course this just emboldens your acquaintances to ask about why a well-known murderer is following you around like some sort of gore-covered lost puppy.

(“So…like, why is he here?” Your coworker whispers to you in a panic, feeling a shudder roll down them when Hank stares at them. They can practically feel the rage he has, and for what? Speaking to you? Existing?

You respond with a blank stare, and it's now that they notice how exhausted you appear. “He would not still be here if I knew of a reason why.” It was a vague, non-responsive answer, but when they opened their mouth to question further, the sharp look you gave them was enough to make them drop it. Even in the oddest situations, you still seemed the same. It didn’t stop your…companion from threatening them later though.)

That was yet another issue for you to deal with; his weird possessiveness over you. Even after you were more or less forced to put up with him being there more permanently, he still seemed to want some sort of monopoly on your attention.

You had assumed whatever connection between you two was built purely on mutual dislike of the other; there was no other reason why he decided to fight you those many dozen times. Yet, here he was, leering at everyone you interacted with until they decided to flee the immediate area, or damn-near growling whenever they had the nerve to touch you.

In Hank’s mind, he really doesn’t question why he feels so protective over you, and almost jealous when he’s not the object of your attention. It just seems so natural that he doesn’t think it’s odd at all. From his perspective, you’re the only person who could ever have such a hold on him, so it makes complete sense that he’s the only one deserving of all of your time.

Plus, those people get in the way of his objective here anyway; to file away every piece of knowledge he can get from simply watching you. You’re too wary to act like he’s not there, even if you try to pretend you can. However, he’s found that he just enjoys the sight of you simply being, even if it’s not completely natural on your part. It’s far from the fulfillment he gets when you’re trading blows, but enough to sate that part of him that hungers for you.

In the end, he doesn’t know whether or not you’ll ever fully return these feelings he has for you, but he doesn’t find that he cares that much. He’ll continue to be around you regardless; so long as you can tolerate him this much, anything further is just a bonus. (One that he might secretly hope for, but he won't stake much a chance on it.)

To you, it's obvious Hank wants something, but you can’t pin down what. (In your dread, you’re not even sure you want to.) It seems like he gets his fill by being near you somehow, which is less of a relief than you initially assumed it would be. What was once solely comprised of violence eventually became a terse existence in each other’s presence that was just as tiring as the former. The silver lining for you was that you could keep him away from Sheriff with little effort, and for that, you were actually happy. You could put up with this to keep him safe, you reasoned, no matter how bad it got. Which it likely would.

Considering how in the dark you were about Hank in general, you had no idea of the deeper feelings and morbid fascination he had for you, but it’s imminent for you to find out. After all, Hank’s intention to become a permanent fixture in your life came along with his need to be even closer to you than he is now. And once he finds a way to, there’ll be nothing stopping him from keeping you and your enthralling reactions to himself. Forever.

[certified-silly-guy]

Patpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpat

Nuh uh

[arcxnumvitae]

Part 2

The throne room was jam packed with all manner of fae, a riot of color from the balconies above to the ground floor below. Word had spread quickly, but Iomhar supposed he couldn’t be surprised. It had been many years since the last public punishment and the first incident of the new king’s reign. Many would have shown themselves to see how the new king handled himself. Many others merely attended in anticipation of bloodshed. The bloodlust that ran through the room of gentry and wandering fae alike was nearly palatable. A reminder that, for all of the gentry’s elegance and poise, they were not very different from the dangerous Seelie of legend. The ones who would smile as they doomed some hapless mortal to a cruel fate.

Not for the first time he found himself unenvious of the king’s duty to rule such a fickle and merciless people.

Or perhaps he should refrain from acting above the rest with the blood of another still staining the blade that the guards had taken from him. 

The crowd’s excited hum grew the moment the man set foot into the throne room, shackled and now divested of his shirt. Iomhar’s eyes scanned the room briefly, noting the king atop his throne at one end of the room and Lord Brùn, of course, as front and center as the guards would have allowed. The man’s grin as he locked eyes with Iomhar was especially vicious. 

Iomhar strolled forward as if he had not a care in the world until he reached the marked space on the ground, equally spaced between the throne and the crowd, facing the latter. The guard approached and released him from his shackles, only to roughly shove the man to his knees as the energy in the room grew frenetic. 

Two thick branches of wood sprouted from the ground on either side of Iomhar, sturdy and implacable. Handiwork of the one beloved by Seelie. 

“Arms out.” The king’s voice rose easily above the noise, and the crown immediately quieted. Each pressed forward to get the best view as Iomhar complied. Thick vines shot out from the wood and wrapped around the man’s wrists, holding him fast in place before the crowd.

Iomhar tried his best to keep his breathing steady.

“Iomhar Mèinnearach,” The Seelie king spoke out, carrying throughout the room. “You are to be punished for the murder of Lord Arasgain, a punishment that will be carried out before all of Seelie.”

Iomhar took another breath.

“Seventy-five lashes, to be carried out until completion.” 

The room broke out into an excited buzz of noise, a crescendo that rose as Iomhar heard one of the guards approach behind him. Heard the crack of the whip through the air. He wondered what expression the king wore at that moment. He was grateful that Sivel did not have to see this.

The first lash was agony. 

Fire striped across Iomhar’s back in a blazing inferno and the man fought back the urge to let out a pained noise.

-----------

“You are suggesting a whip tipped with iron?” Camhlaidh’s voice was incredulous.

“The Lord wants fifty lashes? Make it seventy-five.”

“Are you insane?!”

“We are making a point, that way he will feel properly avenged and this can all be over. With the added bonus of making you appear especially ferocious against wrongdoers, something to shut up those who whisper of you being too soft. You have to make it hurt.”

“You are insane.”

-----------

The second blow hurt just as much as the first, if not more. Iomhar’s arms strained against the posts, the vines restraining his arms, but there was no reprieve from the misery that laced across his back with each crack of the whip. Five. Ten. Fifteen. He lost count of how many strikes he had endured around the twenty mark. Some time later he was finally unable to hold in his screams of agony. 

Though he had dealt with iron before, the pain of the whip hurt in ways he was entirely unused to. It robbed him of his thought, of his breath. His vision swam amidst the sea of silver flecks spraying the ground around him in a gruesome viscera of art. 

A particularly deep strike finally robbed the man of his ability to hold himself up and he went limp, only held up by his restraints. 

Sivel...Sivel...at least he hadn’t....

He lost track of how long the whipping continued, each moment stretching into an agonizingly infinite bit of time. His thoughts were so muddled with pain that he barely realized the next strike did not come and that his punishment had been seen through.

The vines retreated, leaving Iomhar to collapse to the ground in a fresh wave of agony that stole his very breath from his body. The man’s vision swam in and out, arms were lifting him from the mess of blood around. But, right before darkness claimed him. Iomhar sought out Lord Brùn’s pleased face in the roiling crowd, and he shot the gentry a smug grin.

He had the pleasure of watching the man’s face morph into rage right before a wave of black drug him into unconsciousness. 

[insidi0summoved]

@depictedblue 〃 starter call : not accepting

" Don't pretend like you're asleep. . . I can feel how fast your heart is beating, darling. "

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 2: Werewolf/Werecat

I had a request for the continuation of my last werewolf!boyfriend story for at least a year now... time to make it nasty, ehehe >:3 I dedicate this to all my monster readers, and those that really enjoy knotting. >:3

First Part here!

Prompt: Werewolf/Werecat | Full Moon // Claws // Beastly Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Fem!Reader, Dub-Con, Praising, Degradation, Knotting, Knotfucking, Nicknames, Cunnilingus, Orgasming from pain, Use of pheromones to make darling horny, Mentioning of sexual manipulation, Monsterfuckery (more animal than human in this case), Talking about pregnancy), Violence (Breaking a door, Biting, Blood Mention, Mention of claws), Animal behavior, Monster descriptions, Very long post

"I know... Maybe... But the smell... No, no, no... Ah, I want to..."

Scraps of a conversation—one not held with you—reached your drowsy mind, slowly pulling you out of your dreams, which were almost as grim as reality. Ever since you discovered your boyfriend's true nature on that full-moon-night weeks ago, your depression had grown more and more. You fought at first, reasoned, pleaded to what was left of your sweet boyfriend. But the animal had taken roots too deep for you to tear them out.

And now, there was not much to do other than sleep.

The cottage had never felt like home, but it was suffocating now. When he wasn't around, you were locked up. And when he was home, he was overbearing, doting, and downright creepy. You caught him sniffing the bathroom door more than once just because you hid inside the room for a while. He explained that he just wanted to ensure you were okay, but you couldn't be so sure about it.

Hearing him pace back and forth behind the bedroom door wasn't as alarming anymore as it should have been. It didn't alert you right away, since he always seemed to be around, even when he wasn't. But this night was special, and between depression naps and being force-fed canned ravioli, this time, you did strain your ears after shaking off the initial drowsiness.

"Ah, awake, good, good... No! No, not good, not good! No..."

You sighed, listening to his rambles turning into a soft whine, the longing scratching of his nails against the bedroom door. From your position on the bed you spied the key still dangling from the lock, followed by countless steel locks snapped into place next to the frame. He had advised you to do it, and spending a night alone in your room was more of a pleasure than you cared to admit.

It was another full-moon night.

The first one since you found out, to be exact. And it hadn't been you who raised concerns at realizing it, your ex still remembering the blood bath he left after last time. It hadn't been intentional, but after throwing you across the parking lot, scratching you with his claws while carrying you, and biting your ankle when you didn't want to stop fighting, he had been devastated, wishing to avoid the bloodshed at all costs.

Of course, you wanted to avoid getting hurt again, too, even if your feelings and desires had become relatively meaningless over time. You still wanted to fight, but hiding was your second best option, and knowing he cared just a little about your well-being gave you some hope that not all was lost. One day, you'd escape him, but maybe not on this particular night. All you had to do for now was wait it out, keep quiet, don't alert the beast of your presence.

"Hrngh, mate... need to... mhm, no. Not like this..."

If only he wasn't so damn annoying.

"Just shut up!" you yelled, unable to fall asleep even after trying your hardest. It was bad enough to be in this situation, you didn't need a velcro werewolf to add to your misery and deny you the one thing you liked doing—sleeping in peace.

A soft whine escaped your ex as he halted in his tracks, and you sighed, feeling stupid that you blew your cover completely. Now that he knew you were definitely awake, he'd probably create an even bigger ruckus, especially when you refused to let him in. You heard his body rubbing against the wood, followed by the sound of his sniffing, and you cursed the door for being so poorly soundproofed. Ever since you found out what he was, he didn't hold back the strange mannerism his other form brought with. And you wanted nothing more than to escape the weirdness of this inhuman beast.

He groaned on the other side of the door, and you groaned inwardly as you realized even his breathing had gotten annoying.

"What are you even doing?" you asked him, not needing to yell for him to hear.

"N-Nothing..." he stuttered, sounding dejected and pathetic as he mumbled it into the doorframe. He had always been a lousy liar, but saying this while behaving like a mad dog was almost insulting. Some more hums and sighs reached you ever so often, the creepiness of it all rattling you every time.

"Can you go away?" you asked, annoyed. You wouldn't be able to go back to sleep like this, feeling constantly threatened and grossed out by his presence like this. But your ex merely slumped against the door, letting out a mix of a groan and a growl. It was as if he was on drugs—and not the good kind.

Grabbing your pillow, you wrapped it around your ears, hoping to eradicate the sounds coming from the door. But like so many times before, your hopes were literally smashed as you heard the frightening sound of violently cracking wood.

Immediately, you sat up, staring wide-eyed at the door. It was a small frame of pliable wood, but for some reason, you had felt safe with it separating you from the monster outside. As if it, with all the locks he installed and let you manage, could keep him out. But as you watched the door bend, his body slamming into it from the other side, you realized it had never been enough, not nearly.

"S-Stop!" you called out, and an inhuman growl escaped from behind the splintering wood.

"No stop," the beast growled back, the sounds of claws raking over the wood sent goosebumps down your spine. "My mate..." he sighed in that awful, inhuman voice, and you gulped as you listened to the sniffs. "I know where you are, Mate. So desperate, so in need."

You gasped as his shoulder finally broke through the door, pulling out of the hole it punched through, only to be replaced by his face. You sat completely still as his eyes roamed, taking only milliseconds to find and fixate on you. He had already shifted most of his features, hair growing where it wasn't supposed to, eyes turning from soft green to an intense emerald, his pupils small and digging into you.

Both of you stared at each other for what felt like hours, but you were surprised when he groaned once again, sounding desperate as he withdrew. Before you could say anything, his arm—already fully shifted, with claws for nails and the greyish-brown fur of an animal coating his skin—burst through, getting caught on the splintering wood, yet not caring as it pawed at the locks. Desperate to get it. To get to you.

"Mate," he whined, stopping in his tracks. "Let me in, yes? Let me make you feel good."

You shook your head, unable to voice your thoughts. As if you'd let that thing inside and do harm to you. No matter what it said, that wasn't going to happen.

Another growl, the door shaking while he gripped the first lock, yanking at it. After losing his grip once, he tried again, and before your very eyes, the first lock crumbled in his fist. He wouldn't be stopped by something puny like this, whether you helped him or not. You carefully clambered out of bed, not feeling safe cowering anymore. Desperate, you fiddled with the lock on the window, hoping it would be just as easily removable as your ex made it seem.

Crunch, gone was another lock on the door, the wood bending and creaking further as a body much larger and heavier leaned against it.

Just your lock didn't budge, even as you yanked and begged it to give way. "Come on," you whispered, and the beast growled from behind you, only encouraged by your words to break another one of the door locks.

But suddenly, in the middle of your frenzy to escape before the werewolf could get to you, you heard a whine louder than any before. The arm retracted, and you listened to the chaos unfold outside as the body of your ex slammed into the furniture in the hallway, scraping along the walls.

"No! No, stop! She's scared, she doesn't want this!" This was clearly your boyfriend's voice, begging with something—most likely himself—to stop. Your heart swelled with thankfulness, knowing he was the only one able to subdue the beast. But it was strong, as it had showcased so many times now.

"Yes, she wants," the beast growled. "She's fertile, she's ready. We waited so long to be one. Be one with our mate. Now we have her, and she needs us!"

"But she's not a werewolf! She's not ready for... for this!"

There was so much disgust and hate in his last words, and although you could imagine he meant this situation, you weren't sure if that was truly what he was implying. Maybe there was something more, something even worse, awaiting you that only your ex knew about.

Much to your own shame, your thoughts drifted temporarily, and you were unable to shift them back to focus. Fertile, ready, being one. It suddenly clicked what this monster wanted, and heat flooded your body, causing your core to clench. This had never been about hurting or scaring you.

The monster was, quite literally, trying to mate with you.

A gravelly groan escaped the beast, and you shuddered, feeling caught as the sound raked through your body unwillingly.

"There, she's ready. Waiting for us. Need us," it growled before softly whining, the sound of your boyfriend's voice not reemerging this time.

"I'm ready, too, need to see that pretty cunt, lick up that sweet scent."

Never once since finding out about your ex's secret had you thought about sex with your boyfriend. Depression killed most of your libido, and his touches disgusted you rather than excited. But he, on the other hand, or perhaps that beast controlling him, apparently had.

Looking out of the window, you had a full view of the bright full moon, hanging like an executioner's axe above your head. Even if you could escape this room, you knew you couldn't outrun the monster. Not with his enhanced senses and abilities. You could try to fight him, but your chances of success were slim with his superior strength and the possibility of you freezing up when you were face to face with the creature.

What should you do then? Simply... give up?

You shuddered, another cracking reminding you the monster was again working on opening the door. On getting to you. He wouldn't stop. He didn't when you screamed and begged, didn't when you were obviously afraid. There was no reasoning with an animal, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"Mhm, sad... Mate sad," your ex whined through the gap in the door, his voice mixing into the monster's way of talking. As if to lure you, like the big bad wolf had with little red riding hood. "Soon. I'll be there soon."

You knew it would be.

Surprised, you found yourself in front of the door, watching as the gnarly arm yanked at the second to last lock, impatiently trying to tear it off. There wasn't much you could possibly do to save yourself, but it was all too much to bear for your psyche. Tears fell freely as you reached up, not even realizing you had come so close to the beast, and brushed your hand over his fur. He stilled, letting go of the lock as he reached up instead.

Your breath hitched as you thought he would wrap his paw around your throat, but instead, his palm cupped your face, clawed thumb wiping away the tears. "Open the door," he rumbled softly, commanding it despite the gentle instruction. "Let me come in, mate. Let me comfort you."

His hand fell from your face, brushing down your body. There was something so strangely sensual in this huge paw of a hand gently caressing your body, even if the claws could slit you open at any given moment. You were going crazy, but you didn't move, didn't shove him away as you should have. He drove over the curve of your breast, his knuckles getting caught on your nipple, flicking it one after the other before he moved on to the side of your hip. Then the hand slit around the small of your back, pushing you closer to the door before settling above your ass.

Its presence was like a threat, and you reached up with shaking hands, slowly fiddling with the key to the door before unlocking it. Two more to go.

"Good," it growled. "I can smell your arousal. I'll see to it soon, pretty mate. Open it. Open the door."

Click. Did you want it to? Did you perhaps want that werewolf to get to you, ravage you like the beast it was? Had you gone insane after a month of isolation and depression? Your breath hitched as you reached for the last lock, the steady growling turning into more of a purr as his hand spread over your asscheek, slowly rubbing it, fingers dipping down too low for comfort with his elongated tips. Yet, when he pulled them from between your legs, you followed his touch, chasing the tingles he left in his wake.

Yes. You had gone insane. Fuck, you must have been mad, but your hands acted on their own as they unlocked the last barricade between you two.

"I-I'm opening it now," you announced, and the monster hummed appreciatively.

"Yes... Yes, you open it now, sweet thing. Let me in."

Your breathing ragged, the last lock clicked open much too easily, and you stepped backward as the wood creaked open. The monster's arm retracted after pushing down the handle from the inside, the splintered wood cracking out of the way as the creature's massive body broke through the frame.

There was more growling as it got stuck in the small opening, his body way too massive to fit, but it was too eager to wait. The werewolf jammed into it, shoulder and legs getting caught as he couldn't decide what should go first.

You gasped, noticing he hadn't even shifted fully yet, with much of your ex-boyfriend's features remaining as you caught his gaze, looking at you with desperation and sorrow.

"S-Sorry," he stuttered, his voice the growl of a beast, yet you knew it was your boyfriend talking to you. Telling you he couldn't stop it—no, he couldn't stop himself. You needed to stop differentiating the two when they were one and the same. And you were what they wanted, they desired, even if his rational part tried to protect you from the one that ran purely on instinct. You were prey. Prey that the werewolf wanted to fuck and then devour.

For some reason, that revelation made your heart race faster, and your legs clenched tighter together, a shuddering breath escaping you.

"Pretty mate," he sighed. "Pretty, pretty. So needy, so ready."

"W-What do you mean?" you asked him, and his grimace twisted into a grin.

"I can smell it. You are ripe and fertile. You're gonna take my seed and you will enjoy it, begging to have my cubs."

A gasp escaped you as you were slowly backed into the wall to the side of the bed. It was moments like these that made you regret not caring enough before. Not stealing a knife from the kitchen or asking for silver to protect you. Fuck, how could you have been so stupid as to open the door?! How could you do this to yourself?!

Your core clenched, and the shameful realization finally dawned on you. It had been some time since your period, and that meant... you were ovulating. Your libido may have been off, but nature didn't miss. Especially not if your boyfriend had some weird, werewolf pheromones you didn't notice before. It was your only explanation for wanting this thing anywhere close to you. You two used to have a very active sex life, but you had always used protection, and he had never pressed you to do what you didn't want. Maybe that made you too easily persuaded now, in this situation. A false sense of trust

"Don't be scared," the creature purred, reaching out his fully shifted arm towards you. "I'll take good care of you. I'll start right now."

With that and the terrifying sound of wood breaking, that massive monster plummeted to his knees, more hair sprouting as the full transformation took place. You watched in horror and awe as his snout elongated, teeth sharpening, and ears protruding from the top of his head. You wanted to throw up, but you had no time as the snout leaned forward, landing right between your legs.

The deep inhale could be felt through all the layers of clothes on you, and you felt your own wetness betraying you as it seeped into your panties. The monster was way too huge, even as he knelt, his body bending in what must have been painful for him just so he could kneel before you and sniff your privates mercilessly, driven by the need to satisfy his and your cravings.

Pushing his snout upwards, an electric shock went through you as it flicked your clit, maw splitting to allow his tongue to lap out. It was so damn long, able to easily slip between your asscheeks from his front-facing position. And it moved like a separate entity, a snake able to buckle and twist, eager to taste all you were offering.

Claws hooked beneath the waistband of your pajama, and you squeaked as he rapidly pulled them down to your ankles. His tongue moved out of the way only to let the fabric pass, immediately slinging back between your legs, licking up all the excess wet coating the inside of your thighs. You let out an involuntary moan as the tip of his tongue poked at your entrance through the fabric, and the monster chuckled, his tongue vibrating along to the sound.

It was almost too much. Your body bent forward, the monster's shoulders perfectly in reach to grab onto, and you leaned into his snout. He took it as a sign of your willingness, arms reaching out to support you by the hips, and you whined as the thick muscle pressed into you teasingly. You'd never be able to take it fully, and the fear gave you another pang to your core, making you imagine what it would be like inside you, winding and twisting around.

You felt so embarrassed that you were thinking about these things, not understanding why your body would crave them. But you couldn't stop. Couldn't stop thinking of the ways it could lap at your folds, play your clit, or dig deeper than anything ever had before. Maybe with a tongue like this, your orgasm wouldn't be an every-once-in-a-while thing but a constant, double, triple pleasure that only you got to experience. You were fucking going insane, and the shame almost turned you on more.

"So good," the monster praised, and the deep sound shuddered through your body. You raised onto your tiptoes, realizing you were so close to the edge of depravity. But that was when he sniffed your soaked-through panties, inhaled with a long, deep breath before suddenly closing his maw, leaving you breathless and violently tingling.

"You're ready," the creature announced and you whined as he pulled the last bit of pressure—his nose—from your clit, leaving you with nothing. You didn't know you could be this needy, but your fingers curled into his fur, silently willing him back to give you the earth-shaking orgasm he had built up to.

"You need to be filled up, sweet thing. Need my seed to swell your belly until it bursts and give you what you desire, little mate."

His hold on your hips grew uncomfortably tight, but before you knew it, you were lifted off the ground. A breathless gasp escaped you as you were carried over to the bed, your head hitting your pillow with a soft "Uff!" escaping you. But when you opened your eyes, the werewolf was right there, his legs spread on either side of the bed, one arm gripping the iron headboard that creaked underneath the pressure of his grip.

It felt incredibly threatening to have him hover above you like this. Still, at the same time, you couldn't help but flush with heat as he looked down at you, that massive monster looking at you as if it was either lovestruck or famished, satisfied some inner demons of yours. That was, until your eyes fell below his waistline, seeing the red, angry erection that awaited you there, jutting out of the fur and merrily spilling precum as if it was lube.

With a groan, your ex reached down, gripping his massive cock awkwardly in his clawed hand. More cum gushed from it, and his hips pounded forward into the hold. There was no way you could take that, its girth unimaginable inside your small, human pussy.

Some of the hot spill touched your bare legs, your pants discarded on the floor where you had stood, and you jolted from the heat. It spread like wildfire, the thought of being filled with it almost sending you over the edge right then and there. The idea of your womb filled up with this hot, heavy seed was so enticing to you, although you didn't realize it had been a kink of yours. Something felt so off about your reactions, yet you couldn't determine what. You couldn't turn your eyes away from his cock, not even as his hand slid back, fingers spreading further to envelop the bulbous growth at the base. You swallowed thickly as you watched him squeeze and massage it, the discomfort clear in his movements, yet his tip just wouldn't stop spilling.

"Open your legs," he growled, and you shuddered as hesitation and willingness fought inside of you. It seemed the monster didn't have the same concerns as you had, willing to tear you open just to get his dick wet. And a part of you wanted to be the one wetting this dick, but this time, rationality won.

"N-No, it won't fit!" you squeaked, slamming your legs shut as hard as you could and moving backward until your shoulders hit the iron frame.

"It will," the werewolf snarled confidently. "You are more than ready, little mate."

"No! No, you will hurt me! I can't take it--"

The deep growl that clattered his teeth shut you up fast, and you turned your head away as he lowered his towards yours. His snout ran from your temple to the side of your throat, brushing away your shirt to expose more of the soft area between your shoulder and neck. When he licked over the spot, you felt a jolt of pleasure rake through you, a weird kind of connection developing with this monster.

"You are my mate. I long prepared you for this—longer than you realize. Spread you wide, marked you, let you smell my pheromones. You were always going to be mine, even when you didn't know it. You were ready before you found out about this, but tonight, you'll finally take your place as my mate. Mine."

Pushing his hips down, they connected with yours, and you temporarily forgot to clench your thighs, allowing the monster to rub his cock against your cunt. It was hot, wet, and ready, and with your soft whine, you signaled that you were, too.

With his free hand, he reached down, grabbing your left leg before pulling it to the side. With another sniff in the air, the monster let out a satisfied rumble before stretching out his pointer, slipping the claw under the fabric of your panty.

You gasped as the fabric tore at the smallest of tugs, easily giving way to your bare pussy, and you felt almost the same sense of shame as you had at your first time with your boyfriend. Shy, virginal. Perhaps because, to this werewolf, with his heightened senses, you were much more exposed than normally. He saw, smelled, and tasted everything so much more and did so with the greatest of pleasures.

"Mhm, tight," he commented as he looked down.

"Too tight," you whined, and he snorted.

"Perfect."

Pushing your leg back, he brought his own forward to secure it in place, and letting go of the headboard, he swept your other leg up to rest it above his. You hadn't even noticed the swift lifting of your hips he did, only feeling the softness of your blanket underneath them when he had already elevated you. He was surprisingly considered for a beast, but that wasn't what you should have been thinking about.

"Hold here," he instructed, guiding your hands over your head and to the iron rods that made up the headboard. With shivering hands, you grasped them and looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes not wavering from yours as he reached down to position himself.

"Good girl," he chuckled, and you couldn't help more heat spreading to your cheeks as you looked away first.

Cursing the wave of excitement, only measured against the fear of being penetrated by something so big, you whined softly as you felt his tip press against your entrance, your pussy gaping after this promise of finally getting the orgasm you had been denied before.

His snout leaned down, brushing against the side of your face reassuringly, and you heard that eery purr rumble in his chest again. With his own hands gripping the top of the headboard, you began to realize what you had allowed. You shifted on top of his lap, pulling yourself further away, but his hips followed, caging you between his body and the headboard.

"No, no wait!" you whimpered, panic spreading through you as your body prepared with all the adrenaline it could muster.

"No more waiting, little mate," he replied and his hips snapped forward.

A soundless scream ripped from your throat, your spine arching as the whole shaft of his cock invaded you, split you wide open, and tore your entrance as the bulb tried to follow into your depths.

"It's too big!" you complained, but your words were all but one big moan that only encouraged him more. There were no words to describe the feeling, a mixture of pain that turned into pleasure, that burned with even more pain before finally pressing all the right spots. And you were so full.

You felt your toes curl as you came, overwhelmed to the point of tears. Tears that were licked up by an eager tongue, wet and hot as it found your lips, pulling them apart to invade your mouth as well in an abhorrent kiss to fur-covered lips. His tongue was choking you, fucking your throat as his cock made little juts inside you, guiding you through your orgasm.

It didn't take him long to find a rhythm, his cock rutting into you madly by the time your high was broken, only mind-shattering sensitivity remaining. The headboard creaked and shook as he used it to drive himself forward and deeper into you. Soon, your wetness and his precum pooled beneath your cunt, and when he dragged his cock back, preparing for an especially deep push, the knot at the base slipped inside with it.

This time, you did scream, loud enough to make him jolt, his cock kissing even deeper as your bodies collided. The werewolf growled, pulling his knot free, and your shriek turned into a loud moan, your eyes rolling back. And so he did it again, fucking the mass into you again and again. You couldn't scream every time it spread you open with blunt force, but every time it did, you felt like losing your conscience.

Soon, he didn't even pull it out fully anymore, only moving inside of you. The knot grew, and you squirmed, uncomfortable with the mass spreading inside you. "No!" you whined, but it wasn't convincing when it sounded like a plead for more. You completely lost control as his cock bulged inside you, the beast growling as a hot spurt of cum splashed your inner walls.

And as if the floodgates opened, more spurts followed, spilling all inside you with no chance of escaping. You wished it didn't give you that ugly, fulfilling feeling of yet another orgasm, but you weren't spared. The werewolf groaned as you clenched around him, and you shook violently while more and more cum filled your womb. Just like he promised, he filled you up to the brim, expanding your insides as if he had already gotten you pregnant. You felt both nauseated from the feeling of fluids swapping around inside of you as well as so damn satisfied by feeling full.

Growls and howls escaped him, maw lowering back to settle between your shoulder and neck. You didn't notice him licking the spot over and over while you were still orgasming, as if this was the first time you had ever reached such a high. Groaning, you let your head fall back, arching your body against his, not realizing this had been your biggest mistake.

Pain worse than anything you had ever felt before shot through you, and your scream died down quickly as blood gushed from your shoulder, his teeth burying deeper as you tried to rip yourself away from the monster. He was groaning, lapping at the wounds his maw caused and his cock jerked inside you, causing all the fluids to sway.

You reached around his neck, driving your nails through his fur and into the taut skin on his back. You whimpered and pushed your body into his pleadingly, willing him to stop. It hurt so much, and yet you felt almost back at the edge of your orgasm, your hips unwillingly rutting against his, the knot moving back and forth around your entrance.

Only when you came again did the werewolf stop his bite, howling at the sight of you shuddering violently beneath him. And finally, he was satisfied, your blood dripping from his maw as he pumped his cock into you again a handful of times, making sure you were plugged up well.

"Mine," he rasped. "All mine. My mate, my bitch."

His hand fell to the swollen part of your stomach, and you groaned as he applied some pressure.

"And soon," he hummed, satisfied as you felt another pump of cum fill you up. "You'll bear my pups like a good mate. And I will fill you up again for more like you were always meant to be."

You barely registered the words, but the tears falling from your eyes were proof that you understood. Understood what you had allowed to happen, understood that you were indeed what he claimed you to be. His bitch, his little breeding pet. His.

"Good," he chuckled, and you let out a sob, realizing he could feel your giving up, the despair overwhelming you. But to him, it was only one thing: submission. He didn't need you to voice it to win a battle you couldn't have fought if you wanted to. And you were too helpless to make him think otherwise, too exhausted to argue, too full to deny what you were.

Tugging his knot back, you realized he was slowly able to pull it out, and you whined, feeling the first spurts of seed run down your legs. But he pushed it back the second he noticed it, humming as he seemed to enjoy your warmth.

"You're all mine now, you belong to me," he growled, victorious. But then a whine broke through, and you watched as the werewolf hunched over, one hand gripping his head. Concerned, you didn't know what to do, but when you tried to move, you felt his knot inside, and the pleasure that shot through you made you flush with heat and moan.

"God..." you heard him whine, and you looked up, not in the eyes of a beast, but those of your ex. You saw your own reflection in them, undone, bloody, and sexually satisfied beyond recognition. He whined again softly, but you didn't believe his words when he sobbed them quietly. Not with his knot pulsing inside you still, leaking seed everywhere.

"I'm so, so sorry..."

[rebouks]

Forever In Between - Invictus

Robin appears to have stumbled into a rather nightmarish situation and it’s up to you to ensure he makes it out alive. If he dies-.. well, maybe that’s it, or maybe he just wakes up, or maybe he won’t die at all?! Probably best not to find out the hard way though, right?

Invictus is a multiple-choice Halloween special based on Until Dawn, various other classic horror games, a teensy bit (read: a lot) of brain rot, and an overactive imagination; mine or Robin’s, you decide.

I know that creepy, slightly gory things aren't for everyone so below is a list of potential trigger warnings and if you want to sit this one out you can block the tag "fib invictus" and we'll pick up where we left off storywise in November! 🖤🧡

creepy dolls, various monsters, weapons, blood, death, murder, corpses, fighting, injuries, needles, electrocution, experimentation (not the good kind) and general peril!

As a side warning: I will be continuing with regular previous/next links as it's still technically part of the story, though I will provide a link to skip past it all when the time comes, so look out for that when normal posts resume! My usual mon-fri schedule will probs go out the window too as some posts will have votes that last a day so I'll either take the day between those off or post later than usual idk we'll see what happens 🤸‍♀️

Last but not least I'd like to give some shout outs to those that've helped me during this process 🖤

Props to @softpine for some of the Until Dawn assets used and for inspo from this post! 🧡

To @sirianasims for helping me find ridiculous amounts of disgusting, amazing cc and generally spit balling ideas with me from the very start 🤸‍♀️

A big thank you to @zosa95 for being my beta reader, listening to me witter about this project since fkin forever ago and sharing my excitement 🤗

Thanks to everyone in the story server for putting up with numerous out of context screenies and for enduring my whinging about how tired I've been recently skdjsk.. particularly @lynzishell @hannahssimblr @madebycoffee @daniigh0ul and @sirianasims for consistently cheering me on when I was pooped 💩

Okok last LAST but not least, some rambling.. I've been busy with this project in the background since the end of July and keeping up with regular story nonsense whilst working on this and adulting in between was NOT it 😅 (if you noticed my regular posts lacking in their usual vibrancy no u didn't.. but ur also right cos i've had to be super lazy with it recently to keep up with two things at once, so SORRY! fkjfk)

Anyway, hopefully it's worth it, I had a lot of fun making this special and I'm pretty proud of it so I hope everyone enjoys our October shenanigans this year! Maybe I'll find some time to make some gifts for simblreen but I'm not promising anything cos I'm eepy.. maybe my gift this year is just danger and violence instead ehehe 👻🔪

[w3r3theli0nshunt]

Minotaur Soap! (18+)

W! Blood (shit tons) slight sexual themes, violence, fluff (can’t believe it either) reader is injured, Soap is a Minotaur 🤯 maybe slight angst? Tooth decaying stuff, tried making the Minotaur appear a little 🤏 more humane than they usually are ehehe 😅

Who smells your sweet blood and hears your choking sobs as your feet scrapes against the cold, filthy ground while you lean with one hand against the wall of the cemented maze . You’re oblivious to the fact that the 8 feet tall, muscular built Soap is lurking in the shadows behind you, watching your every move with caution before he plans on approaching. Following the trace of the small droplets of your blood who assaults his senses and animalistic instincts to feast on your flesh and suck the marrow out from your bones to fulfil his hunger, instead, he wishes to keep you in one piece. Sensing that you’re not good for him dissolving in his stomach acid, he doesn’t prepare his long nails to dig in that supple skin of yours or his sharp teeth to sink into you.

He stalks behind you, feeling an unfamiliar sensation in his filled stomach from the other sacrifices he’s been dined on, their skin tissues remain between his teeth and their blood still lingers on his tastebuds. But seeing how you struggle to keep your limping form moving in the endless maze that only Soap can localise in and without his guidance, you won’t find a way out or to his home.

You dry your sweat on your forehead with your arm that is heavy to move and exhaustion is preventing your motivation to continue seeking a way out, still knowing that mazes are traps when it comes to sacrifices, whose lives are labeled as useless. Unwed, unbred and a virgin, you’re no place in for society and bear no importance for the village you once called home. Your limbs get heavier by every step you take and your vision becomes hazier, so you let your knees fold and fall helplessly to the cemented floor. You gaze at your wounded leg, how crimson is oozing from the deep cut and the intense ache caused by any slightest movement.

How kind of the priest to grant me more mercy than sending me of the maze, you sarcastically think.

Tears falls mercilessly as you close your eyes to accept your fate, ending up as dinner to the hungry beast that awaits settled in the huge maze. You can still hear the other’s screams and pleads for help as the Minotaur beastly grunted and growled as he fed on their flesh on their conscious state. Your compassionate heart hopes for the other’s souls to find their way to the Gates Of Paradise and be reborn as people with a meaning, that they can live in harmony and receive every good they deserve. You can’t help but wonder how heaven may looks or if you’re pure enough to reach it. You let your head lean back against the hard wall, its coldness spreading on your scalp to cool down the fever.

You swiftly open your red eyes by an inhumane huff, and your eyes take you into the shadows where the noise originated from. Looking deep into the darkness, you spy two blue orbs looking back at you, your vulnerable form. It’s the Minotaur. But you don’t have the strength to fight or even be afraid, not even when his huge form becomes more visible by his every step towards you. Lazily, your eyes travel on his huge, beastly form. His broad shoulders, huge horns piercing out of his human shaped skull with an overgrown black Mohawk between them, massively built fur pectorals and large arms that can easily snap bones like sticks. His hooves clamps against the floor, legs shaped like a bull with a tail hanging in the middle above his clothed buttocks.

You have to bend your head up in order to be able to look into his eyes who bores holes into you. He then looks at your bleeding wound and kneels down beside your leg. You hold your breath and close your eyes, thinking he’ll begin lavishing on your leg in order to make you suffer. But just to your surprise, you open them again when you feel his nails gently caressing it instead, before ripping a piece of his cloth that is wrapped around his lower body. The only clothing he has on, mind you. He mildly wraps your leg and slows down the pace when he hears you whimper in pain before tying a loose knot.

You look at him with doe eyes, a sea of questions flowing in your mind as his eyes don’t seem eager for blood, not yours at least. He’s probably playing with his meal, you think. Giving false hope until the damsel in distress puts trust on him and then, he’ll dig in. That seems crueler than just a quick end, and you don’t fancy the idea of it happening to you. So you remain seated, cautiously watching his every move and preparing yourself for the promised end the priest told you about.

“You….pain?” Soap grunts, finger pointing at your wound. You look confused, shocked all between heaven and earth. Should you be alarmed? Or is this genuine acts of kindness? Nonetheless, you shake your head, unwilling to test his patience. He grunts in response and gently lifts your seated form, a sense of relief washes over you that the pain and coldness caused by the hard terrain vanishes. He hovers you above his wide shoulder that perfectly fit you as he begins moving. You swallow as you’re unknown to what his true intentions are and can’t help the stubborn knot in your stomach that refuses to go.

“Where..are you taking me?” You dare question, the only time you’ll open your mouth, you promise yourself. The headache forming in your skull as your upper body is uncomfortably facing the flooring, spotting the remains along the way. Guts in piles, blood decorated on the walls and heads carelessly thrown aside. You swallow once again, fearing that it’ll eventually be your fate.

“Home” Soap grunts as he adjusts his large arm that is holding your legs, a sensation of a throb in his lonely cock as he feels your soft skin and your innocence. Haven’t attempted to run away or defy him like the others like the good little human you are, letting him take you and claim you. You’re right to admit that you don’t know his true intentions, but he knows you’d prefer not to. How would a little sacrifice react if she’s to be the mate of the blood thirsty Minotaur who reap the lives of human beings while being half a human himself? She would freak out and that’s when the defiance begin, and he doesn’t want to hurt you. You’re already brought meaning to his lonely life who’s been aching for companionship like anyone would and that you numb those intense feelings of unhappiness, therefore you can’t leave, not when his heart can explode with the love he already harbours for you.

Reaching the central part of the maze, he sets you down on the pile of hay he calls his bed, hugely structured to carry his heavy weight. Lying on your back, you watch as Soap tries to start a fire with rubbing two sticks together in a supernatural pace until a fire ignites, he throws the flaming woods on the pile of logs until they also get infected with the fire. With a huff of approval, he resumes his attention to you, returning the eye contact. He lays down beside you, causing you to fall against his furred upper body when the bed shifts, leaning down against him. His fur is soft, but his musk makes you scrunch your nose, but yet you remain snuggled against his warmth. Laying your head on his large, firm pectorals with an arm planted on his 10-pack.

You feel his arm wrapping around your own body as he draws you closer, offering a quick lick on your neck. He enjoys it, lying on his back, watching the grey clouds travel in the depressing sky with a cute little human snuggled up against him, slaying all kinds of loneliness he once felt and displace it with love. A unfamiliar feeling, but one he’s been waiting for. Everyday his hopes of finding the perfect human to indulge in, a human to carry his babies and spread his animalistic genes. But also a human he can love, one he can reveal his own humane self that actually exists beyond his animalistic impulses and instincts.

“Aren’t you gonna eat me?” You’ve been patiently waiting for that question that is desperate for an answer in order for its fear to settle and for your heart’s beating pace to slow down. A simple yes or no will do for you, but at least just an answer to confirm. You’re tired of being so intensely afraid while being comfortably snuggled against the soft fur and met with such compassion not even your own family granted you.

“No” He grunts, pulls you closer as if your skins are stitched together, as if you’re one person. An animal and a human, the mixture Soap is.

“mine” it comes out like a growl but the rough reply is softly morphed when his cheek lovingly nudges yours as he groans in satisfaction. you’re his mate and he doesn’t intend to hurt you, intentionally. Sure, your sweet blood would taste more delicate than the other’s bitter tasting plasma. and your soft flesh would probably be as delicious as marinated steak would be for you. But his ache that concerns you, is for your pleasure along with his. Your combined ecstasies, a bittersweet sensation like chocolate. He’ll be cruel, but he can be just as sweet. And it depends on your preferences, because he’ll do anything for you. Anything for you to stay and anything for experiencing this cuddling session everyday.

But you ponder on the thought. Maybe belonging to someone, a Minotaur, isn’t as bad as you thought it’ll be. Your life may finally have meaning and this Minotaur has brought you more comfort than anyone in your whole 20 rotations around the sun has. And being in his embrace feels nice, your own personal pillow. You don’t mind the hay itching your sensitive skin or the pain in your leg caused by the forming infection, this beast lying before you, holding you like he’s protecting you - he is. You close your eyes, succumbing to sleep, wondering what future you’ll participate in and what delicacy’s may follow.

“Love….you” Soap grunts, leaving a hesitant peck on your cheek before closing his eyes. The depressing sky above, transfiguring into a clear blue one with rainbows and white coloured clouds, coloured by your very presence.

I actually got inspired by another creator who wrote a similar story, but with a König Minotaur. Our stories are of course not similar as I’m not the type to copy someone else’s hard work, but I’ll def link the story if I can find it because it’s so good.

[kayharrisons]

'cause us traitors never win [Tangerine x afab! Reader] [Masterlist] [18+ ONLY]

Summary: You and your husband have been happily married for the last five years, both of you busy with your respective jobs but still finding ways to enjoy spending time together.

Your brother in law giving you both the gag gift of a marriage counselling session for Christmas, however, causes you both to look a little harder at the cracks in your marriage, until the glass facade shatters entirely.

Your husband is a contract killer for hire, one of the best, and you're apart of the FBI that's been hunting him down for years.

A/N: ehehe howdy folks! This is my first venture branching out into another fandom for fic writing, so I hope it's ok! I love Bullet Train it's one of my absolute FAVOURITE movies and ATJ is just EXCELLENT as Tangerine (and also one of my alltime fave celebrity crushes cough cough), so have this lil au inspired by Mr&Mrs Smith lowkey AHAHAHAA

I headcanon Tangerine's name to be Thomas (ironic, yes), but he goes by Tom and occasionally Tommy, Lemon's name is Christopher (Chris), and they have no last name bc I think that's a hilarious gag LMAO

I try not to describe reader too much so y'all can place yourselves in her shoes, the image on the fic banner isn't meant to represent anything ab how she looks!

Warnings: violence, gore, death, injury, lying to your spouse, copious amounts of swearing, couples fighting, sexual themes

CHAPTER 1

[midnighvtm4ss]

CRIMSON TRAILS | Running Gun

Pairing: John Marston x F!Reader CW: mentions of past abuse, animal death, gun fight, period typical violence, injuries, blood loss, needles, in my mind John is 6’0 ok?? let me dream. WC: 7k A/N: and the story begins!! im giggling posting this eheh took me longer than expected to finish the chapter ‘cause i needed it to be impeccable. It’s nowhere near perfect but i fear my brain will melt if I look a second more at its google doc. As always let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more. Likes, reblogs and comments are highly suggested so I know what’s going on in your minds. Also! let me know if you want to be in the taglist

series masterlist | masterlist I AO3 link

The house always felt colder at night. Its long, empty hallways stretched out like an intricate maze, darkened by shadows that seemed to dance and twist with each flicker of candlelight. You had grown used to the chill that clung to your skin, used to the hollow feeling that echoed through the grand, oppressive mansion. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the distant tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall and the occasional clink of glass coming from the dining room downstairs.

You couldn’t sleep, like most nights, and wandered the corridors alone. Your little bare feet were silent against the polished floors as you wandered the empty corridors. Thankfully the second floor was empty, as all the maids were now occupied with a business party your father was hosting downstairs.

Not that it mattered, the maids barely looked at you anymore, and when they did, their eyes were sharp, filled with disdain. You heard them sometimes, whispering about you—how you were a burden, something unwanted. "The little ghost," they’d often call you, mocking how quiet and small you were. But it was the way your father looked at you that hurt most. Like you were the cause of everything wrong in his world. Like you had stolen something precious from him the day you were born.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, and instinctively, your feet carried you toward the only place you ever felt safe.

A faint, warm glow spilled from beneath your brother’s door, a welcome contrast to the darkness of the house. You didn’t want to bother him, but you needed him. You always needed him. He was the only one who actually saw you, who cared for you in a world that seemed determined to treat you like a ghost and push you far away.

With a soft push, the door creaked open, revealing your brother, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was hunched over something, his dark hair messy from a long day. With the candlelight contrasting his frowning expression, he looked older than his sixteen years, but his eyes lit up when they met yours.

“Hey, Birdie,” he greeted, his warm voice chirped, though you could hear the exhaustion beneath it. “Can’t sleep again?”

You shook your head side to side and stepped into the room. The familiar scent of freshly washed bed sheets contrasted his usual scent of hay and tobacco wrapping around you like a blanket. He always smelled like the outdoors, like freedom. The kind of freedom that Governess Constance, the only person in that house aside from your brother that treated you like you were supposed to treat an eight years old kid, would read to you in one of your goodnight books.

“Come on then, sit here with me,” he said, patting the bed beside him. His voice was gentle, and as always, it soothed the growing ache in your chest. You scrambled up onto the bed, crossing your legs as you sat next to him.

On his lap was something wrapped in a soft cloth, the fabric fraying at the edges. He was working on it, carefully running a strange stone over the surface with long, practiced strokes. You watched in silence, following his every move with big curious eyes. The steady rhythm of the blade against the stone hypnotic.

“What’s that Isa?” You asked after a moment, your voice barely a whisper as you hugged one of his cushions.

Isaiah—your brother—hesitated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye before slowly unwrapping the cloth completely. Your breath caught in your throat as the object inside was revealed—a dagger. Not just any dagger, but a beautiful, intricately crafted one. The hilt was white adorned with swirling patterns with silver detailings, the blade gleamed in the candlelight, sharp and polished to perfection. A dangerous beauty.

“It’s for you,” he said quietly, holding it out for you to take.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “For me?” you asked, your small hands trembling as you reached for it. The material of the hilt was cooler against your skin, the weight of the dagger much heavier than it looked. “W-why are you giving me this?”

He sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment before putting one arm on your shoulder in a sideways embrace. “Because I can’t always protect you,” he said softly, the sadness in his voice startling you. He looked back at you then, his eyes shadowed with something you didn’t quite understand. “I’m not gonna be here much longer, Birdie.”

The words hit you like a punch much more painful than your father’s drunken beatings, knocking the air from your lungs. You stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean?” Your voice cracked, tears started to pool in your eyes and the dagger trembled in your hands. He didn’t respond and looked down.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head in denial. “You can’t. Y-you can’t leave me. You p-promised you’d stay. You promised!” the weight of the situation made your stutter come back. Your training with Miss Constance to tone it down out of the window in this moment.

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking with the weight of the lie. “I know I did.” He reached out, his rough hand cupping your small face, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “But this family? This life? It’s killing me. And I don’t want to end up broken like him.”

Your chest felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe. The room spun around you, and all you could focus on was the weight of the dagger in your lap, the one thing that felt real. You clutched it tighter, trying to ground yourself, trying to keep him here with you.

“But you’re a-all I hav-h-have,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “What am I supposed to do without y-you?”

Isaiah pulled you into a fierce hug, his arms wrapping around your small frame. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him, trying to memorize it. “Oh, my sweet, sweet sister, you’re gonna be alright,” he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re stronger than you think. And one day, when the time comes, you’ll use that dagger. You’ll protect yourself.”

Your tears soaked into his shirt, heavy sobs shaking your entire body. You didn’t want him to leave. He was the only one who cared, the only one who made you feel like you were more than just a shadow in your father’s house.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” you whispered, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. “Promise me.”

He pulled back, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll come back for you, little Birdie,” he said, but there was something hollow in his voice. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You better.”

He smiled then, a small, sad smile. His eyes looked down at an identical set that was looking up at him, and for a moment, it was just the two of you. Two siblings, bound together in a world that had been cruel to them both since their birth. You wanted to hold onto him forever, to keep him from slipping away, but deep down, you knew you couldn’t. He was too restless, too wild for the cage your father had built around you.

In the morning, his room was empty. His bed was cold. A deep voice boomed through the halls calling his name, and then—

You jolted awake, your breathing unheaven as the remnants of the dream clung to your mind like a fog refusing to lift. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears, and for a moment, you thought you could still feel your brother’s arms tight around you, hear his voice whispering sweet promises he’d never keep. You laid there, staring up at the canvas roof of your tent, blinking against the bright light of the morning sun that filtered through the holes in the fabric.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your tired eyes, trying to shake off the memories that had followed you out of sleep. But they lingered, like the heavy, humid air that surrounded you.

Your hand drifted beneath your makeshift pillow, where his dagger laid sheathed. The leather now worn and cracked with age. You reached out and ran your fingers over it, the familiar pattern in the hilt soothing you like one of Miss Constance’s lullabies. It was the only part of him you had left, the only piece of your old haunted life that still mattered.

Your brother had told you you’d need it one day.

He’d been right.

But as much as you liked to extract yourself from reality and go to the comfort of your memories there was no time to dwell on the past. The present had demands of its own. The sun was already high in the sky, and the dry heat of October had begun to seep into the air of West Elizabeth, even though summer should have been a distant memory by now. It was unusual for the weather to be so hot this time of year, but the West had always been unpredictable. Today was no different. The earth around you was baked and dry, the sparse yellow grass crackling under your boots, and the few trees that shielded your camp offered little cover from the relentless sun.

You sighed and pushed yourself up to your feet, dusting off your floor length red skirt, stretching the stiffness from your limbs. Your camp, hidden in the Great Plains just outside of town, was modest—a second hand tent, a few basic supplies scattered around the campfire and your horse hitched on a nearby tree. It wasn’t much, but it kept you out of sight and away from trouble. Most of the time, anyway.

You washed your face, water splashing away the last remains of sleep and made a mental note to soon refill your bucket. As you prepared your coffee, your thoughts drifted back to your brother, to that final night you’d spent together. You wondered what he’d think of you now. A wanted woman. An outlaw, just like him. Though you doubted he’d wanted that for you.

But choices have consequences and your consequences, for better or for worse, led you to this life.

Finishing your coffee you put out the small fire as best as you could. You approached your horse Willow—a beautiful Ardennes with strawberry roan you managed to steal away from home. She nickered softly as you approached and gave her a gentle pat on the neck before slipping the saddle onto her strong back. You had errands to run today, groceries to buy and supplies to collect. The trip into Blackwater made you uneasy every time, but it couldn’t be helped. You needed to eat, and there were only so many supplies you could steal without drawing attention to yourself. So far, you’d been careful. You’d kept your head low, using a fake name, and stayed out of sight.

But Blackwater was dangerous territory. Given that it was the second largest town in the untamed west, the law had eyes everywhere, and bounty hunters passed through the town circling like vultures over dead meat.

Your wanted posters had been plastered all over the North East American regions. The first months after the day that sealed your fate you found the paper manifesto in a town nearby where you grew up. The paper inked with some vague artist’s rendering of your face and beneath your portrait written in all capitals was your name with a 500$ reward for whoever caught you, preferably alive. The portrait didn’t resemble you enough to get you caught. Yet, you decided to completely flee the region, finding yourself wandering in the famous uncivilized west.

Mounting your horse you steered her out of the camp, the town of Blackwater looming in the distance. The ride into town was quiet, the road dusty and empty save for the occasional wagon passing in the distance. The heat was oppressive, the sun beating down on your head, making sweat bead on your forehead. By the time you reached the outskirts of town, your shirt clung to your skin, the dry dusty wind doing little to cool you off.

Blackwater was bustling with life by the time you arrived. The town had grown over the months you spent in the region, more folk moving in, more buildings popping up along the main street. Wagons creaked along the dirt roads, horses snorted, and people moved about their business with the kind of hurried energy that only came with trying to escape the midday heat. You kept your head low, as you guided your horse down the main street.

“Cornwall City Railway expanding ever more with rumors of the works coming to Blackwater. Come and read more Ladies and Gents!”

The newspaper seller shouted as you dismounted outside the general store and tied your horse to the nearest hitching post. Your eyes scanned the street for any signs of trouble, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just folks living their lives as usual. For a brief moment, you let yourself relax.

Inside the general store, the cool air offered a momentary relief from the unforgiving heat outside. You greeted the shopkeeper and moved through the aisles quickly, picking up fruits, canned good, coffee, and a few other essentials for camp. The shopkeeper, an older man with a long thick beard, barely looked at you as you placed the goods on the counter.

"That all?" he asked, his voice disinterested as he bagged your items. So much for customer service.

You nodded, sliding a few bills across the counter. He took them without a word, and you turned on your heel, leaving the store as quickly as you’d entered. The exchange was quick, with no questions, no lingering looks, you wondered if that was for the best. You stowed your items on Willow's back, gifting her an apple before resuming your chores.

Your next stop was the post office.

As you entered the wooden building you were met with a couple of empty benches, the wooden building almost empty save for the post office clerk and another man. The post office clerk, a tired-looking man with silver thinning hair, was shuffling through a stack of letters when you approached the counter.

“I’ve got a parcel,” you said, your voice calm and steady.

The post clerk barely looked up. “Name?” he asked, his fingers still rifling through the letters.

“Deliah Hill,” you replied. Your fake alias coming out of your lips like second nature. The man shuffled to the shelf behind him, after a few seconds he turned back.

“Nope, no letters or parcels under that name.”

You shifted on your feet. Biting the inside of your cheeks you pondered on your options. Could she have used your real name to send you your parcel?

You looked around, the post office was deserted enough. With a sigh, you asked the man to search under your real name. Years passed from the last time you used that name. The moment your name left your mouth, you felt a shift in the room. A chill ran down your spine despite the heat. The clerk’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked at you before going to retrieve your parcel. For a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the pounding of your heart in your ears.

The post office clerk handed you the parcel. “Thank you,” you said, your voice steady despite the panic rising inside you.

You turned to exit the building and behind you, someone shifted—a man, leaning against the wall by the door. You could feel his eyes on you now, sharp and calculating. Recognition flickered across his expression, and a slow, dangerous smile curled at the corner of his lips.

Bounty hunter.

You kept your face neutral, your fingers twitching closer toward the dagger on your belt. Your steps were slow as you walked out of the post office, the weight of the man’s gaze heavy on your body. You could feel it, the way his eyes followed your every movement, like a predator stalking its prey. The moment the sun kissed your skin you wasted no time. You stalked down the street towards your horse when a man bumped into you making you almost lose balance.

“I’m so sorry, Sir” you quickly apologized. He stared down at you from under his tall hat with pensive eyes and a stretched smile under his thick mustache. He was dressed in a two piece black suit, definitely too warm for the weather. “Where wolves prowl, ravens follow.” he said and gave you a last glance before continuing his path. What a strange man.

You shook your head and mounted your horse, hands steady despite the adrenaline flooding your veins.

Don’t run. Act normal. Keep calm.

As you rode down the street, the hot air seemed to thicken with tension. Your heart raced in your chest as you prayed he wouldn’t follow you. Willow’s hooves kicked up dust as she made her way toward the edge of town, your mind racing with possibilities trying to form an escape plan and get back safely to camp. If you could make it to the woods, you’d have a chance to disappear and take a shortcut to camp. He wouldn’t follow you there. Not without backup.

But as the last building passed you by on the outskirts of Blackwater, all your hopes vanished. A shout boomed in the air.

“Hey you! Stop right there!”

Your pulse spiked, and you kicked your horse into a gallop, dirt flying up behind you as the sound of hoofbeats thundered from behind. You didn’t need to look back to know what was happening. The hunter had been waiting for you.

Judging by the sounds of hooves on the dirt there were three, maybe four of them. Their shouts grew louder as they gave chase. You risked a glance over your shoulder, your heart pounding harder as your eyes spotted them—three middle aged men with rifles strapped across their backs and pistols in their hands, their eyes hungry with the promise of a reward.

One of them fired a shot, the crack of the gun slicing through the air. The bullet whizzed so close you could feel the heat of it landed on your side. You cursed under your breath and leaned low over your horse, urging it to go faster.

The woods weren’t far now, but the hunters were closing in, their shouts carrying over the wind like hyenas laughing at their prey.

They weren’t going to stop. Not until they had what they wanted, and that unfortunately was you.

The air seemed to shimmer with heat, dust kicking up in a haze covering the surrounding area as your horse rode across the dry, cracked earth. The world around you blurred, but your mind was sharp, every instinct screaming at you to ride faster, to outrun them. Your heart hammered in your chest, its pulse loud in your ears.

“Come on, lady,” you whispered to your horse, digging your heels into her sides as you urged the animal to go faster, gaining back a strained neigh from Willow. The woods were close now, the trees loomed ahead like a dark sanctuary, the thick branches of the trees casting long shadows over the dusty trail. If you could make it there, you could lose them. You could be free.

But the bounty hunters were relentless.

You looked back at them once more. A man with a scar running down his cheek, leveled his rifle and aimed. The sharp crack of his gunshot echoed in the air. You turned to look ahead of you, squeezing the reigns in your hand in anticipation, and then you felt it—a jolt beneath you as your horse staggered.

“No!” you screamed, your heart plummeting.

Willow let out a terrible, guttural cry, her body lurching forward as her legs buckled for a moment. Blood spurted from her side where the bullet had hit, staining her coat. But she regained control and kept running, her strong legs carrying forward, even as the wound drained the life from her with every step she took. You felt tears sting your eyes as you urged your horse onward, knowing the animal was running on sheer survival instinct alone.

“Ardennes are war horses, they might not run like Arabians but they’re strong,” Mister Anderson, your riding instructor once told you.

“Can you teach me how to ride one?” You were met with a bitter laugh, one you were far too accustomed to. He wasn’t laughing with you, but at you. You knew that it was near impossible for a thirteen years old girl to control such an animal but there was no harm in trying. You felt anger bubbling up in your body as you eyed your father’s Ardennes.

“Just a little more,” You whispered, your voice strained with desperation. “Just a little more then we’re safe.”

The woods closed in around you, the thick trees swallowing you whole as you crossed into the shade. The bounty hunters' shouts grew more distant, their voices muffled by the forest, but you knew they wouldn’t stop. Not yet. You could still hear them faintly, calling out your name, their taunts carrying through the trees like a ghostly echo.

“Come on out, girl! We’ll make it quick if you give up now!”

“You can’t run forever!” another voice shouted.

But you weren’t listening anymore. Your mind was solely focused on your horse, your only friend, who had carried you through so much, and who had never once let you down. The mare’s breathing was ragged now, each step slower, more labored than the last. Blood dripped hot from her side, staining the dry grass beneath you, second after second you could feel the horse’s strength fading.

The horse collapsed to her knees, unable to carry on. She let out a weak, broken cry as her legs gave out beneath her, sending you tumbling from your saddle into the dirt. You quickly scrambled to your feet, your breath catching in your throat as you rushed to her side.

“Willow! No, no!” you shouted, kneeling beside the mare, your hands trembling as you reached for the horse’s injury. Your hands stained with blood in mere seconds. The animal was breathing heavily, her eyes wide with pain and fear, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Blood pooled around you both, thick and dark covering the woods’ floor.

You ran a hand over the horse’s coat, your fingers brushing through the mane as tears blurred your vision. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Willow let out a soft, almost pitiful sound, her head resting heavily in the grass. The horse’s body shuddered, life slowly draining from her eyes, but even now, she was trying to stay strong. It was like she didn’t want to leave you. Like she didn’t want to fail you.

Everything stilled, it was as if you were trapped in a bubble. You didn’t know, or care, where the bounty hunters were, but they were still out there, combing the woods for you. You could hear their voices, faint and taunting, calling your name but none of that mattered in that moment. All you could see was your horse, your loyal friend, dying in your arms. Another life lost because of you.

You pressed your forehead against Willow’s, your tears falling onto her soft, velvety nose. The pain in your chest was overwhelming, a grief so deep it felt like it might burn you from the inside. This horse had been with you through everything—through your escape from the hell that was your home, through lonely nights when you had no one else. And now you were losing her. You were losing the one good thing you had left.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, your voice shaking. It was the only thing you could think of. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

You pressed a trembling kiss to the mare’s forehead. A last goodbye. “You were brave, girl. You can rest now.”

The horse’s breathing slowed, and as if following your command her body shuddered one last time before she went still. You could feel the life leave her body.

For a long moment, you stayed there, your hands resting on the horse’s neck, caressing her, as if your actions would ease her soul. You wanted to scream, to rage against the world, but there was no time. You snapped back to reality as the voices of the bounty hunters were getting closer now.

You forced yourself to stand, wiping your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand. Your heart ached, but you couldn’t stay. Not if you wanted to survive. The bounty hunters would be here soon, and they’d show no mercy. You had to run.

With one last, heartbroken glance at your horse, you turned and sprinted deeper into the woods, your legs carrying as fast as they could. Your boots thudded against the soft earth, your breathing ragged and uneven as you darted between the trees, your mind racing.

The forest was dense. Branches whipped at your face as you ran, one in particular caught on your skirt, tearing the fabric to your knees. You fell, knees burning from the scratch. Your lungs burned with each breath, but you couldn’t stop. You had to keep going.

Then, through the trees, almost as an apparition you saw it—an old, crumbled wooden cabin, barely visible through the thick underbrush. The wood was weathered and covered in vines, the roof sagging in places, and one of the walls had partially collapsed, leaving a hole covered by some planks big enough to enter in the side of the building. It looked abandoned, forgotten by time. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A place to hide. A place to catch your breath.

Without hesitation, you sprinted toward the cabin, using all the energy left in your body. You could still hear the bounty hunters behind you.

The planks on the side creaked loudly as you pushed them to open the hole, the wood groaning under your weight. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the smell of mold, the floorboards creaking beneath your boots. Cobwebs covered almost every corner of the room, and broken furniture was scattered across the room, but it didn’t matter. You weren't looking for comfort—you were looking for survival.

You put the planks in place and crouched low behind an overturned table near the back of the cabin, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tried to quiet your racing heart. Your hand rested on the grip of your dagger, your knuckles white. You knew it was nothing against their rifles but at least if they found you, you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

For now, all you could do was wait with your heart heavy with the loss of your horse and your mind focused on staying alive.

The footsteps of the hunters grew louder outside, their voices drawing nearer. You held your breath, your body tense as you listened, praying they wouldn’t find you here.

This cabin was your last chance.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, louder than the whispers of the men searching for you. Then, beneath the irregular sound of your own heartbeat, you felt something else—something sharp and burning.

Your hand drifted to your side, fingers pressing under your ribs. Warm, sticky blood coated your palm. Panic flared in your chest as you realized—one of those bullets they fired didn’t scrape you but had actually hit you. You hadn’t felt it before, the adrenaline masking the pain and pushing you forward. But now as the effect started to die down, pain took its place. A shot, not deep, but dangerous enough. You gritted your teeth, wiping the blood on your torn gown, willing yourself to stay conscious, to stay alert.

You needed to figure out what to do next—escape, hide, something. But then, the cold sensation of the barrel of a gun made contact with the back of your head. You closed your eyes for a second before turning to face your fate.

Fate took the form of a man, no older than twenty-six, lean but muscular, his long dark brown hair falling messily over his sharp features covered by a faint beard. His piercing gaze was cold, focused. You could sense he carried himself with the confidence of someone used to the dangerous weight of a gun in his hand. And there it was—pointed right at you. You looked up at him from your kneeled position, completely at his mercy.

From the shadows, next to the man, another figure stepped forward. The second man was much older, his weathered face marked by lines of age and experience. His silver hair combed back. His eyes, though, were sharp with curiosity as he took in your state. His eyes seemed to look into your soul and that terrified you more than the gun pointed at your head.

You could feel both their eyes on you—taking in the tear-streaked dirt on your cheeks, your disheveled hair, the blood staining your skirt tored from the knees down. But more than anything, their gazes linger on the dagger clenched tightly in your hand, its intricate hilt glinting in the dim light filtering from the cracks of the cabin. Your brother’s dagger.

“Don’t move,” the younger man said, his voice cold and steady, the barrel of his gun unwavering as he clicked its safety off.

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, you raised the dagger in your hand, pointing it toward him in a futile attempt at defense. Not really a wise choice since he had a gun pointed directly at your head, but you were cornered, wounded, and outnumbered. Most of all you were tired.

The older man—his voice smoother, almost soothing—spoke next. “Easy now, no need for more bloodshed.” He stepped closer to the younger man, placing a hand on his arm. “John, calm down.”

John. The name floated in the air as your grip tightened on the dagger, your eyes flicking between the two men. The tension was thick, your body tense, ready to lash out or flee, but the older man kept his gaze on you, caging any movement. His eyes calculating but not unkind.

Outside, you could hear the voice of the bounty hunters calling for you.

“Come on out now! It’ll be easier if you don’t make us drag you out!”

“Miss,” he says softly, eyeing your trembling hand, gripping the dagger like a lifeline. “You're hurt. And from the sound of it, those fellas outside ain't exactly your friends.”

John’s grip on his gun tightened, his eyes flicking toward the door before settling back on you looking you up and down. His gaze piercing. “We can’t trust her, Hosea,” he mutters under his breath. “She could be one of them.”

Hosea didn’t look away from you, though he rolled his eyes at the younger man's sentence. “Does she look like one of them to you?” he asks, his tone calm but with an edge of irritation. His eyes swept over you again, the blood, the tear-streaked face, the bleeding wound on your side. “She’s in no shape to be hunting anyone.”

You have no idea who these men were, but something about the older one’s voice was reassuring, like hot milk and honey on a cold night. But the younger one—John—you couldn’t say the same, his distrust was palpable. Your instinct told you to run, to hide, but the growing footsteps outside told you otherwise. You were trapped.

“You gonna fight off all those men out there with a knife?” Hosea asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or would you rather come with us?” At his proposition the younger man lowered his gun in disbelief, eyeing the older man with fury.

You swallowed hard, feeling the blood drip from your side, the sharp sting of your wound biting deeper making your thoughts hazy. You’ve always been alone, fending for yourself, trusting no one. But here, now it wasn’t a choice between trust or caution. It was life or death.

“I—” you started, but the sound of boots crunching outside the cabin silenced you.

You felt your heart almost beating out your chest. Run or fight? Die here cornered like an animal or continue to fight. Who were these two strangers, could you even trust these men? Why were they willing to help a wanted woman? Your mind struggled to come up with an explanation and under the exhaustion you gave in.

“I’ll come with you,” you muttered, lowering the dagger, your fingers numb from the tight grip you’d held onto it with.

John scoffed. “You sure about this, Hosea?”

Hosea nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, I think she’ll be more use to us alive than dead.” He outstretched a hand towards you, helping you up on your feet. “Let’s go, before those boys outside kick the door down.”

Without another word, Hosea moved toward the side of the cabin, looking outside before gesturing for you to follow. John, still glaring at you, holstered his gun but kept one hand hovering near his hip, ready to draw at any sign of trouble from you.

You slipped out, moving quickly and quietly through the dense underbrush. Your side burning with every step, and the world seems to tilt dangerously, your vision blurring as you stumbled after them. The sounds of the bounty hunters behind you fade as you made your way deeper into the forest, but your legs started to grow weaker, your strength fading with every drop of blood you lost.

Hosea led the way, his steps sure and practiced, while John brought up the rear, gun ready in his hand and eyes darting around as if he expected an ambush at any moment. They moved fast, and you could barely keep up. Your head spun, your breathing labored as the last remains of adrenaline slowly ebbed away, leaving only the raw, gnawing pain storming in your body.

“I’m not your enemy,” you hissed through gritted teeth, as you felt John’s eyes studying you. The effort of speaking sent a sharp, stabbing pain through your side.

“But you sure as hell ain’t acting like a friend either.” He replied, his tone harsh. He took a step closer, his gun never leaving his hand. “And from where I’m standing, you’re more trouble to us than you’re worth.”

Your blood boiled at his words, and despite the dizziness creeping in around the edges of your vision, you lifted your chin, his height making you glare up at him “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” you spat, your voice shaking with the weight of your fury and exhaustion. “If I was trouble, you’d already be dead.”

John’s lips curl into a smirk, but there’s no warmth in it. “Is that so? You’re half-dead on your feet, bleeding all over the place, and you think you’re in any shape to make threats?”

“I can handle myself.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t look like it.”

The sound of Hosea’s voice urging you two to move along snapped you out of your staring contest with the man.

After some more walking you reached a small clearing, in the distance you could see two horses tethered to a tree, a large black morgan snorting impatiently and a silver turkoman with various pelts on his back. You stopped in front of the horses, the memory of Willow’s death fresh and painful making you still. John stopped at your side, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you.

“You’ll have to ride with me.” He urged, the words clipped. Your eyes locked with his gray ones briefly before looking back at his horse. Though for a moment you hesitated, you clumsily climbed on the saddle, the sharp pain in your side restricting your movements. He climbed behind you, his arms circling your waist to keep you from falling off. You heard a clicking noise behind your ear and the horse started to move. The world blurred as your vision wavered, your fingers gripping tightly on John’s forearm muscles as exhaustion threatened to consume you. You could hear Hosea saying something, his voice distant and far away.

“Hold on tight, or you’ll fall off.” John’s gruff voice cut through the haze.

You wanted to snap back at him, but you couldn’t respond. Your strength long gone. You pressed your back against John’s chest. The pain in your side too intense, the blood loss catching up to you. Your grip slackens on his arms making him let out a curse.

And then, darkness took over you.

───── •✧✧• ─────

Consciousness returned slowly, like the gentle light of the sun after the rain. You blinked against the light coming mostly likely from an oil lantern, your vision a hazy blur of shapes and colors. As you tried to focus, you became aware of three figures looming over you, their faces shifting in and out of clarity. Panic fluttered in your chest for a moment as you struggled to push yourself up, your body heavy, the pain in your side reminding you of what happened previously. The last thing you remembered was John’s arms tightening around you and his low voice saying something in your ear.

One of the figures stepped closer, the soft glow of the lamp in the other man’s hand illuminating his features. It was an older man with a ginger mustache and hollow eyes, a look of concern etched deep into the lines of his face. There’s something kind about the way he looked at you.

“Easy there, Miss,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. Just relax.”

The other two figures remained just beyond your sight, their silhouettes casting long shadows across the room. One came beside the ginger man, a tall woman with a stern face, her arched brow furrowed in concentration as she spoke to the man. “—got to make sure it doesn’t get infected,” the woman said, her voice crisp and commanding. “If we don’t stitch her upright, we could lose her.”

As you laid there, struggling to grasp the situation, a wave of warmth washed over you, followed by a sharp sting in your side. You flinched involuntarily, the sensation jolting through you like lightning. That’s when the man with the mustache spoke to the woman beside him “Give something to this poor soul!” he exclaimed, and the other two turned their attention toward you, eyes widening as they saw your pained expression

“Stay still,” the woman commanded, her hands deftly working as she threaded the needle through your skin. “You need to let us do our job, Miss.”

The sharpness of the needle pierced you again, and a low groan escaped your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut, fighting against the pain. “W-what are you doing?” you gasped, panic rising again as the burning sensation spread across your side. Who were these people?

“Just sewing you up,” the man replied, trying to sound comforting, but his eyes held a glint of urgency. “It’s going to hurt a bit. Just keep breathing.”

The third figure, the man with the lamp in hand, stepped back, circling around the woman to give her more light, allowing you a clearer view. His face was familiar—Hosea. You remembered him from the cabin, the kindness in his eyes when he had convinced you to trust him and follow him and John. He watched you intently, a mixture of worry and sympathy written on his face.

“Hang in there,” Hosea said softly, his voice grounding you as the woman continued her work. “You’re going to be alright.”

You felt a rush of warmth and comfort at the sound of his voice, the sensation short lived and quickly replaced by the sharp stab of the needle as it pierced your skin once more. You winced, tears springing to your eyes, and the woman frowned.

With each stitch, the burning intensified, the pain nearly overwhelming. Your screams were agonizing and you tried to thrash against the cot beneath you, but a strange sense of exhaustion settled over you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized you needed to focus on something, anything else. You thought of your brother—his laughter, the way he always made you feel safe, the last memory you had of him giving you that dagger, his last gift of love and protection.

“Don’t close your eyes, stay with us,” Hosea urged, as if sensing your thoughts drifting. The woman pressed a bottle into your hand. “Here, drink this. It’ll help with the pain,” she instructed. You blindly gulped down the liquid realizing after a few seconds that it was whiskey. The liquid sharp and burning as it travelled down your throat, making you cough slightly. Soon you felt its effects dulling your senses, a warm haze began to envelop you. “I can’t—” you started, but another wave of pain crashed over you, and you could feel your eyes fluttering, the world around you dimming again.

“Stay awake,” Hosea said, his voice soothing and steady. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You tried to focus on his words, tried to keep your eyes open, but sleep spread through you. The voices around you faded, the edges of your vision darkened, but not before you caught a glimpse of one last figure—the younger man, John—stood in the corner of the room, his expression unreadable.

He looked different now, less like a threat and more like someone who understood your pain. But as you slipped back into the void, your last thoughts were of your brother, his smile and the warmth of his embrace.

And then, with a final flicker of awareness, you drowned into the darkness, your mind drifting away on a sea of memories.

———————————————

taglist: @laylasredemption @starlightt180 @photo1030 @oceanwaves1998

[grandlinedreams]

sorry i may or may not hve accidentally sent an incomplete request bc i just saw a bug on my bed 😭😭😭 but can i request something with ace or sanji where the reader’s exhausted themselves fighting and when they’re about to drop he catches them like “you did well, i’ll take it from here” :))

HFJGJD YOU'RE FINE DW bugs are not welcome on beds, I feel that hgjfjf but OOH ABSOLUTELY i'm such a sucker for stuff like that ehehe and as much as I'd love to write for Ace, i have some stuff for him coming up so let's go w Sanji!

[Heads up!: canon typical violence, mentions of blood]

Your lungs burn.

Every breath is a struggle as your chest heaves, muscles aching ㅡ but you keep on your feet, weapn gripped tight enough to bleed your knuckles white.

You can't give in, or give up ㅡ your crew is counting on you. You just have to hold them off long enough for them to get here, and you can do that.

Blood soaks into your clothes. Whether it's yours or someone else's you're not entirely certain ㅡ only that protective fury guides your movement.

You won't let any of them lay a single finger on your beloved crewmates, your family ㅡ you'd rather die than see any harm come to them if you can help it.

But there truly is only so much your body can take. You've exhausted your haki, your energy ㅡ it takes all you have left just to keep upright on your feet. The world blurs, sharpens ㅡ then spins again as your body sags.

Instead of colliding with the ground, however, you meet the warmth of another body, the faint scent of cigarette smoke and cologne ㅡ Sanji. His visible eye flicks over you, trying to assess the damage, how much of the blood splattered over you is yours ㅡ and then he smiles.

"You did well," he tells you when you peer blearly up at him, "but you rest now. I'll take it from here."

[b4rredteeth]

Benny hadn’t thought of Fallon specifically in the whole Stella situation. Fallon having bought drugs from him hadn’t been a big deal to him, and he hated that it was to Stella, or even to Cyrek, though he figured the pin king tried to keep his crew clean, which he could understand. In the early days of the Bastards, when Benny had been a part of it, he had really questioned how they could all function if they were all fucked up half of the time. Not that Benny had ever been addicted to the shit, he didn’t have to be, he had his own vices. He could live without alcohol, smoking, and even drugs, as long as he could continue to start trouble. 

And trouble was headed his way in the form of an angry mongrel with bared teeth right now. While he was wholly unprepared for it. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Fallon might retaliate, he figured she had enough shit on her plate to think to come connect fists with little old him. Not that he could blame her if she did, but Benny thought Stella did such things, not Fallon. It showed how he technically didn’t know Fallon that well. And how he should’ve known better. 

He’d barely opened the door when it came to hit him in the face, surprising him enough to make him fall back into his apartment. Fuck these doors for opening into the house. He sucked in a breath at the pain that spread from his head and his hand, both having been in the way of the freaking karate kick. He quickly surged back to his feet, hissing at the figure in his doorway. “Fuck do you want?” Hoping his words would give Fallon pause so he could catch his breath and numb the pain in his head with something. Was that blood? He closed one eye against something sticky and wiped it away with his bad hand. God-fucking-damnit he had just wiped the floor.

july 16, seal harbour apartments ft. @b4rredteeth — benny

one day. one day was all it took. to shrivel up in embarrassment for how she begged for stella's forgiveness, shame for having broken their trust in the first place. to abandon work in favour of the company of a few beers stocking her fridge, which only led to crawling around her apartment for any single shred of addiction in which to partake. and to come to the conclusion of who was really to blame. far be it her own fault, a product of an illness she's been drowning in for longer than she cared to admit. no. the real fiend, the catalyst, was him. and finally, she could do something about the state of her grovel, the persisting fucking panic polluting her being. revenge, it tasted so sweet, but it was only a fragrance. fallon had to have the whole mouthful, to have bhaskar chanda gritting through her canines. the house arrest monitor felt as weighty as an iron shackle — for all intents and purposes, it was exactly that. the mistake laid in the allowance of the leash her parole dictated, and it bore no significance as she stormed the hallways of the infested apartments with the din of night to enshroud them. her figure was an omen — unkempt ebony hair shagging about her gaunt features, unblinking, fingers flexing, donning only a monochromatic fit of tank-top and jeans. noises abound at all hours of the complex and so she bade no heed to the inevitable thumps of her boots as they brought her to a doorway she knew once crossing the threshold would wreck further havoc. what did it matter anyway? since the whole goddamn disappearance was sensationalized, everything had gone to hell, undermined. it was stella's face, the expression in her eye, that was on fallon's mind as she brought knuckle to the numbered plate. the moment benny parted the door a fraction, fallon piston a foot for the handle and relished in the resounding CRACK of it against the man's countenance.

[xcarlet1211]

*slapped the table*

Showtime colleagues kisses!!..please? ^_^;

Ok OK, you don't have to use the violence.

I LIED, HELL YEEEEAHH SHOWTIME KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE

this is based of an animatic I made in Christmas xd

Ehehe, the scene was more romantic in her head

Maybe you want to read the descriptions

[pocketjoong]

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆noctem⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 〘teaser〙

/nɑktəm/ noun 1. night (period of time), darkness, or a dream 2. (figuratively) confusion, ignorance, or death

〘Synopsis〙『Your hatred of dragons is a hate born of witnessing their flames consume your village, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. The worst of all is the beast that haunts your dreams, the very dragon whose memory fuels a burning desire for revenge within you. But life has a way of unsettling even the most steadfast convictions. And when you stumble upon a truth that shatters the boundaries of your understanding, you begin to question the very essence of the world you live in.』

〘Pairing〙『Night Fury!Shifter!Seonghwa x afab!Reader』

〘Genre〙『FANTASY, ACTION, SMUT』

〘Warnings〙『Based on How To Train Your Dragon. Canon compliant violence. Mentions of character deaths. Description of injuries. Will have smut or suggestive undertones in the future. Each chapter will contain warnings, please read them carefully. MDNI.』

〘A/N〙『Tagging my enablers @nebulousbrainsoup, @jaehunnyy, and @justhere4kpop bc without them would I (re)post a shiny new version of what I once called Accidental Destiny? Probably not. So say thank you to them ehehe~』

“You possess a ferocity that my kind can only dream of,” he whispers against your skin, his words laced with a sense of reverence that manifests in the form of the gentle caress of his lips against your cheekbone. “Use that fire with the grace of your ancestors and the kindness of your heart. For it’s your kindness that makes you the most formidable warrior out there.”

- note: there will be NO taglist for this series.

...COMING SOON

[mystsee]

DRIFTED ✦ SIMON GHOST RILEY

PREV ✦ PART 4 ✦ NEXT

✦ about: something happened when simon left, something you don’t want him to know, yet when he comes back, your reaction to him gave him all the answers.

✦ content: afab reader, graphic violence mentions, mentions of possible s/a, panic attack, blood, knife, death mentions, anxiety, depressive thoughts, no mentions of y/n

✦ a/n: ehehe wrote this in one go 🫠

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

just a week has passed since simon left, enough for a certain psycho come back to you.

you were trying to sleep in your room, cold weather making you all cuddled up in your bed. after a long session of work today pulled an all nighter, your body was begging for a rest. which was what you thought you would be doing.

an hour of tossing around in your bed, a sudden sound woke you up, it was weird, like someone was pushing around something. you thought it was maybe a neighbor moving around a table or so. it was barely 8pm, but winter made the sky look darker right now, making it look like it was 3 am.

a minute later you heard it again, but this time louder and clearer. that was definitely not a neighbor, it sounded way too close to you. you felt fear creeping up on you, was someone on window?

a million thoughts spiraled inside your mind, that couldn’t be him, he was arrested wasn’t he? maybe something crashed on your window? a bird? who fucking knows, you tried not to think it could be him.

you always had very good hearing, and it was very useful right now. slow but deep footsteps were heard, like they were trying to find something or someone.

by now you were sure none of your friends were inside your home, they always told you when they would come over. definitely an intruder, you thought.

immediately you grabbed the knife next to your bed, reminding you of simon

-

“keep it love, you never know what could happen” a worried stare was evident in his eyes “acting like i live in the most insecure neighbor simon” you said softly laughing “i’ll be okay, nothing has ever happened here” oh how wrong you were

-

your heart was beating so loud you couldn’t even hold the knife correctly, you were standing beside your door now.

the air in the room was way too cold, making the leggings and sweatshirt you were wearing not helping at all, you were shivering so bad you could drop the knife.

holding the knife stronger, you heard the footsteps closer to you, and faster, making you dizzy for a second, what where you supposed to do know? just stab who ever was in your home?

you heard very subtle the door handle moving, making you hold your breath, slowly the door started opening, covering your entire frame, but you could see with the mirror in front of you who was it.

that’s when your heart stopped. he was supposed to be arrested! with the police officers! interrogating him! what the hell was he doing in here?!

his sick voice said your name, making you flinch, oh how you hated his voice, he started walking closer to your bed. the sheets making it look like you were there, hence why he started touching all your sheets trying to find you you were sure you were going to burn them now

you saw him looking around your room, until he stopped, and looked in the mirror. you moved as fast as the speed of light. but all his attention was on finding you, making him see the subtle movement.

in a second the door was closed, very loud, and he was smiling like a freak, you just showed him the knife, pointing at him “stop!” your voice sounded so fragile “don’t you dare step close to me”

he just made a small laugh sound making your insides turn sourly “why so scared? i just came here to talk” he said putting his arms up a little

“by breaking my door lock?” he took a step closer to you making you raise the knife higher “what is wrong with you?” your breath was making it harder for you to breathe “why don’t you leave me alone?” “because, you belonged to me, and you’ll belong to me again”

he grabbed your hand with the knife and twisted it, making you almost scream “get away from me!” you said pushing him with all your force, but that didn’t bother him at all, it almost looked like he liked it.

he pushed you to the wall, making you hit your head and loose your sight for a second “if you keep moving you’ll just hurt yourself dear” he managed to cross your arms in front of you, his face so close to you, making you nauseous. but you still had the knife with you.

“i said let go of me” you felt his hand wander lower to your leggings, making you panick, his other hand was on your throat, if you didn’t do it know, you would go unconscious.

his chest was pushing your arms to you, but you managed to move your arm with the knife lower, closer to his stomach. the bastard was so focused on his hand near your lower parts he never saw you still had the knife

you were going dizzy by now, your hand was loosing force but you found all the strength in you to do it. the moment you felt his hand touch your lower part, you angled your hand to his stomach, stabbing him so deep he screamed.

“you fucking bitch!” he stopped choking you, slowly moving to the floor. you felt the air again inside you, tears coming out of you.

you let go of the knife, your eyes were so wide you couldn’t even breathe properly, what the fuck did you just do? you just stabbed a person psycho. you stood there in shock for about 5 seconds, what am i supposed to do now? you thought panicked.

the blood was spreading fast on your carpet, making you nervous, it wasn’t a pretty sight. you grabbed the wall behind you for support and moved to the side fast.

but it seemed like he still had a bit of life left, he grabbed your ankle while you were walking, making you double over to the bed, you didn’t have much strength left, making it easier for him to drag you to him.

you grabbed the duvet with all your force and moved yourself up to the bed. your phone was on the other side of it, making you stain the duvet with his blood. you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and called 911. you could’t see him bleed out in front of you, in your room.

…

never did you ever thought you would stab someone, let alone your ex. it’s been 3 weeks since the attack, and you never told your friends. you were still in shock you stabbed someone, how would they react?

police finally got him inside jail, you installed a camera with simon before he left outside your apartment, psycho didn’t see it, all his breaking the lock thingy act was evidenced.

he was arrested, and a trial was going to happen. you had to testify. a part of you was terrified to see him again, you stabbed someone, you still see his blood in your room.

you were somehow calm to know he was in jail for now, but that didn’t mean your paranoia left.

every night you woke up almost screaming, the nightmares were eating you alive by now, your eyes were begging for sleep, yet you couldn’t. you see him in your dreams and you hate it.

your friends were worried, they just saw you slowly pass from energetic and glowy to almost sick. you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell them. you hung out less with them too, every once a week maybe.

all these madness was making you sick in the head, body and soul. your apartment was a mess, your dishes were dirty, your poor cat even looked worried for you, going you almost everywhere you went around the apartment.

you knew simon was coming back anytime now, add it to the list of things worrying you. will he be back? is he okay? what else could happen now? you dying? that could probably be much better than enduring whatever the hell is happening.

you just wanted a pretty life away from any danger, him, and be at peace. it seems like it’s all the opposite now. it was shameful how depressed you were. you couldn’t bring yourself to even make the bed. your thoughts were depressive as hell, guilt as well on yourself.

you lost track of time, you weren’t sure if it’s been already a month or maybe a week has passed again. therefore it was quite the surprise when simon was infront of your bedroom door, confused as hell.

simon was back now, he had a long talk with price, managing to stay here for a while again, with no unexpected missions. he was almost dying to see you again, how were you? what have you done? perhaps something new related to your job, he was all excited to see you again.

as soon as simon knocked on your door, the door moved, did you knew he was coming back? he thought, what he didn’t know is you were scared to call someone to fix your door lock, what if they knew you live alone and stalked you? ptsd was on you again.

you just pushed a bunch of chairs in front of your door and tried to sleep, keyword tried. simon moved even more the door, and heard all the chairs screeching, what the hell?

you knew sleep deprivation was gonna make you crazy anytime now, so you decided to take a sleep pill, it seemed like today was going to be your first day to sleep more than 3 hours.

simon moved through your flat, and saw all the mess, he knew you were very tidy, ocd, yet when he saw your plants almost dying and a big pile of dirty dishes, he knew something was wrong.

even though you were deeply sleeping, your body was still on high alert, meaning as soon as the chairs screeched, your body bolted up, your hand instinctively grabbing the knife next to you.

you were scared, to say the least. your neighborhood was very safe, the only person that could be coming inside was him again. you felt your throat close. he’s in jail. you repeated that mantra in your head.

simon never crossed your mind, that he is back. you stood again beside your door, seeing the door handle moving slowly. it all felt familiar again, the tears threatening to fall again.

as soon as the door opened, you went for it, you moved infront of the door with the knife on your hand “don’t mov-“

simon. was infront of you, with part of his gear still on, wide eyes as same as you. “you’re back?” simon heard how fragile your voice was, your body was practically trembling with fear. in an instant he connected the dots

“did the bastard do something?” you heard his harsh words, and slowly realized he knew what happened. anyone who came inside your flat could see the signs “he-he is in jail, what do you mean?”

you were denying it, in front of simon, a soldier who may have a 6th sense. “don’t lie to me love, and please, drop the knife” his tone wasn’t as harsh as before, yet you knew he was getting impatient “i’m not lying, i’m okay simon” you said angrily wiping your tears.

you moved behind and hid your knife quickly “you’re saying, you a total control freak, with a literal mess on her home, chairs on your door, may i say your lock broken, and ready to stab me, is okay?” you freezed spot on

your back was to him so he couldn’t see your scrunched up face “stop, please” stop what?” he scoffed “don’t try getting all angry at me, what the fuck happened in here?”

simon was mad at you, that’s what you thought, but he was worried sick inside, he thought the bastard was in jail now “i’m sorry okay” you said facing him “i’m not okay right now and i would appreciate it if you left me alone” simon knew you didn’t mean those words, but he saw how stubborn you were acting, and decided to take your words “fine, i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want”

you saw him walking out as fast as possible, closing the door to your room. you panicked, anxiety making it’s way to your throat. you didn’t mean that at all:(

“wait simon” you said crying outside your door, he was on the first step of stairs, and just turned his head to you, not even his back. he knew you wouldn’t let him go.

“i’m sorry okay? this is very hard to me” you said clutching your door with all your force “i’m not okay right now, and it’s hard for me to-to” you were hyperventilating, simon was in front of you in an instant “hey, breathe for me please?”

he walked you backwards, until you hit a chair. simon just turned you around and closed your door pushing the chairs. he dragged you to your sofa, but made the mistake of grabbing your wrists, you winced and moved your hands away from him.

you tried hiding them from him, but he just manhandled you until you were on top of his big thighs, and your arms on display for him. he saw all the bruises, more specific, the hand prints on your arms.

you just snatched your arms from his hands and moved all the way to the other side of the sofa “don’t, please” he saw your angry stare on him. which rarely happened. maybe this was more serious than he initially thought

“will you tell me what happened?” you were trying to contain the sobs, this would be the first you would talk about it, and it wasn’t going so good.

simon felt a big wall in between you, it’s almost like you were a whole different person. he saw you looking straight past him, a lost gaze on you

maybe it was actually good if he left “look” he took a deep breath “just know that i’ll be here when you need me” he was dying to know what happened even though he knew what happened. as soon as he stood up your words frozed him “i stabbed him” he heard your small voice, shaking with fear again.

simon just turned his face to you “what did you just said?” he was not expecting this at all

“i said i fucking stabbed him simon, and it’s making me fucking crazy” you said in between angry breaths.

“i keep seeing him on my bedroom floor, his blood staining everything, and i just can’t erase that image out of my head” your head was in between your legs now, guilt building inside you

“i’m going on trial next saturday” you muttered

simon just stood you up, startling you for a second, and held your face on his hands “don’t you dare feel guilt on you right now” you just stared at his chest. simon moved your face up to his eyes “you heard me?” his deep voice was very close to you now. “you defended yourself okay?, i don’t know what the hell happened in here, but what i do know is that the bastard deserved it”

you felt like you could breath again, all the tension in your body left. you just needed to hear it, to know you weren’t at fault.

you knew what he said was true, making the tears fall freely from your eyes. you slowly moved your arms up to his back and held him close to you.

“i know, but still, it feels so fucking weird, i never thought i would do that in my life” he knew very well how you felt. he moved his head on top of yours and kissed it “i know, but i’m here for you know aren’t i?”

you felt simon take a deep breath. he needed to let it out, being without you felt empty, and he promised himself that after this mission he had, he would never let you go

you moved your head, practically craning all your neck to see him, his deep voice rumbling in his chest “i regret myself for letting you go in the past, even more now, perhaps you wouldn’t be dealing with all of this if i fought harder for you” did you just saw a tear on simon’s face? it was very dark, so maybe you were wrong

“all i know is that i won’t make that mistake again love, will you allow me to be in your life again?”

he felt anxiety inside him, he wasn’t sure if you would accept, it would be totally okay though, he understands, he did just left you for a month. he didn’t realize he was inside his head overthinking until you moved your soft hands to his face.

“simon you were already in the moment i saw you again” he felt his heart stop, you had a soft smile on your face. he grabbed your face again with his left hand.

you saw him put his forehead on top of yours, your lips so close to each other, with just a slight movement and you could kiss each other.

you moved yourself closer to him, your lips almost touching his, until you felt simon’s fingers on top of your lips “wait” he saw your doe eyes move up to him, a questioning gaze on him “i need to ask you something” “go on” you were impatient now, you needed to fell his soft lips on you again

“will you move in with me?”

your heart stopped, were you dreaming?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

AHHHH cliffhanger 😏

i think the next part will be the last one!!!!!!!

perhaps a little angst will make an appearance 👁️

taglist

@the-queen-of-england183 @sluttyforsimon @hotaruteba @honey-on-mars @actorryswife

[the-s1lly-corner]

Jason losing the reader

Slasher time, jason gets to have this prompt from my creepypasta "catch up" posts ehehe

Notes: Reader is GN although the post mostly focuses on Jason

CWs: Canon typical violence, reader is dead

Its going to destroy him, and if you died at the hands of a camper- maybe they made it to the cabin and attacked you, or maybe you set foot looking for Jason thinking the carnage was over.. it's going to ruin him, it reminds him too much of his mother's death

He blames himself, he should have been there to save you. Even worse if he found you still just barely alive

He ends up burying you and putting a lot of your favorite flowers where you were buried- you're probably near where the rest of Pamalas buried

He doesn't feel right destroying your body to keep a piece with him, unless a piece was already hacked off- so your belongings in the cabin will have to suffice

Wraps one of your shirts around one of his pillows

If you had died at the hands of a camper hes going to crack down even harder on keeping people out. Its going to get ugly

Very ugly

Messy too, to send the message

Visits your grave regularly and leaves flowers on it

Will sit outside for hours with you