#it's like that torture technique of dripping water

[froggibus]

A Moment of Hesitation - Leon Kennedy

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x F! reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining??

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: leon has always kept you at arms length in order to protect you, but after leading the two of you into a trap, the cracks start to show and feelings come to light

CW: kidnapping, violence, gun violence, knife violence, bindings (reader and Leon are tied up with ropes), interrogation + interrogation techniques (including torture), reader shoots someone (self defense), drugging, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, love confessions, leon and reader are coworkers, somewhere between RE2 and RE4 leon

you guys were warned ahead of time lol. this started after i watched criminal minds and my hand slipped and suddenly i had 3k words and had to finish it. kind of my first shot at writing anything like this (slightly inspired by my mammon fic tho) so sorry if there's pacing issues. enjoy <3

————

Leon knows he messed up when he wakes to a bucket of water on his face and ropes holding his hands behind his back. Three men haul him to his feet, holding him up even when his knees buckle. How did he even get here..? Wasn’t he on a mission with you—he freezes in his tracks.

Where were you? He squints his eyes, desperately looking for you in the dark room. He feels relief for only a second when he sees your crumpled form on the ground, bound in the same way he is before his blood runs cold. You shouldn’t be here.

It was supposed to be a simple mission: investigate a supposedly abandoned Umbrella Facility for more information on their newest BOW. Of course, nothing can ever go right for Leon S Kennedy, and somewhere along the way, noxious gas was released throughout the lab you were in. He had tried to push you out of the room, not caring what happens to himself as long as you’re safe, but seeing you here means you must not have gotten away.

He clenches his jaw in frustration. Ever since he realized he had feelings for you, he just wanted to protect you. Sometimes that meant taking on the harder missions alone, and when he couldn’t, he was watching you like a hawk. This was supposed to be easy, though, and he let his guard down. A major fuck up on his end.

Another man, another Umbrella lackey, emerges behind you, yanking you up by your bindings. Leon growls, instinctively moving towards you before being tugged by the men holding him. A woman in a lab coat splashes water in your face and you begin to stir.

You wake up wet, frigid water dripping down your face and running over your eyelids. You try to open your eyes only for the water to pour into them. It stings, and you reach out to wipe your eyes dry only to realize your hands are being held behind you. 

“What the—“

“Nice of you to join us,” a woman’s voice echoes off the damp walls of the room you’re being held in. 

Your eyes adjust to the water and the darkness and you manage to make out a few things. One, is that you’re in a small room, most likely underground from the dank smell. Secondly is that you’re restrained and the gun that was once tucked into your hip holster is gone. Thirdly is Leon, who’s watching you with concern, three men holding him back from running to you. 

Right, you remember. There was gas in the room, and everything had gotten all foggy and dizzy. Leon had tried to push you out, you realize, and you had gotten out until you tried to drag him out of the room and passed out along with him. 

Leon glances at you and you cringe under his gaze. His sacrifice was for nothing given that you’re standing here with him. He should have known that you never would have left without him. 

“Mr Kennedy,” the woman crows, dark lips curling upwards. “Care to enlighten us on what you and your friend were doing in my lab?”

Leon frowns, “that’s none of your business.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she sighs, and signals to the man holding you, “I guess we’ll have to use other means to find out.”

The man drops you, letting you fall face first on the ground. You manage to land on your chest just before you hit and save yourself a broken nose. 

Leon strains against his captors, screaming for you, “don’t you fucking dare—“

“Don’t I dare what, Mr Kennedy?”

He growls, jaw set hard as he narrows his eyes on the woman. But she’s right. He can’t do anything to help you in his current position, and he has absolutely no fucking clue how to get you out of this. So, he shuts up. 

“That’s what I thought,” she smirks at his silence. “Now will you tell us?”

You guys share a look and you can see the conflict in his eyes. You know he can’t tell them, even if it means sacrificing you. But you can’t help but think that if you were in his position, you’d tell them anything they wanted to know. You’d burn the whole fucking world down for him. 

She takes his prolonged silence as a ‘no’ and gestures at the man behind you. A boot meets the back of your head and you’re sent sprawling face first on the ground. The sole of his shoe plants itself on your cheek and grinds against it so hard you swear you hear cracking. 

“Get your—“ Leon manages to land an elbow to the face of one of his captors. “Get your fucking hands off of her!”

You spit dirt on the ground and glare at the man above you. He grins back and the sight makes your stomach churn. 

Leon is seething, his heart pounding worse than it ever has. “If you hurt her,” he says in a low voice, “there won’t be a place on heaven or earth you could hide from me.”

You’ve never found Leon so scary. Threatening, sure. But even when he’s interrogating people and shooting zombies, you’ve never felt the chill that you do now. The man holding you down must feel it, too, because he suddenly retracts his boot from your face. 

Still, in different circumstances, in different contexts, his words would make you shiver. You try to shake the thoughts away. It’s because you’re his partner, y/n. Nothing else. Leon doesn’t see you that way. 

The scientist woman, clearly dissatisfied with Leon’s silence, recalls her lackeys and slams the metal door behind her. As soon as Leon hears footsteps rescinding, he’s dropping to his knees next to you. 

“Y/n,” he whispers, “y/n, get up.”

You whine, trying to sit up without your hands. Leon can hardly watch as you manage to prop yourself up on your chest and eventually fall back on your knees. 

“Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”

You shake your head, keeping your voice quiet,“I don’t…I don’t think so. Nothing aside from what you saw, at least.”

He seems to relax at that, shoulders sinking down from his ears. He wants more than anything to reach out and wipe the dirt off of your face, to check every inch of your skin and make sure you’re okay. 

“I-I think I know a way to get us out of this, okay?” He shuffles closer to you until his knees are against yours, “but you have to trust me.”

“I trust you with my life, Leon.”

His chest warms at your words but it’s short lived. “They took my gun but I still have my knife in my pocket,” he breathes, “I just need you to grab it and we can cut the ropes. Can you do that?”

“I-I think so,” you nod, turning around so that your hands face his front. 

You lean back, fingertips reaching out for his pocket. Leon leans into your touch, pressing his pants against your hand. He gasps when your fingers brush across his crotch and you freeze in your tracks. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he grunts, “just—a little more to the left.”

You somehow manage to get the knife from his pocket and flick it open. Leon moves his head down until he can clench his teeth around the hilt, ducking down until the blade is level with your bindings. 

“Stay perfectly still,” he mumbles around the knife. 

You try but it’s cold and you’re sore and he’s so damn close to you. Still, you manage, and soon enough you start to feel the bindings release until you can pull your hands free. 

You hold them out in front of you and rub at your raw wrists, the red skin aching from where the ropes dug in. You turn to face Leon, taking the knife from his mouth and wiping his spit on your pants. 

“Turn around,” you whisper. 

He obeys your command, turning so that his back is facing you and his ropes are level with your hands. Your hands shake with every movement but you manage to saw through the rope and release him.

He gasps in relief, letting the tattered nylon fall to the ground. “Alright,” he stands up on shaky legs, “now to get out of here.”

You try to follow suit, pressing your hands against the floor to try and force yourself onto your shaking legs. You manage to get one leg up but as you stand, you pitch forwards. 

Leon anticipates your fall before it even happens and catches you. “You alright?”

“The gas must not be out of my system,” you shake your head, “I can walk. I’ll be fine.”

You prop yourself up on his shoulder and push off, stumbling a bit before getting your footing. Leon watches you carefully, making sure you’re able to stand before approaching the sealed door. 

He tugs on it and though the metal whines, it doesn’t budge. He pushes it and the metal gives way, opening to a dark corridor. You think of making a joke about him pulling a push door, but bite your tongue. Now is not the time. 

Leon surprises you by grabbing your hand and leading you up the hallway. “Do you have my knife?” He asks. “We don’t know what could be lurking around these halls.”

“Yeah—do you want it?”

“No,” he shakes his head, blond hair flopping in his face, “you hang on to it.” I’d rather you be protected. 

You reach the end of the hall and Leon pulls you to the left where more light seems to be coming from a staircase. There’s noises up ahead—just a shuffling of footsteps—but it has Leon instinctively tugging you closer to him. 

You’re so close you can feel the warmth radiating off of his back and his heart beating in his chest. “Leon,” you say, pointing towards a shadow being cast from the top of the stairs. 

He nods once, taking the stairs one step at a time, anticipating some sort of horrific BOW. Instead, it’s one of the men from earlier. Not just any man—the one who had stepped on you. 

Leon can hardly contain his anger as he drops your hand and sneaks up behind him, wrapping an arm around his neck. He holds his head with one hand and uses his forearm to cut off his oxygen, and even after the man goes limp, Leon holds on. 

You watch with wide eyes, not sure if you should intervene or not. He's hostile, after all, and he did step on your face. You don’t have to jump into action, though, because Leon sees the look on your face and gently lowers the unconscious man to the floor. 

“Asshole,” he spits, and reaches for your hand again, “come on, we must be close to an exit.”

You place your hand in his and run your thumb gently across the back of it. A simple, silent gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by Leon; a gesture that calms the fire inside him. 

“I—do you think it’s only the guys from earlier?” You ask. 

“I’d like to think so, but we should still be on guard…” I don’t want to lead you into another trap. 

Leon swallows hard. You’re so close to him, he can feel you breathing. All he wants is to make sure you’re okay, really okay, and to hold you until you calm down. But he can’t do that, not until he gets you out of here at least. And even then, would you let him? He’s kept you at arms length for so long, would you even be willing to come closer?

It sure feels like it when you’re practically leaning against him the entire way through the halls. 

“Leon,” you whisper, and when he doesn’t answer, you tug on his arm. “Leon!”

He jerks backwards, almost knocking you into a wall in the process. “What?”

You jab your finger towards two more shadows up ahead. It must be the remaining men from earlier. His eyes go wide, his lips forming an ‘o’ shape when they follow your gaze. 

“You get the one on the right, I’ll get the one on the left. Okay? On three, two, one—“

You lunge forwards, brandishing the hilt of the knife. You smack the base of the hilt directly against the man’s head as hard as you can, and he crumples to the floor. Leon raises an eyebrow at your tactics from where he’s choking out the other guard, and you swear you see him smile. 

You dig around in the man’s pockets, only to find your gun. You nudge his face with your foot, “fucker,” and click the safety off. 

Leon lays the man on the ground, turning back to speak to you just as the final man leaps out from behind a corner. He’s holding Leon’s pistol, but before he can even shoot, there’s a hole in his head and your handgun is smoking. 

Leon looks at you, then at the man, then back at you. “Y/n,” he breathes, bewildered. 

“Don’t let your guard down, remember?” You try to quip, but your voice and hands are shaking. 

Not because you just shot a man, no. You’ve had to subdue more than a few hostiles in your line of work. No—you’re shaking because had you been a second slower, or your aim a bit worse, Leon would be dead right now. 

You swallow your feelings down. You can deal with them when you get out. For now, escape is all you need to focus on. 

Leon picks up his pistol from the man and waits for you to cross the room to him. He can’t hold your hand now, not with his gun, but you’re still close enough that he can feel you. 

He tries to ignore the way his face heats up at the contact. 

—

It takes several more hallways before you’re back in the room you got gassed in, and then twenty minutes from there, but you finally get out. 

It’s dark out, the sun having dipped down below the horizon hours ago, and the breeze bites despite being in a desert. You shiver, rubbing your bare arms. 

The moonlight illuminates Leon’s face, letting you see the bruise that covers his cheek bone and the dirt all over his skin. Still, he’s as beautiful as ever. 

He raises a hand to your face. There’s a small gash from where you hit the ground earlier, a streak of blood down your face. “This looks bad,” he moves his hand down to your jaw, looking at you seriously. “We’ll have to clean it once we get back to the motel.”

“O-okay,” butterflies erupt in your stomach under his touch. 

The walk to the car isn’t long, but the silence makes it seem much worse. Warmth lingers on your face from where Leon had touched you, and you find yourself rubbing at it. He’s being so gentle now—but why?

It’s not like he wasn’t before, but it was never like this. So what could explain the change in behavior? Was it guilt? Gratitude? Did he resent himself for the fact he couldn’t bring himself to leak secret government information to save your life, or did he want to thank you for saving him? Both? Neither?

The enigma makes your head spin, and the only thing you’re sure of is the warmth in your face and the butterflies in your stomach. 

Even the drive back to the motel is strangely silent, Leon occasionally glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking. Examining your wound, you assume. It’s a lot more than that for Leon, though. He needs to make sure you’re okay. That you’re alive and safe and out of harm's way. Harm that he put you in.

It’s a miracle for him that he could even drive back to the motel with the way his thoughts raced. Still, he gets you there safe and sound, and suddenly the two of you are stepping out of the car on shaky legs.

“Are you—do you need help?” He asks.

You don’t want to admit it, and on a good day you wouldn’t. But this wasn’t a good day, and you do need help. You think about it for a second, and nod. 

The position you fall into with Leon is only natural for the two of you. Something you’ve done on countless missions when one or the other or both of you got injured. An arm around your waist, an arm around his, leaning your body weights on each other. Stumbling desperately for your hotel room in the dark. If anyone saw you now, they’d probably just assume you’re a couple on vacation that had a few too many.

If only they knew how complicated it really was.

Leon has to release his arm from you to dig through the pocket of his pants for the keycard, but he lets you rest your full body weight on him in the meantime. You relax on him, the warmth and scent and curves of his body the only familiar thing in the world.

The lock turns green and clicks, letting Leon push the door open and help you into the room. You’re almost relieved to see the double beds and feel the brisk air conditioning. The only thing that would make it better is if it were your own bed.

Leon clearly shares your sentiment, kicking off his boots and leaping onto the mattress, “what a sight for sore eyes.”

You sit on the edge of your bed, slowly taking off your combat boots one at a time and spending way too much time fiddling with the shoelaces. “Tell me about it.”

You almost laugh at the words that just left your mouth. It’s just a figure of speech, but there really is something you want him to tell you about. You want to ask him about his sudden closeness and the mission and the brush with death and above all, his hesitation earlier. 

A part of you knows why. He doesn’t want you to die, you’re his partner, but you know and you’ve always known, the job comes first. You might be willing to sacrifice everything for him, but he can’t do the same. 

“We need to clean your face,” Leon sits up suddenly, the rustling of his clothes catching your attention. “It’ll get infected otherwise.”

You don’t feel like doing anything right now except for laying down and staring at the ceiling, but you know he’s right. You begrudgingly follow him to the bathroom. He’s already unpacking his first aid kit, digging out antiseptic spray, cotton pads and a bandaid. 

Like every other time you’ve done this, you settle on the counter in front of him. It’s such a familiar feeling that it’s almost bitter. He wets a cloth with warm water and starts to wipe off the dirt and blood on your face. You flinch under his touch, the wound stinging with the water.

“What’s on your mind, doll?” His voice is soft, calm. Nothing like it was earlier when you were being stepped on. The contrast makes you shiver.

You feel like you’ve been here a million times but at the same time, everything feels different. “It’s been a long day,” you say quietly, “for both of us.”

He wets a cotton pad with antiseptic and starts to dab it across the cut. “We’ve had longer days.”

You don’t say anything to that, clenching your teeth together to keep from hissing in pain. You never do get used to the burn of cleaning wounds.

“Seriously, what is it?” He looks at you seriously.

“I feel like I’m going insane, Leon.”

He gently presses the bandaid to your wound, dropping his hands from your forehead to your forearms. “Why?”

“I—” your skin practically burns where he’s touching you. “It’s everything. It–it’s me and it’s you and the mission and my feelings and—God, we’re partners Leon, we’re partners and I’m going to fuck it all up.”

The way you say partners lingers in the air. You choke on the word like it’s painful, like it’s a curse, some sort of vile thing that haunts you. And in a way, it is. Your partnership with Leon has long been a curse complicated by your own feelings. 

His brow furrows, “what are you…?”

“I would sacrifice everything for you. And I know I shouldn’t feel this way and it’s stupid and it’s selfish but…” You can feel tears pricking your lashes. 

“But what?” 

“Why won’t you do the same? You hesitated—earlier, you hesitated. You weren’t going to talk.” You burst into tears at the end of your sentence, the horrors from the day coming back to haunt you.

Your feelings are so overwhelming that they drown you. Your sadness and heartbreak and fear, and your anger and resentment. The bitter feeling whenever you’re reminded that Leon is your partner, nothing more. 

Leon squeezes your arms gently, trying to get your attention. “Y/n,” he sighs, “look at me. Please.”

When you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, he slowly moves a hand to your face and wipes your tears away. His hand catches your jaw, tilting your chin up until your eyes are level with his. The way the tears catch on your lashes make the world look like a stained glass window, Leon the most beautiful mosaic you’ve ever seen. 

“You need to understand,” his voice is soft, “I didn’t hesitate because I don’t care about you. I hesitated because I do. I keep my distance because I care about you so much, it scares me. Y/n, I would let the whole fucking world burn if it meant keeping you warm.”

His words stun you. They leave you warm and dizzy and lightheaded, your heart pounding against your ribcage, your skin burning under his touch. It’s all so confusing, so overwhelming. This whole time, did he really feel the same way?

“I meant what I said, doll. If someone hurt you, there wouldn’t be a place in the universe where they’d be safe from me.”

You’re staring at him and he’s staring back. His eyes have always been his most expressive feature, and right now they’re telling you exactly what you want. The warmth they hold, the concern and the affection, it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Leon…”

He leans in, ghosting his lips on yours. Heat spreads through your body. “We’re partners,” he whispers against you, and somehow that word sounds less venomous than it ever has.

“Partners,” you repeat, your lips catching on his as the words leave your mouth.

He presses his lips on yours harder, moving his hand from your face to the back of your head, holding you against him. He’s needy and desperate for your touch, as if he’s trying to keep you with him forever. And he is.

“Partner,” he mumbles, moving his lips down to your collarbone. “My partner. My brilliant, brilliant partner.”

You shiver at his touch and his words, the moment so raw and intimate it makes you wonder how long he’s wanted to do this. 

“My brilliant partner,” he pulls away, staring directly into your eyes, “so brilliant she couldn’t even see I was in love with her.”

“I—” you start to say but the words fail you.

Leon strokes your hair, planting a kiss to the bandaid on your forehead. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

He pulls away from you and grabs your hand, helping you off of the counter and leading you to bed. Both of you are still in your uniforms—a mess of vests and cargo pants and holsters. It’s a slow process to discard the most uncomfortable parts, but it’s worth it when you’re left in just a plain white t-shirt and underwear. There’s angry red marks on your skin from where the straps were. 

You shyly look over at Leon who is dressed the same way you are. His shirt and skin are still dirty, and you’re sure you are too, but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter now.

All that matters is you and Leon, and the way he lays on the bed and waits for you to lay next to him. The way he draws you in, your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating. The way he means everything to you, and you mean even more to him. 

[jiijux]

Similarities?

—𖦹๋࣭⭑

➤ summary: the infamous serial killer bloody painter is in search for a new target only to find oddity in this particular target that makes the killer wonder if what he is targeting for was a human or something more.

✮ Bloody painter x male reader

—★ ˎˊ˗

Footsteps gushing through the dirt with no hint of the sun shining through as this was the perfect timing for the bloody painter in search of his next target to make his presence known by others that he was in fact still a free man walking by using his own technique of torture and artistic for his victim.

When the serial killer found a target that catch his interest he found out this target lived alone which makes things easier for the bloody painter to strike. He waits until the street was quiet with no one's around before he takes a step further to find his targets home, he was going to break in through the window, he found out that the front door wasn't locked for some reason that it made him questioned though he didn't care.

Meanwhile the target that he searches for was in their work office with knees on the ground and head sliding into a painting surface not knowing a serial killer just entered his house.

To the serial killer suprise, the house doesn't looks like it was left by it's owner and forget to bring their keys with them, he knows this from the tap water running from the kitchen. Oddly enough, the whole atmosphere in the house feels weird to him but he ignored the feeling before taking further inspection at the kitchen until it took him by suprise a dark yet blue coloured liquid spread to the whole sink, it's not watery enough to be paint but not also thick enough to be one.

The smell reeks of blood in the sink which made the serial killer questioned what is his soon to be victim is doing. Is he some sort of scientist that does experiment on squid or spiders? He could only imagine that the victim was some crazy mad scientists which seems reasonable for him to kill.

While the serial killer search for every room, you as the victim were in an unconscious state for some reason which taken you by suprise as you realised something dripping from your mouth that looks like to be a dark blue liquid. You don't understand what's going on but your tongue hurts.

It hurts to the point you want to scream but something was stopping you as you try to prevent the liquid from dripping even more as it makes a mess on your floor until you backed away to find out your canvas was smeared away by the blue liquid which makes you frustrated. You couldn't help but almost try burning another peace of your paintings until something stopped you which just makes you approached the painting again and sliding your head against the canvas unable to stop the flowing blue liquid as all you could feel were numb and pain in your tongue.

As you slides your head against the painting, something just hit you as you remembered who this painting was for. Caressing the surface of the canvas as you thought there's no point in ever continuing to paint, what was your reason to paint? Wasn't there always a reason to or was it not needed? Painting were the only thing you were able to express yourself through each strokes. Though that can't be said when painting someone you truly desires to be with as each canvas was wasted only for one person.

Now that you think about it, what makes a person so special? Was there someone so special and different that it's hard to be described by words and shapes or form. As if they are not meant to be in this world but to make a memory for those who have met them, yet they died so tragically and fast.

Why is it that when a human suffers, they have to keep living and are unable to end their life due to the perception that everything will went great each day, but those who are a great and kind is targeted by fate to die quickly. Wasn't they're more needed in this world than those who brings suffering.

As you reminiscent about the thoughts of it, you had no guts to get up and just glances to the ground.

The bloody painter search for every room until he was at the front door of the office room, he was sure that his target was hiding here because every room he searched for, he couldn't find his soon to be victim so he was sure they're in this room. But imagine his surprise once the door finally opened revealing a guy on his knees facing a painting that was smeared with the same blue liquid he saw in the sink.

He almost thought the target was dead but his arm was still moving through the canvas, he was about to strike until he looked at the target condition. He took a step away from the target and look at the full picture with how everything was arranged, it was as if it was a piece of art. This interest him even more in the target if this was intentional but as he approached the target closer again, which was named (y/n) according to the pictures attached on the fridge showing the target name with an unknown girl.

The target who is now (y/n) looked at the serial killer with lack of complaints when facing the man as the expression were dull and the same blue liquid was drill from the target mouth without a warning the target unconsciously touch the mask of Bloody painter with both hands before feeling it leaving a mark which caused the serial killer to instantly backed off. This target was a weird one but he is quite intriguing to the serial killer as he reached for the target face and looking at it closer and he realised that the target was bleeding from how he reeks the smell of blood coming from its mouth.

This was fascinating to him, a human blood that is quite impossible to have as this looks like a human and even act like it which made the serial killer wonder if this was even possible. He decided that he would stay with this one a bit longer as he touches the jaw and (y/n) mouth opened.

It causes him nauseous with how blue it is but what caught his attention was (y/n)'s tongue was cut in half which could explain about everything he saw in the house now. He was quite curious about wanting to know the reason behind it but he decided that might be for later.

He looks around the room as this target as quite skilled with artwork especially paintings and statues but all of it represents the same person, it was carved with care and fondness. He felt something tug his jacket as he glanced down to (y/n) pulling his jacket as the man seems to drag himself towards him as if he wanted to say something or maybe stop him? He couldn't figure out.

"You're quite an interesting one are you?" The bloody painter spoke in a mocking tone as if he enjoyed seeing his target like this, suffering, hopeless, with no help at sight.

The serial killer watches how the target began to write on the floor that spelled out.

"Get out."

(1/?)

[wandafiction]

In Every Universe - Part 3

Warnings: Small mentions, and slight descriptions of torture.

You startle awake at the feeling of ice water being chucked over you, gasping for air as you feel it drip down the back of your throat, rolling off of the bed onto the hard floor. You cough and splutter trying to clear your airways while always trying to get air into your lungs from it all being pushed out from the fall. You feel your arm twisted at a slightly weird angle, due to your hands still being cuffed, and try to roll about to get it to feel somewhat normal. 

“Wakey, wakey.” You choke slightly when you’re lifted off the ground by the back of your shirt and forced down onto a metal chair, your eyes opening to see some blonde chick and a man you know to be the winter soldier, who you think they mentioned yesterday is now bucky. 

“Xa-xa , имний солдат. Как спокойная жизнь относится к вам?Скуч��о, я вижу, так как вы решили привязать меня к стулу для удовольствия.Несмотря на то, что я могу признать, что у вас есть некоторые взгляды, вы.” You smirk as he pulls your arms over the back of the chair, the angle causing a small sting but nothing you can’t handle, and tying them to it. (haha, the winter soldier. How is the quiet life treating you? Boring I see since you've decided to tie me to a chair for fun. Even though I can admit you got some looks going for you, you've got the wrong equipment to satisfy my needs.)

“No you don’t get to talk.” The blonde chick puts a knife to your throat, her eyes filled with a small amount of emotion and you can only chuckle when you recognise the symbol on her knife.

“Oh, she knows how to play, itty bitty baby widow.” You laugh as a hand comes into contact with your face.

“Did you really just quote Harry Potter while we are tying you to a chair? Crazy bitch.” You shrug laughing as the blond removes the knife from your throat now you are tied up to the chair properly.

“What can I say? I love a bit of movie magic, sue me?” You shrug, or do your best to, as the two of them give each other a look. “So did I know you two too, or are you doing this harsh interrogation technique because I have no link to you?” 

“What?” The winter soldier grabs another chair facing the back towards you and sits down, crossing his arms over and resting them on the top of the chair.

“I just mean that you know before the whole you disappeared act, which by the way I still don’t believe but I’m playing along because I like games, this is the best sort of game. Wait no, maybe monopoly or scrabble because everyone gets real mad real quick and it always ends up in a fight. Wait no Russian roulette. Yes, that is my favourite game, you should play it some time. It is very fun, very very fun. Should be an olympic sport.” 

“Do you ever shut up?” You turn to the blonde chick who has taken a seat next to the winter shoulder, sitting on her chair properly with her knife twirling against her knee.

“Do you ever ask questions because all you’ve done is get me wet and tie me to a chair. Just a normal Friday night if you ask me, although normally I’m the one who is tying the woman to the chair. You know a lot of men think it's some kind of kinky game you want to play, again I’m a big ole lesbian and never would, but when you put the knife to their throat and just. swish.” You laugh bouncing in your seat. “God it gets the blood pumping, literally all over the fucking place. Work of art. Should take a picture and send it to a gallery I could earn millions.”

“Earn millions from other people's deaths? You’re sick.” You laugh looking between the two in disbelief.

“So are you two. I mean come on the winter soldier and a black widow, I’m assuming you’re a part of the group that is helping free them all. You know you’ve gone all free all widows, which I mean is pretty cool if you ask me because what is up with mind control? Now that's something sick and perverted.” Again they both look at each other, but you’re too busy rambling about if there are black widows there must be super secret ninja organisations to notice. 

“How do you know who we are?” 

“Well first of all Mr I always look grumpy it's not hard to determine who you are. I mean the arm is a dead give away, and the eyes, just something about the eyes being so dead inside most of the time. As for you Miss I’m another blonde Russian, possibly Ukrainian, hard to tell the accent, you literally have the black widow sign on your knife. Pretty dumb to use it if you don’t want people knowing.”

“I mean she is not wrong, you are very dead behind the eyes.” 

“Yeah and you are stupid for using a knife from your old work place.” The blonde assassin gasps with her hand on her heart. 

“Excuse me old man, but I’m sorry that I hold a memento for destroying, as you said, my old workplace.” Bucky mimics Yelena with his hand as he puts on a squeaky voice.

“My name's Yelena and I destroyed a super secret organisation with mommy and daddys help, oh and my big sister because we are all one big happy family.” You bite your lip smirking to yourself, not missing the name of the blonde assassin.

“Oh I'm such a grumpy old man I refuse to listen to any music made after 1950. Oh and the fact you still haven’t admitted to Stevie wonder that you want to be me more than friends.”

“Ay! Another gay! Welcome to the alphabet mafia my friend, it is a wonderful place to be!” Now they both turn to look at you, seeming to remember what they were here for.

“I’m not gay.” You and Yelena both raise a brow.

“Okay fine so you're a raging bisexual.” The man sputters for words but doesn’t find anything, and you wink at Yelena who is holding in a laugh. “Man, do you like dick or not?” 

“What?” He spits out bulging eyes as you ask the question so nonchalantly. “I don…Pfft me...I mean…why, why would you think that….I…fine yes I like….”

“Dick, just one simple word. Who thought the English language was so hard?” He glares at you  and Yelena chuckles pointing at him.

“Ha, she has you there!”

“Shut it Yel.” Yelena gently hits him on the shoulder gasping.

“Rude.”

“Come on man, it's just 1 small word. 4 little letters. You just gotta say it. Dick.” You lean forward as much as your binds allow you to. Smiling, actually smiling cheekily, tilting your head slightly.

“What does saying the word make it official or something?” You nod your head quickly, Yelena following suit.

“Well duh, if you can’t say dick how are you gonna you know? Eat it would be the wrong word, you eat pussy but you don’t eat dick.”

“Wow you really have no filter do you?” Yelena scrunches her face in slight disgust at your ease of talking about it and you simply shrug your shoulders. 

“Do I look like I care about having a filter? I’m tied to a chair having the time of my life watching a nearly 100 year old man stutter over the word dick. And he has one. I’m sure back in his day he was comparing sizes like Bro my dick so fucking big.”

“Okay stop right there, ew ew ew.” Yelena covers her ears, shaking her head as you laugh sitting back in your chair. 

“I’m just saying how is it meant to be okay with himself internally if he can’t accept the fact he wants a dick in his mouth?” Yelena fake gags as Bucky rests his head on the top of the chair, hitting it gently a few times.

“Fine, I like dick. Can we move on please?”

“Oh yeah no problem. So what sort of torture techniques you are going to use on me?. Car battery? Waterboarding? Maybe breaking my arms, knocking a few teeth out, breaking a cheekbone or both. Up to you I have two, both sides are my good side so it doesn’t really matter which one gets hit, and if you do both then it's still even and I still have two good sides. Win win for me. Or maybe you’re going to dope me up with some kind of truth serum? Highly possible, made it and used it before. Rather funny to watch people have no control over what they say. So what’s it going to be?”

“How about you just tell us what we need to know and we will be on our way?” You groan, throwing your head back at the man's words.

“Booooring. Come on, I wanna see some action or something. It's been so long. Come on just one little punch you know you want to. Just one itty bitty punch right to the side of my face. I promise you it won’t hurt me, I’m a tough cookie.” You smile smugly as both of the people look at each other, having some sort of silent conversation before turning back to you.

“You know you are pretty much as they described you.” Now your brows furrow as Yelena dismissively shrugs. “Right Buck. I mean she is so annoying and talks too much, a little too crazy and out there, bit of a gloater if you ask me.”

“Wha..”

“See that's what I was thinking. Oh and weak because who can’t break out of some simple rope ties and handcuffs. Get this they say she has pyrokinetic powers too, whatever that big fancy word means.”

“It means I make fire you dumb bitch.” You spit, hating how they are talking about you like you’re not even there; not actually caring what they say about you too much.

“Oh, have we angered her? Oh dear look at that, wiggling around in her chair trying to get to us. Pathetic. I mean, for some top secret Hydra goon you think she would pack a little more … punch.” 

“I’m not just some Hydra goon.” They continue to ignore your presence and you can feel the frustration building. 

“I mean I’ve managed to gather more information from a dead body before which is pretty freaking difficult because they’re dead.” Yelena laughs at herself shaking her head. “I mean if we aren’t going to get anything from them we might as well just leave them here.”

“Yeah I don’t think we are going to get anything useful out of them. I mean they were dumb enough to try and break into the avengers compound and think they could get away with it. So dumb.”

“They really are. I’m surprised that that sort of mission didn’t require their top agent. You know someone who can sneak in and out without getting caught, doesn’t make as much noise as this elephant did, can hack better than Tony himself. I know they have those sorts of people, but this chick ain’t it. For someone who looks like a cyborg she’s useless.” Now that got to you, talking about your few prosthetic limbs like it made you less of a person. 

“I was sent here to kill Wanda Maximoff and I would have done it had that stupid man who hides in the vents hadn’t spotted me. I mean who the fuck hides in vents, a fucking coward thats who.” You spit trying to push yourself from the chair, but instead falling with it and landing harshly on your side. 

“So you were sent here to kill my friend. Why?” You lock your jaw realising what you’ve said looking up at the two of them with a steel gaze. 

“She asked you a question.” You grind your teeth together breathing harshly through your nose ignoring the pain pulsing your side from falling to the floor.

“I wouldn’t leave me waiting if I were you.” Yelena places her boot on the side of your face pushing it against the floor more. “I asked you, why were you sent here to kill Wanda Maximoff.” 

“Why were you sent to kill her?” Bucky shouts, slamming his metal fist on the ground as he crouches down to look you in the eyes, your steel gaze not wavering. 

“Answer the fucking question.” Yelena applies more pressure and you fight the urge to give in, even with the pain causing tears to build in your eyes. 

“Do you have a death wish? Answer the fucking question!”

“Enough!” The two of them are thrown off of you with some force and you squirm on the floor a little, relaxing your jaw and shaking your head ever so slightly, trying to soothe the pain. 

“What the fuck wanda!” At the mention of her name you look up to see her holding her two teammates against opposite sides of the room with her magic, a rage in her eyes that scares you a little.

“Could you not see you were hurting her.” Wanda’s voice breaks slightly and as her gaze moves to you it softens and your heart constricts slightly.

“Well how the fuck do you expect us to get answers if she won’t talk.” Bucky argues and you lock your jaw, tearing your gaze away from the woman in front of you.

“You heard what Bruce said. We just have to wait. We can question and try to jog her memory but that doesn’t mean her ending up on the floor with a boot on her face and a gun pointed to her head.

“You had a gun!” You tilt your head back to look at the man who looks … apologetic? No you must be seeing things. “Should have put a bullet in me, Hydra will come after me. And when they do, when they find me. Each and every one of you will be so fucking sorry for keeping me here.” 

“Sure, so where are your Hydra pals now!” You turn your gaze to look at Yelena who has her brow raised in question and when you don’t answer she looks at you smugly. “That's what I thought.”

“Enough both of you.” Wanda gently places her friends on the floor, extending her magic out to you and undoing the ropes keeping you to the chair. “Don’t try anything.”

It’s all the warning you get from the red head as you slowly stand from the ground, throwing the rope to the floor in front of Bucky. Your features harden as you glare at the two of them, softening slightly as you look at Wanda before taking a few steps back until your knees hit the bed. They all watch as you sit on the end of the bed, putting your head in your hands as you take a moment to breathe, all of them deciding they would quietly leave. 

“Miss Maximoff.” You turn your head to see her turning around in the doorway outside of the cell.

“Hmm, yes?” You smile a little at her.

“Thank you for, you know, getting me out of a bind.” She chuckles lightly, giving you a small nod.

“It's no problem, get some rest. I think you are expecting another visitor soon.”

“Good bye Miss Maximoff.” 

“Good bye Miss y/l/n. Oh and one more thing.” She waves her hands and the cuffs around your wrists fall to the floor. “I don’t know why we didn’t take them off yesterday. You have my apologies.”

“It's quite alright Miss Maximoff I am a prisoner I do not expect to be seen as any different.” Wanda hums with a sad smile.

“Hopefully you won’t be for too long.” You don’t say anything in return simply laying back down on the bed listening to the distinct click of the door as you close your eyes. 

It feels like it's been 5 minutes since you closed your eyes when you're startled awake by a crashing sound outside of the cell, sitting up straight with your eyes assessing the threat. You relax when you see Peter picking some things up off the floor, tilting your head when you notice his laptop under his arm.

“Are you okay spider boy?” Peter freezes looking up to you with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah I’m okay, did I wake you. Oh my gosh I did wake you, I am so sorry. I will just get going and leave you in peace.” He fumbles with everything in his hand going to turn around.

“Pete, wait a sec.” You stand up moving to the glass door of the cell. “What did you come in to ask?”

“Well I was just thinking that maybe we could have a movie night. You said a movie night would help to relax me and it did, then I thought that maybe it would do the same for you. I know you're like a prisoner blah blah blah political bullshit but I mean you’re still human.” He rambles and you can’t help the smile that grows as you take in the selection of snacks he has. 

“I think a movie sounds good, but I hate to break it to you. I don't think I am going to be having snacks.” You knock gently on the glass separating the two of you. “Since I am in here and you are out there.”

“Uhm, well about that.” He stumbles to put everything on the floor, opening his laptop and connecting a wire from the panel on the door to his laptop and you watch as he clicks away on the keyboard. “And I know you don’t actually remember me, because Wanda did tell me that just in case so I wouldn’t be disappointed if I found out myself.”

“And are you disappointed?” He quickly shakes his head pressing a few more keys and the door slide opens.

“Not at all, I mean you pretended to know who I was because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Which is something that Y/n, well I mean who you used to be or still are but not right at this moment, would do.” The kid picks up his laptop and the snacks once more, keeping the laptop open, making his way into the cell.

“So what have you brought to watch?” You take a few steps away from the door watching as Peter presses a few buttons and the door closes again.

“Star wars. I hope that’s okay. They’re my favourite.” You smile sitting back down on the bed tapping the place next to you. 

“Well I can’t promise comfort or that because, well, we’re in a cell. But I can definitely be a good movie buddy.” Peter puts a small device on the floor, plugging his laptop into it and pressing a few more buttons. 

“It’s cool I brought a blanket in my backpack.” Peter says it with a wide smile as he pulls out a big grey fluffy blanket out of his backpack sitting down next to me and against the wall. 

“Is there a way to turn the lights off?” You shuffle back keeping a small space between you and Peter as he leans down to grab the snacks and put them in the gap, as well as turning the small gadget on the floor on.

“Friday lights off.”

“Yes Master Parker.” You jump slightly at the disembodied voice but settle quickly when you see the projection on the wall of the film. 

“That's so cool.” You smile widely as Peter throws the blanket haphazardly over your legs as you get comfortable on the bed.

“Yeah I have also wanted a big cinema like screen so I bought a projector, took it apart and made it better so it was 4K HD instead of the shit things you get in school.”

“That's a pretty freaking cool kid. You made it?”

“I did.” He beams as you look with wonder at the gadget. 

“That's amazing. So how many movies is this?”

“Well 6, but technically 9 if you watch the new ones but there's also side movies and series. But for now we will just watch the original trilogy.” 

“Do you have any pillows in that backpack of yours? Just I have a very thin one and I don’t think either of us will be comfortable leaning against the wall for too long.”

“No, but, give me two minutes and I will have a solution.” He jumps from the bed pressing his phone as the door slides open and shut. “Just stay right there.” 

“Not like I can go anywhere.” You chuckle with a crooked smile.

“Right. Anyway, I won't be any more than two minutes.”

“Take your time spidey.” Peter smiles widely walking to the main door. 

“See you later Helios.” He runs out of the room and as the door closes you are sucked into a hazy memory.

/\/\/\/\

“No, we have to come up with some super cool name for you. You can’t just go around calling yourself Y/n! You literally set things on fire, including yourself and everyone looks to the sky and goes woah there goes … Y/n.” He says your name with lack of enthusiasm and you gently hit his shoulder laughing.

“Oh sorry Mr im a teeneger calling myself Spider-man. Boy you ain’t no man.” You laugh as  Peter’s jaw drops with a perplexed chuckle. 

“I didn’t come up with it, the news did. Anyway, back to you. Maybe something like flame, or ignite.”

“Flame or ignite.” You raise your brows and Peter flails his hands around in response.

“Oh whatever, you come up with something then.”

“Me! This is all your idea spidey, all of it is you. I don’t mind my name, it's a good name.”

“It is, but it's not a good superhero name.” 

“Whatever Pete.” You gently shove him away and you burst out laughing as he ends up rolling off the bed. 

“That was rude.” You lean over the edge of the bed looking down at him smiling cheekily. 

“What happened to your Peter tingle?”

“It’s not a peter tingle, it's my spidey sense.” You hum with a chuckle. 

“Sure it is. Now up you get I want to watch this movie.” You roll back onto your space on the bed pulling the blanket over you and grabbing the remote. 

“Have you ever watched this film?” You look at the start menu shaking your head. 

“Nope, I have never watched Percy Jackson and the lightning thief.” You say the name slowly, not sure what you think based on the title.

“You’re going to love it.” He smiles climbing back on the bed next to you pulling the blanket over himself.

“We shall see.” Just as you are about to press play Peter gently hits your arms a few times. 

“I know what your name could be!” You smile widely at the excitement on his face. 

“Yeah and what's that?”

“Helios, the Greek god of the sun. The sun is fire and you are fire. So helios.” You feel your cheeks hurt from smiling so widely as you watch Peter get all excited.

“I like it.” 

“Yes! So helios, when is your next adventure?”

/\/\/\/\

“Hey I’m back.” You smile as Peter walks through the door to the cell that closes behind him, his arms wrapped around a large number of cushions and pillows and by the looks of it an extra blanket. 

“I was just about to start the movie without you.” You joke and Peter drops the things in his hands faking hurt. 

“You would never.” You chuckle, smiling.

“No I wouldn’t, especially since they are your favourite.” He squints his eyes at you slowly crouching down to pick the things back up. 

“Yeah and you probably wouldn’t know how to work that thing anyway since I made it.” He smiles smugly dumping the stuff on the end of the bed starting to organise it so you can both be comfortable.

“I have a request for the next movie night once we’ve watched all of star wars.” Peter settles next to you as you place a few cushions and pillows around you so you can have the utmost comfort.

“Sure what is it?” You smile softly as he looks at you, his brows scrunching at your small silence. “You know you’re going to have to tell me if you want to watch it.”

“Percy Jackson and the lightning thief.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Yonderly - Konig x Reader

yonderly

(Adj.) mentally or emotionally distance; absent-minded

Summary - “Who can’t handle this stuff?” 2.3k in length

Warnings - Violence, self hatred, slow burn, enemies to lovers.

Notes: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I was unsure if I was ever gonna continue this series but here it is. Just needed to get the confidence.

Series Masterlist - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

Price had paired everyone up, Gaz with Roze, You with Konig, Ghost with Horangi and Price with Soap. Two teams would be put against each other in order for everyone to learn to support where the other lacks. You had mentally groaned with the knowledge that you would be paired with Konig, even if you knew it before. But being put up against Gaz and Roze, who had quickly fallen into such an incredible rhythm of ass kicking, it felt personal. You and Konig couldn’t work together, Roze had him in a headlock with her powerful thighs, one of his large arms being twisted in such a vicious way you were sure that Roze had been waiting for this moment for years. And your spar with Gaz hadn’t been going well either, not nearly as bad as Konig’s against Roze but not great. He had worn you down, letting you dodge and try to punch him.

Your forehead is damp with sweat, its drips off in beads off the small strands of hair that cling to your face like a vice. Your ribs ache and beg for a moment to recover, legs straining to keep up with the movements you demanded from them. The back of your head hurts with the threat of an oncoming headache and yet you keep pushing. “Birdy, you can take a break you know.” Gaz says, concern in his voice and it only fuels your need to prove him wrong. He doesn’t look nearly as worn as you do, thin layer of sweat on his forehead and slightly out of breath but other than that he looks fine. And don’t even start on how Konig looks like this is the easiest thing he’s done in his life.

You grit your teeth, “One more round.” You say with a glint in your eyes. Gaz shrugs before getting back into stance, muscles straining as you follow his movements. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been trying your best, distracted is what you were. You had been paired with Konig, you expected to have to fight him. Learn each other's weaknesses and strengths through a good ‘ol fashion spar. But it seems Price was trying out a new torture technique of forcing the two of you to work together to take down Gaz and Roze, who seemed to work in tandem. You duck under one of Gaz’s punches, trying to keep up with his attacks to dodge and put in a few of your own but nothing seems to hit. Finally a hit came that you weren’t able to dodge and it came hard, Gaz’s fist connected with your sternum; knocking the wind out of you and nearly taking your breakfast with it. You let out a pained whimper, crumbling to the floor as you heave but thankfully nothing comes up.

“Birdy!” Gaz quickly says, rushing over to your side while he profusely apologizes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit so hard.” His voice comes in muffled from the pain pulsing in your head and sternum. Tears fill your vision as two more pairs of boots rush over to your struggling form, with one hand offering you a bottle of water.

“Drink up.” Roze says, kneeling down to hand you the bottle. Konig just watches, feeling indifferent; almost disappointed in a way as the other two fret over your condition until you pull yourself together.

“‘M fine.” You mutter after taking a swig from the water bottle. “That really hurt.” You comment, looking up at Gaz who looks at you sheepishly. “Good job.” You say and knock his shoulder lightly with your fist. You got to your feet before walking over to a nearby bench to relax for a moment, recover completely from the hard blow you had just taken.

“You shouldn’t have done another round.” Konig mutters, suddenly at your side while side-eyeing the fuck out of you. You roll your eyes, choosing not to react to his bait. “You can’t handle stuff like that.” You immediately pause in taking another drink from the water bottle, looking up at him with such venom he might have fizzled out into nothing if looks could kill. “You’re a sniper.” You squeeze the bottle, hard enough the plastic breaks slightly under the force of the crush.

“Why don’t we prove that theory?” You mutter before looking up at him into his icy blue eyes. “I’ll fight hand to hand with you, then we’ll see who can’t handle stuff like that.” You growl before taking a larger drink from the water. You noticed how Gaz and Roze exchange a worried look upon hearing your comment towards Konig. You were way smaller than Konig, everyone was but Roze had taken him down twice during the spar and you were sure that you could do it at least once.

After a minute, the two of you get back onto the sparring mat, with Roze and Gaz watching on as a kind of referee. You were half expecting Gaz to lay down the ground rules with the way he hung onto the robes that kept the mat separated from the other areas. The way Konig looks at you makes something within your very soul light on fire, the ease in his eyes. The overzealous confidence; it made you want to knock him down a peg or six. See how he looked crumbled to the ground on his knees. His blue eyes stared right into yours, his mask with the bleached tears still sent goosebumps rising up on your skin. “Start.” Gaz finally said after the both of you got into stance.

Konig, for all of his size, was fast. Faster than you expected out of a man with that much weight to throw around but you were smaller. Ducking under his punch and throwing your entire weight into the punch that Gaz had inadvertently taught you. With a shock of pain coming from your knuckles but the way Konig let out a wheeze, nearly folding in on himself but you weren’t done yet. His words still echoed through your mind, we’ll see who’s not able to handle this. Grabbing his leg while he was still thrown off balance and surprised, you pulled it back, narrowly avoiding the second boot swinging up in tandem with the other as he landed onto the mat with a crash. You swore you heard his teeth knocking together when his face hit the mat, grabbing his arms and twisting them behind back, using your entire body weight to keep them in place as he cursed in German.

“Who can’t handle this stuff?” You mutter into where you were sure his ear was, giving an extra twist of his arms as he let a muffled groan of pain.

-

In the mess hall that night, Gaz finally approached you after having finally pulled you off of Konig to keep you from seriously hurting him. “You’re terrifying.” He finally comments before scoping some sad looking mashed potatoes into his mouth. You shrug, casting a glance over at Konig who sat alone with a hand up his mask to put the ice pack the nurse had given him for his sore jaw. A twinge of guilt plucked at your heart but you pushed it aside.

“Shouldn’t have taunted me.” You state, shoving your own spoonful of mashed potatoes into your mouth, swallowing you let out a sigh. Trying to think through your next words carefully after you cast another glance at the lonely Austrian. “But maybe I went too far.” You finally mutter, suddenly feeling your appetite slip from your grasp. Gaz tries to keep his expression neutral, like he wasn’t surprised to hear you admit that. But you notice the micro expressions that flash across the man's face. You choose not to comment on it, instead focusing on the meal in front of you. The guilt plucked at your heart like a guitar and that familiar feeling started to rise within the pit of your stomach. You inform Gaz that you’re calling it night before getting up, dumping your food and walking out of the mess hall. Not even letting the Brit protest your sudden departure.

You eventually make your way to the showers, abandoned for now since everyone was busy stuffing their face. Leaning your head against the cool-tile of the shower wall, allowing the cold water to wash down your back and wet your hair. You clutch your hand into a fist, letting your finger nails dig into the skin of your palm deep enough to leave indents and threaten to draw blood. As the sound of water hitting the walls and floor of the shower slowly forces you into the corners of your mind. To make you face everything you avoided like a plague. Silently, you still berated yourself for snapping at Konig in the first place. It wasn’t your place to correct him, it wasn't your job. But the words you had spat in a moment of unfiltered rage echoed in your mind like a taunt, the reminder of the hateful things you said. But you also remembered the things that you held your tongue in saying, which made your stomach twist into a knot. That there were worse things on the tip of tongue that didn’t slip.

Pushing back from the wall, opening your eyes and letting the water wash away the day. Hopefully your sins with it. Using the standard 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner that the military handed out and letting it sit in your hair for what felt like a minute before letting that wash down the drain as well. The room hadn’t steamed up like it usually did, your choice in water temperature allowed you to look at yourself in the mirror in front of the sinks. Your body still ached from the training session, casting a look down at your chest you noticed a bruise starting to bloom from where Gaz had landed that punch. Tearing your gaze away from the sight before you, drying your body quickly. You put on pajamas, which was really just a tank top and some sweatpants that had been well loved.

Stepping out into the hallway, you nearly collide with another person. “I’m sorry.” You quickly say, stepping quickly out of the way of the door. Looking up, you quickly realize that it was Konig and that familiar feeling deep within your stomach starts again. The two of you stare at each other for what felt like an hour, maybe two but was thankfully broken when the Austrian broke eye contact with you. Still, he made no move to go into the showers and you felt glued in place, forced to bear this awkward silence. There's a moment when you think he’s going to say sorry for being such an ass earlier. For underestimating and undermining you, but it never comes. Instead, you step around his massive frame and walk towards your quarters.

Once inside, you felt yourself deflate completely. The entire day's stress crushing you under its massive weight as you laid onto your cot. As much privacy as you got, the room wasn’t massive. Maybe the size of two decent sized janitor closets smushed together; you were thankful for the privacy. Especially in moments when the day's events swallowed your mind whole and all you could do was lay face first in the pillow to fight back any tears. You tried to ignore the ache in your muscles and chest whenever you tried to find a new and more comfortable position. Tossing and turning in search of that slice of heaven; but only finding the freezing depths of niflheim instead.

The thoughts from the shower followed you, haunting you like a dead lover scorned. Filling every crevice of your mind until the tears start flowing past your cheeks and dampen the pillow. Curling up into a fetal position, you close your eyes and let the tears flow, choking sobs escaping every once in a while. Until slowly, you fall asleep.

-

To say you woke up feeling like hot garbage was a bit of an understatement. Your stomach begged and yearned for food but also granted nausea at the idea of eating. Your eyes were still slightly red and it hurt to blink a little, but yet worst of all, it felt like you hadn’t slept a wink. Your chest still aches and breathing hurts, so with all of that combined, you decide to trudge down to the clinic. To at least get some Advil and eyedrops to ebb some of the pain away. So as you slowly make your way down the clinic, after throwing on your uniform the best you could, you feel someone's eyes on you. Suppressing the urge to tell them to fuck right off, mostly in fear of it being a superior, you turn to meet the gaze with a grimace on your face.

At this point, you don’t even know why you’re surprised. It felt like the universe itself was trying to drive you crazy because it felt like Konig always appeared right when you couldn’t stand to look at anyone. Let alone some Austrian asshole. “Is there a reason you’re staring at me like I grew a third arm?” You snap, rubbing the bridge of your nose to hopefully stop the oncoming headache threatening to form.

“I was just heading to the clinic.” He replied, his accent nearly suffocating the sentence, seeming offended. Finally getting another glance at him, he seemed like he just woke up as well. Uniform in a similar pitiful state and if you weren’t mistaken, his accent was stronger. Hinting to just how tired he was. You hum in response, not willing to say anything more to the man as the two of you continue on your journey for pain relief.

[pynkhues]

Hey! Someone made a post just before rewatch today, and while they’ve deleted it now (although I was sent a screenshot of it, so I suspect others might have been too), I know most people who do rewatch have probably seen it and I would like to talk about the context of it.

Feel free to ignore this post, because it’s definitely personal fandom drama, and something I wish could’ve stayed private, but it’s also something that’s weighed heavily on me the last six months and I feel the need to talk about it now because quite frankly I’m being lied about. Those lies are something that has substantially contributed to me pulling away from the fandom over the last six months, posting less fics and answering less asks. Hell, it’s even made me contemplate deleting my blog and fic and leaving the fandom a few times now, and I just really need to get it off my chest so that I can hopefully put it behind me.

There’s a person in this fandom who’s been more or less relentlessly lying about me for the last six months. It’s somebody who has subtagged, gaslit, boycotted, and spread lies in DMs, public posts and tags, and while I won’t name them, I don’t think it’ll be particularly difficult for anyone to work out who this is.

She’s accused me often and tirelessly of calling her a bitch, which never happened and I have the screenshots of our chats to prove it, calling me (as a person) and my opinions shit publicly on her blog (again, I have screenshots of this), accused me of harassing her (after our friendship deteriorated, we had two dm conversations before I blocked her because of her aforementioned lying), telling everyone she blocked me when it’s the other way around (and I’m shocked she doesn’t remember relentlessly tagging about that after it happened too), and accusing me of policing fandom opinion. Her friends have called me in private DMs a ‘master manipulator’ and ‘disturbing’ and ‘exclusionary’ and accused me of playing the victim when all I’ve done is tried to keep my mouth shut or reach out to smooth things over (although again, I’ll admit when all this started back in August, I struggled with the former, but I haven’t subtagged in months, a courtesy that has not been extended back to me).

I originally fell out with this person because I told her I was struggling in the midst of Melbourne’s 111 day lockdown – one of the harshest in the world – and needed a break from the negative tone of her posts and tags (something I told her after she slid into my DMs to ask why I unfollowed her, not a conversation I ‘harassed’ her with, again, I have screenshots, so I’m not sure why she’s lying about this). I told her this wasn’t necessarily an unfollow forever, just for right now, and she told me she still considered us friends. Within hours, I was rewarded with my effort to protect my increasingly-fragile mental state with a relentless effort on her part to vilify me and victimize herself which after a few weeks led to me blocking her.

Every olive branch I’ve extended by including her in fic recs and even today’s thank you for the rewatch banner has been snarled at and twisted (the irony too of knowing that if I left her off that banner, it would be seen as an erasure and an attack). She’s painted me as a performative, two-faced bitch while having the audacity of accusing me of calling her the same, which I have never done. The most I have ever accused her of is behaving badly, which quite frankly, I stand by.

I am exhausted.

And for the record, I don’t know this because I stalk her blog. I see her posts still in reblogs (blocking only removes from your feed - if you check people’s blogs, you can see the reblogs of people you blocked), and numerous people send me screenshots of the things that she says that are clearly about me.

I’m not talking about this now for any sort of witch hunt or pity, I just want her to stop, for all of our sakes. It might be beating a deadhorse at this point for me to repeat this, but it has been six months now, and the thing that was supposed to preserve my mental health has instead set off this chain of nightmare events. All I wanted was space and for her to have an ounce of accountability for her negativity, and what I’ve gotten is relentless lies spread about me and harassment (which is fucking ironic given she’s just accused me of the same when literally the only way I’ve even acknowledged her in the last few months was in a fic rec and today’s banner).

I just needed to get this off my chest, because existing in this fandom and trying to hold my tongue while she’s made post after post and sent message after message in an effort to shape a narrative around me simply because I unfollowed her and then blocked her, has been really fucking hard for me. I’ve tried to keep this private, because I didn’t – and still don’t – believe it should concern anyone else in this fandom, but again, this is not a courtesy that’s been extended back to me, and the thought that she will just keep doing this (which she has proven - again - six months, and that’s not including the times I tried to talk to her about it before I unfollowed her) is just really, really exhausting. 

I guess the point of saying all of this is that I’m tired of letting her spread lies about me in thinly veiled posts, I’m tired of her saying that nobody includes her and then posting nasty shit about me when I try to simply acknowledge her as a contributor to this fandom, I’m tired of her twisting things that are supposed to be fun and good into another way that I’m a performative, two-faced bitch, and she’s trying to like - - escape my clutches? I don’t know. The mythology of her lies has evolved a lot over time. 

Mostly though I’m tired of letting her have power over me, because I’ve let her spread lies and ignored it in the hopes of making the space better for everyone else, but honestly? It’s making it worse for me.

So there, I’ve said my piece. I know she’s already been successful in changing some people’s opinions of me, and who knows, maybe they’ll see this and question some of what she’s told them, maybe they’ll just see this as me playing the victim again, I don’t know, the latter is certainly not my intent. 

I just wanted to defend myself, because I think I deserve that. 

Here’s the screenshot of her post today if you want it: 

And oh, here’s just one of the posts she made after I blocked her in August. There were and are a lot more, but I don’t feel any desire to share those. I’m just using this of evidence of just one of her lies and some of the shit she’s said about me.

I’m over it.

[fluffallamaful]

Scars and Feathers

🦙🦙🦙…

(kinda) written for Llama’s Lee Dream Month

— Day 5 (Scars)

this has quite honestly been a wip for so long damn long 😵‍💫 and it’s not late at all shh

inspiration taken from this ask from @starlightrosa from yonks ago :D

Summary: An AU where George and Dream actually get along on the smp. Dream is sad, George knows how to fix it, but wow his technique for cheering him up works so much better than both he and Dream remembered? STUPIDLY PLATONIC

Warnings: tickling, SCARS!! implied torture (in minecraft)

Word Count: 3340

hope you enjoy 👍🏼

🦙🦙🦙…

Water logged soil squelched beneath Dream’s feet, the once sunlit plain now receiving the full force of the blackened sky’s downpour, drenching the biome and its inhabitants in a cooling shower.

Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the growing grey mass that George had pointed out earlier, the soft rumbles of distant thunder having been heard even whilst he was sharpening his weapons that morning. But in all honesty he had just been so excited to take his friend out hunting — after quite literally weeks of convincing him — that he had just hoped that ignoring the weather’s promise would be enough to deter it…

He had been wrong...

Green eyes flickered over to the last few pigs that scampered off into the nearby forest’s sanctuary, Dream’s hands twitching as the thought for reaching his bow nudged at him. Even if he were to shoot and hit in this weather though, the fire aspect on his bow would not be applied, and so reluctantly he dropped his gaze back down with a huff, focusing it back onto the large oak tree ahead instead — the one that sat atop a hill, and had been deemed suitable enough to shield them from the cruel shift in weather, and was particularly chosen

As far as he could tell, George was still following closely behind him, but he was doing so in silence. The only way that Dream even knew that he was still keeping up with him was from the soft sound of tinkering rain pellets over netherite armour. He suspected that he could sense his disgruntled state, for the brunette had even refrained from mocking him once the first rain drops of the day had fallen. In fact he had not spoken a single word since.

By the time they reached the edge of the biome it had felt like hours had passed, and by the time they climbed the hill that the large oak resided on, it had felt like five more. Just as Dream suspected though, the oak served as the perfect escape from the changing weather, providing a dry space to sit comfortably under as they awaited for the storm to pass over, as well as an astonishing view.

He immediately unequipped his armour, laying it out in a neat line in front of the oak’s trunk, and letting out a mopey sigh as he slumped back against the solid wood. He peeled off his mask, frisbeeing it a couple of blocks in front of him and offering a meek smile to the George as the older did the same with his goggles and armour, before joining Dream against the tree.

For a while, the two explorers simply sat in silence, partly because neither of them knew what to say, but also partly because the weather’s antics were just so entrancing. Rumbles of thunder rolled over the plains, the passing dark clouds and occasional lightning strike aiding in the natural phenomenon’s wonder.

The oak’s thick foliage provided them with enough coverage from the heavy rainfall, but even still Dream managed to find a weaker leaf that was unable to hold all of its water. The slow line of drips that formed beneath it provided him with a distraction needed to drag his mind away from the failed hunt, as he used the damp sleeve of his hoody to polish away the rain’s markings from his chestplate. But apparently the expressions off dismay on is face were not so easily cleared, for after a while of silence he felt George take his arm.

The slow paced drips were immediately abandoned as Dream glanced down to his friend instead, quirking an eyebrow up in question. George offered him a small smile in response, gesturing for him to remove his hoody with a single tug to it’s damp sleeve.

At first Dream had been slightly bewildered by the request, but only a few seconds passed before he realised what the brunette was offering, feeling slightly sheepish that he was able to be read so easily. He sighed his defeat, providing George with a reluctant nod, before sitting forward to peel away the wet material from his body.

It was simple really. The two friends had known each other long enough now to spot even the smallest signs of discontent — even when they tried to hide it from each other. And it hadn’t taken them many attempts in the past to find that gentle arms traces could quite literally melt away any and all bad feelings. Although… Dream had figured that a year of prison would have been enough to break such a tradition... Apparently he had been wrong.

He dumped his lime green hoody on top of his mask, running his hand through blonde hair to tame some of the static strands that still longed for the missing fabric. Then tentatively, he leant back against the large tree, offering his arm back to George and watching as a few goosebumps pinpricked over his skin as the weather’s cool air clung to the wet of his black tshirt.

George accepted the arm with another soft smile, bringing it into his lap and rubbing his hand over it briefly to chase away the goosebumps, before dragging the backs of his nails lightly over the skin. Dream hadn’t expected much of it, having assumed for it to not have the same affect as it had done a couple years prior, however much to his surprise he found himself relaxing into the touch almost instantly… as though nothing had changed…

He hummed his content, leaning his head back against the oak and allowing for his eyes to flutter closed.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured. George immediately shushed him, but his hand lifted up from his arm, causing Dream to peak an eye open and look down to him in confusion.

“Wait hang on… I’ve got a…” George muttered, rummaging through his inventory with a concentrated frown on his brow. Dream laughed to himself, sitting up to watch the brunette’s digging.

After a couple of moments George managed to wrestle out a chicken feather from his pocket, one collected earlier from the short-lived hunt. He showed it to Dream with a face of permission, receiving a scoffed laugh in response.

George had always had a strange way of being resourceful that would never fail to amuse Dream. The older male could somehow always manage to find the most specific uses for the most useless of items.

He nodded his head in response to the brunette’s creative offer, settling himself back against the tree as George’s hand returned to rub over his arm once again, allowing for his eyes to flutter back closed in preparation for his relaxed state from earlier to return. Only much to his surprise, instead of practically melting under the touch this time, Dream felt himself tense up entirely, his eyes shooting open as soon as the feather came into contact with his skin, and fingers balling into fists as it traced circles all the way down his forearm.

“What’s wrong?” George asked, immediately pulling the feather back in concern once he noticed Dream’s reaction. Dream felt the need to rub a hand over his arm, the leftover tingles from the feather still dancing over his skin. This was odd. In all the years they had been doing this, he had not once felt this on edge. It was as though the feather was brushing directly over his nerves, forcing a relentless giddiness to settle in the back of his throat — one that he was all too familiar with, but not willing to admit in the slightest. He swallowed it down.

“N-nothing.” He assured, removing his hand from his arm. He had a thought to reach out for his mask beneath his hoody, but that would’ve made his predicament far too obvious.

“You flinched? Does it hurt your scars?” Dream looked down to his arm. The whole limb was littered with lines and lines of scar tissue, most of them being the leftover markings from Quackity’s cruel persuasive ‘methods’ in prison. His gaze returned back to the slow drips of water from before, shifting himself against the bark behind him.

He could easily say that it did. He could simply tell George that the reason that he flinched was because the feather was hurting him… but it would be a absolute lie.. and was he really ready to start lying to George all over again? Even after turning over his supposed ‘new leaf’?

“N-no…” He began carefully, keeping his gaze over the drops. “No it just feels- weird…”

“Weird?”

“Different.”

“Different??” Dream huffed, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. He could feel the beginnings of a blush forming over his cheeks.

“Different.” He stated again, this time more firmly. George got the message not to question further.

“Can… Should I keep going then?” He asked instead. Dream nodded his head firmly, though he had to fight every muscle in his body to not tense up again.

“Yeah it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt. I promise.” He affirmed. George eyed him suspiciously, but thankfully decided to drop it. He reshuffled himself, bringing his knees up to cradle Dream’s arm against his body, before continuing his feather tracing from before.

Dream immediately winced, managing to recover himself with a few deep breaths as he focused on keeping the targeted limb as still as possible, latching onto the storm’s gentle pitter patters on their canopy umberella to distract himself. A giddy smile still managed to threaten the corners of his lips as George began swirling shapes into the underside of his forearm, and he was forced to turn his head away to console himself.

It must be the scars, he thought. The new tissue that had formed there must be more sensitive than the older skin that had survived Quackity in prison.

His theory was unable to develop any further from that however, for a simple flick from George’s feather up Dream’s inner elbow suddenly compressed a betraying gasp out of him, to which he immediately countered by puffing out his cheeks. The soft bristles then lingered over the crease for a moment, fuelling the giddiness that had already lined Dream’s throat, and then setting it alight when it swiped up Dream’s bicep, and zigzagged back down his tricep. The ex-prisoner finally broke.

“Geohohorge Gehehorge okahahay wahahit!!” He suddenly spoke, pulling at his arm and grappling at the hand that was holding the feather. George gave him neither satisfaction, pulling the feather out of his reach, and clasping a hand firmly over his wrist. Dream’s eyes widened.

“It tickles doesn’t it!!” The brunette exclaimed, eyes full of the mischief that Dream had been worried about.

“No! It d-dohoesn’t ihihit- HEhEy!!” He denied, yelping as his arm was yanked further into George’s lap, the older twisting to face him and wedging the limb between his knees. A sudden rush of adrenaline pulsed through him, urging Dream to pull hard at his arm and fight against the strength that the smaller man challenged him with. But despite the known advantage that he had over the brunette, he still found that his fight entirely melting away once the feather’s bristles returned to brush over his forearm again, this time with more intent.

“NOHo Geohohohorge staHAhap!!”

“Your scars are ticklish!!”

“StAHAhap!!” With his facade now fully broken, built up giggles flowed out of Dream in an uncontrollable manner, entangling with the baseline that the rain already provided.

“Is it just your forearm??” The brunette questioned, dragging the feather up to Dream’s bicep again and swirling it over the lines of scar there.

“NoHO GEOhOhorge!!” Dream yelped, pulling weakly at his arm again as his body doubled over in laughter, sending his free hand down into the earth below to stabilise himself. Each completed swirl from the feather sent another wave of tingly sparks up the captured arm, permitting the limb to do no more than contract uselessly in George’s grasp.

“Nahahaha okahay okahay enohohogh!!”

“No! Let me see! Why didn’t you tell me about this before?! It’s adorable!” Dream ducked his head away as a heat swelled over his cheeks, shielding himself behind George’s knees.

“Ihihi dihihidn’t know!!”

“You’re blushing!!”

“Stahahap!!” Dream protested, ducking his head down further and attempting to hide his reddened cheeks into the crook of his neck. He glanced back behind him to gage the distance between himself and the safety of his mask, but his neck was promptly forced to snap back into place when George began tracing the feather over the exposed skin there instead.

“GeHoHoHorge!!” Dream shook his head wildly, hunching up his shoulders as high as they could possibly go and using the weight of his body to up the desperation of freeing his trapped arm. Annoyingly enough, the brunette managed to match each twist and dodge of his with another swipe to his neck, his attempts at blocking out the feathery onslaught being no match for his speed.

“Ohh you can’t get away!! You can’t get away this feather is going to tickle over your little neck somehow Dream!!” George crowed.

Dream let out a frustrated whine, resorting to sacrificing the support of his free arm and using it to grapple frantically at George’s offending hand instead. Though this too was countered perfectly by the older, who noticed the wobble in Dream’s support-less balance within a split second, and before Dream could even process the action he had already been tugged roughly into George’s lap, landing face up and paralysingly startled.

He was only given no more than a few seconds to blink away his disorientation, before the feather’s tingly sensation returned to his neck once again, flicking and twirling under his jaw with a much higher surface area to work with.

“NOhOhO!!” He shrieked, voice upped in pitch from his startle. He immediately tried to sit up, but the brunette’s firm hold on his wrist quickly put an end to his escape, and he fell back into George’s lap with a grunt, panicked green eyes meeting a rather smug, upside-down grin from above.

“You’re not going anywhere~” George teased, dusting his feather down a large scar across Dream’s cheek. A rather loud squeal immediately erupted from the younger in response to the spot change, sounding oddly similar to that of a ghast scream for a moment. His eyes immediately widened in horror at the reaction, free hand shooting up to cover the apparently sensitive section of skin from George’s sight.

Even though the movement of the feather had been so light, it had felt as though it had suddenly been doused in the storm’s electricity, each soft bristle sending an electrifying shock directly into the nerves in Dream’s cheek.

“Whahat was thahat!?” George asked incredulously, barking out a cackle and dragging the feather over the top of Dream’s protective hand. Dream squeaked, feeling his his cheeks darken as a few panicked giggles toppled out of him.

“Geohohorge plehehease…” He bargained, mustering up the best puppy dog eyes that he could as his face warmed beneath his palm by the second.

His pleads for mercy were met with none other than a devilish smirk from the man above, his heart practically sinking down to his gut as George pushed up his glasses to reveal the set of eyes behind them that had darkened to a deep shade of mischief.

“Dreeeam~”

“Nohoho Geohorge…”

“Dream, what have I found here?” The brunette asked, circling his feather over the back of Dream’s hand, concentrating on a feint scar in the middle of it. Dream whined, quickly launching his hand up to grab at the feather while it was in reach, but pouting when it was simply pulled away as before.

“Ah ah ah!” George tutted, swinging his leg over the rogue arm and pinning Dream’s elbow to the grass below, effectively disassembling his last defence. “I’m not done yet.”

The combination of George’s taunts and his now defenceless cheek sent Dream into a flurry of panicked pleads, giggles and bargains, pulling at both the wrist in George’s hands and the one under his leg. His flustered panic was not helped by George slowly swirling the feather in the air just above the sensitive scar, slowly turning Dream to putty more and more as the boy psyched himself out from anticipation alone.

By the time the feather actually touched down on his cheek, Dream had worked himself up enough to not even consider stifling his react, producing the same squawked yelp from earlier as pulses of electricity zipped through his nervous system again. The initial scream then tapered off into sporadic bursts of giggles and hiccups, his eyes squeezing shut and feet scuffing into the dirt in hopes of lessening the sensation.

“Nohohohoho!!” He whined, a huge smile splitting his cheeks as he twisted and turned into the grass below him, shaking his head rapidly to throw off the older’s tracing.

For a split second it actually worked, the electrifying sensations stilling for a moment as Dream managed to roll himself into George’s thigh for protection. However the break was only momentary, for soon afterwards he felt a firm, yet gentle, hand cupping his chin, guiding him out from his burrow and keeping him stable for when the feather returned once again to his cheek. This time he couldn’t wriggle away.

Barks of cackles were quick to join the rain’s melody, Dream’s legs flying chaotically to account for stolen mobility in his upper body. He hadn’t even realised that George had released the hold on his wrist until much after its freedom.

“sTahHAHAP!!” He wailed, slamming the hand down on his face and rubbing gratefully at the tingling skin, this time incorporating his smile underneath the defence as well.

“Nawwww, was my little feather to tickly for the little baby~?” George crooned, sticking out his bottom lip into a pout. Dream felt his cheeks darken.

“geohohohorge…” He whined.

“Was it too much for the little Dreamie to handle~?” The brunette continued, tilting Dream’s head to the side to better access the gate-kept scar. A few spluttered cackles tumbled into Dream’s palm as he twirled the feather over the back of his hand again, this time travelling up over Dream’s jaw and forehead as well.

“Youhu-uhuhu’re so anno-ohohoying…” He tittered, hiccuping through the insult.

“Annoying?!” George’s tone made him giggle even more. “You were the one that was grumpy! I’m just here trying to help you feel better!!” He defended innocently, circling the feather over the shell of Dream’s ear. A yip escaped the blonde at the feeling, squeezing his eyes shut and scrunching up his neck to block it out.

“I alrehe-eheady feel beh-hetter you idihihiot!” More hiccups peppered their way through Dream’s admittance, rolling himself towards his trapped arm and burying himself against George’s thigh again.

“Well how am I supposed to know if you’re not showing me your smile? Idiot.” George retorted, smiling through his words now. He easily followed the blonde’s movements by swiping over the back and sides of his neck instead. Dream’s giggles we’re muffled into his pant leg.

Almost symbolically, as though the weather had somehow noticed that the ex-prisoner was now feeling better, a cast of light pierced its way through the mass of grey cloud, dousing the hill that the two explorers were sat upon in a ray of colour and warmth. The rain’s leftover droplets sparkled amongst the leaves in the oak above, and the metallic glare from the two sets of netherite armour twinkled and winked as more and more sun broke through the finishing thunder storm.

The sound of Dream and George’s giggles continued on for many minutes longer, only stopping after Dream’s titters became breathy and weak. The taller man then remained rested on the smaller’s lap, too weak to move, and too comfortable to deny George’s request for him to stay.

For the first time in a long time, he could say that he was completely free of worries. Just for a moment. Just for a bit.

🦙🦙🦙…

it’s not late it’s not late it’s not late

[painsandconfusion-moved-shoo]

Whump Things: Tortures that won’t re-open wounds...or at least do a slightly better job at not?

@hurting-fictional-people got me thinking about tortures that won't re-open would (say, for instance, a stab). So of course my mind wandered and here we are. (Yall, go read their betrayal series. It's EXQUISITE and I need more).

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Physical torture ideas and methods (that are a little safer)

Strapped down TIGHT. So much so that they can’t even wriggle. No wiggle room, no thrashing, no having to re-stitch.

Poking with needles. Just doing it a loooooot. No huge flinching or screams, but they slowly go insane until numb.

Similarly, the thousands-cut torture. Each individual cut doesn’t reproduce much thrashing or movement, but it’s infuriating. Induces a lovely, steadily growing panic.

Underwater? Movements are slowed underwater, so thrashing and pulling in general is lass destructive (NOT gone though, use wisely).

When tied down WELL, water boarding. Honestly such a classic. Such desperation.

Hallucinogenic drugs. Not much guidance here, just a lot of opportunities.

Making Whumpee do the torture/punishment to themselves. It’s slower and predictable, so not nearly as much flinching. Also some great psychological ins there.

Psychological Tortures

Threatening loved ones.

Water drip torture (tied down tight as heater slowly drip drip drips on their forehead. Seems fine but it’s absolutely maddening - highly effective).

Touch deprecation

Isolation (couples well with not knowing what time or day it is - slowly going insane)

Whumpee can only eat something they really don’t want to (either something they hate, are repulsed by, or something degrading like dog food).

Not allowed to sleep. Every time they nod off, they get a slap, shock, ice water thrown on them, etc etc. It does NOT take many days before sleep deprecation drives you insane.

Forcing Whumpee to watch others being hurt. Every time they look away, it gets worse for the victim. (“Pay attention. You don’t want their blood on your hands do you?”)

Bad medicine. The shot that’s supposed to help them can have some nasty side effects (eg: there’s a particular painkiller that launches me into an instant panic attack for some reason - whumpers could have a field day discovering their whumpee has that side effect). Or something that will genuinely help them, but they can’t bring themselves to gag down the liquid.

Recorded screaming. 100% swiping this idea from 'Catching Fire', but hearing loved ones scream is horrifying. They can record a few and just let it play on repeat until Whumpee hears the screams very time they see Loved One's face.

Stress and manipulation to get them to believe things they don't want to. Check in on the R.E.I.D. technique (banned from police interrogation, but used to be a major problem). It's good at pulling real as well as false confessions, but since it can illicit false confessions, it also, after prolonged exposure, can force people into thinking something they know to be false is, in fact, true.

Whumpee forced to give Whumper information for food or water. Not anything important, just little things. Their favorite band. An embarrassing story. Their favorite color. Their mother's name. Little slices of their soul traded away to the one person they hate/fear most.

(tags: I don't even remember who is on what list anymore. I'll edit this later I guess and ACTUALLY make lists for myself for who wants to be tagged in what. In the mean time, lmk.)

[painsandconfusion]

Hey! Could you please do a promptlist for interrogation tactics please

Yes!!

A torture interrogation tactics list sounds like such a good idea! I’d love to write some torture interrogation things for you. There’s so many different methods and categories to explore when torturing interrogating, so this might go a little long 😅

There's both physical and psychological tactics (of course there's some crossover, but ya know).

(tw: so much....idk how to even tw for this because....well...that would just be re-writing the list. But there's eaten-alive animal whump and some light fingore which hits the big common squiks. lots of basic torture and pain)

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Physical Techniques

Long Game

Drip torture. Tie them down with something rigged up above them so water will drip on their face every few seconds. Make it so they cant move - so each drop hits the same place every time. At first, it's no big deal. After a few hours, they start to lose their minds. They go numb yet it's excruciating. Their body doesn't know how to process the sensation anymore and they start begging. It's so easy and so lovely.

Thousand-cut torture. Just make hundreds of tiiiiiiiiny little cuts. Paper-cuts, really. Each one stings and burns, but nothing major. But hundreds? Thousands? It becomes too much so so so so fast. They go numb, then hypersensitive. Each one compounding on the others.

STRESS POSITIONS. Sorry this is a favorite. I get excited. Tie them in a way that strains them. Their muscles. Their joints. Don't let them sleep. There's only the constant ache and unnatural twisting of their bones. Or...ropes around their neck. Don't fall asleep, Whumpee. You won't wake back up....

Cold. Keep them in a cold room. Let them shiver and watch their fingers turn blue. Constant aching, never sure when they can get out.

Alternately, heat. Let them go delirious from dehydration, checking in only so see if they're ready to talk.

Thousands of tiiiiiny stabs. Similar to the thousand-cut torture, but just poke poke poke with a needle. Over and over again. They'll go hypersensitive. Then numb. Then it's back again. See witch tests for more.

There's a lovely cowboy torture where you soak a leather whip or lariat in water (let it get nice and soft and stretched out), then tie it around the victim's throat. String them up so they're standing comfortably in their noose. The sun beats down on them. The leather dries. The rope shrinks. Slow-motion strangulation. All the time in the world to think about the sensation of dying. All the time in the world to change their mind about being uncooperative.

Pain

Do I really need to get too much into this?? We have.....

Ripping off fingernails.

Breaking bones.

Cutting/stabbing.

Dislocating joints. Bonus points if you keep popping it back into socket, then grinding it out again. Over and over. Lots of screaming with that one.

Burning.

Pressure Points.

Whipping.

Electrocution.

Etc etc etc. Y'all know how to whump, I have faith in you lol.

Air

People get desperate so fast when they cant breath. We have....

Drowning.

Water-boarding.

Strangulation.

Plastic bags over the head.

Just covering their mouth and nose.

Keeping them in a small, sealed room - let them slowly panic as the oxygen runs out.

.

Psychological

Isolation. Lock them in a room for months on end. Irregular meals. No access to clocks or windows. Just constant droning silence and grey walls. Let them go mad

The REID method. Honestly not torture - genuine interrogation. It's no longer allowed for use in police stations because it messes with the subject's head so much they often confess to things they didn't do - even to the point of believing they did. It includes things like crowding and intimidating the subject, and talking over them to prevent them for verbalizing anything you don't want them to say (eg: denial).

Hints. Just clues. Let them drives themselves mad trying to figure out what you're going to do next. For example, walk in with a rat, a bucket, and an iron. Take a phone call and walk out with a 'I gotta handle this, I'll be back in a bit'. Just let their imaginations run wild.

More blackmailing than true interrogation, but just show Whumpee a list of names and addresses. Let them see that it's not just their life on the line - there's plenty of unsuspecting loved ones out there who would have no idea what hit them.

PHOBIAS. Okay I have a thing for phobias, don't come for me. But it takes so little effort if you have their weak spot. Is it spiders? Snakes? Darkness? Small Spaces? Find it. Use it. Watch them break.

This is half physical, but....Bleeding out. Make a cut. Watch it drip. Every drop brings them closer to death. Give them a nice long time to think on that.

The good-old-fashioned 'make them watch'. Let Whumpee see you torturing a loved one or a friend instead. See how long they can stand hearing the screams.

.

Animals

Okay this might get a little squikky, but there's lots of animals that can be of assistance.

Rats. Leave whumpee bound and defenseless, preferably bleeding, and rats will have no qualms nibbling away at them. (bonus points to anyone who knows / can guess the rat and bucket thing I mentioned earlier).

Wild animals (particularly wolves, coyotes, wild dogs). Same concept. Leave them smelling delicious and defenseless and let them wait there, knowing the animals will gladly tear them apart when Whumper leaves.

Bugs. Especially spiders, most people do not like. They especially wouldn't like...say...being stuck in a box full of them. Unable to even open their mouth without getting some inside. Fire ants would also be great.

Pigs. Probably not a good long-game, but they'll eat you alive. They're vicious. Unlike the others, they truly don't care if you fight back. They'll tear your Whumpee to shreds and take care of most of the evidence for you. For a whumpee who knows what pigs can do, the thought of being forced in that pen is terrifying.

Just imagine if the Whumper had a box of bullet ants. Most painful sting on earth (supposedly), and it won't kill you. Not even a little. Every wrong answer gets you another sting.

I...uh...know another cowboy torture from old movies that I'm not gonna elaborate on, but it involves a hungry baby calf and only works on half the population. Just...I'll just...leave you to figure that one out.

Maggots. Maggots are actually pretty good for open wounds - they eat out the dead cells but leave the living. Still, imagine how horrifying it would be to be bound and have to watch maggots eat away your flesh. And the smell.

.

Dialogue Prompts

Here, have some dialogue prompts just for the heck of it - I loved this request, so my mind is roaming. Enjoy XD

Are your lips feeling any looser now?

Are you sure you can take more?

Beg all you want, it won't help. You know what you have to do to make it stop.

Crying already? Cute.

How are you feeling?

Sure. Of course I'll take it off. As soon as you tell me where they are.

I'm going to ask again...

Mmm nope. Not the answer I was looking for. Try again.

You can't break already. I've hardly touched you.

Would you like to reconsider my offer?

Let's try this again. Where are they?

No? Alright, back in you go.

Aww, tired already? I'm not. I could go all night.

Last chance.

'Kill' you? Now why would I want to do that? We are having so much fun together.

You make so many noises. Too bad none of them are useful.

.

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @jadeocean46910 @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @lav-whumps @wormwriting)

[cyla]

hello! is it okay if i request? if that’s okay, i would like more of scary yandere dazai please :D and please take your time.. i really love your works :>

Scary Yandere Dazai (pt 2 kinda)

Yes!! It is more than okay to request!! I'm sorry this took a while but I hope you enjoy!! Also please read the warningsss!!!!!!

Warnings: Torture, yandere, knives, guns, not proofread

Okay, I think it's pretty clear that Dazai can get anyone and everyone to do exactly want he wants/spill any information through torture

But with that being said, it's never been specifically mentioned on how he does that

I think he would definitely use some form of these same torture techniques on his darling if she's being super disobedient, but I feel like he would try his best to shy away from the more gruesome techniques

But if his darling really, really refused to do something, he'd have to whip up something scary

He'd have that intimidating, mafia executive look on his face as he threatens you first, probably saying something like, "Oh my dear, if you don't do as I ask, and soon, I might just have to some terrible things to do." Fake sympathy dripping from his words like wine

Then, if his darling still refuses, he get a little more dangerous, maybe holding a knife or a gun to her throat

And if that somehow doesn't work, he'd resort to simple torture

But he'd only use torture techniques that can be fully healed, so you don't have any permanent damage

I think he'd start by testing the waters a little bit, giving you a few small nips and scratches from a knife or something

Then he might waterboard you, or he might try the White Torture technique, but only for a couple hours, he would'nt want you going crazy or losing yourself

I think most likely he would lock you away for a very long time, starving you of any human interaction for weeks or even months on end

He'd only visit you three times a day to feed you, even then only sliding the tray of food in through a little hole in the door and not even talking to you

Deep down, Dazai has a lot of patience, especially when it comes to you

So, if he does result to torturing you, he would take his sweet time

Bringing out his ex-port mafia executive mode, and enjoy every last second of it

Idk if this is what you wanted or if this was okay? I hope it was I'm so so sorry for the wait this was stuck in my drafts for so long ily

[aceofwhump]

Day 13: Share a sneak peek of something you’re working on

Once again I am taking the opportunity to share bits from my Cursed fanfiction that is taking me forever to finish but it is actually closed to being to done! I'm a bit blocked at the moment with my ending chapter so progress has been slow. I'm just so psyched about this fic and eager to share it all with you. So here's another larger bit from the story. A nice little torture scene for you all to enjoy :) I haven't shared this part yet (I don't think I have) but I'm in love with it.

tw: torture via cuts, burns, and whipping

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Lancelot swallowed thickly as he tried not to show any emotions or reaction. Any kind of reaction, a show of fear, that’s just what they wanted and he’d rather be killed than give them the satisfaction. 

Brother Salt laid out his torture implements carefully and diliberatley, each tool laid on his table with care and precision, before picking one up and gazing at Lancelot with a wicked smile.

“Now, shall we begin?” 

The torture went on for hours, days. 'Brother Salt' was well trained, almost as talented as his predecessor. He knew exactly how to bring out the most amount of pain within his captive without killing them. Lancelot’s only respite was when his body finally gave out on him and the darkness claimed him but when he woke up again, be given water and bread, an hour or two of rest, and then it would all start up again.

The sessions would vary in implements and techniques but he’d always be dragged to the middle of the room and have his wrists shackled to the chain falling from the ceiling. Laid out and bare in front of the torturer, he’d close his eyes and await his fate.

A steel blade was dragged slowly across his skin, splitting open the skin painfully and leaving small trails of blood. Dozens and dozens of cuts across his chest and arms. Not deep enough to cause serious harm but they burned and irritated and eventually his whole body ached with pain.

A whip was taken to his back. The leather bit into his skin and caused old and new welts to form. Blood flowed from the large gashes that the whipped carved out. Lancelot locked his jaw, determined not to scream or make any noise indicating pain. Thankfully he had years of practice at it. Another crack of the leather and pain exploded across his back.

The pain was excruciating. Multiple times Lancelot had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming. Sweat dripped down his body, mingling with the blood. His hands gripped the chains holding him up in a desperate attempt to focus his mind.

All the while, 'Brother Salt' repeated the same things over and over again.

“You are a monster. Born of creatures damned by the Lord.” 

“Worthless.” 

“A sinner.” 

“Damned.” 

“The Fey despise you for everything you are.” 

“The Paladins accept you. This is where you belong.” 

“We can bring you salvation.” 

“The pain brings salvation.” 

Lancelot tried to ignore the words. He’d been through pain before, he knew pain intimately, but it wasn't easy to ignore the things being said that, deep in his heart, he still believed. Every day he grew weaker and felt his walls tumbling down in a wave of pain and blood.

He tried to focus on his time with the Fey during these sessions with Brother Salt, to remember the things they told him and how they treated him.

He thought about Squirrel and how quickly the boy accepted him and defended him. How he had taken up a sword in his defense several times. His first real friend.

He thought about Pym who, even though she was afraid at first, had invited him to work with her, brought him food when he forgot to eat and casually teased him like they were friends.

He thought of Kaze and their sparring sessions and how at ease and challenged he felt when their blades clashed.

He thought of all the Fey children who trailed after him as he completed his chores. None of them seemed afraid of him. No sign of hatred or fear as they begged him to tell them stories or play with them.

But most of all, he thought of Gawain. He thought of his kind smile and his never ending patience. He thought of his strength and his skills with a sword. He thought of his ability to make him feel safe and cared for. He thought of the night Gawain had stayed by his side after a particularly horrible nightmare and how Lancelot had managed to fall asleep again for the first time in months. He thought about how grieved Gawain would be if Lancelot gave in.

When the pain cascaded and drowned out the voices and memories, he honed his focus to the pain in his wrists from the iron that reminded him he is Fey and that all Fey are brothers but the words etched into his mind tell him that meant he was damned and was not a good thing.

The days passed by him. Every day the same thing. Abbot Wicklow would come to him and say the same things. That he was a damned soul that could only be saved by fighting for the Paladin Army again. That he will never truly belong with the Fey. That the Fey will never forgive his sins but the Paladins can.

When Lancelot ignored him, Wicklow would send in his interrogator and Lancelot would be strung up and tortured for hours at a time, told that if he succumbed and returned to his proper place then the pain would end and he would be welcomed back with open arms.

Every day, he would curl up on the floor of his cell and try to remember what Gawain had taught him.

Every day, he lost a little bit of his fight to the unrelenting pain and confusion.

Every day, he passed out wondering if he was damned to be in this hell for all of eternity.

Every day, he wondered if this was what he truly deserved.

[myrulia]

An Oiran's Sacrifice - Kokushibou x Oiran!Reader

CHAPTER 3

Oiran

Oiran (花魁) was a specific category of high ranking courtesan in Japanese history. Divided into a number of ranks within this category, oiran were considered – both in social terms and in the entertainment they provided – to be above common prostitutes, known as yūjo (遊女, lit. 'woman of pleasure')

Warnings: Panic attacks, mention of past trauma

Word count: 3,543

Previous chapter ☆ Next chapter

`` Young Master Hiroto, I apologize for interrupting your private time with Lotus, but she is needed at the moment. Something terrible has happened. ``

Just as you were about to drop your kimono from your body, your eyes practically doubled in size upon the sudden outburst of Sakura. Pulling up your kimono swiftly and completely forgetting about Hiroto in the process, you leap to your feet and sprint to where Sakura is standing, gripping her shoulders with wide eyes. `` Sakura, I beg of you to explain to me..! ``

`` I assure you I will. Master Hiroto, please excuse us. ``

Hurriedly, Sakura escorted you from Hiroto's sleeping quarters, guiding you throughout the estate until the both of you were alone - not entirely but at least you did not have to worry about the other oirans telling anyone your business. You felt your breathing slowly rise in rapidness, worry filling your nervous system at what could have possibly happened in the span of one night, especially after Kenta's murder in his own home that no one suspected.

Everyone guessed he was untouchable due to the sheer amount of bodyguards he hired, and how everyone in the village feared his power and how he could ruin their lives with a simple snap of his fingers. Even still, that was at the back of your head for the reason that whatever Sakura had to say, it was surely to be a shocking surprise. `` Now will you tell me please..? ``

Sakura inhaled sharply before speaking once more, taking your hands from her shoulders and holding them instead. `` My Lotus, I am so sorry for what I am about to say, I truly wish it did not happen. `` She paused before speaking. `` Your father was found in his home- ``

`` Dead? Dead?! Sakura-san please promise me he is not- ``

`` Lotus let me finish. He is not dead, rest easy and try to breathe. `` You followed her orders and inhaled slowly through your nostrils, out your mouth, repeating the action multiple times before you knew you would be ready to hear whatever she had to say to you. `` Atsuhashi, your father, was found with his eyes cut out, laying in the corner of your house and barely breathing last night. Your neighbors luckily called for help from the local doctor and they were able to stop the bleeding get too out of control. He is okay now, he just is now permanently blind. ``

You listened intently, trying to retain any information said but it felt like your mind was trying to block out her words. She noticed your expression went from neutral to utterly horrified, so Sakura quickly pulled you into her embrace, trying to calm you down.

`` I understand how you might feel, it is okay Lotus, let it all out. There is nobody here who will judge you. `` 

That was all it took for the water that built up at the bottom of your eyelids to finally slide down your cheek. A few choked sobs managed to escape your gritted teeth as you clutched onto Sakura's kimono even harder, blaming yourself for the inconvenience of your father getting tortured in such ways. You allowed yourself to let go of the small barrier that blocked you from allowing anyone to see you so down, let alone people you met just yesterday. She could tell that you were obviously hurting, so without a second thought she rubs up and down your back, trying to help you calm down in any way.

In a way, it did help calm your nerves, because her same movements reminded you of those your mother's. 

Although you could not allow yourself to become too attached, so backing away slowly, you wiped your tear-stained face and sniffed in any mucus that threatened to drip from your nose. Sakura allowed you to calm down a bit on your own, letting go of your still slightly shaking form and backing a foot away, even a gentle smile on your face. `` How about you take some time to yourself, calm down and come back when you are ready. Of course, do not leave for too long, you know the demons become active only in the night. ``

`` I under-understand Sakura-san, I shall not take long, `` and with that, you left her standing there as you navigated through the large minka until you were outside and inhaling the fresh air surrounding you. It was hardly past 12 and your day had already gone to hell. First the murder, and now your own father becoming injured all in the same night. It should not be this surprising, because at the end of the day, he did steal and those who still had it out for him were bound to get back at the man who stole from them. 

Thinking deeper into the entire situation caused a small cramp to overtake your lower regions, and the more you gripped your lower abdomen the more painful it got. The only way you were really taught to control your emotions is by blocking them out - courtesy to your father. Yet, Sakura's advice on calming you down genuinely worked, somehow. So, repeating the breathing technique she said earlier, you inhale through your nose, and exhale out your mouth, and repeated the process for a good few minutes until your lower abdomen finally kept cool.

You kept your gaze on the ground, you had not realized just how far you traveled into the forest beside the Suzuki estate. It was a serene forest with a small river flowing down not to far from where you stood. Bamboo stalks growing just by the river bank was easy to see, for they stood tall and proud in the bright sunlight that beamed down upon you. It was truly calming, so you took slow strides and enthralled in the beauty of the nature around you, even seeing a few squirrels climb up trees and scamper around. 

It gave you a chance to clear your head, but obviously there was that lingering thought in the back of your head about what would have happened if you had just stayed with your father instead - but thinking more into it, you realize that you would not have gotten that chance if you did not take the offer of working as a yūjo. It was so angering deep down that you could not have done anything about the situation, it was simply out of your power. `` None of this would not have happened if he would just stop stealing..! ``

Before you could register anything, your next choice of words seemed to roll off your tongue effortlessly. It was no lie that you have been withholding a few bits of your feelings from your father, but it was only in view of the fact that he would simply tell you to stop talking and go to bed. Per usual, you would listen to his orders and brush off any lingering questions, but this time, you were alone, and with that new found freedom, you felt like you could finally let out everything you were holding back. `` He always thinks for himself..! He claims to care about my needs yet he continues to steal even if he's caught! It does not make any sense whatsoever so why can he not listen to his own daughter for once?! ``

You had to admit, yelling out your inner emotions gave you a sense of relief, it even made your eyes turn bloodshot as you came to the realization that you were a second thought to your father. His accusations were to benefit him in the end, and that reality slapped you in the face harder than you wanted it to. `` If mom never died, this would not have happened!, `` you finally admit to yourself after pondering a bit more. While your mother was on this earth, she was like a blessing to your village. Everyone would constantly compliment her of her beauty, even you who would accompany her whenever she needed to buy something from the marketplace. 

It did not stop at her beauty though, for her voice was as soft and smooth as silk. It held a constant gentleness to it no matter who she spoke to, and whenever she would sing a lullaby so you would fall asleep, your eyes would be closed in a matter of seconds because her voice had an effect on you that you could not explain. During her marriage with your father, their smiles never seemed to stop. They indeed did love each other oh-so dearly, and seeing your father genuinely love another woman gave you that second hand happiness that you desire, even to this day.

The painful memories of your mother's passing quickly washed over you, and suddenly that same agony came back as you felt your heart almost ache to feel the happiness you previously had as a child. You shouted out, loud enough just so that you could feel some pain leave your heart, but nothing could stop it. `` Mother how I miss you dearly.. please return to me! Fix father so he can be better and be a happy family again..! ``

No matter how much you yelled, no matter how many tears you shed, she was never going to return and that is just the truth of it all. Your heart ached and throbbed even more painfully so you choked out another sob, one that still made your chest tighten. Your vision became blurred and you could no longer make out your surroundings, just different colored green blobs, and the sound of water slowly fading. 

It felt like your world was slipping from your feet, and soon enough after all the pain and lack of breathing in your chest, it suddenly went away, and your surroundings turned dark, no longer being able to sense anything around you.

You had fainted.

                      ◆◇◆◇✧◇◆◇◆

It was yet another night that he was sent out again by his Lordness, Muzan Kibutsuji, who still had more plans for the six eyed demon in the rural area of your village. Kokushibou aimlessly jumped from tree to tree of the same forest that he navigated through after he mercilessly slaughtered Kenta Suzuki, who he felt no remorse for because in the eyes of the Upper Moon One, the murder was long overdue. 

It was only a few minutes past sundown, and yet Kokushibou was the only demon active at such an early time of night. It was all to satisfy his Lordness' wishes, because that it what he devoted his 12 Kizuki life to.

Or was it?

The demon had other reasons for wandering out so early in the night, despite his main priority to fulfill the orders bestowed upon him. He continued to aimlessly jump from tree to tree until he noticed a body laying on the soft grass near a small stream of water. He stops in his tracks and eyes the face of whoever the body belonged to, and due to his supernatural vision, he could tell it was you.

`` Foolish human, why are you out at night? `` Kokushibou asked to your unconscious body, landing only a few feet away from your laying form. He took slow strides and eventually he was now kneeling in front of you, scanning your body for any wounds or dirt. It only took the male a few seconds, for he took note of your tear-stained face and partially reddened cheeks and could easily make the guess that you found out about your father's misfortune. 

Still eyeing your face, a calloused and veiny hand inches closer to your cheek, brushing away any stray hairs that was blocking the male's view of your resting facial expression. He stared, longer than he should have, at how peaceful you looked not knowing of the evil being that had just touched you without your permission - even if it was something as innocent as a small brush of skin contact.

Huffing out through his nostrils, Kokushibou simply pulls you off the ground with one arm, slinging you over his shoulder so that it would be uncomplicated to navigate his way back to the minka you were residing in against your will. It did not take him long, for he is indeed very fast and it only took him seconds since you were nothing but a limp body that was hanging off his broad shoulder. Using his free hand, he pushes open the sliding door that opened into a large hallway, and so entering, he closes said door behind him and quietly strolled until he could pick up your familiar sent from another source, your bed. 

He pushed open the sliding door slowly yet again and quickly set you down on your futon so he would not have to worry about you being on his shoulder - or hitting a wall. The Upper Moon shut the door once more, only to walk past your futon and sit beside your laying body. He did not know why he did such things, but a miniscule voice in the back of his head told him to stay and watch over you. He gave in rather easily despite being a stubborn one whenever he so chose, but tonight, on this bright moonlit night, it truly was something different.

You shifted around on your futon, getting used to laying on something softer than the ground that you were previously laying on not too long ago - not that you were aware of that. You continued to writhe and twitch until your eyes finally gave up and slowly fluttered open. The first thing you noticed was a large body, easily bigger than yours by a long shot, sitting directly in front of you. A veiny and pale hand was resting on the thigh of the mysterious figure who sat silently in front of you, watching your every move under the impression that you were aware of your surroundings. `` Hiroto..? `` you had guessed, since the only other male in the minka could not gain access to you so easily.

`` I am not this "Hiroto" you speak of, `` said a testosterone-heavy voice. The small rasp at the end made you jerk your head up, only for your gaze to be met with one of the pairs of many eyes on the somehow attractive creature. You backed up instinctively, your back pressing against the wall as you felt a scream of confusion and obvious terror build up in your throat, but the being used his large hand to cover your mouth, leaning closer to your face - enough so that there was space - but close enough that made your stomach churn ever so slightly. Eventually the scream you had wanted to voice out was suddenly shrinking until you felt no urge to do so, and in noticing that, Kokushibou withdrew his hand from your face, sitting back down so that he was in a meditation pose almost. 

`` What- What are you..?, `` you asked hesitantly, your voice showing obvious signs of reluctance for you did not know who the being with 6 eyes was and how he even entered the minka without being caught. Your head was throbbing painfully - but that was the least of your worries, for there was an unknown creature before you. 

Kokushibou, who was still staring with his narrowed eyelids, ponders if he should just be honest. It is not like he can lie, after all, his appearance gives him away. Yet, there are so many different things in your world that a 6 eyed male could be mistaken for a humanoid spider. `` I am a demon. A creature bound to the night only. ``

You felt your heart pulse and your blood flow circulate even faster in view of the fact that there was a man-eating creature sitting in front of you. Fear did strike your heart, but you were smart enough to know that if a demon wants to feed, it would do so long before a chatty conversation. Looking into his bright golden irises that seemed to have a bright luminescence, you notice the middle pair read the words "Upper Moon One" in kanji. You, who knew little about demons and never had any experience with them, did not understand why such things were in his eyes, but you figured questioning it would only complicate things. 

`` You read my eyes, did you not?, `` the demon spoke again, gaining your attention at how he indisputably read you like a book. You simply nodded and lowered your gaze so that you were now staring at your own lap. `` Why do they say Upper Moon One? ``

`` Because that is my ranking of the 12 Kizuki. ``

You were still partially confused. 12 Kizuki? A demon having a high rank? It was all becoming too painful for your head to comprehend just what the hell had happened in the few hours that you fainted. You felt light-headed, so falling forward slowly, your vision becomes ever so blurry as your head aches painfully. Kokushibou, who had been sitting directly in front of you, was able to catch your body before you fell completely forward, your head landing just on his muscular chest. Kokushibou was well aware of your strong emotions and unstableness, and knew all too well what you felt like, but he himself could not explain the feeling he felt in his own body at feeling the contact of your warm skin on his own cold hands.

The ends of his fingertips felt light as they ghosted over your skin, only to have them trail up your face to properly examine you.

Your eyes were almost closed, but you could make out a hazy silhouette of spiky hair and bright eyes staring down at you. The second you finally came to, you took notice of the cold hand on your jaw, holding your head up so your gazes could properly meet. Kokushibou, who still kept his eyes interlocked with yours, felt his undead heart skip a beat. It was a strange feeling, for he has not felt such things in so long that it felt like a fever dream almost - but he was not going to allow himself to be distracted by a mere human woman. 

Your eyes doubled in size when you felt yourself being pushed back gently, just so that your faces were not as close as they were seconds ago. You sat there, confused, and in slight pain on your lower back side. Inhaling a breath, you lower head preparing yourself with questions you still had on your mind. Should you ask them now? Would he get annoyed and kill you? There was only one way to find out. `` What happened in the last 4 hours? ``

You had enough competence to know that you fainted just as the sun was setting, and seeing as how it is well past moon-rise, you made the assumption that you were out for quite a period of time. You looked up at the bigger demon in front of you who had yet to say his name - but that is a question for another time.

`` I found you laying in a forest a little after sundown. So I carried you to where your scent was emitting from another source, that being your sleeping quarters. ``

It was common for the supernatural being to have enhanced abilities that humans are not capable of possessing, so you were not startled to hear as such. The only bit of information that really got to you was the fact that you fainted in a forest, vulnerable to anything in the area. If it was not for the demon before you, another of his kind would have devoured you without hesitation. 

`` I hope you do not mind me asking..- but what is your name? ``

`` Kokushibou. ``

Hearing the name roll off his tongue so easily was a confusing feeling to say the least. The name itself sounded like he was powerful, and it would not be so surprising so you disregarded the saya hanging from his hips. From seeing that alone you made the presumption that he knows how to wield such a weapon with ease. `` Kokushibou.. Kokushibou…`` you repeated outloud to yourself, letting his name escape your lips and dissipate into the air.

The Upper Moon One listened to you mutter his name out loud. He solely sat there not really sure of what next to say - or address for that matter. Of course the demon had no regrets for what he did to your father, Atsuhashi, but telling you now after your emotions spiking and causing you to faint in a vulnerable area gave rise to a ping in his undead heart. He could not pinpoint what the feeling he felt exactly was, for he has not felt such strong emotions in centuries. How are you having such an influence on his usual habits? 

`` Kokushibou, why are you still here? If you are here to consume me, then why have you not done so already? ``

`` I do not know, `` was all the male said. He eyed your confused expression that he read in a matter of seconds. Truth be told, he really did not know why he had not left when the opportunity presented itself at his doorstep, so why had he not taken it?

What was he experiencing why was it you out of all beings who started it?

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

[i-make-questionable-choices]

When the Hurt Comes, So Does the Happiness.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Torture, SPN level gore, mentions of rape/non-con, mentions of forced bestiality(nothing graphic), angst.

Summary: When Alastair disappeared after Anna’s death, he took you with him, holding you simply to torture the Winchesters. With the knowledge that angels are tracking him down, he sets out to hurt you as much as he can.

A/N: This kinda replaces the end of 04x15. Also my first work so please please please let me know how I did or anything else. Feedback is golden!

When Dean came back to life after 40 years in the pit, he had had trouble believing he was, in fact, alive. Paranoia followed him from hell, and it took a while for him to realize that his resurrection was not some cruel joke. It had taken some time, but slowly, he had accepted that this was real. That you were real.

But now you were gone. Plucked from his grasp like a child plucks a flower from the earth. It made Dean wonder if he ever left Hell.

—

Alastair hummed softly, relishing in the cries of his latest victim. It had been surprisingly easy to take his best student little pet away from him, and, though he was no where near either of the Winchesters, the knowledge that they would be driving themselves into the ground looking for you almost had him singing.

He hadn’t felt such exhilaration during a torture session as he was feeling since the righteous man had fallen onto his rack. And while he couldn’t use some of his preferred techniques, considering he wanted you alive, the knowledge that Dean was suffering at your mere absence was delicious.

Carefully selecting a pair cuticle nippers from his cart of tools, he turned with a flourish, grin falling as he realized you were unconscious. You were no fun unconscious, after all, he liked your screams.

With an aggrieved sigh, he dropped the nippers back on the table and, begrudgingly, snatched up a heavy leather collar. He sulked over to the rack where you lay unconscious and cinched it around your neck, far too tight for it to be comfortable, then stormed out of the room

—

When you flickered back into consciousness, all you could do was try and breath.

The still air chilled your bare skin, raising goosebumps along the paled flesh. The leather around your neck, though suffocatingly tight, was eerily comforting, and though it confused you, you lent into it. You needed all the comfort could could get.

Despite the freezing air and the chills that ran along your skin, the outside of your left thigh burned with a vengeance. Tears welled in your eyes as you recalled the moments before you fell unconscious.

The pain from the brand had cast all other thoughts from your mind when Alastair had seared what he called a ‘permanent reminder’ of himself into your skin.

It was all too much, the cold, the pain, your hunger, and the confusing comfort of the collar. You didn’t see it coming, but you barely had seconds before you passed out once more.

—

Alastair waking you up by pouring water on you wasn’t unusual, as a matter of fact, it seemed to be his preferred method. But each and every time the water had been icy.

This time, it was boiling.

You screamed as it awoke you, drowning out Alastair’s cruel laugh as you gasped and sobbed. Your body spasming against its restraints, desperately trying to evade the pain.

“Good morning, pet,” the sickly sweet tone of his voice sent shivers up your spine, “did you enjoy your bath?”

A slight pull choked you for a moment as Alastair undid the buckle before the collar disappeared.

“You fell asleep on me last night, quiet rude don’t you think?” He grinned as tears streamed down your face, tinting pink as they washed away bits of dried blood. “No matter, we have plenty of time for just us today!”

A flash a metal caught in the cold light as Alastair brandished the cuticle nippers once more.

Slowly, delicately, he lowered them to your face, tracing your features just as Dean used to in the wee hours of the morning. If Alastair knew this, he would rejoice knowing that the seat gesture was now ruined by his doing.

He reached your lips, then without warning, split your upper lip in half.

Your wail was music to his ears, the fading sound leaving him yearning for more. He forced you to count threatening you with harsh punishment should you refuse.

By the time they got to one-hundred, your body was shaking with sobs, voice cracking. To add insult to injury, your stomach, having gone four days now with out food, rumbled and groaned.

Humiliation flooded through you, your cheeks burning.

Through tears you spared a glance at your torturer,  furrowed brow widened as you perceived the look of sadistic joy upon his face.

“Pet!” He cried, the same way a mother or parental figure does when you do something unexpected. "You should have told me you were so hungry!”

He released the nippers, letting them clatter to the ground.

“I wasn’t going to feed you just yet but I suppose we could switch things around a bit…” The strap across your forehead prevented you from turning your head completely, but your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the contraption Alastair selected; a long tube, open on one end with a funnel connected to the other.

In a desperate attempt at self preservation, you clamped your lips tight, ignoring the burning pain that spread across your face at the pressure on your cut lip. Alastair snorted, the corners of his smirk curling up further.

“Very well then, if you insist on being difficult…”

You cried out as he shoved the tube up your nose. It wasn’t a large tube, but good god was it to big for such a small space. You could feel it scraping away at the inside of your nose, could feel the blood trickle down to your mouth.

There was barely a warning before it entered your throat; a slight tickle at the top of your mouth, perhaps.

You coughed and gagged as he slipped it down you throat further, eyes leaking tears like a faucet.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the tube stopped moving. Sniffling, you sobbed, not bothering to muffle the sounds of crying.

“Bonne appétit, kitten.”

You couldn’t see what he poured into the funnel, part of you didn’t want to anyways. Your muscles tensed in anticipation, waiting for whatever pain you would feel next. You did not expect to feel a tickle in your chest before your body spasmed into a coughing fit.

“Whoopsie!”

Alastair’s voice sent shivers up your spine. “Wrong way. I’m so sorry, kitten, how careless of me.”

Pulling it back out was just as bad as him pushing it in, it was unnatural and you so longed to claw at your neck.

It took him a moment to actually get the tube into your esophagus, but with a sharp jab and a feel around your neck, he was pretty sure it was in the right place now.

He was halfway through, ignoring your gags in an effort to repeal the foreign device, when his head shot up, eyes gazing towards the door, before a smirk adorned his mug.

“Well, pet, it seems that we have a guest,” he reached for the collar, tightening it more than he ever had before. “You’ll be a good girl while I go and greet them, won’t you?”

With a slight bow, he disappeared from your vision, exiting somewhere behind you and slamming a door you couldn’t see. The only sounds now audible were your gags as your body fought to expel the tube from its system.

Tilted onto your back, it was excruciatingly hard for you to vomit up the tube and you needed up spewing several mouthfuls of bile onto yourself before you could spit it out.

With Alastair gone, you began to process your situation.

Naked, shorn, and weak, covered in cuts and burns and bruises, sticky with blood and bile and the filth of the dogs Alistair had set on you. Helpless. Alone. Collared, branded, and chained like an animal. For the first time in these two weeks, it hit you just how pathetic you were was.

It was the straw that broke the camels back. The loneliness. The time to think. With a shuddering gasp, you descended into tears

—

Dean sprinted through the halls of the warehouse. Slamming his hands into every door, yelling out your name. The desperation raw in his voice.

He reached the end of the hall and tried the door; locked.

At first, he backed up, trying with all his might to kick it down, and then to bodyslam it open. When his body couldn’t take it anymore, he grabbed his gun.

Aiming it at the glass square in the door, he fired several times until he had a hole large enough to reach through.

Shards of glass still clinging to the door frame pierced his jacket at sliced his skin, he didn’t care, he had to check everywhere.

It was an awkward angle, and Dean could barely reach it, but he managed to twist the knob on the inside until the door swung open; revealing the carnage inside.

—

It took the Dean a moment to register that the form on the table was indeed the women he was looking for. No longer did you sport your gorgeous H/C locks, the hair barely dotting your shaved scalp as it began growing back. Your skin was so stained and burned and bruised it didn’t look human.  

Hesitantly, as if approaching a frightened rabbit, Dean paced forwards.

“Y/N?” His voice as hesitant as his steps.

Your eyes flew open, fearful as a rabbit chased by dogs. The relief that flooded them as soon as you realized who it was was immediate.

“de-an?” Your voice choppy and hoarse.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” Dean struggled to blink back tears.

“s-sammy?”

“He’s okay, I’m gonna get you outta here, okay sweetheart?”
 You hummed, eyes half closed as your head lolled to the side, a couple tears cutting through the grime on your cheeks and nose.

Silence hung between them as Dean fiddled with straps around your wrists, slick blood and bile. The straps had been locked so tightly that they had rubbed the skin raw and left it paled as blood smuggled to fill back in.

As the moved to your ankles he grimaced, noticing the sticky white mess that dripped down your inner thighs.

You didn’t make a sound as he adjusted your prone figure to sit forwards, letting you lean against his shoulder as he fiddled with the too tight buckle around your neck. He didn’t care about the vomit that dribbled down your chin, staining his shirt, nor did he care about the blood that seeped into his clothes.

His only focus was you.

The collar fell away from your neck leaving behind rubs and bruised skin. Dean had expected the removal of the collar to calm you, not for your breathing to speed up ten-fold, nor to be able to feel your heart pound against his chest.

“no.” It was barely a whisper, a hint of a word, but Dean stilled, pulling back as he gripped your shaking shoulders. His mind was scrambling for answers, what had Alastair done to you? Why were you wearing t-

Oh.

He pulled you tight against his chest once more, murmuring reassurances in your ear as he hid his own tears from view.

His rage burned as he recalled his time apprenticing under Alastair; the time that monster had shown him one of his more ‘refined’ techniques.

Conditioning.

Training the victims mind into associating the removal of a collar or chains or the opening of their cage with extreme pain. It was a technique so ruthless that Dean had never been able to bring himself to do it.

Not even at his worst.

It took Dean a moment, but, as he desperately tried to banish those horrid memories from his mind, he shrugged off his jacket. Gently as he could, he draped the fabric over your shoulders and carefully guided each arm through the sleeves.

It was a bit too big, your fingers still hiding in the sleeves, but it gave you a shred of modesty and you clutched at him tighter.

When his arm wormed its way under your knees, you stifled your whimper as best you could but you could not conceal the tiniest of squeaks that escaped your cracked lips.

Deans eyes filled with pity, mouth parting to apologize but you beat him to it.

“P-please, just get me out of here.”

He hesitated a moment then steeled himself and nodded, his other arm supporting your lower back.

“Sorry about this sweetheart.”

You gasped softly as some of your injuries rubbed against his shirt and fresh tears sprang in your eyes. As he lifted you closer to his chest, you brought your trembling arms up around his neck, leaning your chin over his shoulder.

The beat of his steps both jarred your injuries and provided comforting sounds, lulling you into a more restful state. You would have fallen asleep had Dean not stepped outside moments later.

The air was crisp, slight breezing chilling you to the bone. Shivering, you burrowed deeper into Deans arms and he tightened his hold on you. As he carried you away from the hellhole in which you had been trapped, the sky came into view. And with the sky, came the stars.

They twinkled, blurring in you teary eyes and you took in a long, deep breath of fresh air.

You couldn’t help yourself; sobs wracked your body as it truly set in that you were finally free. Free from Alastair and his pain. Free from his torture. Free.

Dean didn’t say a word. He knew exactly the emotions that were coursing through you. When he had first come back, he had been hesitant and as wary as a rabbit. Not daring for ages to believe that his resurrection was not some cruel joke.

As he reached the Impala. He had to shift his hold on you to reach the passengers side handle and even then he had difficulty opening the door, but he managed. Not daring to set you down and the unforgivingly cold concrete.

Slowly ducking his head, he lowered you onto your back onto the cool leather seat of the Impala. He made to pull away but your arms tightened around his neck, terrified of losing him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart, I’m just gonna grab you a blanket, okay? I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He took time to check that everything he did was okay with you, letting you know everything so as not to leave you dreading something he would do, even if he knew he wasn’t going to hurt you. Gently he took ahold of your forearms, clutching them between fingertips, and lowered them to your chest. Pulling away quickly, he opened the door to the backseat, reaching up onto the rear dash to grab one of the thick blankets they kept there. He shut the door as quietly as he could, but that didn’t stop you from reflexively tensing at the abrupt noise. Though Dean noticed, he said nothing, it wouldn’t help you right now anyways.

Carefully, he worked the blanket underneath you, then laid you back down on the leather, wrapping you up nice and tight. He ducked back, about to shut the door when the rustling of feathers sounded behind him, alarming the both of you.

Quiet as a cat, in all his trench-coated glory, was Castiel. His eye were stoic and matched Deans fiery gaze.

“What do you want now?” Dean snarled, turning completely and shielding you from the angels view.

For a moment, Castiel was silent, eyes dropping to stare at the road beneath him before he returned his gaze to Dean, stepping forwards.

“This hasn’t been easy for you.”

“Yeah no shit! What the hell do you want?”

“I’m here to help.” He nodded at you.

“Why the fuck would you do that. You’ve done nothing for us since you pulled me outta hell!” Deans voice was low and angry, yet cautiously quiet.

Behind him, you shivered as the night air crept in through the open door.

Castiel said nothing, lifting his chin to regard Dean. The look he sported was not judgmental, but perhaps slightly inquisitive. And not the type of inquisitivity that came alongside confusion, no he knew everything he wanted and needed to, but instead a type of inquisitivity that prompted Dean to stop and think.

For a few tense moments, only the stars dared to move, it seemed even the air around the angel and the hunter stilled. Then, slowly, cautiously, Dean stepped back.

“Fine, but hurry the hell up!”

Periwinkle eyes softened, a look of compassion that one might expect when they thought of an angel, and he leant over you.

At first you shrunk away, not willing to be near anyone other than Dean, but you had to trust Dean, trust that he wouldn’t let anyone he didn’t mildly trust near you.

Eyes glowing blue, Castiel pressed but two fingers to your forehead. The tenseness in your shoulders seemed to relax and the frown upon your lips softened. A wave of warmth, like a loving hug, washed through you, chasing away the pain Though the bloodstains and other substances soiling your skin remained, the physical damage was slowly washed away.

He stepped back, allowing Dean to approach you and examine his work. Though Dean still had his back to him, Castiel gave one last thoughtful comment.

“We’re not all so stuck-up, if you give us a chance.”

Dean had barely started to turn before Castiels wings rustled once more and he disappeared into nothingness.  

He stared long and hard at the spot where the angel had once stood, the let his gaze wander upwards. Overhead, a patch of cloud was slowly pushed across the sky, and the moon glowed brightly. She smiled down at the hunter as he gazed at her in return.

Dean lowered his gaze.

He stood there for only a moment longer then turned, shutting the passengers door behind him and walking across the front of the car. He pulled the door open and plopped down in the drivers seat, exhausted.

He hadn’t expected it, but a soft smile graced his features as you scooted closer to him, wresting your head against his thigh.

Starting the car he pulled out from the curb, placing one hand on your head. You murmured then nuzzled into the touch.’

It would take weeks, maybe even months, but, as he sped away from Alastair’s hellhole Dean knew you would be okay.

Both of you, would be okay.

[whumpy-writings]

🍊 for Henri and Aaron, 💧 for Aldon and Micah

Thanks for the ask! This was super helpful! If anyone wants to send anything, prompts are here

CW: discussion of trauma, ptsd, noncon, nudity, torture, blood, bruises, scars, long term captivity, vampires, slavery, smoking, war, abusive parent, alcoholic parent, minor whump

🍊 Does your OC have any triggers? Why do these things trigger them? What are they like when triggered and how do they calm down after?

Henri: Most of Henri’s triggers relate to his time with his Old Master, whose favorite recreational activity was torturing Henri. A lot of the times Henri would be blindfolded and bound before being beaten, so those things will trigger him. His Old Master smoked an expensive brand of cigar, and that smell will also trigger him because he Master liked to smoke after he had finished beating him and Henri was laying bruised and bloody on the floor. Multiple vampires in the same room also tends to trigger him, because it reminds him of his Old Master’s parties, which were never pleasant. The sound of water dripping on stone reminds him of the days spent locked up alone in the cold cell. And finally fangs at his neck terrifies him because that was his Old Master’s favorite place to feed from, plus it’s where his scar from his failed escape attempt is. When triggered, Henri has flashbacks and these often end up leading to panic attacks. He cries a lot and sometimes forgets that he’s safe now. Aldon has taught him some breathing techniques that can help, but the most effective way for him to calm down is to be safe in Aldon’s arms. A nice cup of tea also helps.

Aaron: Aaron’s triggers tend to relate to his time in the breeding program. The words “breed” or “mate” send him into an instant spiral. He can’t be naked in front of other people because it reminds him too much of his body being used. Being called “human” or “017” is a trigger for him. The smell of blood also triggers him because of how pervasive it was while in the EFSP. Another big trigger is tight spaces. After his experience getting shipwrecked and then being trapped in the cellar for days until Micah rescued him, he has pretty bad claustrophobia. When triggered Aaron either dissociates or lashes out. To calm himself down, he tends to count. His all-time record for counting was when he got to 1,000 after a particularly rough day.

💧 What is something from your OC’s past they’re the most ashamed of and why? What is something they’re really proud of? And lastly what is something in their past that could make them shake with dread?

Aldon: Aldon is most ashamed of an incident when he was at the academy and a human was killed. He feels like he should have been able to stop it, but he didn’t . Aldon is proud of the work he’s done in the army. Even though he absolutely hates killing and also feels an immense amount of guilt about it, he does believe that he has been able to save a lot of people’s lives through his leadership. Though never as many as he would like. Aldon’s also really proud of the progress Henri’s made. When he first got Henri the poor human was thoroughly traumatized and absolutely terrified. But he’s made so much progress! He’s not afraid of Aldon anymore, he actually speaks his mind, he’s learning to read. Aldon is super proud of him. The thing that makes Aldon shake with dread is the Battle of Grange. It was one of his first battles when he was still only a lieutenant, and it was awful. He’s told Henri a little about it, but there is a ton that he will never tell another soul.

Micah: He’s most ashamed of handing Aaron over to the EFSP. He knew that Aaron would be hurt there but he felt like he didn’t have a choice. Micah is most proud of using his army salary to buy a house for his siblings. It’s on a quiet street in the city and is warm and dry, something he never had growing up. Micah did not have a happy childhood, so remembering it is dreadful for him. Micah’s father was a raging alcoholic, and would often come home from the bar irate. Micah would lay awake waiting for his father to come home, filled with fear because he knew that he or his siblings would be beaten. As the oldest, Micah would try to protect his siblings by letting his father beat him instead of them. He still can’t stand the smell of whiskey.

(Tagging because this got really long and has a lot of fun character tidbits! Let me know if you only want to be tagged in full chapters) Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @whots-a-tag-precious @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @kittysselfships @puffball-lover554 @itsleighlove

[luvteez]

at your service

pairing: san x fem!reader genre + tags: smut | humiliation (in the form of wearing a maid costume bc san is a kinky weeb), begging, master kink, cockwarming, edging, unprotected sex wc: 2.2k

A smirk creeps on San’s lips the moment the door flies open. He’s made himself comfortable on the bed, legs crossed and head resting against the headboard. Before he can let out the comment that’s been lying heavy on the tip of his tongue, you lash out first.

“I fucking hate you for making me wear this.”

“Yes, you told me that around six times already,” he drawls, visibly amused by the situation. “But we had a deal. You lost, so suck it up.”

The neckline plunges too low for your liking, and the skirt — can it even be considered a skirt? — is so short that you’re bound to flash the panties you’re wearing underneath whenever you as much as dare move. Perhaps you’d find the garter belt cute, if only you weren’t wearing it with this skimpy version of a maid uniform. How much did San pay for this? Actually, you don’t want to know.

San gets off the bed, eyes trained on you the entire time. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth once his gaze settles on your exposed legs, making you clench your thighs together. The way he blatantly eye-fucks you has you growing wet, and you fucking hate it. It’s one thing to be put through this humiliation, but wearing this maid outfit and being aroused? Your ego can only take so much.

Once he’s standing in front of you, the power imbalance couldn’t get any more obvious. There’s him, wearing a nice dress shirt with the top buttons undone and black jeans, and then there’s you in nothing but a slutty rendition of a servant costume. The look he sends you makes you tear your eyes away from him and heartbeat rise to your ears, and you just hope for the better that he doesn’t point it out.

Luckily, he doesn’t. Instead, he circles around you, giving you a once-over from every possible angle. It’s silent, save for the sound of San’s footsteps bouncing off the walls. You wait for him to say something with bated breath, but that never comes. Eventually, he stops right behind you, and you’re pretty sure he’s fixated on the part of your ass that the skirt doesn’t cover.

The silence is deafening, unbearable even, but you don’t plan on losing this unsaid game. If San already has you dressed as degradingly as it can get, you’re not going to entertain him any further. But then an arm wraps around your waist and pins your back against his chest, while another hand snakes down under your skirt and cups your covered cunt. You manage to bite back a moan at the sudden contact, but your body betrays you with how you jolt.

“Cute,” San snickers, before propping his chin on your shoulder. “Just adorable.” His breath is hot against your neck as he continues to put his fingers to use. He traces your folds over the panties that are slowly turning damper by the second, toys around with your clit, and even dares to shove some of your underwear into your entrance once you’re leaking enough to his liking. You struggle to stand still on both legs as he does how he pleases, deadset on withstanding him, even if this torture is the cost. 

“I hate you,” you say through gritted teeth, but it comes out rather comical when your knees finally give up on you and you lean on him for support. The subtle moan that follows suit doesn’t help either. San only smiles against your skin before he pushes your underwear aside and slides two digits in you. The messy technique is all over the place, but he curls his fingers in all the right angles and hits all of your weak spots precisely, reducing you into a panting wreck. You throw your head back, overwhelmed by everything that’s going on, and when he pays attention to your clit again, you’re on the verge. 

You’re so close that you can taste your sweet release, but then he stops. You’re about to complain because you know full well what he’s done, but he beats you to it first.

“Come again? What did you say? You’re my maid now, so you better act like one. This is part of the deal after all.” Although he’s muttering in your ear, he enunciates every single syllable with clarity that makes your skin crawl. “Apologize.”

You know exactly what he’s after. San wants to break you. wants to crush your pride and make you his little bitch. You’d put up a longer fight, but your mind is just revolving around sansansan and the desperate want to come. 

“Forgive me.” You cringe at how small your voice sounds, defenseless even. 

“Forgive me...?” he echoes as his fingers start to move again, albeit at a much slower pace than before. You’re confused by the implication, and turn all cogs in your brain in hopes of finding the answer. 

Oh.

Oh.

The daunting realization must’ve flashed across your face because San encourages you to speak. If only you could turn your head and face him, you’d give him a piece of your mind. Not that it would’ve been effective anyway, since he has you locked in his hold.

He whispers the first syllable of the word, and you gasp. Your suspicions were right all along, but the confirmation makes you burn up even more in embarrassment. He’s really trying to stoop you down onto the lowest level. 

But you can do it. you tell yourself you can do it. After all, a deal’s a deal.

“M-master. Forgive me, master.”

San wasn’t prepared for the delivery, judging by the way he flinches. To your dismay, he pulls out entirely, leaving you gaping, and the growl that follows is borderline feral. “You’re the maid, not me. You’re the one who should be doing all the work. If you want to cum, then earn it.” With that, he lets go of you before heading back to the bed. 

You’re at a loss of words. All you can do is stare at him as he makes himself comfy on the bed again, but you quickly scramble to him when he motions you towards him with a flick of his hand. 

“What do you want me to do?” San cocks a brow as if to say is this your best? and you quickly rephrase. “Is there anything I can help you with... master?” The word feels so foreign on your tongue, doesn’t slip the right way. You hate how it’s enough of a confirmation that he has the upper hand; a confirmation that you’re nothing but his little servant. 

He smiles lazily. “Sit on my cock.” And that’s all it takes to have you straddling him. You don’t waste any time pulling his pants down along with the black briefs, letting his length spring out. He’s fully hard and flushed red, just looking inviting to suck on, and it has your mouth watering. But then: “Keep the uniform on.”

Of course it was too good to be true. There’s no way San would let you forget who’s in absolute charge here. You can’t complain though, because you’re getting dicked earlier than expected. 

You manage to slide him inside of you without any complications. Breathy moans leave his mouth as you take him in inch by inch, and the way he struggles to lie still is a tiny victory for you. Meanwhile, the way his cock stretches you out has you whining in pleasure, and your head is only spinning around sansansan by the time you’ve taken him up to the hilt.

“Can I— do you want me to move, master?” 

Maybe it was because you got your hopes up to high, but you can’t help how disdain spreads all over you when San reaches for his phone on the nightstand. “No. Sit still.”

And just like that, he dismisses you nonchalantly and starts tapping rapidly on his phone; as if having you sit on his cock while wearing a maid outfit is a daily occurrence. Your jaw nearly drops when you realize he’s fucking texting. You’re about to speak up, but then the thought of him chastising you because you’re supposed to be a maid pops up in your brain. He’d definitely do that, and he’d definitely punish you too. The question is, how far is he willing to go?

You don’t want to find out. 

So you sit still, losing track of time. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on his lap, trying your best not to think about his cock pulsing in you, but it must’ve been a fucking while when San suddenly tilts his phone, thumbs no longer moving. That’s when you become acutely aware of the camera facing you, and you can’t help but wonder what on earth he’s watching. 

Or what if he’s filming you—

That thought has you unknowingly clenching your walls, and you inhale sharply as you realize he’s still snug in you. Luckily, San doesn’t stir, and that realization has you going on your rounds. Maybe if you do it one more time and he doesn’t budge, you could get away with it—

“A-are you recording?” The words are spoken out loud before you even realize it.

San looks up at you and tilts his head. “No, I’m not. Why?” His voice is dripping in innocence, but then he lifts a brow and you know you’re doomed. “Do you want me to record you? Does it turn you on? Is that the reason why you keep tightening around me? Why you’re quite literally dripping on my cock?” 

Your heart almost stops dead in its tracks. So he noticed the entire time.

“Please let me move, master. Please,” you blurt out, no longer caring about your fucking dignity. “Please let me come on your cock. W-want master to fuck me dumb and show me my place.” The number of times you said please in the last few seconds is pitiful, but you don’t find it within you to care. 

“That would imply that you were thinking in the first place. If you weren’t stupid, you wouldn’t have insulted me and said you hated me.”

“You’re right, master, I wasn’t thinking earlier. Please,” you beg, vision slowly getting blurry. San truly outdid himself and got what he fucking wanted, reducing you to the point where you’re so desperate you’re about to cry. Of course you’re desperate because there’s a cock filling you up but you’re not being fucked. And as if that wasn’t hell in itself, you’re wearing this godforsaken maid outfit because you lost a bet.

“Ssh, I got you, baby.” San’s eyes instantly soften and there’s fondness lying in them. You know what he’s about to ask, but you quickly give him the green light to continue. He mouths you an ‘okay’ and reassuringly squeezes your hand before settling both of his hands on your hips. 

There’s a playful glimmer in his eyes, and then he sets back into character, smugness written all over his face. “You want me to fuck you dumb? I’m gonna fuck your brains out, alright.”

In a split second, his grip on your hips tighten. the next thing you know, he snaps his hips against you, and you’re sent three dimensions over. 

His cock manages to reach you even deeper if that’s humanly possible, and you sob. Your moans overlap with his grunts as he thrusts in and out of you at a brutal pace. You barely find the energy to keep your body up, and it’s all San’s doing as he slams your hips down on him. Eventually, he manages to flip your positions around so that you’re pliant underneath him. He doesn’t let down with the intensity when he fumbles for your clit, and your eyes roll back as you feel your orgasm approaching. 

And just a few seconds before you unravel, he pulls his cock out entirely. Fighting back the tears welling up in your eyes, you choke when he nudges his head against your clit. Precum dribbles down your slit and mixes with your own slick, reminding you that he’s not letting you come again.

“Why?” you wince. San is unfazed by your desperation.

“You wanted me to show you your place, didn’t you?” He slides his head along your slit for good measure, and raises his voice to add, “I’ll show you your place and give you what you want if you do what master wants.”

Despite the buzz in your head, you get the underlying order. San isn’t fucking around and means business, always has, so you muster up the energy to ask, “What do you want, master?”

The sly grin he flashes is the only thing you see. “I want you to say my name over and over again. And once you’ve said it loud enough, I want you to scream it.” He gently grabs your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “I want the whole neighbourhood to know who’s making you feel good.”

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 7

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

TW for this chapter: Suicide Attempt

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 7 - Panic in the Medicated Bath

Song Qingshi searched the warehouse all night and finally found old robes made of red ice silk. He dismantled the decorative formation above, handed it over to the valley servants, and asked them to modify them to look like inner robes overnight. Then, he quietly put them on the bedside of Yue Wuhuan along with the new cotton gown.

The next day, Yue Wuhuan was shocked when he saw this ice silk robe.

Song Qingshi has urged him up from outside the door: "Hurry up, let's go for a new treatment."

"Yes, Master." Yue Wuhuan knew that he had changed masters, so he didn't dare to think too much. He put on his clothes and went out in a hurry, feeling much more comfortable in this outfit.

Song Qingshi took him through the corridor and went to the alchemy room next door. This was originally a forbidden place in the Medicine King Valley. A place where the original body used animals and humans to experiment with various medicines. It was also the place where the valley servants were most afraid of entering. Song Qingshi complied with the "Declaration of Helsinki" and rejected any human experiment that violated ethics. Fortunately, when he took over being the Medicine Master, there were not many test items left by the original body. He immediately released what he could release and helped those that needed help, and then changed it to a treatment room. The remaining specimens and general teachers are placed in other rooms - these were the big treasures of medicine, and he would study slowly when he had some free time.

Yue Wuhuan was walking towards the alchemy room and found that more than one valley servants cast sympathetic glances his way, and he became a little nervous. After entering the alchemy room, when he saw Song Qing take out a medicine vat big enough to fit a person in, he became more paranoid.

Song Qingshi didn't notice his anxiety. He threw the various medicinal materials that had been counted ahead of time into the tank, then poured water and used the alchemical fire in his body to control the temperature. After the water in the tank turned red, he turned back and said: "Take off your clothes and get in."

Yue Wuhuan stood still, his eyes stiffened when he looked at him.

"Don't be afraid," Song Qingshi finally remembered that he had forgotten to explain. "The Prince’s Plume Expelling Decoction is a medicinal bath. It won't cause discomfort."

Yue Wuhuan hesitated for a moment before stretching his hand to the belt and untying it.

Song Qingshi turned around, sat down with his back to him, not peeking at him entering the bath.

Yue Wuhuan breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly removed his clothes, and stepped into the bloody medicinal water. The hot liquid medicine penetrated into the skin, causing a slight tingling sensation, but there was indescribable comfort. He took a deep breath, relaxed completely, and suddenly sank his whole person into the water. He didn't expect that the water would overflow because it was too full. It splashed on Song Qingshi’s neck, ears and hair. A pale red flower blossomed on his white robe.

For most Daoists, the robe was a very important thing and any damage would cause heartache.

Yue Wuhuan realized his mistake and sneaked out of the water quietly. He hid in the tank and peeked out, worried that he would offend Xianzun.

Song Qingshi didn't care what happened. He stared at the bluestone on the ground in a daze. After a while, he discreetly shook the water droplets on his hair.

Yue Wuhuan picked his words carefully and asked cautiously: "Master, will you turn around so that this slave can clean you?"

Song Qingshi lowered his head and looked at the bluestone more attentively: "You are bathing, you can't peek." In his world view, it was reasonable for doctors to check the patient's physical condition during treatment, but if the doctor peeks at the patient trying to take a bath, it was morally corrupt and shameless.

Yue Wuhuan pondered these words for a long time, and guessed: "Does Master dislike that this slave's body is too dirty?"

Song Qingshi shook his head and whispered: "You don't like being watched."

"Master jokes." Yue Wuhuan's eyes hardened, and he was silent for a moment, peeking out of the water. His long hair wet sat on his shoulders, just like a mermaid who just came out of the sea. His body was otherworldly, and his muscles were perfectly proportioned with no hint of fat. His waist was slender enough to be held with one arm, but there was hidden power inside. He leaned against the edge of the bath, approached Song Qingshi’s ear, blowing lightly. His phoenix eyes were extremely charming, the red tear-shaped mole was so gorgeous that it could charm people’s hearts, and his voice was as tempting as the devil. "What is there not to see on this slave's body? The people who have seen it. . . there were too many to count. They all say that the slave's body is very beautiful and defined, and it can stop a man in his tracks. It was made to be adored. . ."

Song Qingshi quickly interrupted him, repeating: "You don't like being watched."

After Yue Wuhuan watched him for a long time, he said hoarsely: "This slave doesn't care anymore."

Song Qingshi didn't know how to explain, but insisted: "You don't like it."

Can he refuse just because he doesn't like it?

Yue Wuhuan thought this was ridiculous. In the years when he was just sent to accompany guests, he was coaxed to say that he didn't like it and didn't want it. The result was only meant to find his weaknesses for their amusement.

He didn't like to be seen, so that meant he was forced to show the most unbearable postures to everyone in the square and at banquets time and time again.

He doesn't like saying those lewd things, so he was tortured by various drugs and instruments of torture until he learned to use his voice to add to the excitement. . .

Until he abandoned his sense of shame, gave up his dignity, and pretended to enjoy these things.

He had known for a long time that in the eyes of these stupid cultivators, he was just a beautiful toy, without emotions, existing just to be moulded into whatever his master wanted. He often wished that he could go mad and be stupid, like most slaves, and lose his ability to think. He could mindlessly live a dog-like life and using his body to please his master.

It's a pity that there was always a trace of clarity in his heart, coldly examining his embarrassing self, and then cutting him to pieces. . .

Maybe he had already gone crazy. . .

He couldn’t tell when the fire rose slowly. The temperature of the potion was getting hotter and hotter. Yue Wuhuan’s face also became hotter and hotter, but he couldn’t feel the scorching heat and dipped his head into the bloody-red potion until water flooded up his nose and he couldn't breathe. He didn't want to get up, hoping to just stay submerged forever so that the hot water could clean the filth off his body, preferably right down to his bones.

Song Qingshi noticed something was wrong from the quietness behind him. He turned his head and found that he had been distracted when they were speaking and did not control the Red Lotus fire well. The water temperature rose several degrees and it was so hot that Yue Wuhuan had disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Song Qingshi didn't move cautiously, got up and rushed over, reaching into the tank to get the person out.

The wet beauty was dragged into his arms. His eyes were closed and his limbs drooped feebly. His long curling hair clung to his fair skin, dripping onto the ground, making the Acacia Seal on his back shimmer. Song Qingshi's mind was clear. He quickly laid the person on the ground, confirmed he still had a pulse and started CPR.

Yue Wuhuan spit up water and opened his eyes. He was surprised to find that Song Qingshi’s face was so close to his. He could even see his own reflection in his clear, black eyes. Because of the heat from the tank, Song Qingshi's eyes were heated and red, with water droplets clinging to his long eyelashes. He looked like a naive and innocent boy, nothing like an ancestor of the Nascent Soul sect who had practiced for nearly a thousand years, deceiving and cheating death itself.

He hadn't recognized the other party's true identity by the river at the time. He had wanted to sympathize with a man who would never experience an unjust death.

Yue Wuhuan's thoughts became more and more chaotic. He curled up subconsciously, and all kinds of messy memories flashed in front of him. The tenderness in his chest and the remaining warmth on his lips made him a little confused between reality and his memories as if he had returned to when he was punished by his masters.

Scholar-Tyrant Song almost failed his class, so scared that his soul almost flew away. His movements were as fierce as a tiger, relying entirely on instinct. After Yue Wuhuan woke up, he breathed a sigh of relief. However, he realized that there were many ways to treat drowning in the world of cultivating immortals, and there was no need to use modern first aid at all.

He wouldn't be able to clearly explain this. . .

It was standard for medical students to perform CPR on a drowning victim. Regardless of whether it was someone beautiful or ugly, a child or an old man, he would do it without hesitation. Song Qingshi was a little embarrassed that he hadn't figured out the best first aid technique for the immortal world ahead of time, but he can worry about that later. He just had to figure out how to explain it.

Yue Wuhuan had lost the focus in his eyes. He slowly unfolded his body, no longer covering it up, like a fish that was forcibly dragged ashore to die, preparing to be slaughtered.

Song Qingshi quickly turned his face away, closed his eyes, and apologized honestly: "I'm sorry, I made a mistake with the temperature of the water."

"It's not Master's fault," Yue Wuhuan's eyes were open, but he couldn't make out anything around him. He was listening, but he couldn't understand what was being said. He repeated his standard answer, "It's my fault, it's my fault. . ."

This is the truth that he had paid a heavy price to learn and had been instilled in him over and over again, always reminding him how to live.

"Wuhuan, you are so beautiful, you were born to be played with."

"Wuhuan, it's your body that seduces men, so it must be abused."

"Wuhuan, it's because you are so aloof that it makes me not want to stop."

"Wuhuan, you are a monster born for sex."

"Yue Wuhuan, it's all your fault."

"Yue Wuhuan, it's all your fault."

. . .

"My fault, my fault, my fault. . ." Yue Wuhuan kept repeating numbly, "It's all my fault."

Because he was the wrong that existed in the world.

Song Qingshi took off his robe and put it on Yue Wuhuan, and suddenly realized that the mental state of the person in front of him was very fragile, as though he were caught in a terrifying trap. He thought for a while and gritted his teeth. He stretched out his hand to slap him but hesitated, so he got up and brought a bucket of cold water next to him. He used the freezing technique and poured it down suddenly over his head. Yue Wuhuan was shocked by the cold, and his mind cleared somewhat. Song Qingshi took the opportunity to give him the Tranquil Mind Spirit Calming Pill to take.

"Master?" Yue Wuhuan came to his senses, a little confused.

"It's okay." Song Qingshi took the towels and clothes he had prepared earlier, wrapped him up layer and layer like a dumpling, and then gave a rational explanation, "You were hallucinating because you almost drowned."

Yue Wuhuan nodded blankly.

Song Qingshi determined that he had wrapped the dumpling tight enough. He stopped, satisfied, and ordered: "Wear more in the future."

Yue Wuhuan looked at him and asked anxiously: "This slave can wear more?"

Song Qingshi eagerly educated him: "Autumn is coming soon. It's going to be cold. You must wear more to avoid catching a cold."

"Thank you Master for your pity." Yue Wuhuan responded softly as soon as he was sure that he was not toying with him. He clutched his clothes tightly. For some reason, he suddenly remembered that when he first entered Golden Phoenix Manor, he was forced to take off all his clothes and was reduced to being a plaything.

Now, this seemingly deceptive man had personally helped him put on his clothes piece by piece, as though he were trying to convince him of something. . .

Because the medicated bath had been interrupted, the effect had not been fully achieved.

Song Qingshi busied himself adding water to the medicine tank and re-adjusting the temperature.

Yue Wuhuan sat quietly on the ground watching him work for his sake, lost in thought. Suddenly, he later realized that the never-ending burning sensation in his body had died down. He moved his body slightly and was surprised to find that the sensitivity caused by drugs had also greatly decreased, and the friction of the cloth was no longer causing him discomfort.

He tried to find an answer, but couldn't understand it. He finally plucked up the courage to ask, "Master, what is the purpose of the Prince's Plume Expelling Decoction. . .?"

"Huh?" Song Qingshi stopped and froze for a while. He found that he had again fallen into the scholar-tyrant's bad habit. His mind was moving too fast. He always felt that others would understand as long as he gave a name or an answer, regardless of whether others were following his thoughts or not.

Song Qingshi was a good academic who knew how to accept his mistakes and correct them. He reorganized his words several times in his mind and chose the simplest explanation, "Your body has been corroded by many drugs, so it causes great discomfort. The Prince's Plume Expelling Decoction can be used to remove the drug residues in your body. This medicinal bath needs to be taken five times, and the last two times will be taken with Muscle Generating Flower and Snow Toad Cake added to help repair the old wounds. When that happens, it might be itchy and uncomfortable but we can't use anesthetics. Don’t worry, you just need to endure that stage, and the body will return to its original state. . ."

Song Qingshi couldn’t bear to say it: Those people didn’t care about whether Yue Wuhuan lived or died. All kinds of aphrodisiacs were used uncontrollably on him, causing conflicts of various drug properties in his body and residual excess. If the drugs had continued to be used, he wouldn't have made it another few years.

"I was overdosed on drugs. . . Yes, they thought I was boring," Yue Wuhuan wrapped his clothes tightly around his frame, reluctant to let go. He hesitated for a long time but decided to control the unwillingness in his heart and explain clearly what Song Qingshi would figure out sooner or later. He was so confused that he once again forgot how he was supposed to address himself, "Master, without the medicine, my body will not respond to men. You won't be able to find pleasure in me. I-I'm not used to those things, only with the help of drugs. . ."

Song Qingshi interrupted his incoherent speech: "Don't do things that make you uncomfortable."

"You don't need to be nice to me." The more Yue Wuhuan opened his heart, the more fear he felt. He was like a bewildered child, desperately saying, "I have nothing, the only thing I can give you is this body. . ."

Song Qingshi realized that he wasn't in a good emotional state right now and turned away. He knew he should do psychological intervention now, but the words in his heart that he had practiced thousands of times all disappeared the minute he opened his mouth. He couldn't say anything sweet and comforting. He was clearly extremely upset, but in the end, his thoughts could only be condensed into two words: "You have."

The Yue Wuhuan in his heart was the kid who had practiced his swordsmanship under the peach blossom tree, the boy who dreamt of becoming a cultivator with a mortal body.

The Yue Wuhuan he saw in his eyes was a soaring phoenix in the heavens, the brightest star in the night, but with its wings broken and covered in dust.

Song Qingshi walked step by step, firm in every step.

Yue Wuhuan tried to force himself to calm down, but he couldn't stop his body from trembling, and he wanted to retreat.

Song Qingshi squatted down on his knees and looked meaningfully into his eyes.

Yue Wuhuan felt that he couldn't retreat.

Song Qingshi promised word by word: "I will and return to you whatever you had before, and I will give you everything you want."

Yue Wuhuan's breathing became short. He still couldn't understand what this promise meant, but he understood the seriousness and determination in Song Qingshi's eyes. He asked carefully: "What do you need me to do?"

Song Qingshi asked: "Don't try to commit suicide again, okay?"

Yue Wuhuan thought for a long time and finally nodded.

[retelling-of-ragnarok]

|| EVEN MORE INJURY MEMES

[ FIND ] : for sender to rescue receiver after they’ve been tortured.

with: @lured-into-wonderland

【 i done goofed and messed up my response. so i’m doing it this way. 😌 also you were right in your ask! vulnerable Gwen is a v rare sight, even with the options you gave. But I went with the more interesting one. 😎 】

The only sounds Gwen had heard for a while were the dripping sounds of water from the dungeon walls, and the striking sounds of whips. The occasional sounds of electricity and warping heat still rung in their ears as well. Thankfully, they had managed to keep their wounds from bleeding out too badly with breathing techniques and muscle contractions, but it didn’t stop the fact that it hurt.

“Hah… This sucks. I don’t even know what time it is.”

The pain, dull throbbing, and vulnerable position they were in weren’t what was bothering them. Instead, it was the intense boredom that really irked them. Though, once they heard footsteps coming down the dungeon hallway, they suspected their tormentor had come back; but once they got a good listen, they knew it wasn’t. They were a lot softer than the others. Once the door opened though, they saw a face they weren’t prepared to see.

“Well now, there’s a familiar face.”

How did Nunnally even get down here? They were in the basement of some Wolf Clan aristocrat… For her to be down here was quite an interesting turn of events— So they decided that this would be a good time for them to leave. They swung from where they were dangling— Shackles attached to their wrist, which were then attached to the ceiling. After a few swings, their arms came down with incredible force, yanking the chains from where they hung— as well as breaking the bindings that held their ankles together. While they could also actually remove the metal from their wrists and ankles, they’d rather not reveal too many of their tricks. Instead, they broke the chain from the shackle part, so it won’t be dangling.

After setting themselves free, they stretched their arms and legs, as their eyes scanned around for something to cover their back. All they were dressed in where the pants they wore earlier today, everything else had been confiscated. They hated being exposed like this, but at least their assailants hadn’t removed their gloves. When they couldn’t find any sort of clothing item or cloth, they just said to hell with it… They could disguise it with magic they supposed, but it’d be around two or three hours before they would start to run out of steam.

They reached their arms back, in a motion like they were popping their back. And once their hands touched their back, a thin layer of ink spread across it, effectively blending it in with the rest of their skin.

Finally, after composing themselves, they turned to Nunnally once more, letting their hands fall to their pockets. With a raised brow, their eyes scanned her suspiciously. Her being was always confusing and mysterious to them to begin with.

“So… What brings you down here? You aren’t affiliated with these people, are you?”