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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years ago

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meet clay, he knows how you'll die.

intro filler chapter sorry

☾ pairing: dream x reader

☾ cw: interact at your own risk; contains graphic depictions of various character death and violence, suicide, blood, gore, and other triggering material. angst, language, guns, adult content, mentions of sex, slow burn friends to lovers

☾ wc: ~4100

Clay pulled the strap of his backpack further on his shoulder as he wove through the mindless sea of college students, eyes scanning the crowd for you, his best friend and the only person he could stand at the early hour. His knuckles flashed white as he sighed, taking the blunt impact of someone walking into him. He removed one of his headphones, mumbling a quick apology and swatting off the enthusiastically apologetic sophomore girl. All he could focus on was how much she bit her lip as she stammered on about not seeing him. It wasn’t alluring to him when most girls tried to sway his affections by looking at him with a puppy dog expression; all his mind drifted to was the dead skin across the body of her lower lip.

He finally nodded and reinstated his headphone, turning on his heel and heading for the front of the building. He received a few greetings from his peers as they crossed his path, people who shared past lectures with him and who had cheated off of him during exams. He wasn’t popular by any means, but he stayed out of people’s business and didn’t express his opinions loudly, so people tended to like him. The autumn breeze picked up as he stood in the dwellings of political science majors on the front lawn, acting as if they hadn’t seen one another in years when it had been only a few days. Clay absent-mindedly looked down at his cellphone, flipping through music as he leaned against the cool brick of the hall’s facade, waiting for you to find him.

Clay’s usual brooding manner was often off-putting to outsiders, with the careless-hollow look in his eyes giving bystanders the impression that he was nothing but a machiavellian. But you always saw the brightness in him; the side that you always experienced was specifically for you, and he made sure to keep it that way. You had wedged herself into his life and he was ever grateful for the love you had given him.

Despite the understood truth between the two of you that nothing was to be left unsaid, Clay still found himself keeping one of the most important aspects of his character unknown to you. His bloodcurdling secret was his own curse, something that would only be poison for another soul to know.

“What’s up, stud?” Somehow a flush of relief rippled through Clay’s body as his eyes locked to yours, pulling him from his isolated shell. Your hair looked brighter today against the dark hoodie peeking out from beneath an all too familiar bomber jacket. The wind fluffed your locks slightly as you continued towards him.

His eyebrows perked up as if to signal he was attempting to downplay his excited demeanor. “Stud, huh?” You smirked at his response, taking one of his headphones and putting it in your own ear, her face angled up to Clay as you waited to recognize the song, swaying slightly.

He chuckled as you shrunk away from him after muttering the song’s artist disappointedly and rolling your eyes, pulling on his hoodie pocket to follow you. As chaotic as his life often felt, he could always rely on the consistency of you. You usually attached yourself to one of his backpack straps, handles, his belt loop, or ended up under his arm, wedged against his side. It had gotten to the point that he felt naked if you weren’t within arm’s length of him, which was rare for the two of you. “So, I have something for you.” He smugly looked down at you, green eyes masking a hidden sparkle as you handed him a can of root beer, making him chuckle.

“Aren’t you sweet?” He popped the tab, taking a sip as you waved at a group of girls passing the two of you before slipping your hand against the crook of his elbow where his hoodie sleeves were pushed back.

“Actually, I was hoping it could be payment for later. I need to head over to the cemetery for some rubbings. History 270 has me getting into some weird shit, huh?” He laughed again at you, offering you the drink.

“And you need wheels?” You nodded and smiled politely at him, beaming at his words. “Yeah, alright. I have to sketch something for art anyway.” He thought about the week’s assignment and then about your little project he had dealt with the prior year. You had acted like the two of you hadn’t been to the cemetery on a regular basis, but he was grateful that you wanted him to come along with you.

You quietly jumped once. “You are my hero in faded denim, Clay. You know that, right?”

The two of you parted ways to your select destinations, one of Clay’s least favorite parts of the day, which was only solidified as he sunk into his seat and attempted to look equipped for the lecture. He spotted an unfamiliar kid shaking his knee in a distant section of the classroom. In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but the sie of the class had given him the pleasantries of getting his own personal curse out of the way on the first day.

He carefully watched the boy speak smugly to a few of the more athletic kids in the room. One of the athletes pointed to the general direction Clay was sitting in and they all moved towards him. He, yet again, took out his headphones, knowing full well that they would be talking to him for the rest of the class.

“Oi, Shaman,” one of the main guys greeted Clay like they always did: a strange pattern of slapping and shaking his hand. He was thankful he had gotten all of their first impressions months prior and didn’t have to worry about getting their scenarios again, but he geared up to meet the new kid.

“How are you, Punz?” Clay took a deep breath as the new kid was gestured to and brought into the light.

“This is Mark. He’s a transfer from one of the commuter campuses. Mark, this is the mastermind you pay for notes.”

Clay sarcastically smiled at Punz. “My, you flatter me more than any girl. Nice to meet you, man.” As soon as he touched Mark’s hand, Clay’s mind flashed to a dingy-looking barn out in the middle of nowhere before an older man in his mid-thirties came into view with a lever-action rifle in his hand. In another flash, Clay was in front of the man, now kneeling with the gun in his mouth, red, blurry eyes looking straight through Clay. A pang of guilt broke open in Clay’s stomach as he pushed against the handguard lever and pulled it back into place, squeezing the trigger and sending Ckay back to the class. He let out a sigh and fought to plaster one of his less absent smiles.

“Speaking of our lovely girls, Mark here has a question about her.” Clay’s head tilted towards Mark, not exactly squaring up to him, but sending him an amused look as if to warn him not to cross a line, knowing full-well this conversation would somehow involve you. “We all know that no guy would ever intrude on her without your blessing, but Mark sat near her on the bus before his first class and was thinking about asking her out.”

Clay bit back a laugh, feeling like the Vito Corleone. “Well, you know her, Punz, and you know she would be mortified if I told some guy to fuck off, so I would just ask her yourself?” Oh, how desperately Clay wanted to bash Mark for not even telling Clay himself and the fact that the boy before him was nowhere near your type, but Clay knew better than to burn bridges and he felt bad for the way Mark would meet his end.

Nobody, not even you, knew about Clay’s gift. In the going-on-five years of knowing you, he came breaths away from letting his secret slip but has always kept it hidden, hoping to bury it with him after being married to you for forty happy years.

The visions started around his fifth-grade year, beginning with vivid dreams of dying in the midst of the Civil War, feeling the warm gushing of blood leaving his system, and the stabbing pain of being shot multiple times beside a woman who oddly looked enough like you that he almost called out your name. He had lived what he presumed to be his death in the life before this one several times, each vision taking him a few clicks further.

Soon, he found himself catching glimpses of others’ deaths before they happened as soon as they touched him, but thankfully it was usually over with no time passing and he only endured the visions once for each person, fate having already sealed itself. The only person who seemed to mix him up was you.

It was love at first sight for him, but as soon as you touched his arm, bleak snapshots of a boating accident raced into his mind, only to have to re-experience the scenario a few months later with you stepping in front of a train. Even as a measly high school freshman, he promised himself that there was no way he was letting you die in the gruesome manners being predicted to you. He didn’t think changing fate was possible until he witnessed you in action. He hated seeing you so young in each of the glimpses, tearing him to shreds as he knew time and time again that there was no way he could change what was meant to be.

There were even times when he quietly promised you that he’d die by your side if he couldn’t stop it.

As his lecture let out, Clay found you tucked into a corner of the library, smiling to yourself silently as knew you had finally found what you were looking for in one of the massive books before you. There were many moments like this that Clay wished he could pause and remember for the rest of his life. He was proud that you were there for him even though you could have left instead of playing your own little game of library scavenger hunts.

Since knowing you, he had taken note of how you treated other boys, usually as first dates and never true pick-ups. You didn’t care if they called you the next day or not and he was sure you had never even been kissed before. Something about your guys’ relationship gave others the nod to leave it the fuck alone, and that your heart truly belonged to Clay; a responsibility he wished didn’t plague you with. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to be with you, only worried that what you had would be destroyed because he knew that as soon as he told you about his gift, you might leave.

You always brought a bag of marbles and a bouquet of flowers to the cemetery. You loved to find the tombstones that looked neglected or ones with older dates, knowing that the possibility of having family members who remembered the person was lower. The trees in the graveyard were reds and yellows with the changing season, leaves scattered over the grass, naturally piling in large masses. This was your favorite for how neglected it seemed to always be. You had a knack for making inanimate objects and lost souls feel loved; Clay often feeling like he was one of these disembodied figures.

Clay leaned his back against one of the massive trees a few paces from the tombstone you had picked, smiling as he watched you carry out her routine. He flipped to a clean page in his sketchbook as you sat cross-legged in front of the great stone resting place, pulling the long-dead flowers from the concrete gauntlet and replenishing a few flowers in their place while setting an equal number of marbles along the grass line of the stone. A daisy was tucked behind your ear as you ran her fingers against the worn chiseling of the dates, smiling slightly. He began to sketch you out. Your eyes drifted to him before the corners of your mouth curled up into a smirk and you returned to her previous position, straightening your shoulders. “Who is it?” He asked, blending a rough edge with the pads of his finger as you tilted your head at the script carvings.

“George McAfee. Born 1926. Died 1963.” The wind picked up, blowing your hair away from your face as you pulled your jacket closer around you. “What was happening in 1963?” You turned your head to him momentarily before looking back at the lucky man. “I mean besides Beatlemania and JFK’s assassination?”

Clay outstretched one of his legs, swallowing as he thought, his eyes fluttering from the page in front of him to you. “Well, Alcatraz was shut down, Studebaker stopped production, the USSR sent the first woman into space…” he trailed off, watching you as the gears began to spin in your head.

“Do you think he died in the Coliseum explosion?” You wet your lips and he couldn’t help but smile at you.

“Maybe he died in the USS Thresher sinking?” He was thankful that he could capture your thoughtful gaze in this picture.

“You’re smart, Dream. Have I ever told you that?” He chuckled at the sigh in your voice. He detailed the bomber jacket you were wearing---which you’d stolen from his closet god knows when---a bit as you placed a piece of paper over the engraving and rubbed a crayon against the stone, his name coming to life on the paper as you came to life on Clay’s. It didn’t matter why you two would be in the cemetery, you always had a type of bond with the dead, surprising Clay due to how bright you were and your power of holding onto so much compassion. He threw his sketchbook into his backpack and slug in over his shoulder, moving to help you up. You decided to give the rest of the flowers to George as Clay stood next to you, gazing down at his grave.

A high-pitched moan startled the two of you, snapping your heads to look over the hedges separating your section of graves and the one beside it. Clay’s eyes widened as they fell to a girl in all black with porcelain skin propped on top of one of the tombstones. You clasped your hand over his mouth pulling him onto the ground next to you as you peered through a hole in the bushes. His mind noticed your arms first. One of them was secured over his chest and the other wrapped around his shoulder from beneath his arm, holding onto him as he steadied himself in the weird crouching position. “Are you enjoying this?” He jeered, looking over his shoulder slightly as he heard you snicker. The girl began to ride the stone harder.

“How many times in your life are you going to see a girl humping a gravestone? Honestly, Clay, how many?” He shook his head as you both looked at the girl, giggling to yourselves. You dug her face into his shoulder trying to stifle the next laugh trying to rip through your body as the gothic girl moaned, letting out more labored breaths. Clay’s face contorted into a twisted look of disgust as the girl tugged on her own hair. “Oh, do you think that hurts?” You took the words out of his mouth, tightening your arms around him as he shrugged.

“I doubt it’s any rockier than sex with a human.” He bit his lip, a hollow sound interrupting him quietly laughing at his own joke as you thumped him in the chest. The girl moaned louder. “Alright, she’s climaxing. I’m uncomfortable now.” Clay stood and Willow popped up next to him, lacing your fingers with his, bringing color back to his cheeks as you slipped the remaining marbles into his pocket.

“Oh, hi!” In the midst of holding hands with you again and trying to slink back to his car, he hadn’t even realized that the moaning had stopped. The girl now stood near the two of you in what seemed to be a black slip. Clay found it hard to make direct eye contact with her. “Are you guys looking for someone?”

“We were, but we couldn’t find him so-” you began, gesturing for Clay’s car and pulling him next to you.

“Well, I can help. Who are you looking for?” A thousand sarcastically vulgar comments ran through Clay’shead but his eyes flickered from her face to the tombstone she was on previously.

“Uh, my grandpa. His name was Rupert Daniels,” Clay managed to choke out. Your nails dug into his arm while your hand squeezed his. The girl looked around at the surrounding stones.

“I don’t see him right now, but I can look?” You both shook your heads quickly and muttered various responses before finally slipping away from her and getting into his car. Neither of you said anything as you pulled off the gravel driveway until crossing the railroad tracks when Clay burst out laughing.

“Do you think she even knew who it was she was gettin’ it on with or did she just pick somewhere random?” Clay laughed harder at your stunned response. “I’m serious. Clay, what the fuck. How can someone even get off in a cemetery?”

“I don’t know, man. Would you hook up with someone in a cemetery?” Clay quipped, wiggling his eyebrows at you, causing you to laugh. You dug into his console, pulling out a bag of M&Ms you had stashed in there last week, popping one in your mouth.

“Only if it was you.”

He giggled. “Excuse me, what?”

“There are just some things you do with certain people, Dream. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered I’m the only one you would have sex with in a cemetery, or like, disgusted?” You laughed at his reaction.

Within ten minutes the sun had begun to set and Clay sang loudly with you to the song playing over the radio as Clay sped along one of the county roads near your apartment complex, not wanting the night to end. He loved these moments with you. You turned down the radio and threw your hair back into a ponytail. “So, what do you think of that new kid, Mark?” Something in Clay shifted, taking away the free feeling he had recently possessed next to you. He thought carefully.

He chewed his bottom lip. “Depends on what you think?”

“Well, he seems like a wannabe Punz. And he asked me out. Naturally, I said ‘yes’ because maybe he’s different?” Clay chuckled at your sarcasm, putting his car in park on the side of the street your flat was on and getting out with you. The radio still hummed in the air lowly. “He insisted on Friday, though.” Clay dramatically acted like you had stabbed him in the heart, even though it did hurt. Friday night was their night. It had been a running tradition for movie night every Friday since your freshman year and you had never canceled on Clay for a date. “I know, I know. But I figured that I’d tell him I had diarrhea when it hit eight o’clock and be over at your place with an extra pizza? Your roommate’s working right?” He chuckled with a nod, walking you up the first three steps to your place as you made it to the concrete landing. You turned to him. “And he said he was taking me somewhere fancy, so I’ll snag you some breadsticks.” He tilted his head at you as you winked at him.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Wanna be Punz might be fun. Maybe I’ll call up Minx and hang out with her?” He joked. Minx was a friend of yours that hung out with the two of you sometimes. He had never really liked her, but she was friends with you and thus he was always civil.

“You’re still my number one, babe.” You pushed him slightly as you climbed a few more steps, leaning on the railing as he waved to leave. “Hey, Dream?” He turned on his heel as you forced yourself to make eye contact. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “You could kiss me, you know? For science.” You smiled softly at him from where you were perched. He wet his lips as his heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to scale the steps and close the space between you, to knock you off your feet and show you just how much he was in love with you.

He hated himself. “A first kiss should have more magic in it than just for science. As a romantic, you should know first hand.” You smiled at the ground in front of you.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The two of you seemed to shake off the serious moment as you stuck your tongue out at him and slipped inside your house as both giggled.

“I love you,” he murmured as you left, punching himself in the shoulder as he got back into his car.

Clay’s heartbeat pulsed in his ears, making him truly believe he was going to pass out. He had lost his gun at least a mile back. He was running mindlessly now, not knowing how long or where he was going. He trudged through the forest, hearing dogs barking and gunshots erupting around him, the ringing in his ears building with every step he forced himself to make. He wanted to rip open the front of his jacket to release the body heat drenching his collar, but he didn’t move other than propelling his body further and further away from the soldiers. You ran beside him, holding your skirt up while your hair danced around your shoulders like a great waterfall. As soon as his body felt like it might just give out, he would look at you and somehow find more of a drive to pull forward. His breaths were brittle and hoarse as he drew in borrowed oxygen. His lungs felt shallow like they were giving out on him.

You reached back, grasping his hand and pulling him into a sharp corner, hoping to lose the group. You both had managed to weave into the forest, but the dogs were somehow still picking up on your scent. The pair of you finally came upon a clearing and kneeled down out of sight, spotting a house in the middle of a glen. Bullets were streaming through the air. The forest was catching fire and cannons were echoing through the distant air. You squeezed his hand tightly, looking at him with terror in your eyes. He had gotten the two of you into this mess, but he was glad he was beside you.

He pulled you to your feet as the pair of you sprinted for a distant house. A sharp pain stabbed into Clay’s back, making him drop to the ground. How did he not hear the gun? You dropped to your feet, your eyes welling with tears, ripping at his jacket, but he pushed you off, telling you to leave quickly. He leaned forward, eyes locking on the soldiers in gray coming towards them, reloading their rifles. He groaned, pushing himself up, but only having the same stabbing sensation two more times in his chest. He heard you scream, but he couldn’t see you.

His hands were going numb as he touched where the bullets entered, feeling the warm and sticky crimson substance seep between his fingers. The soldiers reached you before you had made it to the house, pulling you to the ground next to him. You were crying heavily as you looked at him. Everything began to run quiet as you held onto him tightly. You were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear you. He was only aware of his jacket soaking with blood. He coughed, wanting to tell you he loved you one last time, but you were tugged away from him, pressed to one of the men in gray. He raised a hand to you as you fought against the man. And then everything went dark.

Dream Tag List: (hopefully this works)

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @shroomieissmall @clubfairy @camerondiaz48104 @victory-is-here @rat-poisin @alm334 @acidluvs @pachowpachowbucket @bbigbbrainn @cdizzlevalntyne @idiotinnit @generallysleepdeprived @sacvf @phsychopathetic @froggerrrr @robinslie @essencee @jemalovesmarvel @sbi-is-my-onlysanity @jenlouvre @victoria-a567 @miilliiie @bunnylotl @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @carlyferrell @dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @nyxieahh @quivvyintheclouds @sarcasticmichelle @book-of-anarchy @millavalntyne @lightdreamy @baddiesforcorpse @sunnynapp @fantasy-innit @rat-poisin @wreny24 @deepestofwaters @exenestea @indecisivehusky @fallxnly @alm334 @skaratjung @punzcanrailme @sap-naps @denki-exe @angeltears18 @silvemistxe33 @andreamalik6 @kris-stuff @sun-fiower-seed @where-thesundoesntshine @dilfdream @esmegregory04 @itsparasocial @mlqcool @mcgoddess404 @rinatdawn @chaoscait @peppermintkisses @libbynotfound @speedrunningtherapy @lunxramour @aoonai @loraleiix @ghoulpixiie

#dream x you #dream x fem!reader #dream x y/n #dream imagine #dream x reader #mcyt au #mcyt x reader #cw gore #cw language #tw violence #tw death #tw angst #tw gore #tw suicide #tw blood

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sharpsuite · 6 months ago

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As a doctor, someone would assume Chishiya would have a mindset to save ALL lives. But he's selfish and wary; he turns good intentions into opportunities to gain. He doesn't understand the pure hearted either. " Nor do I. In some cases maybe. A mother trying to save a child they encounter here, an older family member saving a younger member. But in the end, HUMANS are selfish creatures. It's only natural when push comes to shove that such ideas will crumble. Especially in a land without laws. " Other than the rules of the GAMES and VISAS that is.

Are they that much different from what he's seen? " The lasers are a far kinder way to go than many deaths I've seen. " Lasers were QUICK and ( theoretically ) painless. Chishiya can't imagine a much kinder way to go. He's seen slow, tortuous declines in health that led to pain and agony. He's seen gruesome injuries and corpses. Even dying in his sleep was not GUARANTEED painless. He's seen patients wake up for a few seconds as they died to a ruptured aneurysm just to sink into death's arms ( consciousness however was debatable. ) Telling the family they died in their sleep wasn't a LIE. But it was DECEPTION. " Although I've never seen anyone die from falling into a pit of acid before so that was fairly new even to me. " He adds as a curious afterthought. The smell had been awful and it'd taken two of them before Chishiya was sure he wouldn't breathe in the stench anymore. He could handle it, but it had been UNPLEASANT.

Maybe he should try it. Although Chishiya's TOO OBSERVANT for his own good. He would already have picked them apart beforehand ; a soldier who's killed and a soldier who has never killed are easy to distinguish in his eyes. " That's a useful skill to have here. " One way or another it would be useful. " Everything we do says something about us. Even that without words. " His head cocks to the side like a curious animal. " Here, that might be more valuable than words actually. "

With the idea of snacks on the line, Chishiya's keen on going into the gift shop. It's funny how a place full of snacks is often forgotten in favor of typical stores. He hopes the small cakes are sold here. Chishiya turns to glance over his shoulder at Pat with her talker remark, amusement glittering in his dark eyes. " Only when I'm interested. Plus most people get annoyed or angry with me rather quickly. "

" i can't say i get it. " for all her self-destructive tendencies, pat values her life way too much to consider risking it or giving it away for others. someone she held very close to her heart, maybe. but she's not like the others here, the locals who might be going to games with their families and friends and coworkers. she's a foreigner, an outsider who's known all these people for ten days, and this is probably the deepest conversation she's ever had with any of them. why would she put any of their lives above her own? " but then again, i might not be the best person to give my opinion about throwing away morals. i was never that much of a good person to begin with. "

" of course you do. " another confirmation that doesn't surprise her in the slightest. it only further confirms it when he goes on elaborate on what she says using more scientific terms. an encyclopedia indeed. " a laser, or even the deaths in the games. they're violent, but are they that much different from other things you could've seen? " when she thinks of violence, it's not even a death that comes to mind; it's herself at sixteen years old, staring at her own battered, disfigured reflection in the mirror. she didn't look like herself. barely looked like a person. over a decade and several medical procedures later, her body still recalls it like it was yesterday. why should a laser to the skull shock her?

perhaps most of them had never seen violent deaths quite like she did in her line of work, but even quiet ones do some damage if they happen often enough. or if it's one person who's meaningful enough. she doesn't ask what chishiya's situation was, but she does wonder. " that's how i tell people apart here. " not that it's something she ever thought she'd bring up to another person. this conversation was surprising in more ways than not. " i can't talk to everyone here. but this, i don't need a language for. "

pat doesn't argue back against his pessimism. what would she know about it, anyway? she uses the pillar beside her as support to pull herself upwards, taking a second to stretch the tense muscles of her shoulders. " yeah, we should. it was nice. " for the beginning of the longest vacation she's had in years, she thinks she's off to a pretty good start. " i didn't even know you were that much of a talker. "

#cartelheir #NO SAME THO #me just clutching onto this like noooooo #01. IN CHARACTER — CHISHIYA #V1. DEFAULT VERSE — CHISHIYA

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highfunctioningflailgirl · 2 years ago

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Not This Time

(follow-up to “This Time”, but can be read as a stand-alone)

Whether God worked a miracle or Hell spit him back out remains up for debate, in Athos’ opinion.

In any case, as it turned out, his friends hadn’t been too late after all. Having prevented the last two Spaniards from taking Athos’ head off, Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan had somehow managed to keep Athos’ guts from spilling out onto the cobblestones, had bandaged him up, and Athos, unconsciously, had contributed to the rescue effort by keeping enough blood inside him until they’d transported him to Lemay’s surgery.

The docteur had cleaned and sewn up the wound and declared that it was all he could do for the wounded Musketeer. Athos’ fate was in God’s hands now (or, the Devil’s, as Athos keeps insisting). Lemay hadn’t been sure if the blade had nicked Athos’ bowels. If it had, Athos was sure to die a slow and agonizing death. If not - well, they would have to wait and pray and hope.

Blood loss had been an additional worry. Athos himself doesn’t remember how pale he’d looked in those first few days after the fight, but his friends - Porthos in particular - aren’t getting tired of telling him that he’d looked so white, “I could see right through yer skin an’ see death grinning underneath”.

And Athos, now propped up in bed, less ghostly in appearance, but still physically incapable of escaping his brothers’ care, rolls his eyes at Porthos’ exaggerations while, secretly, acknowledging them for what they are: an expression of relief.

And it’s easy for him to dismiss the drama of the last ten days. After all, he’d been unconscious for most of it.

He vaguely remembers the night it happened and Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan saving him from those Spaniards at the last second. He remembers Aramis’ hands pressing something against the wound in his belly, remembers the sudden, infernal pain and being too weak to scream. He remembers slivers of sky above him and being jostled about, a big hand - Porthos’, this time - holding his. He remembers d’Artagnan too, holding him down with his strong, young hands, as Lemay worked on him and Athos was thrashing in agony.

Mercy had him pass out then, for the rest of the gruesome procedure, and he has no clear memories after that. Blood loss, a fever and a raging infection had made him drift through a whole week of darkness that little could penetrate - the occasional word of prayer whispered by his ear in Aramis’ supple tenor: d’Artagnan’s pleas to drink; Porthos’ booming baritone fading in and out of his fever dreams.

But although he’d missed most of it, Athos is aware of how close a call it’s been this time. He can see it in his brothers: they look thinner, haunted, and although he’s improving steadily now, sitting up, eating and talking, they don’t seem to want to leave his side.

“How are you, Aramis?” Athos asks his brother who’s just tied a fresh bandage around his arm - that particular wound almost an afterthought compared to the hole in his stomach, but pesky nonetheless.

“Me?” Aramis looks at him in surprise, brows lifted in wonder. “I’m not the one who almost died.”

“No, but you look like you did.”

It is true: Dark circles ring his brother’s eyes and his skin seems to have lost its natural tan. While he’s tied his hair back in a haphazard ponytail today, he otherwise still looks less groomed than his vanity commonly allows.

Aramis sits back and heaves a heavy sigh.

“We almost lost you, you know?” Something burns in the darkness of his eyes.

Feeling guilty, Athos closes his hand around Aramis’ wrist and squeezes.

“But you didn’t.”

“No, but…” Aramis shakes his shaggy head. “We never got this close.”

He shifts his hand to hold Athos’ fingers. There’s an unusual gravitas about him now, all levity cast aside, his eyes darker than Athos has ever seen them.

“You may not remember this, but… you stopped breathing.”

“I did?” Athos is surprised more than shocked. “Then how…?”

He lets the question hang in the air, the ramifications of what his brother said still sinking in.

“D’Artagnan hit you.”

Pulling his hand away, Aramis shakes his head, the impossibility of what he’s describing written in his face. He gets up to start pacing.

“After you’d stopped breathing. He slapped you in the face. Screamed at you. He just didn’t want to let you go. He didn’t want to accept it. Porthos tried to stop him, but it was impossible! And then he started pounding you in the chest.”

The horror of that night is audible in Aramis’ voice. He sounds hoarse, hollow, and Athos is a bit shocked.

“That’s when Porthos got him off of you,” Aramis continues. “And that’s when you started to breathe again.”

Athos doesn’t know what to say. All his jesting that Hell spit him back out - it looks like it was true after all.

“Aramis…”

Athos wants to reach for him, but the Spanish Musketeer keeps pacing.

“I don’t know if that was what brought you back”, he says, dismayed. “Him hitting you. Or his screams. Or my prayers. Or Porthos’ tears.”

He cannot stand still, cannot look Athos in the eyes.

“Whatever it was - don’t ever do this to us again.”

Athos remains silent for a moment. They both know it’s an impossible demand. They’re Musketeers. Soldiers. Death walks with them every day, with each of them, not just Athos. But he also knows that Aramis needs this now, this bit of denial, of reassurance, the belief that he won’t have to bury Athos alongside the dozen brothers he lost in Savoy. D’Artagnan may have lost it for a moment back there, when he pounded the life back into Athos; Porthos may be the easiest to break into tears; but it’s Aramis who cannot take another blow.

Athos knows this.

“I won’t,” he therefore says, and even if he still cannot reach his restless brother with his hands, he at least manages to catch his dark gaze and hold it.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Aramis stands still now. He looks for the truth in Athos’ eyes, finds the good intention in his lie and takes it. It’s got to be enough, for now.

“Good.” Aramis nods, weary and worn. “Good.” He picks up a wad of discarded bandages from Athos’ bedside table and a half-eaten plate of stew. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And then they both go back to healing.

Also on AO3, if you prefer:

#whumptober2022 #no.5 #every whumpee’s needs #blood loss #the musketeers #athos #aramis #porthos #d’artagnan #fanfic #hurt/comfort

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cherri-cherri · 4 years ago

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× Little moments ×

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Pairings - Sukuna x Dying!Reader

Synopsis - Even with you gone, Sukuna remembers all of the memories of you.

Warnings - Story contains Character Death, possible misspelled words, cursing, and triggers to those who have encountered someone dying from a diseases such as cancer.

A/N: There was a headcanon that I just thought was too juicy to not try out where Sukuna had a lover but they were unfortunately lost to an sickness. So here we go, I hope you all enjoy it.

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It was always the little moments that counted when with the one you loved the most...

"Why do you not run, Woman?", a rough voice said behind her with a slight chuckle following in suit. Before the woman was the vision of death that would no doubt be burned into her mind for the rest of her life. Houses burning down into ashen shambles as the smell of burning flesh lingered in the air. Bodies littered the streets with crows hovering over the corpses for their next meal while screams and shouting could be heard from various survivors and victims caught in the destruction.

Yet as much as the sight of her village horrified her, nothing frightened the woman most than that of the sharp claws hovering over her throat, threatening to pierce into her flesh any moment now. "I said," she felt a small prick as the nail of the stranger's index finger slowly scratched the surface of her skin, "Why do you not run? Why do you not beg..?"

Her breath hitched in her throat, gasping a little but she did her best to not flinch in the man's grasp. "I-I'm doomed to die either way, dying here by your hand would mean no differently..so I am prepared to die", she said, closing her eyes as she braced herself for her untimely end. Hearing a guttural sound coming from the man, the woman was spun around to face him and her fears only grew worse.

Yes, the attack on the village could have possibly be that of bandits or a lone man causing chaos but this was no man. No..it was a monster. Four muscular arms, two faces attached to his head, a second mouth on his lower abdomen...This man was a beast, no..he was a curse. The king of curses, the terror of the land, Ryomen Sukuna.

Seeing the dread on her face, Sukuna let out a satisfied chuckle as he roughly gripped onto her chin. "You mean to tell me you don't fear death, woman?"

"No, no I fear it. I'm frightened of the thought— but I'm dying anyway. I have only a year's worse of time left before this sickness claims me, so what's the difference if it's by your hand or not.." she spoke honestly from the heart, surprising the man before her only a tad bit as she looked down to the gravel below. No one had a cure for her illness, there was no hope at all for it, even a few doctors had told her to prepare a grave in advance just in case her death came sooner than expected. It would be unfortunate but she had made peace with knowing the end was near. And so, she waited once more for whatever gruesome fate Sukuna had for her...only to hear,

"No."

"What?" She questioned, looking back up at the man who towered over her. "This will not be the day you die."

That was the first moment she had encountered the king of curses, the moment he had spared her life. Why he did, she never understood, yet after that faithful encounter, Sukuna always found her. Perhaps he visited her only out of boredom and figured today would be the day he would kill the woman, but no, he never did.

To Sukuna, Y/N was a curious case. At first, she was a mere game to him to keep him entertained for a bit or to gain a meal or two but the more he visited her, the closer he grew to the woman. She would always ask the same question whenever she saw him,

"Is today the day, Sukuna-Sama?" And she would always ask it with such a calm smile on her lips. It irritated him—no, annoyed him that she didn't fear the looming threat of death with each visit he made. What made it worse was how welcoming the girl was to him.

He came to learn things about Y/N. The first was that she was a firm believer in her worship. Even with the motor functions of her legs growing weaker and weaker by the day, the girl would try to make a daily trip to the local temple for prayer. Once, he caught her passed out on the steps to the temple and when questioning her on why she was so desperate to prey, the only answer he received was "It may seem stupid to you but I'm grateful for the life I have, even if it's so short. They've allowed air and life to see and hear and to be here with you..so paying my respects every day is just hope that maybe tomorrow, I get to see you again." And then she smiled to him. That same irritating damning smile...

It strung a place in his chest that he had not felt in a long time. A place he thought was long shriveled up and killed, yet she brought it out. He learned that she loved flowers. Coming to her home once to find her tending to her garden, looking surprised to see him only to greet him like always, cheerful dirt covered smile and all..."Welcome back, Sukuna-Sama. Is today the day?"

Eventually the garden withered away when Y/N couldn't even step through the front door. He saw how almost every day, she grew weaker and steadily weaker. Her beautiful skin slowly dulling away into a pale color, her hair once lush and fine as silk now fallen out and gone, her breaths slow and timid. But she always greeted him with that same way as always..

"Is today the day?"

"Is today the day, Sukuna-Sama"

"S-sukuna..Sama..."

He hated it. He hated that some frail woman was able to make him feel such pathetic feelings. He hated the fact that he grew attached to her and now seeing her slowly become nothing but a husk as every sun sets was growing unbearable.

There were days to where Y/N's condition grew worse, to where when Sukuna arrived to see her, she couldn't remember who he was. Her coughing fits had her spew blood onto her hands and her body ached in pain so much. She was not long for this world and he knew it...he knew it.

"Sukuna-Sama...please, please..." He was above her as she laid in her bed, his hand cover her left one as her right palm caressed his cheek gently "is today..t-the day..?"

His heart felt like it was slowly being grounded up into bits as he started into her eyes. He wanted to say no, he wanted for her to stay just a bit longer in his embrace and yet that wasn't possible. Not in her state. Lifting her hand up to his lips, Sukuna stood up from her knee as a sigh escaped his lips.

"Yes..Today is the day, Y/N."

And there was that same smile as always. Weakly stretching across her cheeks with no malice or anger, not even a single trace of regret. "Oh good...Finally...." closing her eyes, Y/N prepared herself for the end yet again but now knowing this time it would surely come. As Sukuna's nails extended a bit, preparing to end the woman, he heard her last words and froze.

"Thank you, Sukuna-Sama...thank you for these little moments..."

He sat there for God knows how long, staring at her corpse laying there peacefully on the bed with a gaping hole in her chest. Blood dribbled down Y/N's now cold and chapped lips, the warmth in her body now gone as well as the life that once flowed through the empty shell of a body. Resting below his feet was a heart, her heart, no longer pumping fresh blood through her body but instead laying motionless on the wooden floor. She was gone.

She was finally gone and yet this feeling remained. This horrible feeling in his own heart. Those memories of her were constantly playing on loop, over and over again with the same words in his mind.

'Is today the day, Sukuna-Sama'.

He screamed out her name. He yelled it for all to hear, anguish filling his soul entirely as he uttered her name. He cursed her. He screamed out her name so many times and cursed her for placing him through such hell. He cursed her..for being the woman he loved. The woman he grew to love and yet she would never know. Perhaps he truly didnt mean those words, but hoped by cursing her, Y/N would return.

That she would awaken in his arms and give him that same smile he came to love. But no, it wouldn't have been that simple. She wasn't coming back..she wasn't coming back....

A thousand years have gone by and yet those little moments echoed in his mind. As he stood before the grave of his true love in the body of his vessel, he remember those words he said to him before she gave her last breath–

'Thank you..'

"No. I should've thanked you, Y/N. Rest well..."

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[A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this. This is my first fanfic here on tumblr and well, I like it but I want more. I might make more following this concept of a lover of Sukuna, maybe even do little scenes that I wasnt able to add here in the fic.

I'm open for asks and requests of Characters from jjk like Sukuna, Gojou or Megumi to which I'll make a post about later. Feel free to Message me with any questions on it if you like or follow for an update down the line. Thank you guys and again and please like/reblog this. See you in the next fic -🍒]

#sukuna x reader #Ryomen Sukuna #Jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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tom-riddle-haunts-me · 4 years ago

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Not a new chapter but a mini fic I felt like writing. I'm a little stuck with the "main story", so I hope you'll enjoy this little drabble. I'm warning you, this shit gets sad and ugly.

Abigail 🐍✨

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Tw: angst, gore, blood

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

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It Hurts

"Who are you?"

"What do you mean, Y/n? It's me, I'm... I'm Tom"

"I... I don't know you"

Tom stepped back. Locking eyes with you had never felt so terrifyingly unreal to him.

"Y/n..."

Why you? Anyone. Fate could've taken anyone away from him, but you?

"Oh, Mr Riddle!"

Dumbledore. He would've helped him.

"Professor! Y/n is actin-"

"-our biggest disappointment."

Another step back.

"Who is this, Professor?"

Your voice echoed heavily in his ears, crawling up to his brain and piercing through it like a long blade. A thin, cold metal string slowly lacerating his cerebral matter, a wicked torture that left behind nothing but an even colder nothingness and blood, too much blood. Tom could feel the thick crimson fluid run down his neck, anxiety taking hold of the sticky substance and guiding its goopy drips around his own throat, suffocating the tired wizard.

"Y/n, it's me, IT'S ME."

"Who are you?"

The sound that somehow managed to reach Tom was muffled and eerily calm, almost lifeless. It wasn't your voice. The figure standing in front of him, that was you, he knew it, but he was hearing something else rather than your voice. It was painful listening to such an abomination.

Grotesque. Putrid. Writhing. Cruel words pooling around him.

Far, far away.

"Who are you? Are you okay? You look pale"

As your hand reached his face, Tom couldn't bring himself to melt into your touch as he habitually would. Couldn't you see the blood?

"He's about to die, Y/n."

"Oh... Alone? Like this? I'm sorry"

"Y/n I'm... I'm not dying"

As the teacher withdrew your hand from his face, panic tightened the pressure around his neck. Oxygen was struggling to flow through his lungs, his organs protesting as they were starting to feel the lack of air.

It hurt.

"Can we save him?"

"Yes, but we won't"

"Okay"

Words were failing the usually composed wizard, hopelessly stuck in his guts. His eyes were fixated on his dearest friend, the only person in the entire world who could make him feel something else rather than just anger and bitterness. His loneliness felt a little warmer with her, his thirst for power a little less cruel, his fears a little more bearable. Sitting under their dead tree by the Black Lake was something that brought comfort to him in times of distress, still, it was hard to believe the ones staring at him were those same eyes, the e/c gems that he got used to see smile every time they were to meet with his. In the mean time, your hugs were crumbling into mere memories in the back of his mind and Tom felt powerless for the first time since forever. Now the orphanage would be cold and desolate again, silence would come back to fill his empty room and days.

He needed to stop. Stop thinking, feeling. He hated that. He hated you. He was embarrassed with himself for he shouldn't have perceived such stupid things.

His pale hand traveled to his petrified face.

Tears.

Rotten fury exploded in his stomach like an erupting volcano, resulting in an aberrant sickness disturbing his already devastated self. Now nothing had to matter, not anymore. Not your giggles, not you nervously playing with your hair. What would happen to your smile, the one you had promised was only his, had to be none of his business. Letting it go should've been easy, he knew far too well how to block out anything useless to his goal. His exhausted mind slipped to your now blank eyes, your toneless voice.

You body, barely covered by the white dress you were wearing, looked consumed by a melancholy he couldn't define, deep buried in your eyes, flat and washed-up as much as the pale fabric flowing around you.

His chest stung.

"Tom"

Dumbledore's skinny hand found its way to your shoulder, like a caring parent, yet it had an ugly something in it.

Tom thought about your tone, your real one. He thought about the times it had reassured him, soothed his nerves down. That one time it had slightly raised with boldness to defend him from Dumbledore himself. Your promises. They flowed back like a swollen river. The darkness in your eyes when you declared that you were to come for whoever ever dared to wrong him, now gone. How, how he would've liked to tell you about your beauty. Harmless to sight, dangerous to the reckless. Just like a rose.

His rose.

Twisted sparkles in your eyes, shadows that still felt warm and pure. Innocence.

Horror.

Terror drowned his heart, need overwhelming his confused mind.

Where were you?

Uncertainty danced under his skin.

Not enough. Was he? Evil could never bloom into a rose. Its fruits would rot and fall into darkness, dragging down every little drop of light they'd ever reach.

The hand that was touching you, he hated that. And now, now it was rotting, the meat melting right onto your oblivious self.

Bones.

"Yes, Y/n?"

His tears kept on running dow his face, the skin under the salty guilty stinging while stretching into the smallest, surrendered smile.

You had no idea who he was, didn't you?

Time slowed down in the most excruciating way right before Dumbledore's skin began to shed off of him like a used robe. Dirty, now useless, distressed.

Large wings spread through the thick air of the Dark Forest, Lady Death herself raising up behind Y/n, her delicate face was now painted with a content smile and peaceful tears, mimicking his own.

"It hurts"

Before Tom's mind could gave birth to any sort of though, the Hooded Dame slid back, his beloved rose obnoxiously secured to Her chest in a possessive way. And at the same time they backed away, the ground faded unhurried into nothingness. An abyss was now opening its jaws under Y/n's beaten body, and it started to swallow her whole in slow-motion.

Tom stood frozen, the cruelty of his condition giving him all the time in the universe to process Y/n's flesh breaking into bloody, gruesome chunks, her organs easily finding their way out of her abdomen, down, into the merciless void with a dreadful, wet moan.

Tom threw himself in the emptiness of your end, reaching for the parts of what his delirious mind hoped could be sewed up together again. Was is it losing you that drove him crazy?

Or did the seed of madness just finally bloom in his now blood covered hands?

When did they got stained with crimson?

"Why didn't you save me, Tom?"

"Tom?"

"Tom"

"Tom!"

<TOM!>

The Slytherin's dark eyes shot open only to find e/c ones stare right back at them, red and swollen by tears still freshly oozing down s/c skin.

You felt so broken to his ears. So stressed to his eyes. As your finally sweet tone caressed his hearing again, Tom still found it difficult to move. Reality was just starting to settle in, his brain still processing the gruesome images that'll be now forever carved in his mind. You were screaming at him, but he couldn't hear you.

He looked to the left.

His diary.

Tom was in his dorm room, again, his soulmate straddling him in the most innocent way.

Crying, shaking.

Were you angry at him?

Tom did not have sufficient energies to keep his cold act up. Time was not wasted, and his arms laced around you as fast as possible, bringing you as close to his chest as they could. He'd probably crush your bones at a certain point, still he knew none of you cared, not when you were squeezing him the same way.

<Don't you dare do it again, Riddle. You scared the life out of me.>

He was not aware of his muscles being that tense until that very moment. The second your skin collapsed into his, everything was swept away, like smoke in thin air. The room was empty, the clock on its wall claiming the dead of the night to be the time your scene was playing.

You didn't really need to say more. Your body just slipped on the mattress, right beside Tom, letting enough space for his worn out frame to curl up to it. Your fingers began to play with his locks, actually unusually sweaty and almost dry, nothing like his usually silky ones. You'd swear you could feel his shattered mind under your fingertips, if only it was possible you'd seek for its scars and heal them one by one.

If only it was possible.

<Y/n?>

Tom's breath slowed down gradually, just like his heart rate, lulled by the quiet tone you were humming.

<Yes, Tom?>

The clock was almost too loud, you were afraid its ticketing would disturb him. Was keep staring at it enough to silence the noise?

Drowsy murmurs left the young wizard's lips, falling in your lap like dead petals but failing to reach up to your ears.

You bent over, just a little, at least enough to trace out his confused mutters. It reminded you of your days at the orphanage, when you both were too young and scared. It brought your mind back when Tom used to tell you his secrets, when you were his one and only. When he was still just Tom.

<What... What does it feel to jump into the void?>

H/c hair gently fell over your shoulders as your head found rest on the wall.

Air was cold against your now wet cheeks.

"Can we save him?"

"Yes, but we won't"

The steady rhythm of Tom's chest raising up and down told you he was finally long gone into a gentle slumber, safe from himself.

#harry potter #hogwarts #hogwarts x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #voldemort #fanfic #reader insert #harry potter angst #hogwarts imagine #harry potter imagine

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bookstantrash · 10 months ago

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Of course, eventually, Tomas realised she actually enjoyed the time alone, so it stopped. He couldn't have his wife enjoy her punishment after all. Instead, he decided that the physical punishments were better suited since Nesta enjoyed her own company. - you’re really starting this with the angst at 70%, simrah have you no compassion for my poor nerves?

Her current husband had clearly decided that her punishment for misbehaving was to just continue like nothing happened. Her wrongdoings from the ball had not been mentioned, and he seemed to avoid the subject while simultaneously wanting to speak on it. Nesta was fine with the indecision and continued to spend her days in the library. She would do so happily if she could stay there all night, too, but she didn't want to push her luck. Her husband seemed reasonable, but you could never predict what would make a man snap. Still, she knew that in the library, she was safe. - THERE WERE NO WRONGDOINGS THERE IS NO PUNISHMENT NESTA PLEASE *screaming crying*

Robert was too gentle, and Philip was known for wandering eyes, hands and penis, too, if he could help it. It didn't matter if the recipient of his advances were open to them. - Jesus fucking Christ I hope Philip has the most gruesome painful slow death ever and that he regrets having ever laid a single hand on a woman. Also, kudos for Robert for getting the hell out of there and protecting his wife.

Her husband had also gifted her with so much; she knew other men would dislike her being given such freedom and power. She was sure Tomas was turning in his grave, yet the Duke did not care. - Nesta dear if you think Cassian has already given you a lot just you wait till you get more comfortable with each other and realise you’re deeply in love with each other, you won’t know had to expect. Also, I hope Tomashit is burning in hell i don’t give a damn if he’s turning on his grave

But as soon as the horrific thought popped into her head, she shook it away. She couldn't do that. The burden that would put on her sisters and, worse, the Duke was too much. Feyre was so heavily pregnant, and she didn't want to do anything to put the baby at risk. Elain couldn't stop mentioning her children and wanting them to meet their aunt Nesta. And then, of course, the Duke would be the subject of a lot of scandalous talk if she died. No, she couldn't do that to them. She had a responsibility to them all. Her mother had always said it was her burden to shoulder these responsibilities. Even after her mother's death, she had been unable to move past that feeling. - the fact that even at times like this she thinks about everyone first before of herself I— we don’t deserve someone like you Nesta, you’re too loving and caring

He cleared his throat awkwardly before finally speaking. "My Lady," he said and then paused. Then, he did the stiffest, most awkward bow known to man. - I will die for this boy

Now that the boy mentioned it, she could see their similarities. "Of course, it's nice to meet you, Arthur," Nesta said, putting on her best smile. It had been so long since she had smiled that she felt out of practice. "Is there anything I can help you with?" - you HAD to ruin this sweet moment with the mention of how nesta had probably not smiled in years since she married Tomashit. I hate you

Nesta smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear you're so excited to learn. All I ask for is an eager student, so you don't need to work day and night." - SHE SMILED AGAIN AND IS GOING TO TEACH HIM HOW TO READ I AM SCREAMING OF JOY

Claude had been delighted to see the boy with Nesta when he had come to serve lunch. Nesta had been glad that Arthur was a growing boy because he had eaten with such gusto that it had hidden how little she had eaten. The smell of the delicious food had made Nesta feel nauseous, so she had taken two bites and then left the rest while she listened to the energetic back and forth between Arthur and Claude. - I’m begging you to STOP RUINING THE CRUMBS OF HAPPINESS YOU GIVE US WITH MORE ANGST

Claude had such a brilliant way with children, and his personality was infectious. She couldn't help but smile as she watched Arthur and Claude laugh. Nesta usually felt like an outsider left in the cold; being an outsider while Arthur and Claude talked was like being doused in sunlight. The warmth seeped into her bones, and she felt something inside her thaw as their joy hit her. - I love Claude so much and if Maizie had not called dibs on him I’d be knocking on his door offering myself to him as a wife

Claude had cooked a feast fit for kings, but she couldn't taste anything. Everything tasted like ash, so she kept her face passive. She didn't want anyone noticing, especially not her husband, who sat opposite her, talking about one of his tenants. Nesta never understood why her husband needed to tell her the ins and outs of his tenants; she couldn't imagine he wanted her opinion. Perhaps, like all great men, he wanted to talk about all the important things he did. — I cannot stress how sad it’s to have Nesta don’t understand why Cassian is talking about the tenants because he wants to make her feel included in his life, maybe bring a sense of normality and make sure she knows what happens around their state in comparison to how she lived in the dark back in the Mandray Mansion (this is of course what I gathered from this passage feel free to correct me if I’m wrong)

"Claude told me that Arthur was helping you today," the Duke said. His tone was even; there were no accusations of anything, but she couldn't tell how her husband felt about Arthur spending time with her. Right now, he was just a boy, so there was no danger of him thinking Nesta could stray, but she wondered if that would come eventually as Arthur got older. - I’m two seconds away from getting on a plane to smack you in the face for this

"Well, I offered to teach him," Nesta said quickly, looking down at her hands. She interlocked her hands to try and stop them from trembling so much. She knew she had done something wrong, and now she would have to pay whatever price her husband felt necessary. She just hoped that Arthur wouldn't suffer because of her. - Nesta is close to having a panic attack and all she can think of his Arthur and not about herself and also thinking Cassian will punish her oh dear god I AM GOING TO JUMP OFF A BRIDGE

"If you're happy to allow it, my lord," Nesta admitted. It was risky to say she wanted to do something, especially since she had already gone behind his back. He could see that she wanted to do this and take it away as a punishment. — Fuck you.

Nesta didn't reply; it felt like a trap to say she thought of something he didn't. Even suggesting such a thing would've gotten her the beating of a lifetime from Tomas. Despite knowing this act of the Duke was too good to be true, she wouldn't look the gift horse in the mouth. – SIMRAG THIS HURTS STOP

Nesta had heard whispers that her husband treated the issues of the tenants and people under his general management in such a way, too. He was unaware of all their problems, but if he was made aware of it, he would always try to help. He had apparently once helped a tenant whose ewe was birthing. The Duke had only been passing by, but the man had called out, needing some help, and the Duke had not faltered in rolling his sleeves up. The man had recounted the tale laughing one night, saying he had done little more than take instruction from the actual farmer, but Nesta couldn't help but think that he downplayed things a little. – He’s truly the people’s Prince, we stan

Nesta straightened her back, hoping her posture would help her look better. She didn't want to admit she wasn't feeling well. Any sign of weakness could be used against her; she had learnt that the hard way. Men didn't want to hear that their wives were not well. They didn't care, and it was disgusting to have to hear about anything like sickness. Women were meant to suffer in silence. - istg if the entirety of the male Mandray population (Robert exempt) doesn’t die a horrible death with their horrible manor being burned down I will commit murder

"You look pale, and you've eaten less- I mean, you've not eaten very much," the Duke fumbled over his words. Nesta didn't have the energy to figure out what he really wanted to say; she was too tired, and her head felt full of cotton wool. She wondered how the Duke noticed she wasn't feeling well and why he would pay so much attention to her when he had better things to do. - BECAUSE HE CARES ABOUT YOU *sobs*

Nesta had been to the kitchen only a handful of times since she had married the Duke. She knew she was not well-liked in the household, which was fine. They were very protective of their master, and everyone else kept their distance apart from Claude, who seemed like he could be friendly with a bear. That was fine; the distance meant fewer chances of anyone spying on her to report back to her husband. - NO ONE SPIES ON YOU NESTA PLEASE

"Well, I'm asking you to call me by my name. I would like to think we're friends," Nesta said softly. It was true. Claude was the closest thing she'd had to a friend for a long time. The last friend she'd had was long gone now. - YES YOU HAVE A FRIEND NESTA YOU TRULY HAVE ONE AND SOON YOU WILL HAVE MORE

She took a deep breath, Claude studying her as she opened her mouth to finally voice the truth. "In the Mandray household, the wives were not to eat first. Tomas and his brothers would eat first at the table. Their mother and sister did not sit with them often; they ate in his mother's rooms. The men ate without any abandon and were not the tidiest of eaters. Once they had done and left the room, the wives could eat what was left," Nesta said quietly. She had never admitted it before. She had never had the bravery to say anything, unlike others. - THEY HAD TO MAKE DO WITH SCRAPS AND CRUMBS AND GOD KNOWS WHAT LITTLE TO NOTHING THOSE SCUMBAGS LEFT THEM OH I AM SO FUCKING MAD

Nesta looked up at Claude, only to notice how horrified he looked. Nesta had never seen horror etched so clearly onto someone else's face, but with Claude, it was hard to mistake it for anything else. "Nesta," Claude rasped out, his eyes filled with tears. "Did they starve you?" - I’m so glad Nesta is opening up to someone, she’s taking baby steps that are in fact so huge for her and Claude is the perfect person given that she doesn’t trust Cassian yet

"No, not me, but my friend. She was married to Philip, Tomas' older brother. Her name was Clare, and she was the only person who understood what it was like in that house," Nesta said, her voice breaking as she spoke about her friend. She felt terrible for using Clare's pregnancy to avoid talking about her own, but then again, it was safer that way. She had no idea how the Duke would react if he knew she had been pregnant before, even if she didn't last very long. - if her being starved wasn’t already sad you managed to a) mention Clare b) Nesta having had miscarriage and c) HER THINKING CASSIAN WOULD PUNISH/BE MAD AT HER

Nesta shrugged. "I did what I had to do. It was better when Clare was around; she understood how it was. I got used to things; I got into a routine. I knew how to avoid things." She knew getting used to things wasn't okay, but that was the truth. She didn't want to say that she had wanted to die. Claude seemed concerned enough as it was. – I want to hug her so bad and give her so much love and care and attention I— *cries*

"He can't know Claude. He didn't want to marry me; he just agreed for my sister's sake. I'm grateful to him, but I know he's burdened by my strange behaviour. I'll get better, though; I'll become the wife he wants if he just gives me some time. I just need to learn more about his likes and dislikes. Once I figure him out, I'll be the wife he wants, and then he won't have any problems," Nesta said without even thinking. Her brain felt full of cotton wool; she had no idea what she was saying. She felt like she was speaking too fast and too slow simultaneously. - Nesta you can be true with Cassian you can learn to be yourself again and just live you don’t have to walk on eggshells or mould yourself after what he wants because he just wants you to heal and be happy 😭😭

"Nesta, you know that's not what Cassian wants, right? I agree; I think you do need to get to know him, though, because when you do, I know you'll realise what he wants." Claude said. - Claude is the real mvp, he’s nessian’s first stan and supporter

She wouldn't usually be so glad he was so close to her, but she felt so unsteady that she gripped his hand like it was her lifeline. His hands felt so cool compared to her burning skin, and she fought the temptation to put his hand on her brow. Thankfully, her senses hadn't entirely left her, and she refrained. - if Cassian, who’s a walking furnace, is cold to nesta then something is very very wrong

"I'm not sure, I just feel-" Before she could downplay how ill she felt, she felt the bile rise in her throat as her stomach churned. To her horror, Nesta turned to throw up the contents of her stomach on her husband's shoes. - I just know that when she gets better she’ll have a panic attack over this thinking Cassian will punish her and I already hate you for it

"Nesta? Fuck, are you okay?" the Duke sounded discomposed now, but his voice was starting to sound far away. She felt a hand touch her forehead, and some unsavoury curse words left the Duke's mouth. "Nesta, you're on fire; why didn't you say?" - HE IS SO WORRIED OVER HER PLEASE

Nesta tried to say something, but her head was swimming, and even thinking of words took energy she didn't have. She just wanted to sleep, and she could feel it calling her like a siren calls a sailor. Everything was too much for her, so Nesta simply embraced the darkness. She had just enough time to register strong arms grabbing her as she fell into the darkness lingering in her mind. - oh you devil you played it so well. Gave me anger and anxiety and murderous feelings to then giving me Nesta passing out in Cassian’s arms, with him probably bride carrying her to their room to take care of her while she’s sick. Genius, an evil mastermind because now your death has been postponed

Excellent, absolutely incredible chapter, and I’m so so happy you updated it and I’m so anxious for what you have in store for the next one. But beware that my peace offer will last just for the sick fluff chapter, I shall go back to raging murderous reviewer on the others ✨

Chapter 9 - Nesta

A/N: Hello everyone! Long time no see. I'm gonna keep this short and sweet. Shout out to my beta for encouraging me to work on this!

Trigger warnings for the following in this chapter: mentions of suicidal thoughts, death during childbirth, miscarriage, starvation and physical abuse. As per usual, if there's anything you think I've missed that could be a trigger, please let me know!

Word count: 6119

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Nesta was at the point where she had reached a steady routine, which rarely deviated. The routine gave her structure, predictability and peace she had never had the comfort of knowing in her previous marriage unless Tomas locked her in their rooms. At first, when he would lock her in their rooms for days, he would beg him to let her out, which only made him angrier. Then, he would deny her food during her punishment. Once she got used to living in that house, she saw him locking her away for what it truly was: a blessing in disguise. She was safely locked away in the rooms, with nobody watching her or worse.

Her husband seemed nervous when he entered the library and rarely seemed to do so. Nesta assumed the years of neglect his family's legacy had seen made him feel uncomfortable, or perhaps it was something else entirely. Still, either way, Nesta did not mind that he rarely entered.

She had thought she understood men very well up until her second marriage. There were men like Tomas, who wanted to show everyone how powerful they were, puffing their chests out like peacocks, just because he wanted to show the world something other than what he was. He seemed unable to move out of his brother's shadow and turned to anger.

Then, there were men like Philip, who would crush anything they could not control. They were as slippery as an eel and sly as a fox and rarely had anyone tell them no. Those types of men were worse because they were much more confident in themselves compared to the kind of man Tomas was. At least with Tomas, Nesta knew she could play to his ego, which would appease him.

Then there was the kind of man Robert Mandray was. He was so gentle he was almost like a woman. His brothers had no respect for him because of it, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself more like his brothers. His wife had once disrespected his brother at the dinner table, so he slapped her across the face. Philip had looked proud, but Robert had looked horrified. He had left the house the following day, taking his wife with him. Nesta understood why; it was unsafe for either of them in a house like that. Robert was too gentle, and Philip was known for wandering eyes, hands and penis, too, if he could help it. It didn't matter if the recipient of his advances were open to them.

Perhaps the Duke was more like Robert, but then she wasn't sure if she believed that. He could command a room, and nobody could say he wasn't powerful. Nesta didn't understand much about the running of estates, but she knew the Duke of Illyria was good at it and had many profitable estates up and down the country. That kind of money came to someone other than someone who would run like Robert. Her husband had also gifted her with so much; she knew other men would dislike her being given such freedom and power. She was sure Tomas was turning in his grave, yet the Duke did not care.

Perhaps this was the freedom someone with his status and power could expect. The Duke did not care that Nesta could run wild with all the freedoms he gave her. He was too rich and powerful to care. Even the talk of society didn't bother the Duke; it seemed not to reach his ears. Important people clearly didn't have the time for such things. The issue was that Nesta had never been around someone with such importance, so she had yet to learn how she should act.

As Nesta steadied herself at the top of a ladder to clean the top of yet another shelf, she thought about how easy it would be for her to fall from this height. She could injure herself pretty badly if she landed on her head in the right way. She could die, and nobody would realise until lunchtime. But as soon as the horrific thought popped into her head, she shook it away. She couldn't do that. The burden that would put on her sisters and, worse, the Duke was too much. Feyre was so heavily pregnant, and she didn't want to do anything to put the baby at risk. Elain couldn't stop mentioning her children and wanting them to meet their aunt Nesta. And then, of course, the Duke would be the subject of a lot of scandalous talk if she died. No, she couldn't do that to them. She had a responsibility to them all. Her mother had always said it was her burden to shoulder these responsibilities. Even after her mother's death, she had been unable to move past that feeling.

There was a knock at the door, one that startled Nesta out of her thoughts. Only Claude and the Duke came here, but neither knocked so timidly as this person did. There was another knock, this time a little louder at the lack of response. Nesta called for them to enter and started climbing down the ladder.

To her surprise, it was a little boy who entered. The awe was evident on his face as he walked in, scanning the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The boy was so entranced by all the books he tripped over his own two feet but managed to catch himself before he hit the ground. He quickly straightened himself out, but his face started to colour when he looked over and saw that Nesta had been watching him.

He cleared his throat awkwardly before finally speaking. "My Lady," he said and then paused. Then, he did the stiffest, most awkward bow known to man.

Nesta stifled a laugh at that but decided to put the clearly nervous boy out of his misery. "How can I help you this fine morning, good sir?" She said, matching the boy's formality and curtsying back to him.

The boy's eyes widened in horror. "Please, My Lady, you don't need to bow to me. My name's Arthur and I'm Eleanor's son; my mother said she's your maid?" The boy was clearly unsure if Nesta would even know who his mother was.

"Oh, well, I was wondering if you needed any help, My Lady?" he said awkwardly while shifting around, avoiding eye contact.

Nesta tried to control her facial expression at that. Why would this boy want to help her? Well, her first thought instantly went to her husband. He must've wanted the boy to spy on her. But then, another part of her questioned this logic. Why would the Duke wish to spy on her when nothing else entered the library? It would only make sense if he was worried about Claude, which also didn't make any sense. Claude loved the Duke far too much to risk doing anything that would anger him.

"Why do you want to help me?" Nesta said, trying to keep her suspicions out of it. She didn't want the boy to feel like he was being backed into a corner. "This isn't where a young boy like yourself would want to spend his day. Surely, you'd rather go outside and play instead?" Nesta said, smiling so the boy didn't feel attacked by her words.

"Well, ma'am, I know I'm young, but I want to work to help my mother. We- well, we don't live with our father anymore, so my mother works really hard. I'm the eldest, so I want to help her. Maybe, if I help you, the Duke will see and give me other tasks to do, too," the boy was nervous about telling her his motivations, but Nesta couldn't help but smile at how sweet he was.

She had no idea Eleanor didn't have her husband with her, but her son was clearly nervous about mentioning him, so Nesta didn't delve into that anymore. "Well, as you can see, there's a lot to do around here, so I certainly wouldn't mind the help," Nesta said, gesturing around them.

That put a smile on the boy's face. He rolled his sleeves up, readying himself for some action. "What do you want me to do first, ma'am? Just so you know, I know I look small, but I'm very strong, so if you need me to carry things, I can do that too!"

Nesta wanted to avoid lumbering the poor boy by carrying books around for her, not when they were so heavy. The boy was skinny-looking, and although very eager to prove himself, she didn't know if his little body could take so much manual labour. Instead, Nesta looked for a kinder task that would allow him to help her without injuring him. She didn't know Eleanor very well, and while the woman was taciturn, she knew that there was a possibility that Eleanor could get angry if her son came back exhausted from a day in the library.

"Well, actually, there's a task I've been putting off because I've been finding it too daunting," Nesta said conspiratorially. The boy nodded eagerly, waiting for her to carry on. "You see those piles of books over there?" Nesta said, pointing at the piles of books practically covering the lone table in the room. "Well, I need to figure out an order for them; the shelves I took them off were a mess. If someone could put them alphabetically, we could put them back onto the shelves much tidier. What do you think?" Nesta asked.

The boy bit his lip anxiously before eventually replying to Nesta. "Well, ma'am, I think you could do that, and I could carry on cleaning. Wouldn't that be better?" Nesta was confused; clearly, the boy could see she wouldn't accept that without questioning him. "Ma'am, I can't read, so I can't organise your books. But I can clean for you," the boy said with a smile.

Nesta blushed at that, cursing herself for being so thoughtless. Of course, someone like Arthur couldn't read. Although schools were around, they weren't open to accepting people from a lower class. Some factory owners in the north were known to build schools for the children who worked with them, but this was rare. Nesta wondered how many children on the Duke's estate couldn't read while she spent her day in a library.

"Would you like to learn?" Nesta asked impulsively. It was too late to take the offer back, though, and now it lingered between the woman and child.

"Would you really teach me?" Arthur asked cautiously.

"If you want to learn, then yes. I've never taught anyone how to read before, but if that's alright with you, then-"

Before Nesta could continue, Arthur cut her off. "Yes! Please, I would love to learn how to read. I could get so many other jobs if I learned how to work. Please, ma'am, I'll work day and night if you teach me."

Nesta smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear you're so excited to learn. All I ask for is an eager student, so you don't need to work day and night."

As they both walked towards the table, Nesta finally felt that, for once in her life, she was doing something good.

***

Her day with Arthur had been one of her best days in a long time. Nesta had spent two hours writing out upper- and lower-case versions of the alphabet and saying the phonetic sounds for them. Then she let Arthur try to copy her letters to the best of his ability while he said the sounds. While Arthur repeated the process, Nesta cleaned, staying close in case he needed her help.

When Claude had left, much later than he usually would, Nesta felt like she had been given a new burst of energy. She cleaned with renewed vigour, and Arthur decided to help her, which made the time go faster. Nesta also felt like she had gotten more done today, probably because there were two of them rather than her tackling things independently. Plus, when she was on her own, she tended to get distracted by the books she found, and before she knew it, the sun would be setting, and she had read a chunk of the most bizarre book ever. She wasn't sure which of the Duke's ancestors had been so obsessed with crocodiles, but she had found five copies of the same book.

Nesta assumed that her lack of distraction today was why her body ached so much. Arthur had thrown himself into cleaning the lower shelves, so Nesta had felt like she needed to match that energy, but now she was paying the price since the boy was over ten years younger than her. Sitting at the dinner table across from her husband, struggling to lift her spoon to her mouth, certainly put her in her place. She wasn't feeling hungry. That queasy feeling from earlier hadn't dissipated as she had hoped.

Still, it was better than when he decided to be polite and ask her about her day, which was inevitable.

"I had never met him before today, my Lord. He walked in and asked me for work," Nesta explained, not wanting her husband to think she spent her days talking to strangers.

The Duke just laughed, startling Nesta. "Arthur is ambitious and most likely getting underfoot wherever he had been spending his day before. I think it will do him some good. The boy is responsible; he just needs some guidance. He's a smart boy, and I'm sure he'll do well for himself in the future."

Nesta paused. The talk of Arthur's future made Nesta hesitate. Clearly, the Duke wanted the boy to succeed, but Nesta wasn't sure how he would feel about her teaching the boy how to read. While she had been helping the boy, it had occurred to her that she should've asked her husband for permission before taking something like this on, and of course, she should've asked permission from Eleanor, too. Some people could be peculiar about who their children spend their time with.

"My Lord," Nesta said nervously. She could feel herself getting warm, the sweat gathering on her brow as she took a deep breath to calm her nerves before Nesta told her husband what she had offered without his permission. "Today, while in the library, Arthur mentioned that he could not read."

"Ah, well, I suppose that is to be expected," the Duke said with a sad smile.

"Is that something you want to do with your free time?" the Duke asked Nesta as though her opinion mattered to him.

"Of course, I'm happy for you to teach the boy. He's ambitious, and I didn't know what to do with him. It seems like you've found the perfect solution for him. I'm sorry that I didn't think of something like that sooner," the Duke contemplated.

"There is no school for the lower class in this area. Rhys's mother once campaigned for it, but as far as I'm aware, she was told that unless there was evidence of some interest within the community, the government wouldn't be willing to throw that kind of money at the lower classes. They believed they could build a school, and the lower classes wouldn't send their children because it was easier for them to send them to work. I'm not sure how much truth there is in that, but it's a shame these children can't learn to read and write."

The Duke sounded thoughtful as he spoke, which Nesta had not expected to hear. Nor had she expected to listen to thoughts about supporting the lower classes. The Duke's family was an ancient one which could be traced back to the founding of Prythian. Meanwhile, the Mandray family had only recently been given their current rank. Yet, despite being so new to the money and social standing they currently had, neither Philip nor Tomas had ever looked at the lower classes with anything other than contempt or disgust.

It was strange. Nesta had not expected her current husband to be so progressive. Then again, how he spoke of the issue made her feel like he had not thought about it in much detail before she had mentioned Arthur. But now that he knew it, he took the issue very seriously.

Nesta took a sip of her water as the silence started to linger. Where she'd usually water down her wine, she had bypassed it all together today. Nesta knew it wouldn't sit well in her already queasy stomach. She had hoped the water would help settle her stomach or, at the very least, end the pounding in her head, but it had not helped.

"Are you alright, Nesta?" the Duke asked her, frowning.

"No, no, I'm fine, my Lord," Nesta said, shaking her head and plastering on a fake smile. The Duke didn't seem convinced, but he didn't comment. He still eyed her plate, so Nesta knew he wouldn't stay quiet for long. "The food isn't quite sitting well with me; it's quite strong flavours and stodgy. I'll go to the kitchen to speak to Claude and get something to settle my stomach; it's nothing to worry about."

Nesta was loathed to explain herself further, but she knew the Duke enough to realise she needed to give him some sort of explanation. She didn't wait for him to reply, as she quickly got up and rushed to the kitchen before he could stop her. Perhaps there was something Claude could give her that would help- or at least something she could eat without being sick.

There was chatter in the kitchen, but Nesta was past the point of processing it. The heat hit her as she rounded the corner and was met with various smells and sounds. She couldn't take it in; so much was going on, and her brain couldn't process it all in its overwhelming glory.

"My Lady, are you alright?" a younger man asked her. She didn't even notice when he came over to her. Claude had yet to notice her, but Nesta hadn't announced herself as she walked in. Her head felt so fuzzy that she had just ended up staring off into the distance at nothing.

"I apologise; I know you all must be busy," Nesta said, trying to wade through the treacle in her brain to remember what she had wanted to say.

"It's no problem, ma'am. We're not busy; it's just Claude's chaos," the man smiled. Nesta had been introduced to him but couldn't remember his name for the life of her.

At the sound of his name, Claude whipped around and beamed brightly as he saw Nesta. "Matthew, get back over there. You're not paid to chat with Lady Nesta," he said jovially.

"Of course, Claude," Matthew replied, a grin adorning his face, and mischief sparkling in his eyes. That's you who's paid to talk to the Duchess."

Matthew ran off before Claude could say anything, but Nesta could see the humour dancing on his face. "Now that Matthew is doing his real job, how can I help you, my lady. Is there something wrong with the food?" Claude said, looking anxious.

"No, Claude, definitely not. I just am not feeling too well. Is there anything you have that I can eat that will help?" Nesta said, blushing at her admission.

"Oh, of course. I make some wonderful soups, but some tea might be quicker. What seems to be the issue, my lady? Perhaps Cassian needs to call the doctor instead," Claude said kindly, leading Nesta to a nearby stool.

Nesta shook her head. "It's fine; I just feel a bit queasy," she lied.

Claude didn't look like he believed her but, thankfully, didn't say anything. To keep him from pressing the topic, she quickly spoke up, changing the subject. "Why do you call the Duke Cassian, but you're so formal with me?"

Claude smiled at that. "That idiot doesn't know how to treat a lady. He's the stupidest Duke I've ever seen," he laughed. "I jest. I've known him for a long time, and we've always been friends first, so it was natural to call him by his name. With you, well, I don't know you as well, so I wasn't sure if you would like me to be so forward and familiar with you. I wouldn't want to insult you."

"I'm honoured, Nesta," Claude said, testing out saying her name. Here, let me make you some tea. What about having some pastry with it? Really, you should eat something if you don't feel well; it might help to settle your stomach."

"Thank you, Claude, but the tea will be more than fine. If I can manage something else, I will let you know," Nesta said kindly but firmly. She knew her stomach wouldn't be able to handle all that liquid and then food on top of that.

Claude hesitated for a moment, weighing something up, before speaking. "Nesta, if we are friends, then I just want to say something as a friend. I hope you don't take offence, and I'm sorry if you do; it's just that I need you to know something. If you don't like something about my cooking or something specific you would like to eat, it would bring me great joy if you told me. I know you've said that you like my cooking in the past, but I can't help noticing you don't eat very much." Claude looked guilty like he had said something he shouldn't have.

Nesta was frozen. She didn't know what to do or say. She knew her eating habits hadn't gone unnoticed, but she hoped people would just leave her to it. She should've known that Claude would never leave a food-related matter alone. Food was too important to him, and she knew he had perceived it as an insult because she didn't eat much of it.

She could see no way around it. She had to tell him the truth. If she didn't, he would think she was rude, and in a house where he was one of the only people Nesta enjoyed the company of, she couldn't do that. She knew it was dangerous, becoming so attached to the man, but he was so soft and full of love and joy. Nesta couldn't help but be drawn into the man's orbit. She didn't think she had seen anyone so kind and willing to help others. She didn't even know people like Claude could exist.

Nesta hesitated. She had never really thought about it like that. At first, she thought it was so strange and questioned her husband about it a lot. Tomas had told her it was a long-standing tradition in their family when it came to married women, but it had always been about controlling them.

"I never thought about it, but yes, they did, I suppose. There were times when we got nothing if we angered them. And then there were rules for if one of us was pregnant," Nesta explained, although she had no idea why she was explaining it. As the words came out of her mouth, she knew it all sounded horrific.

"Were you- did you ever become?" Claude asked, clearly unsure how to proceed in that conversation.

"What happened to her?" Claude whispered

"She died in childbirth. The baby didn't survive either," Nesta said, wiping a tear which had escaped. Claude put a cup of tea down in front of her; she hadn't even noticed that he had done anything; she had been so consumed with her thoughts.

"I can't believe how much you've been through, Nesta; how did you bear it?" Claude asked, clutching his own cup of tea.

"That must've been hard, especially after your friend was gone," Claude said quietly.

"She was the only one who understood it, but I knew I had to carry on for her," Nesta said, taking a sip of her tea to give her some time to gather her thoughts. "Claude, I didn't tell you these things because I wanted you to pity me. I just needed you to understand that I'm trying my best. It probably doesn't seem like much, but it's all I can give now."

"No, of course!" Claude exclaimed. "And I'm honoured you felt like you could tell me."

Nesta didn't want to rain on his parade and tell him it was because she felt guilty for not eating his food, but then again, she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she felt some comfort around him. There was something about Claude which made her feel safe. She knew he wouldn't use the information against her like the staff in the Mandray household did. It was a strange sensation for her to actually trust someone. It had been so long she had forgotten how it felt.

"Will you tell Cassian?" Claude asked.

Nesta's eyes widened in horror. "No, absolutely not!"

Claude felt guilty for alarming her, so he held his hands out in surrender. "Sorry, I was just wondering if it would help understand the things you've been through," he said, trying to soothe her.

"Nesta, you know that's not what Cassian wants, right? I agree; I think you do need to get to know him, though, because when you do, I know you'll realise what he wants." Claude said.

Nesta didn't know how to react. Her brain was slowing down, so she raised her mug to take another sip of the tea. She didn't realise how much her hands shook until she spilt her tea down her front. Thankfully, the tea wasn't warm enough to scald her, but the shock of feeling the liquid on her startled her enough to make her drop her mug.

She shot to her feet as Claude got up and grabbed a cloth. The room was spinning, and Nesta eventually concluded that she had not managed to fight the horrific feeling she'd been having all day. Her stomach churned worse than ever.

Of course, her husband walked in on this chaos. "I heard some noise. What's going on?" the Duke asked, looking concerned.

Claude said something, but Nesta didn't register it at all. The Duke clearly understood whatever it was that Claude had said, and took Nesta's hand to guide her away from the broken mug.

"Nesta, you look pale and unsteady. Please, tell me what's wrong?" the Duke said in a frightfully close tone to begging her.

It was over as quickly and suddenly as it had started, and Nesta felt the tiny bit of energy she'd managed to conserve throughout the day had left her body and lay at her husband's feet.

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furiousgoldfish · 4 years ago

Text

I haven't been writing a lot lately because my recovery has been taking a wild turn and in lack of anyone to talk to or therapy, I'll be writing about it here! I'll put it under a cut. There are some descriptions of recovery going very wrong, and also explanations of things I was wrong about.

So since the pandemic started I've been deteriorating badly, first I've been processing trauma extensively, having intense breakdowns and gradually it turned into depression from lack of stimulation, I've been completely alone for months without speaking to, or seeing anyone. I thought it was the isolation getting to me, and decided I just need to endure that, indulge in whatever coping I could and wait for it to end. And then things got worse.

Even as normally I was seeing some very slow progress in recovery; now it was going backwards; I was having less and less ability to get anything done, I wasn't able to force myself to do my job for months, I kept getting stuck in bed for weeks, chronic pain got so bad I couldn't move on most days. And, it only kept going worse.

My breakdowns stared to be about the present instead of the past; I couldn't handle being in pain all the time. As in before I would recover from a breakdown within a day or two, now it took 4 days to a week, and the trauma episodes would last for hours, so intense I'd find myself hoping I would die during it.

And then, I started losing all mobility and this seriously freaked me out. Everything above I've already experienced before, without long term consequences, but now my body was losing function in a way that felt permanent; I could no longer move for more than few minutes, and without extensive pain. Sometimes I would try to get up and end up collapsing and screaming from how much it hurt, I would move my arm and my whole body would experience a shock of intense pain. I was scared, I no longer knew what was going on, I was suspecting something more than ptsd was wrong. I've forced myself into physical activity, trying to fight this, I tried stretching, exercising, running, punching, and every single one of these activities made it incredibly worse. I thought I had broken my body by laying down too much. I no longer felt anything but terror and dread, and kept spiralling into scenarios of my own death; it felt inevitable, I wasn't going to survive without ability to move, nobody would take care of me.

I tried out medicine that helps relaxing, it had minimal effect. Then, in desperation to check if this was all ptsd, I attempted self harm, to see if it erases the pain. It did. It lowered the pain significantly It was a big relief, even though I wasn't happy with resorting to that, at least I could move around for a while, and I was grateful for that. Times couldn't be more desperate, and the measure felt fitting. I was still in a very bad shape, and the pain was only somewhat lessened.

It was about that time someone sent me the Complex PTSD book; I had wanted it for a while and immediately went to read it. I felt some relief reading it, and I was struck with the realization that I have not felt any relief in more than a year. It also surprised me with some of the exact descriptions of my behaviour, that I didn't realize was a symptom. I thought it was necessary and smart of me to live in hiding, to avoid interaction and never connect to anyone; it kept me safe. It turns out it's a regular freeze response to trauma; I got very called out for it. It also explains that a freeze response is what people use when anything else doesn't work, and it's true! I had been fighting, fawning and perfecting myself desperately prior to realizing that absolutely nothing helps, and froze to survive. It also described that freeze types are capable of surviving prolonged isolation because their brains produce hormones that relax the body as if they're going thru a moment before death; also true for me, I've been aware my brain does that, only I get that way too often, and it only helps me marginally because I'm too used to it.

Another thing I was very wrong about was my concept of my inner critic; I thought I had already won that battle, because I did not allow any voice in my head to criticize me (my alters can drag me affectionately), and I generally didn't experience a lot of shame or guilt for what I was going thru. The book describes inner catastrophizer, which is an extention of the critic, and it causes you to spral into extremely negative scenarios of your own demise. Now that.. was happening to me every single day, I saw myself dead around every corner. But I always thought my fears about that were perfectly reasonable. I had been tortured into suicidal state as a kid and nobody cared, I barely escaped with my life from there, I was living illegally, in hiding, without a normal job or regular income, without close friends or any family, with ptsd i couldn't get diagnosed for, without ability to work due to ptsd, in a capitalistic society where being able to work is only thing between you and dying. I had, by that point, gained many skills of survival, but it still felt very reasonable to fear that I would die if I don't get better soon.

The book described people who had families, jobs, social circles, friends and community, who spiraled into deep fear of becoming homeless and dying on the street; somehow their spiraling was exactly the same as mine, and it made me realize that it was, in fact, a symptom, and not reflection of reality. Because I was spiraling even when laying in my bed or eating or sleeping, knowing I could still afford rent for months because I arranged my life to allow myself to lay down a lot. I kept fearing my parents were coming to end my life, even when I arranged my entire existence specifically to prevent this from happening. And even if I was sick and without a real job, I had in fact, survived for 5 years after running away, I wasn't getting worse at it. My spiraling into death scenarios was a symptom of being trapped within a flashback.

The book guided me to try to challenge these fears, I immediately went for it, had a breakdown, screamed "I can't" for like an hour, had additional few breakdowns afterwards, and miraculously, recovered from them in only few hours. And then, I woke up from my flashback.

I won't describe what the flashback was, because it's too gruesome and horiffic, but it was in fact, bad enough to warrant every single bit of that pain I was experiencing, and a very convoluted, complex trauma. I was waiting to be killed in that flashback. Whats concerning is, I've been trapped in that same flashbacks for more than a year. After I broke my way out of it, it felt like I woke up to being alive for the first time in years. I got out being frozen in bed.

For 5 amazing days, I was able to do whatever I wanted. Chronic pain? I didn't know her. It was absoluely exhilirating to get to move again, I was not getting tired either, I was out there making up for months of doing nothing and I was not collapsing at any point. I felt actual joy again, and hope, and being free from pain was so extremely good, that alone made me ecstatic. I was able to create, to be organized, to take care of myself, to follow a checklist, to focus, I was a Normal Person for those 5 days.

And then, predictably, I was getting back stuck in that flashbacks and my levels of terror and dread spiked again. I went to re-read the book, and it took me a few days to really figure it out again, I don't know exactly how the book works on me, I feel like it says just the right keywords to trigger me into realizations and causes breakdowns that set me free. I found myself able to stop some spiraling, but sometimes I can't, that flashback holds immense power over me and is actually mixed with 10 other near-death scenarios that are too extreme for me to process, so this will keep happening. I did break free again, and got to experience additional few days of movement and happiness; I also started working extensively with my child alter, who was until recently extremely suicidal and dangerous to work with.

I am still kinda lost in all of this, and unsure whats going on, but I do believe I wont get trapped in a flashback again for a whole year. I became so anxious and helpless due to isolation, I forgot how to fight trauma, I forgot I actually had to do it. I used to do it constantly in the beginning, but it had made me suicidal back then to face all this, so I tried to just let it heal naturally, which I believed would eventually happen; but it didn't, I got trapped and suffered without knowing how to get out. I also believed my own spiraling was a reflection of reality and not trauma, and that fueled it a lot.

It explains very eloqently in the book how inner catastrophizing comes from being massively neglected; children who are not looked after start to realize just how unprotected they are, so their own sense of danger becomes hypersensitive and starts to lock on possible dangers everywhere. This is then further aided by media that points out every possible bad thing that could happen to a person, and the child who isn't guided by adult who could actually make a reasonable distinction between real and unlikely danger, will clock it all as absolute possibilities and be on alert. It's also fueled by the line of disasters and dangers that happen to them in the context of their own home, and for me, the strongest factor was my parents constantly convincing me that I would die without them. Even though I proved this wrong, and understand they did it precisely because they knew there was a lot of survival ability in me and that's why they worked so hard to destroy it, the fact that it was brainwashed into me under circumstances of torture still makes it impossible for me to fight it.

Maybe one day I will be able to.

I'm writing this because writing things down helps to make sense of it all, and I need to find my way thru this. I also hope someone else will see themselves in what I'm describing and it will help them find a way forward. Complex ptsd is the only book I found that speaks from the point of view of a person who survived cptsd, healed from it, and had so much experience with other traumatized people they're able to draw parallels and create patterns and statistics out if it, it was that more than anything that convinced me of their words, and gave me hope. The book also warns many times of how essential it is to reduce inner critic and catastrophizer before getting other recovery work done, other therapy might only do further harm before this work is done. It was true for me.

If you wanna read this book, here's a post with the links!

#cptsd #complex ptsd #ptsd recovery #tw self harm #story of recovery #trauma #abuse recovery #trauma symptoms #chronic pain #chronic exhaustion #freeze response

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hercleverboy · 4 years ago

Text

the burden of the blame

spencer reid x reader

based off of this request > the reader gets shot on a case while trying to protect a child. The reader gets pissed bc the child needs more help than she does and Spencer comes to her aid first. The kid dies and she thinks it’s her fault.

genre > angst/fluff

wc > 3.1k

after being shot and nearly killed on a case, the reader deals with spencers upset as well as the guilt she feels of not being able to save the victim.

Genre : Angst ending with fluff.

Word Count : 3.1k

Based on this request from @thatsonezesty13 : “Ok so the reader gets shot on a case while trying to protect a child. The reader gets pissed bc the child needs more help than she does and Spencer comes to her aid first. The kid dies and she thinks it’s her fault.”

A/N : I changed the story a little from the original request, but it’s still pretty much what you asked for! I hope you like it!

The team had spent a week hunting down an unsub, who just seemed to keep slipping through their grasp. This unsub was killing young boys in horrifically gruesome ways. The team profiled that he wanted to be well known, this unsub wanted to go down in history as one of the greatest serial killers of all time. He was a narcissist, he thrived off the fact that he had successfully evaded the police, and now that the FBI couldn’t seem to get him either, it only further boosted his ego. Finally, after two more bodies of young boys turned up, they eventually got a name and an address. Y/N, Morgan and Reid were already nearer to the address, so they arrived there before the rest of the team. They pulled up outside the property, jumping out the car and making their way to the front of the house. Morgan turned to the couple, going over the plan.

“We can’t afford to wait for the rest of the team, we’re going to have to go in, just us three.”

Y/N nodded, grabbing her gun from her holder. Morgan and Reid were going to take the front of the house, and Y/N was going to take the back. Just before they began to get into their positions Spencer grabbed his wife by the waist and pulled her into a quick kiss.

“You come back to me, okay?” He murmured against her lips.

Spencer and Y/N had been married for a year now and were even discussing having children together. He knew his wife was more than capable of protecting herself and was a downright badass in the field. However, this unsub was different. His actions were unpredictable, the profile couldn’t determine how he would react to them finding him. He couldn’t lose her.

She gave him a small smile. “Always.” She promised, before stealthily moving behind the house with her gun drawn.

She heard Derek break in the front door and at the same time she broke down the back door, moving quickly with her gun held up, surveying the rooms for any movement or clues as to where the unsub might be holding his most recent victim. She heard a faint bump and moved toward the sound. She pushed open a creaky door, shining her flashlight down into what appeared to be a basement.

“Jack Richards? FBI!” She called as she began to descend the staircase. When she reached the bottom step, her eyes landed on the unsub, who stood with the small child he’d kidnapped, a gun pressed to the child’s forehead.

“Put the gun down, Jack.” Y/N tried, though she knew this unsub was already past being reasoned with. She knew she had to try, especially with a young boy’s life at stake. “Let’s work this out.”

“I don’t want to work this out, agent. You don’t get it, do you?” The unsub taunted her. Y/N looked the child in the eyes, giving him a reassuring nod, one that said ‘stay calm. It’ll be okay. I’ll protect you.”

“I get it. You want to be well known, right?” Y/N started. “You want kids in criminology classes learning about your cases, you want the towns children to fear your name like an overtold ghost story.”

The unsubs grip on the boy and the gun faltered as he gasped. “Yes! I want to be the one their afraid of! I want to be as well-known as Dahmer and Bundy, I want to be told in stories 50 years from now!” He exclaimed.

“Haven’t you seen the news coverage, Jack? You’re famous.” She replied and the smile that covered the unsubs face made Y/N feel sick. But she had to keep the act up long enough to save this child.

“Why don’t you put the gun down and let the boy go, and you can go outside and see. The media are here, imagine all those cameras, all those news reporters. All calling your name, all wanting to hear your story.” Y/N emphasised, hopeful that her attempt to talk him down seemed to be getting somewhere.

The unsub simply smiled, unnerving Y/N. “Agent, that sounds great. But wouldn’t it make for an even greater story for the press to hear that it ended in such tragedy? With the death of a child and a courageous FBI agent that got caught in the crossfire?”

Her eyes widened, and she realised all too late what his words meant. “Wait-“She shouted out as three gunshots pierced through the air.

She watched as the boy and the unsub dropped to the floor. She turned around slowly, and saw Spencer holding his gun at the bottom of the staircase. The unsub was dead, the bullet that Spencer fired had hit him square in the forehead.

Y/N didn’t even register the pain in her left side until she looked down, watching the blood that blossomed on her white shirt. She collapsed to the ground in agony, but her eyes remained on the small boy, who was laying there bleeding, barely breathing but alive.

She heard Spencer’s voice calling for medics, as he rushed to his wife’s side. She cried out in pain as she registered the feeling of his hands pressing to her side, desperately trying to slow the flow of blood leaving her body.

“S-Spencer.” She choked out, tears leaving her eyes and trembling down the side of her face. His face came into view then, and she saw that he was crying too.

“Hey baby. I’m here, you gotta stay awake for me, okay. Please, oh god, please.” Her blood caked his hands, staining his shirt as he desperately tried to slow the bleeding.

“Spencer, you have to- you have to go to him. Help him, please.” She looked over to the small boy, before looking back to her husband, pleading him with her eyes.

“Y/N if I leave you you’re gonna bleed out, I can’t-“ He choked but she shook her head at him and let out a small whimper.

“Spencer- Spence- please. Please help him, I’ll be fine, I can hold on.” She begged and he went to protest again but the look in his wife’s eyes made him crack. He nodded, scrambling over to the small boy and checking his pulse with his fingers. It was barley there, and Spencer knew he wouldn’t last until medics arrived. He looked towards Y/N and shook his head slowly, tears falling down his cheeks.

“Bring him here, he can’t- he can’t die alone.” She cried and Spencer lifted the small boy up, laying him down next to Y/N, who reached over with the last of her strength to grab the boys hand.

The boys drowsy eyes flicked to hers, and they were so full of fear. Y/N hissed as Spencer’s hands returned to place pressure on her wound.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know it hurts. You can go, it’s okay.” She promised the young boy as she sobbed, her chest heaving, despite how it made her side burn. The boy took his last breath as the medics stormed the room, and Y/N let out a heart-wrenching cry.

They were seconds too late.

Spencer cried too, as he watched his wife slip from consciousness, her body going limp.

“Baby? Baby, please! Please.” He sobbed desperately trying to cling to his wife as he was pulled away by the medics.

Spencer watched helplessly as she was placed into the ambulance. She was still alive, by some miracle, she was fighting to live.

“Are you coming with us, Sir?” The medic asked, and Spencer nodded frantically, hopping in the back of the ambulance, the team promising to meet him in the hospital.

He held Y/N’s hand tightly in his and begged, prayed to every god that she would be okay. Once they made it to the hospital, she was rushed into emergency surgery, and Spencer was left in the waiting room, her blood caking his hands as he collapsed in on himself, the sobs wracking through him. The team rounded the corner into the waiting room at that moment, and JJ immediately rushed to her best friends’ side, taking him in a hug as Spencer sobbed into her shoulder.

JJ attempted to reassure him, but what could she say to make this better? Eventually they managed to convince Spencer to clean himself up in the hospital toilets, JJ having to go with him to help wash his wife’s blood from his trembling hands.

They sat in the waiting room for hours. The team had given up trying to get Spencer to eat or sleep, since he just snapped at them anytime they tried to ask him to take care of himself.

“Reid, Y/N would want you to take care of yourself, okay? You gotta eat something, man.” Derek tried, only to be met with Spencer’s harsh glare.

“I’m not doing anything until I know if my wife is alive.” He seethed, before turning his gaze back to the floor.

The team shared a look, but ultimately decided that Spencer wasn’t going to budge, so they stopped trying.

Hotch on the other hand was rather persistent. He sat next to the younger boy, who sighed and leaned back as his superior sat beside him.

“Hotch, I don’t wanna hear it-“ He started but Hotch cut him off.

“She will be just fine, you know that? Your wife is many things, a quitter is not one of them. You know how stubborn she is, she won’t go down without a fight.” Spencer almost smiled at the comment.

“I just keep thinking if I’d of gotten there sooner, maybe I could’ve stopped this, or even saved that boy I-“ Spencer couldn’t explain the guilt he’d felt as he watched the young boy die before him. He couldn’t help but feel as though he should’ve done more, but he was faced with an impossible choice; the love of his life or the life of a young innocent boy?

“Reid, there is nothing you could’ve done differently.”

“You know Y/N made me pick him up and bring him over to lie next to her so she could hold his hand? She didn’t want him to die alone.” Spencer choked out. His wife’s compassion was one of the things he’d fallen in love with. “I can’t lose her, Hotch.”

“You won’t.”

No one else spoke after that.

It was a long four hours of Spencer nervously pacing the waiting room, the team sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Finally a doctor walked down the hallway, calling Y/N’s name out. Spencer sprang up from his seat.

“Yes, is she okay?” He asked desperately, his breaths coming out in soft pants. The doctor gave a small smile.

“Dr Reid, your wife is quite the fighter. She flatlined twice during surgery but she pulled through, against all odds. She is incredibly strong, we expect her to make a full recovery.”

Spencer had never felt a relief so sweet.

“She’s resting now, but as you’re her husband you’re welcome to go and sit by her, she could wake up any minute now. The rest of you will be able to see her later.”

Spencer thanked the doctor profusely before turning to face his team. He gave them a relieved smile, and they all smiled back, encouraging him to go and see his wife. He thanked them too before following the doctor towards Y/N’s room.

He pulled up a chair next to Y/N’s bed, moving to take his hand in hers, his focus on the small sparkling wedding ring that sat on her ring finger. He pressed as kiss to her hand, his eyes filling with tears as she looked at her.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Spencer recited her favourite books from memory and told her stories, anything to push away the thoughts that entered his head.

what if she never wakes up?

It was in the middle of the night that Y/N finally twitched awake. Her eyes fluttered open, and she glanced around her, quickly registering where she was. She looked down to her left side, where her husband sat in a chair at her bedside. His hand held hers tightly, and he’d fallen asleep resting his hand on her stomach. She brought her other hand up and gently ran her hands through his hair, which woke Spencer from his slumber. She felt awful for waking him, the circles under his eyes that were darker than usual were an indication that he hadn’t had any sleep in a while.

“Y/N?” He whispered, looking up at her with tears in his eyes. “You’re awake, you’re okay?” He was more asking himself than her, trying to assure himself that he wasn’t dreaming.

“I’m okay.” She assured him and he let a sob escape his lips as he gently brought her into a hug, being careful of her injury. He sobbed into her shoulder as she held him tightly, soothing him with gentle shushes and calming strokes on his back.

Once he’d calmed down he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “I almost lost you, baby.” He whimpered.

She shook her head. “It’ll take more than a bullet to separate me from you, Spencer Reid. I believe I promised you forever. I intend to keep that promise.” She gestured to their wedding bands and he smiled down at them. He placed his hands on either side of her face, bringing her into him for a gentle kiss, one that reassured him that she was here, alive, and that the nightmare he’d been living was over.

When they pulled back, he sighed and Y/N frowned. “Now that I know you’re okay, would you mind telling me what on earth you were thinking?” He questioned.

Y/N wasn’t sure where this sudden change in mood had come from, and Spencer cut her off before she could answer him.

“You’ve gotta stop being so reckless, Y/N. Morgan and I were there too, you should’ve called out to us for backup before you went down the staircase.” He sounded like he was telling her off and Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m serious, Y/N! Don’t you get it? You nearly died!”

“I told you to save him instead of me, Spence.” She spoke calmly. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, like she blamed him, nor was it cold or rude. She knew he was mad at her for putting herself in that position, but all she cared about at the time was saving that little boy.

He looked up at her bewildered, getting up from his seat. “Y/N, what was I supposed to do? Let you die?”

“Yes, Spencer. I would’ve happily given my life for that boy. Better me than him.” It was harsh and unfair to say, she knew that. But she was hurting and trying to make her husband understand the decisions she’d made.

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare say that, Y/N. Please, don’t ever say that.”

“This is my job, Spence. I made a promise that I would protect those who can’t protect themselves, and I need to keep that.” She explained.

Spencer scoffed. “What about the promises you made me, Y/N?” He asked, his voice getting louder, pointing to the golden wedding band that sat on his finger.

She sighed. “Spence its not the same-”

“Y/N Reid, you listen to me.” His voice was stern as he came to sit next to her again. “I will never, prioritise someone’s life over yours. I don’t care if it’s selfish, if its against the morals of my job. You’re my life, Y/N. I will not lose you. Do you understand?” His eyes searched hers, and she knew she better drop the subject, at least for now. She wasn’t going to win.

She smiled at him, which made his stern demeanour falter. He could never stay made at her.

He pulled her back into his embrace as the doctor came in, a smile on his face at the couple.

“Ah! Mrs Reid! Lovely to see you awake. How’s the pain?”

Y/N took a deep breath, hissing at the pain in her side. “It’s bad. Hurts like a bitch.” She joked and the doctor chuckled a little.

“We’ll get you something for that. I just came in to tell you that your vitals look good. You’re expected to make a full recovery and we can get you out of here by tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Spencer said and Y/N smiled gratefully as he walked away. Spencer opened his mouth to speak again, grasping Y/N’s hand in his, but was interrupted by the sound of voices coming down the hall.

Just then, the team burst into the room, all smiling happily at the sight of the couple, but also happy that Y/N was alive.

“There’s my beautiful best friend!” Garcia chirped at Y/N, as she placed a bouquet of flowers on the table next to her bed. She turned towards Spencer. “Move over, boy wonder. It’s my turn to get some of Y/N’s love.” She grinned, pulling Y/N into a tight embrace once Spencer had moved away with a chuckle. Spencer moved to stand at the back of the room next to Hotch, watching his wife laugh and joke with the people who’d become their family.

Hotch turned to him, smirking slightly. “See? I told you she’d be fine.”

Derek and Rossi moved to join the guys conversation, as JJ, Emily and Garcia all sat around Y/N’s bed, gossiping with her about something or other.

Derek chuckled lightly. “What, you think a bullet could take down the great Y/N Reid? Think again.”

“I heard that, Morgan. You know I could kick your ass if need be.” Y/N teased, which earned a laugh from the team.

Derek just raised his arms in mock surrender. “I know you could, doll. I know better than to underestimate you.” He teased back.

Rossi chimed in. “Damn right. She’s kinda scary when she’s mad, wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.”

Spencer nodded in agreement with a laugh. “Its true. You should’ve seen her last week when I ate the rest of her crisps. She wasn’t happy.”

Spencer looked around the room and let himself bask in the warmth and happiness that filled it. Over the years he’d learned to cherish the little moments like that, where everyone was healthy, happy and together.

The fact that moments like that were so few and far between only made them more precious.

It was in that moment that Spencer Reid knew what true happiness felt like.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #criminal minds

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taleswritten · 1 year ago

Text

Perhaps he should be afraid. While there is a shudder that runs down his spine at the sight before him, it is not true fear. It is more like surprise upon coming across such a horrific sight.

The tears on her face leaves him with questions, gaze trailing over the sight of them before returning to those cold black eyes that remind him of the dark abyss. The tears and the way they look is confusing in its own right but why would she be crying when she looks so thrilled to kill? What is going on here? There's something off here, Clive can feel it in his bones. It is perhaps the only reason he hasn't raised his sword from where it is pointed at the ground.

He hopes the sword out and pointed towards the ground gives a clear enough message. I will not attack you unless you attack me first. It says that he can and will defend himself should this go south but has no intention of doing so until he's figured out what is going on here.

He doesn't want to turn his gaze away from her but he hears the gasping and crying nearby, coming from behind the wagon. So his head turns to the left and he spots one of them peaking their head around. They look terrified but unharmed. They also appear to be brnaded, the familiar sight of a brand on their cheeks that makes Clive's heart clench painfully. Every time he sees a branded, he is reminded of the brand on his own cheek. It seems to throb painfully at the reminder and while it is no longer there, the phantom pain is felt with ease.

He always feels terrible for these poor souls. If it weren't for Cyra standing in front of him, seeming quite unpredictable, he would have walked over to them and offered them a place to be safe. To be free. No longer a slave to anyone or anything. Something most branded can only dream of.

Seeing them alive and unharmed begs the question - could it be that this creature, whatever it is, had saved them? If that is the case, maybe this changes everything. He turns his head once more to face Cyra as the question is asked. "Neither." Clive answers, glancing down to the dead men in front of him. It is a gruesome site but unfortunately, not one that Clive is not used to.

There is no love lost for the men here. He recognizes the armor, clearly a few Imperial Soldiers and Clive can not bring himself to care about how she had mercilessly slaughtered them. It is more than they deserve. They deserved to die a slow painful death. At least one of these is true. She tore through them like some sort of rabid animal, they must have felt a lot of pain.

Good.

He tenses as the reaction Cyra gives. To what her reaction is toward, he does not know, but it unsettles him. His muscles go taut, his entire body language changing to that of one on the defense and he raises his sword to be at the ready in front of him. He does not back down or take a step back, instead he holds his ground but keeps his eyes on her, locked onto her body to take in and watch her every move so that he can react accordingly.

He does not trust that she will not snap. She looks to be struggling with something - herself maybe? He can't exactly pinpoint it, all he can tell is that judging by her body language, there is something more than meets the eye.

"If you attack me, I will have no choice but to defend myself," Clive warns, his voice having taken on a sharper more firm and harsh tone so that she understands that he means it. He is not like the soldiers she had killed here, he is far more of a capable foe than them and if she attacks him, she will quickly find out.

He doesn't want to have to fight her, not when he doesn't have all the pieces to this puzzle, but he will. He can only hope that it does not come to that.

An idea suddenly hits him, one that may work or perhaps it will only set the creature even more on edge. He breathes in, breathes out, preparing himself clear his mind and to attack if need be.

"The bearers. Did you do this to save them?"

@voidtouched-blue

@taleswritten [Clive]--[[Prior]]

His arm is lowered, sword pointing towards the ground to show he is not a threat unless she makes herself look like a threat to him. His sword will not be placed on his back, he must be ready in case she turns her anger and bloodlust towards him. It looks like she has a lot of it, too, judging by the look on her face and in her eyes. "I'm not sure I want to know what they did to earn such a fate." One step closer before he comes to a stop, still quite a few feet of distance between the two of them while eyes flicker to the bodies and then back to her. He doesn't want to get too close for it may end up making the creature act aggressively. "If you intend on trying to slaughter me like you did them, I assure you, you will not be successful." As horrifying of a sight this is, Clive will not let himself show any sort of weakness. He will not allow the discomfort to show. He will remain in his defensive stance, ready to use his sword if need be. For now, he waits and watches, eyes locked onto her, flickering over her form, looking for even the subtlest shift in her body language so he knows how to prepare himself.

CHiLd oF ulTIma...

The whispers sang in her head as the presence of fiery Aether stepped forward into the bloody ring. The only souls she had intended on allowing to leave with their lives were the other branded who had been part of the caravan. So it was quite a surprise to the horned demon that a stranger had braved the screams of the dying to face the vision of hell at its' source. As she turned to face the unfortunate soul to chance upon the crimson painted field, a wicked smile curled back her lips to reveal the sharp red fate of the man at her feet.

Her tail flicked out to the side as she stood. Significantly smaller than the blessed flame that rose to meet her challenge. The whites of her eyes had been coated in an oily black as the Void surged within her. Blighted tears had streaked the bloodied fur of her face, an unnerving contrast to the malicious grin that hid the pain and sorrow behind such a blackened mask of unholy design.

"What flames come to bring the wretched light to our welcomed dark?" Her voice came in with a host of ominous whispers as the champion of the endless void spoke. "Child of Creation. Do you come to weep for the sinful dead, or do you approach to join them?"

The knuckles in her fingers popped as her fingers twitched and flexed. Like a well-oiled machine, her posture shifted into place like a coiled spring, waiting only for the order to pull the trigger. She knew there were still a handful of the armored guard who had been brave enough to stand by, but too afraid to make a move of their own. If they were smart, they would have run.

The demon let out a low chuckle. Their weak courage was a testament to human stupidity. In mere seconds, she could have set herself upon them, and they would have been helpless against her wrath. The taste of their life had coated her tongue, and the Void had sung in response to their pitiful end. Yet as she looked on at the unstained man before her, she saw no sin.

The stain of blood had tainted his soul, but sins committed at the command of another were not reason enough to give cause for hostility from the hollow chorus of whispers within her. Or was that her own will taking control?

He hasn't done anything. He's not one of them. Leave him be.

Her head quickly jerked to the side as she deliberated with the convocation of blackened spirits within.

ThE FLamE IS A ChILD oF UlTIMA. BAlaNCe MusT bE REStoReD. BAlaNCe MusT bE REStoReD. BAlaNCe MusT bE REStoReD.

Pain lanced through her skull. She growled, hunching over and gripping at the base of the horns. The Void was angry. It hissed and writhed, sending her to drop to a knee as she fought for control over her own body. This malicious essence wanted nothing more than to snuff out that bright light. To the girl who served as the vessel, he was no more than a man ready to defend himself, but to the endless hollow inside...he was an affront to creation itself. No man should have been given such power, and that was the fault of the very same being that made them.

Their will was overwhelming. Their response to her fight was to flood her body with pain, to make their vessel obey and relinquish control to the hungering dark. And she was not strong enough to hold it back.

Cyra relented.

Yet the void still waited for it's answer from the spark at the edge of the arena. They would give him the respect of answering before they chose to strike. This would give them time to become familiar with a physical form, providing a dangerous chance to warm up for the inevitable attack to resume.

#voidtouchedblue #clive interactions

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raindancer2004 · 4 years ago

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Unloved and Unwanted?

Word Count: 3,704 Felix x reader Part Four Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Death, Mentions of blood

This story is being extended to include more of the relationship between Felix and the reader as well as seeing reader as a newborn. Requested by @Savava19 on Wattpad.

Y/N woke up the following morning in her bed and looked around the room and saw Felix sitting on the sofa reading “Good morning little one” He said with a smile “Good morning. Did you stay here all night?” She replied “Yes, I hope you don’t mind but after a lovely evening with you which ended with you falling asleep in my arms, I didn’t wish to leave you alone” He smiled at her “I don’t mind, in fact I’m glad you stayed. I also enjoyed our date last night, although I’m sorry I fell asleep during it.” Felix chuckled and made his way over to her bed “Don’t be. It was nice that you felt safe with me to do so” He wrapped his arms around her and she relaxed into him “Thank you Felix.” “For what?” He asked and pulled back a little “For-for not being the person I-I was told you’d be” She replied low “I’m just glad you gave me a chance to show you who I really am, although I know you are still a little…unsure of me; of my feelings for you” He replied “I’m trying not to be but it’s…” “It’s ok, I understand” He cut her off and pulled her in for another hug “I’m your mate and we have forever so there is no rush. We can take things as slow as you would like” “Do you really mean that?” She asked “Yes, I do little one” He took her warm hand in his cold one and bought it to his lips pressing a kiss to her knuckles; she felt a warm feeling run through her and smiled at him.

The following night Y/N, Jane and Heidi made their way to the family room for movie night; Y/N sat between Felix and Demetri and waited for the film to start. Alec picked a horror film to watch and at a particular gruesome part Y/N hid her face in Felix’s arm “Let me know when I look again” Her words were muffled by his jumper but he heard her and immediately wrapped his arm around her pulling her into his side and smiled when she relaxed into him. Demetri noticed this from the corner of his eye and smiled too, happy that Y/N felt comfortable enough to seek comfort from her mate. Felix kissed her hair before whispering “You can look now little one” He felt her lift her head slightly to look back at the screen but she stayed snuggled into his side for the remainder of movie night.

Afton held a grudge against Felix and Jane for the removal of his arms, despite him provoking Felix the day the guards and Y/N returned from the Carnival. He never forgave Demetri when he ‘accidently’ put his arms back the wrong way round as it meant they had to be re-removed and re-attached by Santiago. He planned to get his revenge on Felix and bided his time until his plan could be executed. He knew his revenge would also affect Demetri so it was one stone, two bird’s situation for him.

Felix, Demetri and the twins left for a mission leaving Y/N alone as Heidi was busy collecting humans for the next ‘tour.’ Afton’s got his opportunity to exact his revenge the day after the four elite guards left the castle. Y/N was outside in the garden reading and didn’t hear him come up behind her until she felt his breath on her ear “Felix won’t want you or love you after this” He whispered and bit down on her neck, she screamed in pain and felt him tighten his hold on her. However, Afton was pulled off her by Santiago before he could fully flood her system with his venom. Santiago noticed she was now starting to bleed out as the bite mark hadn’t been sealed due to him ripping Afton away from her “Take him to the throne room” Santiago said as he shoved Afton towards another guard named Matt.

Santiago lifted Y/N into his arms and held his breath and sped to the throne room kicking open the doors and they hit the stone walls loudly “WHAT’S THE MEANING OF….” Caius’ shouting was cut off the second they entered the room “EVERYONE OUT NOW!” Aro ordered and the guards on duty left the room just as Matt arrived with Afton “Afton did this to her. I pulled him off her but the bite mark hasn’t been sealed” Santiago stated quickly “It-it b-burns” Y/N stuttered out, tears falling down her cheeks. Caius took her from Santiago and laid her on the floor and leant over her “Please forgive me my dear” He placed his mouth over the existing bite mark and sucked out Afton’s venom before sinking his teeth into her neck and letting his venom enter her system, therefore becoming her creator. Aro looked down and saw that Caius’ mark had replaced Afton’s “Brother…” “I couldn’t let her die as she is Felix’s mate and they have been through so much already. This way I am her creator not him” Caius cuts Aro off and points to Afton “Felix is more likely to accept that his mate is now immortal if she has my venom in her just as he has yours Aro” He added “That’s true brother, I think it would have caused more problems for them if it was Afton who changed her” Marcus responds.

Aro takes Afton’s hand in his own and watches the scene play out in the garden “It would seem brothers that Afton planned to change Y/N to get revenge on Felix, knowing it would cause trouble and all because Felix defended his mate a few weeks back after Afton picked a fight with him” Aro said once he let go of his hand “It is against the law to interfere with another’s mate, to try and break their bond and you will be punished” Marcus says calmly as Chelsea enters the throne room, having been told by the recently dismissed guards about Afton being in trouble with the masters. “Sorry for interrupting masters, but can I ask what Afton has done?” “Chelsea my dear, so good to see you. Although I do have some bad news for you…Afton is to be ‘dealt with’ as he attempted to change Y/N to get back at Felix and well he made a mess of it and Caius has had to change her himself in order to save her” Aro informed her, Chelsea was shocked and covered her mouth with her hands; after a few moments she finally spoke “I-I understand m-master. Do what-what you must with him” She stuttered out “You know what is going to happen to him my dear” Aro responds and she nods as venom fills her eyes that cannot be shed “Good-goodbye Afton” She whispers and follows Caius out of the throne room as he makes his way to Y/N’s room. “Any last words Afton?” Aro asks “I regret nothing and we all know Felix will struggle to accept her now” Aro nods at Santiago and he removes Afton’s head before Matt lets him fall to the floor and the two vampires remove Afton’s arms and legs “Burn him” Aro says as he leaves the room.

Chelsea opens the door to Y/N’s room and Caius enters carrying her over to the bed “Please let me clean her up before Felix returns” She says and Caius nods as he passes Y/N to Chelsea. Chelsea cleans up the bite mark and the blood surrounding the area “Master, please can you pass in the short sleeve black dress from her closet?” Caius passes her the dress and a few moments later Chelsea exits the bathroom with Y/N in her arms and lays her down gently on her bed.

Chelsea and Caius stay with Y/N during her change “Master, what are we going to tell Felix?” Chelsea asked low “We tell him the truth that Afton made a mess of trying to change her out of revenge and that I stepped in and replaced his venom with my own in order to save her. It’s my bite mark on her neck now not Afton’s” Caius responds and Chelsea nods “Thank you for letting me stay here with her" “You’re welcome my dear, I figured it would help you, all things considered” He replied and she nodded “I hope Felix doesn’t hold Afton’s actions against me” She said low “He won’t, especially as you and I are going to take care of her until he returns” Caius replied.

Y/N woke up three days later; sitting up and taking in the sights around her; noticing the loose thread on rug by the fireplace, feeling the cotton thread of the duvet beneath her when her eyes met Caius’ “Hello my dear” “Ca-Caius” She replies low “Wh-what happened?” “You were bitten by Afton in the garden and Santiago intervened and bought you to us and I had to change you in order to save you” He replied “I-I remember he said that Felix wouldn’t want me or love me knowing I had his venom running through me” She replied “Well you don’t need to worry about that my dear, as it’s my venom running through you” “Felix will have an issue with the fact that it’s not his venom” She answered sounding a little sad “Nothing will change between you hunny, I promise. He will just be glad that master Caius saved you” Chelsea answered softly “Oh and just so you are aware Afton was disposed of after this incident as he broke one our laws” She added “I-I’m sorry Chelsea” Y/N replies “Don’t be Y/N, you did nothing wrong. Afton knew what the consequences were should he be found out and went ahead anyway” Chelsea replies.

“As you are my creation Y/N, you spend your newborn year with us at the castle and we all help you adjust to your new life. First things first feedings; we do not allow hunting in the city and so once Felix and Demetri return, I will have them take you hunting outside of the city and show you what to do. In the meantime, Heidi saved you two humans from our ‘tour’ this morning, they are waiting in a guest room on the floor below. Shall we?” Caius informs Y/N “I-I don’t know what to-to do” She says slowly “You are a lot faster and stronger than the humans in the room so it’ll be easy to overpower them. You need hold them firmly against you, this can be via the front of their neck or around their middle, then you tilt their head to the side and bite down and let the blood flow down your throat to ease the burn. We will be right there with you” Chelsea replies. Once inside the guest room Y/N grabbed the first human and did as Chelsea told her although she struggled and it was not the most efficient kill nor was it the cleanest but Caius and Chelsea did not judge her. Y/N drained the second human but later she felt upset at having killed two innocent humans. “You did well today Y/N and it will get easier, I promise” Caius said low.

Heidi got some blood bags from her doctor friend at the hospital and kept them in her room for Y/N in case they needed them. Chelsea and Heidi made sure to keep Y/N away from the reception area, not wanting to risk an incident in the castle. Heidi did however get Caius’ permission to bring in another human for Y/N as a way of helping her deal with the blood lust she was feeling.

Chelsea and Caius had spent a lot of time with Y/N as she was struggling with feeding. Heidi would ensure their share of the tour was bought to a side room so the three could feed privately as Caius didn’t think Y/N was ready to feed with the others. Y/N had been a newborn for about ten days when Felix, Demetri and the twins returned from their mission; reporting to the throne room to update the Kings on the outcome of their mission. All four guard noticed Caius’ throne was empty “Caius is with Chelsea and Y/N…” Aro paused when he saw confusion and worry flash across Felix’s face “There was an incident about two weeks ago involving Y/N and Afton…Caius had to change Y/N in order to save her” Aro advised them and a loud growl escaped Felix “I’LL KILL HIM” He roared and turned to leave; Demetri grabbed his arm as Marcus spoke “He has already been disposed of…he is nothing but ashes my dear boy” Felix turned around to look at Aro and Marcus “Chelsea is with Y/N?” Demetri asked “Yes, she and Caius haven’t left her side since the incident, Heidi has checked in with her regularly when not planning ‘tours,’ she even got a supply of blood bags for Y/N. Chelsea feels bad for what happened to Y/N and asked to stay and help her” Aro replied “I think being around Y/N has helped Chelsea deal with the loss of Afton, given her…a purpose” Marcus added “Please do not harm Chelsea Felix, she had no part in Afton’s plan” Aro warned “How-how did Afton get close enough to attack Y/N?” Felix asked and Aro explained the events of that fateful day including how Santiago saved her from Afton. “Go see Y/N but remember don’t spook her as she’s probably stronger than you right now” Marcus said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Felix and Demetri made their way to Y/N’s room, the twins deciding to wait to the morning as to not overwhelm her. Felix knocked on the door “Only us” He said as he and Demetri entered her room slowly “Felix, Demetri” Caius greeted them “Master” They both replied and bowed their heads “How is she?” Felix asked quietly, looking out to the balcony where Y/N stood with Chelsea “A little jumpy now and then. She struggles a little with her thirst but is relatively calm for a newborn” Caius answered quietly, he looked over his shoulder before continuing “She’s worried that this will affect your relationship” Felix said nothing but nodded “Just remember Felix it’s my venom in her system no one’s else’s and it’s my bite mark that you will see…just as she sees Aro’s mark where he changed you” Caius placed a hand on his arm “Thank you master for saving her and staying with her in my absence” “She is your mate and you two have been through enough in the short time you’ve been together. She’s my creation and it was my duty to show her how to survive in this life. Although I think you two should help her too” Caius replied “Of course master. I’m assuming then she will be with us during her newborn year?” Demetri asked, hope showing in his eyes “Yes, as my creation she is allowed to remain here with us” Caius replied smiling at Demetri and Felix “I’m going to say goodnight and leave you to catch up. Goodnight Y/N” “Goodnight Caius and thank you again” Y/N said as she entered the room “I’ll be leaving too, if you need me Demetri knows where to find me” Chelsea said as she too left the room.

“Looking good Y/N” Demetri smiled and gave her a wink; a low growl came from Felix “Shut up” Demetri said as he slapped his arm “You look so beautiful little one” Felix said with a look of adoration on his face “May I?” He held his arms out to her and she nodded, slowly stepping closer to her mate; once she was near enough Felix carefully pulled her into his arms and held her “I missed you Felix” She buried her face into his chest “I missed you too” He replied resting his head on top of hers “I missed you too cara” Demetri added and Y/N laughed “Missed you too Dem.”

Felix loved Y/N with every fibre of his being and would do anything for her, including defending her to a few of the transitory guards who talked about her behind her back, judging her and commenting on the fact she was not able to take part in the ‘tours’ “Y/N is struggling to adjust and after the shocking way she was thrust into this life by Afton, I can’t blame her. She’ll come through it” Felix said at the start of a training session “One more thing you may want to remember that as my mate she outranks you all!” Felix growled “Drop and give me 200…NOW!” Demetri demanded and the vampires groaned “You can all thank the few guards that thought they could talk about Y/N in such a way a disrespectful way.”

Felix was given a few days off to spend with Y/N but that didn’t work out the way it as supposed to. After coming back from a private feeding with Chelsea Y/N saw how clean Felix and Demetri were after the ‘tour’ compared to her; she was still a little messy, it confirmed her thoughts she wasn’t good enough or clean enough with her kills to stand beside her mate and her friends. She decided to spend more time with Chelsea and continue to feed privately with her as she felt comfortable around her and didn’t feel like she was being judged by the female vampire. Y/N also still had the need for blood bags to help with her thirst.

“Y/N? You in here?” Felix called out as he entered his mate’s room only to find it empty…again “She isn’t in there” Demetri’s voice called out softly “I know that” Felix growled “Woah! Calm down Fe” Demetri held his hands up in surrender “Sorry D. I can’t find her and all I want is to spend time with my mate, improve our relationship and our bond” He replied, sounding a little downhearted. Demetri was quiet for a moment before replying “Y/N is with Chelsea…in her room” “What is it with Y/N and Chelsea?” Felix asked, Demetri shrugged “I don’t know, maybe Chelsea feels guilty over Afton’s actions and feels bad for Y/N. Talk to her” Felix nods and goes back to his room.

A few days later Felix catches Y/N in Heidi’s room with a blood bag and they’re hanging out “Hey Y/N there you are. I’ve been looking for you” “You found me” She replies “I have some time off and wondered if you wanted to do something together?” He asked, hoping she’d agree “Oh, sorry I can’t…I have a lesson with Caius…which I’ll be late for if I don’t go now. Bye Heidi, it was nice catching up. Bye Fe” Y/N left the room quickly “Bye Y/N” Heidi called after her, Felix said nothing, turning around and making his way to Demetri’s room. Once inside he laid down on his friend’s bed, surprising Demetri moments later when he stepped out of the bathroom half naked after his shower “Why Felix, I didn’t know you cared” Demetri winked at him “Get bent” Demetri chuckled as he entered his closet and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt “What do I owe the pleasure, my friend” Demetri asked sitting at the foot of the bed “Y/N’s avoiding me” “Ahh…are you sure she’s avoiding you?” He asked gently “Yes. She’ll spend time with anyone and everyone…as long as it’s not me” Felix replied. Demetri was sure it was all in his friend’s head until he witnessed Y/N avoiding Felix for himself the following afternoon.

Gianna had taken the afternoon off and Aro asked Y/N to cover reception, thinking doing something ‘human’ may be good for her and keep her focused on something other than her struggles. The afternoon was going well until a delivery man arrived with a parcel for Aro. Y/N inhaled just as the human rounded the corner; the burn in her throat roaring to life, his heartbeat sounding loud in the quiet reception area ‘He smells so good’ She thought to herself ‘Just a little taste’ A smile curved her lips ‘No. Don’t. I can’t. Caius…Felix…’ “Hello, I have a parcel that requires a signature” The human voice cut through Y/N’s thoughts “Ok” She tried holding her breath as she signed his clipboard, she noticed the pulsing vein in his neck, his heartbeat a little fast as though he was a little fearful. It was as though he was tormenting her with his scent. He thanked her and turned back to walk towards the lift and before she could stop herself, she had flashed up behind him as he stepped inside the lift. Y/N’s hand gripped his neck; holding his back to her chest as she sunk her teeth into his neck, his blood flowing into her mouth easing the burn at the back of her throat “Mmm” She enjoyed draining this human. She was trying to work out how to hide the evidence of her kill when she noticed her top had blood on it, his blood “Oh well. No need to hide him now…” She trailed off, talking to herself.

The lift doors opened when the lift reached ground level, Y/N stepped out of the lift leaving the human to lie dead on lift floor. She walked to the stairs and made her way back to reception to turn off the computer and to gather her things “Y/N” Felix called out from behind her when she was halfway back to her room “Can’t stop, got things to do” She called out over his shoulder “What things? Maybe I can help” Felix called “Just things, I don’t need help” She called out and took off running “Still think she isn’t avoiding me D?” Demetri rubbed the back of his neck “It would appear she is avoiding you” He replied “I wish I knew why D” Felix responded and turned on his heels making his way to the training room. Demetri decided to try his luck with Y/N; to see if she would talk to him as she used to do when she was human.

#demetri volturi #felix volturi #jane volturi #alec volturi #heidi volturi #chelsea volturi #marcus volturi #aro volturi #caius volturi #volturi #twilight

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slasherkisss · 4 years ago

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Blood Day Truce

You find yourself on your period in the realm of the Entity. To make it worse you find yourself alone with Evan Macmillan, the Trapper, while you are also on your period. LUCKY for you, though, Evan seems interested enough in your predicament to offer something of a truce, so long as both of you can benefit from it.

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Period Play, Vaginal Fingering, Blood Play, Rough Sex, Choking Ao3 Link Here

A/N: My first piece of a period play series I’ve been itching to do! Reader is AFAB but I tried to keep the pronouns as gender neutral as possible! Basically Evan fucks you on your period to help you with your cramps. I hope you enjoy!

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You watched him with terrified eyes, pupils tracking his every move. His every stretch of muscle against hooked skin as he towered above you. Simply his breathing was enough to twist your gut a little more than your cramps were already doing. The Entity normally brought four of you when it was time to face a Killer. The Entity, for all its foreboding attitudes, was at least kind enough to give you warning as to when you were about to be thrust into a life or death situation. It gave you time to mentally prepare, as a group, for the slaughter that would without a doubt happen one way or another in your time out and about on the turf of a walking slaughterhouse like the Trapper.

This time, however, you were alone.

The Trapper shifted forward, one heavy foot in front of the other, and you scrambled back on instinct. This wasn’t a formal match, but you were still unsure if the killer thought that an excuse to miss out on torturing some prey. The way you shifted made your stomach snarl and your uterus quake your body with another gut chilling cramp.

The soft squelch of your aching muscles pushing out some more blood against the lining of your pants echoed in the deafening silence between the two of you, causing you to whimper out in pain. Maybe letting him kill you would be easier than this. At least, for a while, you’d get to ignore the pain while the Entity worked on re-summoning up your body from the depths of its sacrificial limbo.

You shoved your back against the nearby wall, another squelch of blood sounding between your thighs and you bit back a groan of discomfort as you felt the stain between them grow. You slid down to the ground, almost in defeat, and tried to even your breathing through the fear.

The unfamiliar noises made him pause in his advancement, masked head tilting to one side in what one might almost consider a cock of curiosity. You brought your legs up to your chest, the position momentarily lessening the pain as warm pressure pulled itself against your aching abdomen. You hadn’t even realized that, through the intruding cramp, you had kept your eyes shut as tight as possible out of pure endurance. Through the darkness of your eyelids you heard each of the movements The Trapper made above you. The floorboards creaked as he moved closer, groaning louder when he leaned down. You felt his hot breath against the front of your face, rancid but familiar, and shivered.

You dared to open your eyes, meeting the thin slits of his mask boldly but with the proper apprehension. He was down on one knee, using his cleaver to support himself in his leaning. Putting his weight on it made the weapon sink deeper and deeper into the floorboards, splitting the wood slowly underneath it. You held your breath and allowed him the closeness. So long as his weapon was buried deep into the wood, there was no chance of him being able to pull it out swiftly and without a struggle, giving you a clear chance to struggle upwards and make your way out if need be.

His head tilted down as you let out another surprised whimper at the pain in your body. Though you couldn’t see much through the mask, you could almost feel his gaze holding onto the area between your legs. Suddenly self conscious of the embarrassing stain growing against it, you tried to delicately shift your legs so that they covered up the bloodied area more discreetly.

Suddenly The Trapper’s hand shot outwards, causing you to gasp in terror. Your heartbeat quickened and your blood ran cold as he formed his grip on one of your knees. You were ready for it. For him to rip you in half or drag you by that leg towards a hook. To saw you in half or something equally as gruesome so that the rest of your body’s blood joined in with the type already leaking from you.

Instead you felt him release his grip on his cleaver so he could put his other hand on the opposite knee and slowly pry your legs open. You tried to keep them shut, mostly out of embarrassment, but his strength wasn’t anything that you could fight against. Instead you resigned yourself to his movements, growing curious as to what exactly he was doing.

The Trapper’s eyes lingered on the bloody pool in your jeans for a long time. The position he had you in began to grow painful and awkward as your body pumped out more blood. Reaching out, he touched his hand against your ass, using his thumb to press against the growing stain of blood. The pressure caused an audible squelch to hum through the air a second time. A warm sense of relief that shouldn’t have been there flooded your core as the pressure hit your clit, temporarily jolting your body to relieve the stress pains it was feeling. When you let your breath go from when you were holding it, it came out as a sigh of relief.

This caused the pressure to stop and you momentarily feared that you had fucked up somehow. You had snapped him out of his fascinated reverie just long enough for him to remember that he could kill you easily. Your worries were shattered when, instead of murdering you there, he applied more pressure to your clit with his thumb, rubbing careful circles against the bloodied fabric as he did so. You felt another gasp tear its way up your throat but, this time, you bit your lip and shut your eyes tight. Just what was going on? Was this a new way he wanted to practice toying with his victims before he killed them?

Your brain argued with you, loudly proclaiming that you shouldn’t let whatever this was keep happening. That you should kick the Trapper away and run. Give him the chase you always did when you faced him. The part of your body that was running on hormones, blood, and pain, however, insisted otherwise. In a three against one vote, you felt your body accept its verdict and slowly loosen the tense way you were sitting. Your legs slackened in his hold and you let your hips push forward against his hands in the slightest of ways.

The movement must have surprised him because no sooner had you done it did his hand stop and move away slightly, as if afraid he had hit something or done something he shouldn’t have. The loss of the sweet pressure made you whine softly in your throat.

He pulled himself away to examine his hand, blood shimmering on his thumb from where it leaked through your jeans. The Trapper tilted his head and watched you in silence. You watched him in return, confused as to just what it was he was trying to understand. A blush leaked onto your cheeks as you realized that you just tried to grind against the hand of a killer while on your period. To be fair, you reasoned in your mind, that would require an explanation for anyone.

“I-I’m on my period,” You choke out softly, daring not to speak above a whisper to him, “It’s heavy and hurts pretty bad, but, pressure eases it a lot….Uh, s-sorry about your finger.”

His hands were literally bloodied all the time, you realized immediately after you spoke, why on earth were you apologizing?

There was another long moment of silence before he gave a slow nod as if in understanding. Suddenly his hands reached for you, all of you, and hoisted you upwards. You shrieked in surprise, wiggling as an immediate panic response to being heaved over someone’s shoulder again. You must have satiated his curiosity and now he was going to kill you because he didn’t actually care about why you just did that. Your headshot around, terrified that there might be a hook in the room you two were in. What if there was one in the adjacent room and he was simply toying with you before easily moving you over? Your breath came faster through the aches and squishes as you tried to free yourself from surely imminent death.

You were shocked when you found yourself moved only a short distance. The length of the room was covered in a few easy steps thanks to his height and, with a rather unceremonious grunt, he dumped your body down onto the nearby bed. For a moment you lay there, shocked at the turn of events that seemed to transpire, before struggling to sit up. The mattress was old but soft. You found yourself sinking into every part of it as it dipped down with your weight. The springs underneath groaned further when The Trapper joined you on it, sitting down on the edge so that his legs were off of the edge, feet planted firmly on the floor below you both.

You were picked up again, but, this time not lifted all the way. It was more like he was guiding you around now, shifting you from one part of the mattress to the other. Still confused and slightly terrified, you allowed yourself to be manhandled until you were sitting down on one of The Trapper’s knees, straddling it. Reaching out, you held onto his shoulders for purchase as you looked down from the position and up to him with confusion. To your gaze, The Trapper only tilted his head to you. You slowly realized that this wasn’t going to be a slaughter.

He was offering a temporary truce. A moment of tense parlay while the two of you waited in limbo for others to begin a true ritual.

To emphasize, he ground his knee against you and the pressure is tantalizing sweet. After a few more experimental pushes and grinds on his accord you decide that, hell, if you’re going to die you are going to at least be able to say that you’ve done something like this with The Trapper ONCE. It’ll come in handy in ‘never have I ever’ you supposed. Your grip tightened resolutely on his shoulders before you ground down on his knee, feeling the way it pushed the wet fabric of your jeans up and against your clit. As you met each movement soft mewls of delight began to escape your lips. With every bit of pressure building in your stomach, your period pains dwindled into dying embers.

You dared not look up at his eyes, but you felt his hands reach for your hips, gripping them tight as he brought you down harder against his leg. You ground faster, pace stuttering as you felt yourself beginning to come undone. God, you were close. You were so close, but it wasn’t enough. You craved more than just the soft release of pain. Your abdomen and uterus clenched with excitement at the possibility of a fuck. Despite knowing who it was you were grinding into, something about it made wetness mix with your blood.

Suddenly his hands gripped you all too tightly, stopping the rhythm you were building. A desperate keen escaped your lips between curses and begs to let you finish. You would have offered to let him kill you even, but, after you finished. You barely recognized the babbles and begging please that fell from your lips as you looked up, at last, into his eyes. Your expression was watery with redness and tears threatening along your cheeks.

There was a long pause in his movements, his body stone against your form as you caught the raggedness of his breaths coming through the mouth of his mask. You tried to squint further through the eye holes, the momentary safety of your truce giving you a sense of bold curiosity as you wondered just how much of Evan’s face you would be able to catch a glimpse of in the barely there light of the room.

The result was another warning grip on your hips before you were thrown to the bed, back to resting your spine on the softness of its edges. You almost wanted to apologize, but your breath was stolen from you when you felt the dip of it again. This time, though, The Trapper towered over you with his knees on either side of your hips. His arms caged your face between their girthy tendons. You could see the bend of his muscles flex as they kept him steady. You could hear the heavy breathing that echoed over him.

“What…” You started but you trailed off, licking your lips in thought. What were you going to do? It was a bit obvious. What should I do? He wouldn’t really care about that would he?

There was no answer as his fingertips brushed down your stomach, the tips of them finding your uterus and digging into the tender flesh. He pressed down with all the fingers on one hand, the calloused thumbs of them rubbing along your jeans and making you bite your lip to stifle a moan. Seemingly displeased with the action, his free hand found your face and squeezed your cheeks painfully in his grip, causing your jaw to clatter together as he forced you to look right at him. Despite the mask covering his features, you were sure the look was a stern, communicative one somehow.

Don’t be quiet.

You could only attempt at a nod in his grasp. When he was seemingly pleased with the reaction, he released your face and allowed his hand to join the other down near your jeans.

With movements far too delicate and careful for you to ever have considered someone like The Trapper to have, he undid the button of your jeans and peeled the zipper down with a satisfying ripping noise. You watched his fingertips graze the edges of your hips before holding the fabric in a firm grip and yanking harshly down. Your underwear was taken with the jeans in his movements, leaving a momentary trail of sticky blood stringing between your core and the fabric.

The embarrassingly long trail of slick made your face heat up and you moved to cover it with your hands again. This time there was a true, feral growl somewhere deep in The Trapper’s throat as his hand rose up to grab at yours with impatient frustration, squeezing your wrists together with a bruising hold before slamming them over your head and into the soft mattress, bending you so that you arched your back to him as he pressed further. His anger had risen and it was clear why, and you still couldn’t help the whimper and struggle you briefly put up with a huff in his face.

“I’m sorry,” You muttered as you averted your gaze glaringly, “I - uh - h-haven’t exactly DONE this with anyone before, especially not one of YOU- “ You put an emphasizing roll of spite onto the ‘you’ as you gestured with your head to his entire form - “I don’t know what to expect.”

This seemed to give him pause as he tilted his head, thinking about your words before somehow deciding that he didn’t care, his grip still hard on your wrists as he moved himself again, his body shifting against yours and his thighs brushing along your own as his free hand reached downwards to touch at your bleeding hole.

Deft fingers slid in easily with the amount of lubrication from both your blood and the previous wetness of having ground so needily along his thigh. Two entered you with ease and the thickness of them stretched you more than you had been in so long. You felt full, stuffed to the brim with his shifting digits as you let the moan of surprise fall from your lips and your head bend backwards into the mattress. Your hips arched themselves upwards, greedy for more of his touch, and you swore that you could hear a cocky chuff of laughter echo from behind that smug mask of his.

He scissored his fingers inside of you, watching your lips spread against his movements and coat the entirety of his hands and the mattress with thick streams of blood. He could feel your walls contract around him from time to time, pushing more of your sickeningly sweet blood out and creating trails of dribbles along his palm and wrists. You took each finger easily up to the knuckle as he forced his hand in and out of you at a tortuously methodical pace.He edged you with careful planning, tilting his head this way and that to get a better view of your blushing, open-mouthed face as he fucked you at such a sensitive moment. During such a peaked sensation.

Your hips moved on his fingertips again, demanding and needy as you gasped.

“Come onnnn,” You whined up at him with a shift of your head, “Y-You’re such a -ngh- fucking tease… Will you- can you just-!”

Your face turned red as the words threatened to spill from your mouth. This only seemed to make The Trapper’s hands slow down even more, scissoring carefully and leaning in closer to your face. His breath washed over your nose, too hot for your already warm body, and you bit your lip to stop yourself from tasting it as you moaned. HIs thumb reached up to barely brush against your bloody clit and a third finger danced in a deliberation on if he should give you what you wanted, making you keen more as you stared upwards.

From here you could see his eyes, though not much of them. They were narrowed and sharp as they gazed into your own, a deep brown that glowed crimson in the right light as he stared.

When he opened his mouth it surprised you. It wasn’t that you didn’t think The Trapper couldn’t speak, but having never heard his voice even in a trial made the noise that pulled itself from his lips, dark and heavy and deep in his throat, something of an amazingly unique sound to grace your ears. Even if the one word he whispered made them turn red:

“Beg.”

You were tempted to protest. To wiggle and demand more in the most bratty tone you could be able to get out, just to spite the killer, but then he pushed a firmer pressure to your clit and made you keen in delight before quickly removing it with a gruff, sadistic laugh. He wouldn’t give you this without getting his way and, bit by bit, you could feel your pride slipping away as you tried to shift your legs more beneath him.

“P-Please,” You gasped out softly, “God - fuck - please! I don’t know what else to say, please, please, please j-just finger me already! Fuck me, I don’t care just please please- ah-!”

It was apparently enough for him. Without warning the bending digits in your aching cunt pistoned back and forth with incredible power. Each time they left your legs there was a sick, squelching noise as your body tried to keep hold of him with its bloodied grasp, and the same noise echoed as he slid them back in and crooked his fingers in just the right spot in the center of your nerves.

He was fucking you with his fingers in earnest now, each thrust and squealch sending a fresh wave of blood down your body and against the edges of the mattress to the point where you could feel it stain your thighs and ass the longer you wallowed in it. In the moment, with a building orgasm of hot, sweet pleasure you couldn’t really bring yourself to care as The Trapper watched your brows furrow and your lip catch itself in your teeth as you concentrated on bringing your orgasm crashing over you. When he sensed you were close he slowly freed your now bruised hands, allowing them to scramble and claw and whatever they were able to reach, first the mattress and then his arms as you clung to the killer for dear live.

You came with a gasp, moaning as your legs clamped themselves over his hand and kept his deliciously thick fingers inside of you, milking yourself down on him with all of your efforts. The spill of slick cum and blood pushed from your body with little reserve as to what a mess it was making and Evan sat back to watch your entire form contract greedily around his fingertips.

The moments it took you to come down from your high were a blissful thing, no cramps edging you against your period as you caught your breath. Looking up, you were just vigilant enough to watch the Trapper bring his hands up to the light of the room and examine the mess you had made on it. Each of his fingers was coated in sticky blood, chunks of uterine tissue clinging to his fingernails and some dribbling down his palm and wrist as he shifted each fingertip for a better look. You felt yourself grow sick with embarrassment over the fact that you had just had an insanely bloody orgasm over the hands of a man who had killed you more than once at the Entity’s request.

Maybe it was best not to think about that right now.

Not that you were able to, for in the next moment you witnessed The Trapper reach down to the edge of his mask with his clean hand and pull it upwards. It was just enough to reveal his lower half of his face, the chiseled jaw littered with ashen scars across dark, stained skin and full lips. He brought his fingers to his mouth and opened wide, bringing his large, broad tongue across each digit with a slow, methodical lick. He looked as though he was tasting some sort of wine, identifying the taste carefully as he slurped it from the edges of his knuckles and between the stretch of skin against each finger. You were hypnotized as he brought his mouth down and licked a trail from his wrist to his knuckle, cleaning up the leftover blood trails that followed suit.

With a final lick of his lips he brought his mask down against his face and watched your reaction in turn. Your mouth had gone dry and your body was trembling, the center of your stomach already building up with more wetness at the actions you had witnessed. Why was this turning you on? Something about it didn’t seem fair, but, one quick gaze down his body to the prominent tent in the edges of his overalls brought you the satisfaction of knowing that you weren’t the only one.

The silence was heavy. You could hear every creak in the floorboards and settling wood around you as you shifted your legs, wincing at the sound of the sheets beneath you, and licked your lips.

“You know um… The more orgasms I have… the less pain I get.” You whispered suggestively, your confidence fading as you furrowed your brows, “Wait you like pain though don’t you? So I guess less orgasms would be better if that was the case. L-Look all I’m saying is that bodies are weird right! No that’s not what I’m saying at all I’m really just- FUCK-”

The curse fell from your lips as he startled you by reaching down, pushing your shirt up and over your head before grabbing your face to open your mouth wide with his fingertips. You could taste the light flavor of your cum and blood on each digit, making you screw your face up into one of annoyance before he shoved your shirt into your mouth, the strip hanging like a poorly fit handkerchief gag against your mouth. The fabric soaked up your saliva and made you gaze up in shocked confusion at the killer.

“You talk too much.” Was the only cheeky response you got before he adjusted himself with a heavy grunt.

You sat there, gagged and paralyzed as you watched him stand. As you watched him undo the straps of his overalls with slow efficiency, moving each piece of clothing down his body to reveal a taught, muscular back. The hooks in his skin glittered dangerously alongside his scars, dancing down the massive muscles of his shoulders and spine until they faded into the smooth curve of his ass. You swallowed around the gag as his outfit fully fell to the floor with a solid ‘thunk’ of its overly metal parts hitting the fragile wood before he turned to you, mask and boots still on as he tilted his head.

The Trapper’s cock was larger than you were expecting it to be and the mere sight of it made you wet again. You thanked God or the Entity or whatever hell monster was watching over you that your blood made you extra slick and receptive, otherwise it would have scared you more to have it anywhere near your body.

To be fair, you were already pretty terrified. This WAS the Trapper after all.

You expected him to lean over you again. To tower over you form as he took you with an intense, greedy sort of hunger you had come to understand that these killers felt. It left you surprised and slightly frustrated when, instead, he lifted your body up as though you weighed nothing to him and replaced it with his own form, sitting you down on his lap instead. Your shirt still clung tight to the skin in your mouth, drying your tongue out as you hissed around it with muffled frustrations. They stuttered and stopped, however, when you felt the hard head of his cock throbbing along the edge of your ass. You squeaked, your legs trying to squeeze together as you felt another dribble of blood fall from yourself, pooling along his abdomen and dripping down his hips.

The movement of your blood seemed to draw a moan from the man beneath you as a large hand came down and slapped at your ass, stinging the tender flesh with a red handprint that made you yelp and squirm more. More blood pooled as a result and it only seemed to rile the Trapper up more, his chuckle deep and baritone in his chest as he let you squirm against him, your hands reaching out to put themselves on his chest as you glared with a teary eyed huff at him. At least he couldn’t make you beg with your words now.

Curiously you reached up to tug at the shirt in your lips. You response from him was a fierce growl and another smack to your ass, making you drop your hands and whimper around the fabric again as, without warning, he lifted you up and plunged your blood soaked cunt down his dick.

Despite your lubrication your body stretched to accommodate him, the head of his cock warm and throbbing as it sunk deep into your throbbing pussy. Your yell devolved into a moan of contentment and, as you gushed one more time around his dick, The Trapper let out the loudest noise you had heard from him to date. A strangled cry that masked a moan as he leaned forward and put his head into your shoulder, his fingertips gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he reveled in the feeling of you around him. Of your bloodstained walls swallowing him and dripping down his thighs, staining his skin further along its cracks and scars.

There was no further warning other than that brief moment of residual revelation before he lifted you upwards, the tip of his cock just barely still inside of you, before slamming down again. You gasped, wiggling on his lap as he set a brutal pace with near desperate immediacy. The feeling of him filling you was overwhelming and you could smell the coppery scent of your blood mixed with your slick as you let him pull you like a cock sleeve. He was so thick. So long and just so - so perfectly what you needed that your cramps had long since fallen into the background of your mind.

It was all you could do to reach out your hands and cling to his broad shoulders, tugging at one of the hooks embedded in his skin without thinking about it. The Trapper responded with a growl, deep and sharp in his throat as you did so, and picked his pace up with an even more feral animosity. Every thrust all but hit your cervix, sending stars to blot your vision as you ran your nails down one of his shoulders, leaving a series of welting scratches in its wake. Your own mark for him in return for the ones you’d have on your hips and ass, surely.

There was only the sound of the two of you rutting into one another. The disgusting squelch - smack - squelch - smack - squelch that signaled your desperation and his command as he reached upwards to grab your neck and squeezed with a tight, firm hand against the softness of your flesh.

The sudden lack of oxygen left you reeling, your head sparking with warning bells and pleasure all at the same time as he continued to push you up and down on his cock. Your fingertips rose up to touch at the wrist holding you around the neck, feeling the intensity of his pulse beneath his calloused flesh as you choked for air, your vision fading into black between the attempts to moan from the pleasure and the inability to gather the air to do so. Was this how you were going to die? Choked by a killer as he used your body like a cocksleeve? Your mind teased between the hazes that, hey, there were definitely worse ways to go.

Just as you felt the suffocation overtaking you, his grip released you ever so slightly. It allowed air into your windpipe for the briefest of moments before clamping mercilessly down again. You knew you’d have matching bruises to your ass along your neck. It’d be fun to explain those, certainly.

It wasn’t something you were worried about at the moment. Not as your body began to careen towards the sweet precipice of a second orgasm and your mind hissed with blank, needy hunger as you bit down hard on your t-shirt, whimpering as tears formed in your eyes and fell down your face with the overstimulation of his hands and cock. Your hand reached away from his own and down your body, finding your clit and gently stroking where his cock met your cunt, feeling him slide in and out and feeling the messy blood of your period slobber itself upon your fingertips as you went to rub your clit with desire.

His hand suddenly left your neck, freeing you up from the bruising grasp of his choking, and proceeded to swat your hand away from your clit. It caused a noisy whine form around your gag, but soon it was replaced with pleasure as his thumb found the small bud and began to rub it in tandem with his intense thrusts, each one growing more and more sporadic as his cock seemed to grow to fill every edge of your cunt. You could feel its heat throbbing into you, the sign of his oncoming orgasm as obvious as the grunts and growls in his voice.

There was little warning before you came, a loud and keening noise that made you arch your back and help him to drive deeper into your hungry core. You felt a series of muscles contract to gush out more blood atop him, pooling an impressive amount beneath you both that only aided in the echo of his hips hitting yours as you collapsed down onto his chest in a heaving mess of exhaustion and bliss.

There were a few more violent thrusts into your abused pussy before The Trapper stilled within you, coming with a long groan that shook his entire chest and sent a shiver down your spine as you felt his hot seed pulse unceremoniously inside of you. He held you against him, fucking you slow through his own orgasm until his hips came to a halt and he stilled inside of you with ragged, gasping breaths.

Silence overcame the small room once again and you could feel the obnoxious amount of liquid between your thighs, making you wince as you dared look back at the mess you had made. Sure enough, both you and Evan were littered with spots of thick red blood from your thighs down. It had soaked into a decent third of the mattress at this point, dying the white edges red and mixing with the strings of pink semen mixed with your blood that dribbled from your abused hole. You shuddered at the sight and felt your hands clench against the Trapper’s muscular form.

Your needs satiated and your cramps abide for the time, you felt the sudden fog of a heavy sleep rolling over your entire body. You looked upwards at the Trapper for a moment, brows knit in confusion as you stared at him with a curious gaze. His eyes remained that same shade of crimson brown behind the holes of his mask as he watched you back, his breath already returning to its even, unreadable state. The bastard and his good stamina…

A hand reached up to remove the gag from your lips. Your dry mouth heaved for sweet fresh air between it. He took a hold of your neck again, thumb fondly rubbing at your bottom lip with something of a rough adoration before you felt your eyes droop fully and your mind faded into a distant darkness, his breathing a lullaby for you to sleep away the rest of your pains.

---

You awoke to a fresh wave of cramps, gnarly and rude in their twisting of your uterus, and you groaned as you sat up to clutch your stomach with annoyance. Dizzy with the pain, you pushed yourself forward a bit to find your bearings, the memories of the previous night flooding back to you in a panic of realization. Heat rose in your cheeks at the thought of the Trapper and you scrambled to look around you, biting your lip in terror as you gazed at your surroundings.

You were back at the camp with your fellow survivors, clothing neatly in place and uterus still pumping out unnecessarily impressive amounts of blood much to your chagrin. You found yourself missing the blissful sleep you had gotten after the orgasm, regardless of who had brought it to you or not. You exhaled and tried to soothe the ache with a rub of your fingertips as you curled into a ball and suppressed a smirk.

You wondered if the Trapper would ever be up for another truce again?

Maybe you should go find out.

#evan macmillan #evan macmillan imagine #evan macmillan x reader #the trapper #trapper #dbd trapper #dead by daylight #dbd #dbd imagine #spicy #slasher imagine #slasher x reader #i hope you all enjOY

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