#keep her ‘locked up in a cage like a bird’

[wingedfuncomputer]

The Outskirs of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

WarningsNSFW: slow-burnish, naive!reader, if you squint fluff, racist undertones, racism, reader has a mean father, manipulative! Remmick, blood, dub-con, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), corruption kink?, somnophilia, No actual P in V, violence, vampirism, death!, nightmares, injury!, biting, Angst, spit, !reader is not black due to family dynamic

Word count: 14.6k Fic playlist!

From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacting the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled you had halted confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir". You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man behind the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving". Your heart ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him and get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled your father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady ?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property". 

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him. You yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands goes up to your fathers arm as you can see his anger exalted, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger weighs in on yours before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside once more. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once more offering a look of apology.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. " 'coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage nothing to do with your lack of a response. " of course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks. "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pregnant pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time... that is no way to be treated". He just smiles a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet, tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. staying around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you. The strangers eyes are trained on your every twitch, chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your father. It was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind trying to thinking If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go back out in town for food or what not for he farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

You still hear it even after many days of accepting. The way his finger nail clicked on the fence doors metal handle, his words not menacing or inviting just there looming behind your brain and the stillness that overtook the night. He was your secret, like a little frog you hid beneath your bed covers from your father when you were younger. Except he took cover in the coop with the chickens and he was no frog... just a man with everything he'd lost weighing on top of his shoulders. And like those slimy little animals you gave him food and water usually late at night when your father wouldn't suspect a thing, not that he cared much for your safety.

The arrangement went well the chicken massacre was over in just short of days. You were given permission to go back in town and here you found yourself in the shop owned by colored folk. Your pops would be yelling at you through the top of his lungs but he wasn't here who would scold you then? He couldn't tell the difference between the white peoples and the not so white peoples food. It was all the same. You got a few stares here and there but didn't pay much mind your eyes were encapsulated by a nice pocket watch. Not too big to cost lots of money but still a good size your sure Remmick would benefit from this for his travels. "Well well don't tell me the fine lady got a man now?" You clutch the fine piece of metal in your hands but relax once you realize it's Genevieve a worker of the shop you've grown fond of. You shake your head trying to fight the blush surging on your face, "oh no nothin' of the sort just for a friend!". Her arms cross in front of her chest giving you that look of suspicion. "That's how it starts then next thing ya' know you'll be popping those babies out like a damn industrial machine". She speaks with a reminiscent tone. She was a mother of a new born with a doting husband they didn’t have much they were all she ever needed.You can't help but stifle your giggle, the idea of being that way with the Irish man hiding in your barn seeming much too far. Not that it hadn't cross your mind you were just a woman after all and he was a handsome man. "I barely even know him, just a  few days n' countin". Her eyes widen with a smirk, "so there is someone!". You both walk towards the register that seemed to be isolated from the other part of the establishment. "He must be real handsome to be worth all this money. A real dream," she says sarcastically while she has the watch in her hand. You lay the rest of your groceries on the isle next to the register. It was pretty but out of your tax bracket maybe not your fathers but You're sure he'd notice right away on your big spending when the plentiful groceries were baren when you'd bring them back. "...your right, I'm dreamin' far too big " you let out self deprecatingly

"Aint nothin' wrong with dreamin' big, though I have to admit this gift is more of a husband typa gift. Unless... he be your husband?". "No...". She can see you grow a bit ashamed so she puts the watch back in a secure place before she brings out a straw cowboy hat. "You don't see these round here much, but very good for hard workin' men. Keep the sun out their face n' everythin'. Less than the watch... I'll even give ya a deal". If Remmick was traveling by foot your sure the sun would be unforgiving, could be easier to disguise the buy for yourself. Pops wouldn't bat an eye. "You make a good bargain I can't resist Genevieve".  Well most bargains you fell victim to. As you pay for your  things she puts the food in your home bag and places the hat a bit too big for your size on your head, flicking the edge. "Now go tell your man he'll have to make you a wife after this gift" you both laugh as you start walking away until her voice calls out to you right as your a few inches from the door. Turning around she gives you a tight hug which you try your best to return, "stay safe alright people goin' missing round here don't be one of 'em".

Her voice was soft and dripping with concern you thought about her warning as you walked back home. Still an hour or two till sun down which meant your father would be home soon. So quickly you got to cookin' dinner, a potato soup with corn on the side. Not the most cohesive plate but enough to fill the stomach up. With a rumble of an engine coming to a halt you knew he was home. Not so long after dragged in your father with no words exchanged sitting down to eat, you joined him in silence. Your heart was palpating as the sun finally set, in excitement of being able to see Remmick and giving him the hat you had bought him currently tucked away in your room. "Serve me 'nother plate" gruff cut and dry. "Yes sir" you got up going to the too small to even be considered pot with his bowl serving him more. As you placed it on the table there was no gratitude so you went back to your own bowl which you ate slowly. Once he was finished he left his plate deserted going upstairs to the washroom, the trickling of water alerted you to pass by the same room he was in to grab his clothes. The cold bucket of water outside was a perfect contrast to the slight humidity in the air. You tugged the large pants and shirt against the makeshift slab of wood and metal that helped scrape the clothes new. Even with the hair tie a few pieces of hair got in front of your face which you tried your best to shoulder out of the way. Maybe one day you'd run far from these grounds and start living not just slaving away doing chores. You squish the clothes riding them of the water extending them before laying them up in the clotheslines. With a deep breath you take a chance to intake the sweet oxygen. the small sweat building up proving the job was just a bit harder than it seemed

He was watching from the darkness in the trees, the adrenaline once fresh in his veins now soothing and left nothing but a linger. It became a ritual he could never get enough of. Having kept you alive was fun. Not something that only lasted a few minutes but could be dragged on for as long as he liked. He was the reason you were standing there right now tired from your chores. Your pulse seeming to call him like some sort of siren in the ocean. His feet silent beneath the summer grass.

You pondered of what Genevieve had said earlier about the towns folk going missing. The hollowness in the air along with the hanged clothes obstructing your view of the forest surrounding your house urged you to go back inside. With a quick turn you didn't expect for Remmick to be at your side. Automatically you slapped your hands over your mouth successfully hiding your yelp. "You gotta stop doin that!" You try your best to whisper. His creeping was perfect no evidence of sounds being heard as if he were some sort of ghost, maybe a warlock with witchcraft tricks. He tries his hardest to bury his small laugh inside the depthless of his chest throwing his hands up in surrender noticing your frustration. "Ya must know I can't help myself doll". You notice the sweat buildup on his forehead and the little dirt on his face. Swiftly you take the cloth wrapped around your waist dipping it in the clean water remaining then stepped closer to him, wiping it across his skin. "I know you can't seem to keep yourself clean either" you expected him to sass back but instead he just stares adoringly at you as you finish up focusing on his sweaty bangs.  "Why would I? It'll probably be the only time you put your hands on me willingly, I'm trynna cherish it". his hand lifts up to your face caressing your cheek lightly before tucking that stray hair behind your ear. "That's not true.." your words died with his touch. His fingers on your skin make your heart skip a beat, body freeze and your throat run dry. He was being a flirt purposefully. Right? I mean he was usually this way just never so straight forward and touchy. As if knowing you were having a revelation he can't help but tilt his head and let his eyebrows raise.

"-your soup" you blurt out retracting your hand. Trying to unakwardfy the moment you clear your throat as you slowly walk away, "I'll bring you your soup, you must be real hungry n' I don't wanna make it grow colder". You don't give him enough time to respond shutting the door behind you, back pressed against the firm wood. Your hands come up to your chest, finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Uncertainty was growing in your head along with the small tingles that ran through your back from being do close to him .... Being able to see every pore, feel his touch his eyes and lips you'd bet he'd kissed many women in his life and you knew they had enjoyed it...how would it feel- enough! You push yourself off the door and get to pouring Remmick a bowl in a hastily manner. Your father's weight creaks under the wood floors but he pays you no mind instead goin' to sit on the small couch with his radio and newspaper in hand. The small grumbling of the static of voices was oddly comforting allowing you to carefully wrap a piece of corn on the cob around a rag. Before going outside you go upstairs to your room scouring for your knitted cardigan. It was a pretty shade of dirt brown with little specs of beige. As you slipped it on your eyes catch a glimpse of the cowboy hat you picked out for the ol' Irish man but decided against removing it from the edge of your bed. He’s just a stranger the voice in your head reminded you.

By the time you go outside once more you expect him to be waiting for you, in that same stance resting against the fence you've grown fond of but to no surprise it seemed he'd gone into the chicken coop early. You weren't sure why it made your heart weigh down on your chest. Though disappointed you don't let yourself fret, placing the bowl and corn right ontop the fence knowing he'd come out whenever possible. Maybe you should knock never know what if he just forgot. Your knuckles softly tapped on the wood not the one that belonged to the chicken coop but the fence. It wasn't to signal for him it was to merely trying to build courage for yourself to actually do so. Ultimately though you retreated back into your home.

Had he taken your abrupt leave as rejection? Was he bothered? Worse what if he no longer wanted to speak to you! Were the thoughts plaguing your mind throughout the day after. Juvenile ones you were ashamed to admit. "Tell me I'm a fool. Tell me I'm doomed please Genevieve" you whined to the woman you always came to bother. She was just a few years older but there was a certain maturity to her you loved like a mother. "Who's not when it comes to love, though I'd push back on the doomed.". "I wouldn't even say love, he's a complete stranger not even from here..". She halts the clothes she was folding completely, turning to look at you, "ya said he was your friend what do ya mean complete stranger n' not from 'round here ? ". It was stern as if the little small details you had mentioned about his appearance, sweet gestures and his "nightly visits" held no validity now. "Well he's not exactly my friend I've known for ages that's why I said stranger". But your poor excuse of a lie didn't faze her, immediately you cracked. "Alright I lied! I only know this man for a little less than 2 weeks he was just so sweet n' needed help but my papa don't like him so he's been staying in the coop where I keep all my chickens!". It was as if she was the one trying to catch her breath at your confession. "Before ya judge he's a very honorable man, he ain't do nothin' weird yet he helps keep the predators away from my small feathered friends n' I just provide him food, water ya know the basic necessities-" That's how you start telling her the whole story from start to finish of how that night when you met went down. All the nitty gritty and the pointless details.

"Oh child may the lord bless ya heart". You were unsure on how to react to her words, an akward smile hanging on your lips. "Is that meant in a good way or-?"  She cuts you off before you can finish. "What in the world ya thinking'! You must wanna visit your grave early girl". You try to scratch the nervousness away behind your neck as you dash your eyes around the store. "It's not as bad as it seems Gene I swear".  "Let me get this straight a man who came begging at your door, which your father kicked out, is now living in your barn house because he caught you late at night offered to help you protect your chickens so now your bending over backwards for him?". Even though you're afraid to you just nod. She sighs deeply, "I swear with the crimes appearin' round town I'd wish you'd be more careful". There's real sincerity in her voice which makes your tone turn a bit defensive. "I live on the outskirts news like that don't reach me so easily..". Theres a bit of silence in the air to make the gears in your head turn. "what exactly happened anyway?"

" some lady n' her husband near the outskirts aswell, don't know exactly where she lives.. or lived. No sign left of 'em  just blood n' their baby. Many said it was a Horrible horrible sight wouldn't wish it on anybody" your body can't help but let out a small tinge of sweat afraid of exactly what fate the babe had met . "So are both of 'em alive?". "No one knows.. as I said lots of blood but yet no bodies" there was a linger of thick air between the both of you, unspoken yet very heavy. "Should probably get home then, I'll keep myself safe". You both said your goodbyes and off you were right as the sun met the edge of the horizon. The walk back had been nothing but peaceful, a weird ambiance of sorts seeming to loom, even the quiet of the house had grown intimidating. Though rinse repeat of the previous days as you made dinner and your father came in the door, eating then leaving you be busied you away such thoughts. While your pops went to sleep earlier, you on the other hand find your place outside once more leavin' Remmicks food out on top the fence like you always did. You were collecting the hens eggs when you noticed the grid near the top of their little home was slowly but surely ripping off. While you stood up to inspect the spot you caught glimpse of Remmick far away walking towards you. You lift a hand up and he does as-well It makes you notice something wrapped around his back. Throughout his stay he would busy himself in the day, you never pushed yourself to ask. You didn't think it would be quite appropriate to know his day schedule, he never asked yours... well not that he had to ask, you always told him the night before.

"Busying yourself with the hens now are ya". You smile at his introduction to starting a conversation. He joined you inside the fenced perimeter. After just a day or two you had grown to miss his voice. "You may protect 'em but I still gotta clean 'em n'  their small home aswell. What's that you got?" You can't help but let your curiosity get the best of you especially when it came to something that looks like an instrument. He swiftly tilts whatever he has around so what looked like a guitar is now In front of him. With a small lean towards you he professes as if he were about to tell you something sacred, "this ol' thing is called a banjo, keeps me company late at night". Your eyes light up, repeating the instruments name in your head and the fact he hadn't lost his spark from a few days prior. Pops never allowed these kinda things here he told you a home was meant for quiet not to be filled with loud yapping and music. "Well you must play somethin' for me now". His fingers tap the edge of the banjo eyes locked onto yours before his voice grows husky. " beg real nicely n' I might just do it" your breath hitches at his words, eyes trailing down to where he was slowly rubbing small circles on the surface of the banjo. This minuscule action had you in a trance. What was he doing to you? What was this you were feeling growing deep in your bones at the depthness of your belly?

You did end up asking him, begging so sweetly he just couldn't resist to let you hear him play . A sweet tune you can't even remember the rhythm to, or his humming he offered. The only thing you were able to remember was the way his fingers strummed softly as you lay in bed. It was the last thing on your mind before the night gently coaxed you to sleep.

It was a fever that overtook your senses as you shifted back and forth in bed, sweat accumulating on your neck and forehead. An unexplainable throb growing between your legs while something wet slithered between yourself like the slits of a book. A plunge invading your most intimate part made you cry, head thrown back as your hips and hands tried to wrestle with this new feeling. It felt sinful, violating, a light sting causing pain, yet addicting. You didn't want it to stop, you didn't want the attack on your folds to end. A rumble, like a laugh made vibrations, shocks travel through your cunt inching that tightness in your stomach close to absolute destruction. You didn't want whatever was happening to stop. That's when you looked down, hands digging into a full set of sweaty hair, pulling to at least reveal the object of your greatest pleasure. Those ice cold eyes, toothy grin with a peculiar fang, his nose bridge. "Beg real nicely f’ me " he hushed his fingers still working overtime. But that's all you needed the puff of hot air on the place he had just been feasting right over your pearl. His eyes never leaving yours. Your moans grow, his name dying on your lips as all you can let out is strings of abnormal sounds as you feel your peak finally falling over.

A loud bang immediately has you sitting straight up in your small bed. "Sleepin' in is for the f*cking birds. Are you a bird?" You rub your eyes, still dazed from what your mind had just made you experience. Yet you know better than prioritizing regaining yourself quickly you groggily speak, "no.. no, I'm not sir". "Right your not so get your ass out the bed and start cleanin'!"  He mumbles out strings of insults as he finally leaves the confines of your room. From the way the sun is blaring you were sure it was closer to noon than your regular wake up time.

You do what he orders ignoring the wetness between your thighs. He leaves and you were sure he wouldn't come back till next morning or next days midnight. He always had the habit of leavin' when the weekend came. Who knows where, all you knew is when he'd come back he'd be drunk out his mind n' rage enough to feed a whole herd of cows with his hands... you find yourself with infinite amount of free time finishing with cleaning the whole house in records time. So you sit near a window gazing at the sunlight, the birds, grass and faint butterflies here n there. It was quite odd really you had never gone past the perimeters of your house grounds only sticking to your home, the trail leading to the town and the town itself. The woods surrounding your home were quite dark, the trees even from where you were sitting seemed to have claws for twigs, all sorts of poisonous plants were just a few distance away and the wild animals.. the ones who had killed 1/4 of your chickens. All danger, you didn't have to put yourself in front of. The chickens invaded your view making you realize you hadn't treated the hens to a proper clean. With a small groan you lift yourself off the window ledge grabbing the cowboy hat you had bought a few days ago. You still hadn't found the courage to give it to him, even though a bit loose around your head it had really proved itself useful with blocking out the sun just as Gene had promised. Especially like now that you were grabbing buckets of water back n' forth, cleaning with rags the outside of the house along with the old broom. Even with the shade created on your face it didn't stop the relentless rays from causing unexplainable heat.

"That darn metal wire" you huff out, mouth dry. When you had believed to be done you took notice of the even wired fence on the top of the hens coop looking in worse condition than before. Did I not take care of this? Before your anger can get the best out of you, shame takes over it instead trickling in big waves. Remmick and his banjo... that's what got me distracted.  You bite your lip scouring for pliers your father kept in a tool box near the coop. The sun was going down soon you told yourself you could catch a drink after you finish this last job. You have to really force your eyes to focus when extending yourself to try and reach the metallic fence. I won't replace it completely just wrap it around itself to keep any unwanted creatures out. Then I'll rest..

Your hands start to shake a bit and your calf's hurt due to you being on your tiptoes. Focus it's not that hard. Successfully you close 3 out of 4 wires needing one left. But then you hear a snap then a sharp sting running down your finger. You hiss in response and let the pliers go abruptly, which causes them to land on your foot. The overwhelming situation makes your breath lose evenness not helping the fight of lack of oxygen your lungs had already been dealing with. Your vision stars to be invaded by growing black splotches. "Sit.. I've gotta, do that..." so you do, hand tightly wrapped around your thumb both covered in that red essence. The sight of your not so little cut makes you grow even more light headed. Before you can even protest the darkness envelops you, too weak to even fight it your eyes gently flutter shut.

You feel it before seeing it. There's a huge pounding in your head that forces your lids to be no more than one centimeter open and a throb. Not a painful one, no one that expresses want on the southern side of your body. It's familiar, like the feeling you had freshly in the morning except unlike in your dream you clench on nothing. Only tingles you can grasp onto but it doesn't create satisfaction. what makes you drift your dazed eyes downward is the pressure felt on your thumb. It was hard to focus, everything was a blur you just catch the sound of wetness. Something holding your hand, it was draining you not just emotionally but physically. Subconsciously you moan it's soft and covered in the many layers of your throat yet this makes whatever is beneath you stop. As it looks up your corneas put in the work even if it's for just a split second. You see the silhouette of a man, unrecognizable with bright red eyes, mouth lightly covered in your dark essence and sharp teeth. It was human n' monster combined n' it was staring straight at you. Your system was beyond exhausted shutting you forcefully down again.

Your left in darkness for a while till you start stirring awake, something cold running across your forehead. "C'mon gotta see you wake up" that voice delights your soul a light murmur of his name under your breath. It earns you a warm grumbly laugh from the depths of his chest, "the one n' only darlin" . You identify the object pressing against your cheek as his hand you can't help but lean into it. Though you did not find absolute warmth you still enjoyed it. He brings a small cup up to your lips urging you to drink which you do. Your dry throat rejoices in the new source of water to quench your thirst. The slight flex to your hand which alerts you of a slight sting sends flashes of faux memories through your brain. The animal the thing sucking your hand or your thumb whatever it had been made you involuntarily jolt subsequently some water spilling on you from the cup. "Sorry, sorry" you quickly say between breaths your low energy not equipping fast reflexes. He quickly puts the cup down comforting you by rubbing his hands down the side of your shoulders. "Are you alright what happened?" You try to cough to hide the embarrassing way your voice wobbled. "I'm good 'just- I'm skittish remember?" You try to laugh it off but you can tell he doesn't buy it. He plays along though. This moment of silence allows you to completely regain your senses to see you were still outside, next to the coop in the last position you remember being in.

"I wrapped your thumb real good, shouldn't bleed no more ... what happened to ya? I swear when I walked up I thought ya were just bein' silly with me" ,you pull your injured hand closer to you at its mention. The pliers not so far from you push you to speak, "I was trynna fix some part of the chicken coop, cut myself, must've lost track of time given I've been out all day in the glazing sun..." the cancerous rays, the heat that seemed to be burning you from inside out. Your healthy hand slaps at your head finding it empty the ground at your sides makes contact with your hand aswell. "Lookin' for this sweet old cowboy hat?" His voice is cocky once you look up you realize why. The straw you bought for was on his head. Fits him perfectly not just around his skull but the way it also frames his face makes you believe it was made specifically for him in mind and he knows this. He can't miss an opportunity to tease,  "Might keep it suits me well, your little brain don't fill it" now it's your turn to not laugh at his attempt to bring light heartedness into the air. You were still disturbed by the weird dream like nightmare you had experienced, adding on your injury aswell both weren't a good combo. Yet even with this you try not to dwell on the way the edges of his mouth tilt downward at your lack of enthusiasm. "That's actually for you.. I was meant to give to ya some time ago 'just was a coward". His mouth does a whole 180 his frown no more instead plastered on is a bashful smile. One that didn't have arrogance, teasing or any ulterior motives behind it. "Well aren't you just the sweetest doll face". You can't help but let the blush roam freely at his praise until that warmth in your belly returns along with a headache. "I should get to bed" as you try to stand a light whince leaves your lips the fact your foot was aching due to the heavy metal pliers that fell on them earlier coming to your attention. Remmick aids you in order to walk out the fence. The chickens were locked in the coop already, his plate of food gone. You don't realize any of this since having your body pressing onto his makes your brain mush.

"I can take it from here, I had just forgot those stupid pliers fell on my foot"  you say as you finally reach the houses back door. He lets you go, "don't forget to clean that wound up tomorrow should help without your pops nagging early mornin'" you laugh and say goodnight the weakness in your bones catching up to you.

The next day right as the sun rises you sit in the kitchen table in silence. A news article from town you had collected left at your door and Alcohol from your father's stash on the table as you stare at the oddly physically pleasant gash infront of you. Something was odd, you've received your own fair share of cuts, scrapes and injuries none of them compared to this one. It was as if where the skin broke was just an illusion, no blood left to clean or seep out just your pink flesh beneath your skin. You shift in your seat recounting the lapping at your finger that sent tingles down to your feet. It was all so weird, you never had vivid dreams like those and you could still feel its presence around you. It's hunger, need to suck you dry... but was it your blood it wanted or your soul? You sound like a kid overanalyzing your nightmares. It was just a nightmare that was all, you told yourself. Plus if any weird animal had been near you Remmick would've of noticed. He would've done something. Would he?

Your brain seems to be enjoying playing devils advocate forcing you to shake your head and stand from the chair in disagreement. Though you connected that the newspaper you had read. 'Couple missing child dead' was who Genevieve must've been talking about. No longer wanting to let your brain to spiral out of control you decide a shower would probably serve you well. So you do just that letting the comforting hands of the water caress your naked body while the wound on your hand isn't affected by the soap. You hum to yourself a tune one you've never heard of before, didn't even know the words to yet your brain simultaneously did. Something so normal you did everyday made you wonder back to the couple from town. 'Bert and Joan' the article of their tragedy had mentioned their names. Were they vigilant knowing something would happen or were they doing their daily tasks like you were right now? They were probably enjoying day until someone decided to make a mess of their lives let alone a baby. Whoever had done that deserved the worst penalty a judge could offer. It sadness your heart too much that you push the subject to the back of your brain. After you brush your hair out and put a new pair of fresh clothes on you decide to take a look at the small box you kept hidden away in your closet. It was your mother's. The only thing you had left of her.

There's few letters you read over too many times to count while growing up, miscellaneous objects and a photograph. It was in black n' white starting to peel right over her face. This photograph had been the only thing that connected you to your mother. now all that was left was a still picture of her beautifully clothed frame and one quarter of her face. Maybe it was for the best, you didn't know much about her and your pops said she just up n' left one day. You still held onto hope. The way she wrote, expressing her emotions just didn't seem to coincide with the woman your father portrayed her to be. What catches your attention though is this book, very dusty n' old. The secrets of the past, your hands trail over the title indented on the cover. Looking at the table of contents it seems to be an explanation book for medicinal recipes, herbs, then towards the end of the book you see "creatures". While trying to flip the pages over to that section you go downstairs. It's past mid day, the sun still strong so you lay down on the couch. With the book in your hand you start reading about wendigos and skin walkers of the sort. Their stalking abilities, ways to manipulate their prey, sharp teeth, their need for human flesh. That specific part was underlined, someone had read this book with passion, little notes on the side, phrases circled. Maybe your mother or a familiar... while you continue your investigation somewhere along the way you knock out. Cold and surrounded by darkness there’s Voices that start to whisper in your ear. They're indescribable except for the way it sounds like they're reciting a prayer. There's no fear just tranquility their hushness proving comforting. You can't relish in it long until they start getting louder a tone of desperation infecting them. Then your name being repeated. You try to move, stir yourself awake but nothing works. Your heart beat rings in your ears taunting you along with their cries, blood curling screams. A voice overtakes all of them in screaming your name.

You sit straight up gasping for air, chest rising and falling dramatically. It felt too real the vibrations of their voices still living deeply inside your ear drums. There's no time left to help yourself focus on calming your tremors down until a knock echos through the living room. Your blood pressure spikes from the sound but you force yourself up. It was dark out making you realize your nap took more than what you believed. The floor creaks underneath your bare feet with every step you take. Once you reach the door you hesitate. What if I'm going insane with stress and you're just hearing things? It was dark out, you were alone with no way to defend yourself... you decide on the next best course of action. Peaking through the medium sized window the door had your fingers pushed the drapes aside eyes coming in contact with a man facing away but you knew that sweaty hair anywhere and the banjo strapped on his back.

Quickly you open the door relieved to see Remmick as he turns around the cowboy hat you'd given him in hand. "Hey sweetheart" but you don't give him a response. He notices your eyes darting left and right the way you fidget with your fingers as if trying to tie a rope. Due to the lack of communication back he speaks again, "you alright 'seem on edge?". You try to brush it off but he moves forward on the little steps located at the front of the door. "I'm here for ya, 'can tell me anythin' ". He was at your doorstep, close to your house something he never did because he was overly cautious of your father catching a glimpse at him. An unspoken rule. "don't forget to clean that wound up tomorrow should help without your pops nagging early mornin'"

"Should help without your pops nagging early mornin'"

"How'd ya know?" You ask before thinking. He's a bit taken back by the out of the context question. "What da ya mean?". "How'd ya know my pops wasn't here?" You can see the warmth in his eyes falter for only a split second subconsciously you stopped leaning towards him. He laughs in your face making you rethink the sudden hostility on your end. "Cars gone, got hurt yesterday with no one to help, he'd done somethin' similar last week? 'Don't know darlin' don't take a genius to figure this one out". You sigh in disappointment at yourself joining him in a chuckle. He was the only one who cared for you, never hurt you, someone you considered a confidant sort of like Genevieve back in town. "Sorry, don't know what's wrong with me   I've just been havin' these nightmares must be the stress.." you rub your temples dragging your hair away from your face. He quiets down his voice more cut dry and for the first time since you met him you heard him sound unsure "What these nightmares about... if you don't mind me askin' ". You look up at him once more eyebrows scrunching trying to recall. "I'm not sure.. uhh monsters, voices or somethin' it's odd" it's not that you didn't want to tell him, you just weren't so sure of it yourself."Well good things they're just nightmares" he hums as he seems to be analyzing you. His gaze made you surprisingly uneasy but this feeling dwindles as he chirps . "There's this place over by the forest, it's where I find myself more often than not ... throughout the day of course. It's real sweet with a stream, nice little area to sit n' sing where the air hits nicely. Would love to share my place of paradise with ya if ya'd want to f'course".

It seemed enticing, intimate, but the crickets in the air and darkness that seeped from the forest haunting the background made you shake your head softly, "sorry.. not today". You had never been one to deny him you were always so eager to please. He forces a smile, "I understand, im a man here asking a lady to take a stroll along the concealed forest alone in the late of the night" you can see him take a few steps down the small flight of stairs. "It's not that Remmick, I really would love to it's just..." you can't find the words, the excuse, because it didn't exist. "... just can't" The last string of events had scrambled your brain like eggs in the morning. You weren't sure what to put faith in. With this rejections you can feel the disappointment In the way his shoulders drop. "It's alright.. I'll be, heading to sleep then, go catch your own z's ". His poor excuse for a laugh following his words was awkward. You should reach out to him, grab his hand before he goes too far for you bare feet could reach. But you never do watching as he settles inside the fence you can only murmur a small "goodnight" that doesn't even reach his ears. the small click back from the door signifies your end of the night as you lock it. You don't glance at the clock just dragging your feet on the floor all the way up to your room. Unlike before where you would just knock your self out with boredom instead you are subjected to torture by your lack of a dormant brain. The inability to succumb to sleep being the perpetrator. You wasn’t insomnia just the fleeting thought of danger being near never leaving, it was like you knew something was bound to happen something terrible, but couldn't pin point exactly when. Your father hadn't come home, the stressful nightmares, remmicks odd behavior or was it yours? This was all too much to digest. You sit up from your bed abruptly standing no longer being able to force your eyes shut to pretend sleep. Hours have already gone by. A glass of warm milk would ease the nerves.

You didn't want to waste anymore time putting a small metal pot over the kitchen stove and fetched the milk pouring no more than a cup and putting the white gallon back in its designated space. With a repetitive tick the flames came to life putting in the work to heat up the milk. You sigh, the nightgown you had on was very weightless, soft and borderline sheer but breathable. It allowed the air from your bedroom fan to save your overheating skin in the night. The sudden feeling of your hairs sticking up from your arms and neck have you holding yourself in a hug. Face darting left and right to find anything to explain the cause but only the endless darkness is to find. You grumble turning off the stove not caring if the milk was treading the fine line between cold and warm. You chug it, big gulps no complains, it wasn't that usual warm feeling that traveled through your intestines just bland mildness. You slam the cup down having to drag your forearm to remove some of the excess. Sleep. Now go to sleep, your bedroom. You take steps to go back, the lights being right before the stairs working in your favor. Once you you hear the click your vision returns to being useless. Mind set on one goal finally catching sleep but a shuffle very soft that could be easily missed if not paying attention makes you freeze in place. There's an urge to turn but you tell yourself to keep going on your way for your own sake. Eyes forward move forward. You don't though, instead you slowly twist your head behind you out of curiosity. It was the same sentiment as being adamant on seeing a spider hiding below your bed instead of living in blissful ignorance and pretending its presence wasn’t there. Except this wasn’t a 8 legged friend. You were seeing eyes glowing back at you as clear as the stars in the night sky. They weren't a beautiful shinny white, odd green or blue like a wild animal.. no a menacing blood red. This should've sent you flying up the stairs but they're hypnotizing persuading you to stay a little longer. It doesn't move making sure you know that it sees you too. With the obscurity of the lack of light you can't make up much apart from its eyes, too far away near a window to even see if the creature was inside the 4 walls of your home or outside. A light breath leaves your soft lips, you could feel the blood rushing in your veins the way your pulse beats. Hesitantly you turn yourself back towards the stairs. This time you do what you told yourself, what you should’ve done in the beginning. Walking up you forbid yourself from looking back, making your way back to your bedroom you finally crawl back into the cold sheets. Your Dazed, staring at the ceiling while pinching your own arm to make sure you weren't in a dream. You were convinced you had officially gone insane. Nightmares are one thing, hallucinations are another. Must be the lack of sleep. You landed on that excuse and finally after a few long dragged minutes you felt the heaviness of your eyelids stars to weigh themselves down. You let it consume you but peace didn't follow.

There's a thud making shuffle but it doesn't sound loud enough to make your eyes open wide. Just squint until inevitably you groan, choosing slumber over worrying. Sleep.

A whisper tingles the shell of your ear . A breeze makes you shiver subconsciously clutching the sheets to keep you warm. That masculine voice around your ear is back again wrapping around your brain like a blanket of safety and security. Something slithers inside your inner thigh, caressing, teasing the supple skin making your breath hitch. It was soft and felt so right. You craved more, opening your body and soul up to the feeling letting it climb up and take as it pleased. No hesitation just need. An offering is what you were, letting it build a home inside, beneath your skin, allowing it the privilege to consume you. And it did, a sharp sting your mind can't even process correctly develops somewhere in your body. A sound comes from your mouth but was it from pleasure or pain?

Your eyes scrunched, a groggy moan ripping from your throat out of frustration. The bright day light hitting your cornea forcing you to wake. Whilst sitting up you crane your neck back and to the side feeling a temporary relief. You shut your eyes, smiling from feeling so free. Even if you were sleep deprived there was some sort of energy helping you feel content. Opening your eyes you pulled the covers off, standing, it isn't till your changing clothes you feel a cold sweat invade your body. While lifting the weightless satin dress you see two bigger than normal bites on your wrist. You could've brushed it off as a bug bite, some spider but you knew that for it to hold validity the spider would've had to been a huge tarantula and craving human flesh or blood. You feel your eyes water, this wasn't caused by a human or animal. So like some afraid child you quickly make haste putting on the necessities skipping brushing your hair and run out of your room ignoring a light stench in the air because your father was of greater concern . It wasn't long till mid day surely he'd be downstairs. "Papa..?" You hesitantly speak once in the living room but only silence greets you. In desperation you go to grab the back door to check outside and you find it unlocked. It was already a weekday today you had forgotten, he was probably at work probably came home and left, that would explain the unlocked door. But he if made it home he would've woke you up early. He hates when you oversleep. There's many thoughts racing in your head as you pace back and forth. You'd just go to the last place you knew he had probably visited, the town.

The roads hug your shoes as you walk by the side walk. As each person passes by you ask if they have seen your father describing him even trying to show them a a picture from home but they all either ignore you or seem far too uninterested. You had wrapped your arm tightly with a bandage to cover your bite which you couldn't help but tug on. It was creating an uncomfortable friction. There was a familiar sign across the street the likes of the people were much kinder there, Genevieve was a great example. But you knew you father wouldn't be caught dead on the other side of the road let alone in a shop full of "foreign useless people". So You go inside the white owned shop instead knowing he'd surely buy his liquor here. While going in you hold the door open for a woman and her child, the child mutters a cute thank you which you try to reciprocate with a 'your welcome' but the mother gives you a nasty look tugging them away.

You stand there at the entrance a bit weary as you finally have to face the many side eyes people were giving you. A particular man stands out who was walking your way, a smile comes up to your lips, rehearsing your lines in your head but he makes contact with your shoulder roughly instead. There's a slight clench of your heart at this, but he goes on as if nothing, paying the cashier for his booze and leaving. Your left there looking stupid and lost. The past days had been miserable leaving you with little will. Should've gone home-should've just waited and stayed home. As you're beating yourself up you don't notice the cashier coming from his side of the counter to you. His kind eyes looking at you snap you out of your thoughts realizing he greeted you, even with a stutter you greet him back. "Is there someway I can help you?". The first person to ask, you try your best to not let your voice wobble, "I- yes.. I'm trynna find my father he's missin' ". He's listening to you muttering out a small, "that's terrible". " it is haven't seen him for days n' I've gotten concerned. But he's usually along these parts of town especially durin' the weekends so I'm sure someone has spoken to or atleast caught sight of him" while your rambling you don't see how he's luring you outside, using the fact you were following him to his advantage. His expression is one of understanding or so you thought, "look I'd really love to help you just can't be bothering the people in there". "I wasn't- that wasn't my intention I.." you realize what he's doing now, feeling the heat of the sun once more. There's a pause in the conversation both of you staring at each other. He simply tilts his head in 'I don't care what you got to say just leave I'm trying to be nice'. Then someone calls out to you from behind with cheerfulness, it isn't till you turn you see finally who it is. "Haven't seen you round' no more how has your chicken coop been?". Her warm voice provides some instant relief from the stress. You allow Genevieve to envelop you in her arms. You even squeeze a little tighter. "Don't come back near my store again or it won't be pretty" the sudden hostile voice of the once delightful cashier leaves you a bit angry but you don't voice it.

"It be best if we go back to mines," she grabs your hand leading you to the other side of the road but you dig your feet in the ground not letting her. Whatever it was inside you or around you it was always following not so behind form your last step. You didn't even know if whatever had bit you was contagious so even with her oh so soothing hand consoling yours you abruptly let go. "I can't.." she turns confused, "what do ya mean you can't?". The top of your teeth catch your bottom lip in a nice grip. For once in your life you wished she wouldn't be so caring so tender and concerned for your well being. "What's wrong?" Yet another question of hers that meets no answer instead you slowly add space even if it's a just a few centimeters. She sees the picture of your father in your hand and the way your eyes were on the brink of tears something was undoubtedly wrong.  "Girl don't be silly with me now n' answer me" she grew loud frustrated with your silence garnering attention from the townsfolk. Your hand fumbles with the edges of the band around your wrist. If she just knew maybe she could help me I wouldn't have to deal with this alone. It happened so fast her hand tugging the cloth , you pulling away in attempt to prevent it from slipping away revealing the two puncture wounds that were now accompanied with purple and yellow hues. You can't help but gasp slapping the skin, covering it with your hand desperately looking around.

Genevieve's eyes were wide a look of disbelief or was it fear overtaking her face? She had heard the murmurs of creatures far beyond the physical realm from her ancestors. When the two people from town went missing it was all the people around her could talk about . The creature with sharp teeth, serpent split tongue Who's diet consisted of consuming human blood.  It seemed far fetched but it was all true and now one of her dearest friends have come in contact with the being and bitten. Under her breath she whispered, "vampire".

You felt exposed like Eve had felt under the gaze of the lord in the garden of Eden; Shame, guilt and Alienation all in one. When you feel the cold tear run down your hot cheek is the moment you start running ignoring the calls for you to stay. The adrenaline pumping from your heart makes you run miles, with no brakes just your legs pushing till they finally make it to the only place that seemed to cause all these problems. Your home, but you don't go inside. Instead you go to your chicken coop wanting to be enveloped in its darkness, the constant patter of the chickens feet simulating a tune and the smell of pleasant must. It reminded you of Remmick. He'd surely come home soon and rid you of your worries, destroy the chaos. You sniffled into your shoulder, cowering like defenseless animal in the corner of the chicken coop. The small gurgles of the chickens offer you an environment to be able to sleep even if it was just pretend. You lose track of time, sun finally setting and wake up when you can't catch a break from the chickens pecking at your skin. The stiff chips of wood stick to your skin but you don't mind releasing them as you stand. With the small creak you stumble outside praying to find your pops car out front and his harsh voice reprimanding you for not having cleaned the house so you could erase the anxiety running rapid through your body as a terrible dream. There's no sight of any of those things though just the lousy cicadas in the night air.

Psst. The noise made you whip around only the darkness present. "Hello?" You speak daringly into the void of the night, heart thumping. "Still gotta work on the not jumping like a little rabbit every time ya'r scared" you can let out the trapped breath in your chest as you see a very care free remmick walk up to you from the outside of your fence. You would've gone to him in an instant if it weren't for the two people behind him. Noticing your hesitance to get closer he experimentally spoke, "brought some friends with me too if you don't mind". They were smiling warmly at you but it felt so empty, their faces reflecting that of the nullified night surrounding them. "Remmick-" you were about to tell him to make them go away, that you just needed a moment alone with him. The whole day you had been waiting. Though picking up on your distress he caught you off guard asking a rhetorical question, "is it the nightmares again?" . You foolishly try to answer "yes but-". "Well your in luck that's why I brought my good ol' couple from in town to try n' cheer ya up" as if on que the 3 of them readied their instruments ignoring your protest and they started playing. It was harmonic very beautiful but to you in this moment it sounded like sharp metal scratching on another metal surface. Undoubtedly Irking your soul. "I picked poor robin clean" the 3 of them sang at the same time but in 3 different tones that came together skillfully. "Picked poor robin clean". You bit your lip in bubbling anger their voices becoming more irritating than their instruments by the second. Certainly you'd explode into a fit of rage, we'll that was until the next line, "picked his head, I picked his feet, I woulda picked his body but it wasn't fit to eat". Their joy, their genuine smirks especially Remmicks when singing those words unnerved you. A jolly tone with odd words that traveled down your spine "oh I picked poor robin clean...

they continue, their words fade out in your head eyes unfocusing as you get sucked into the back of your mind where your thoughts remained. You didn't want to believe it or even consider the very fact that the young couple in-front of you could be who the towns people had whispered about like some sort of myth. If they were what was Remmick doing with them? Was he the one who terrorized them and their babe? your mind recalled many of the times you had found his behavior odd. He only met you in the darkness of night, disappeared during the day, he was the only one who had access to your home. The bruise on your arm he hadn't even pointed it out. He was innocent you pushed back against your thoughts. And you would prove it.

As their song comes to an end stillness hangs in the air. Remmick stands there waiting for you next move. Realizing how guilty you looked you tried to cough the hesitance stuck in your throat. "I never caught y'all's names". Having all 3 of their eyes on you felt like you were back in the town. Except this time it was much more carnal like predators surrounding their prey.  You shift on your feet, remmicks demeanor changing as he leans into the fence form the outside. The couple doesn’t answer just staring ahead as you hear Remmick chuckle, "well.. this right here is Joan and he, he's Bert". You feel your heart drop to the earths core at this revelation, face full of alarm. you try changing it but God knows it's far too late. He notices and knows that you know.

"Took ya so long" your confused at his words but he doesn't waste a beat to quickly diminish your doubt. "I was startin' to think that little brain of yours wasn't good for much". You're unsure if to be offended and hurl a venomous insult back or cower away . His body defies gravity for a second as he lifts himself over the fence standing between the both of you far too easily. "W-what did you do?" There's still hope inside you that this was just a big understanding. "What I do to them .. or to you?" He nudges his head behind him then to you. His eyes trailing up and down your frame until getting stuck on your wrist. This time you don't cover your wound unlike back in town. When his eyes finally lift themselves to yours you see them shine a deep red. The same deep red that tournamented you yesterday night and dreamed about belonging to that creature who sucked your thumb feverishly while his mouth was covered in your blood. A dream. you can't help the way your chest starts to constrict, eyes stinging. He lets out a cold laugh faux concern, "oh please don't cry doll I'll love it too much n' I'll just be forced to make more pretty tears come out of ya." As he takes a step forward you take a step back. It becomes a twisted game he enjoys while teasing your desperation. The sadistic way he showed worry yet loved your helplessness left you disheartened with the idea of this going back to normal. The way things had been when you met him"Stay away.." your voice is weak and wobbly, hands coming up to signal his halt. He doesn't listen leaving you back to the fence as your hand touches his chest. Remmick wasn't a tall man just average but when he got this close to you it made him feel giant. "Thats not what you wanted last night" his empty breath hits your face, an act you may have yearned for before but not anymore. There's a shudder running through you as he presses his body into yours, his leg between your thighs inching your skirt up. You turn your head in shame, knowing exactly what he meant. Despite the mental acknowledgement of the danger this man posed your body still desired him responding eagerly.

He thrived seeing you like this the woman so poised and respectful he had met in tears from her own disgusting desires. An infection he grew to become, corrupting not just your thoughts but body, mind and soul. Nothing could sadate his carnal lust just like you but he wouldn't get ahead of himself yet.

His hand drags your sight back to him with only a finger on your chin. Your pliant submission was back but out of fright not real trust. This time you notice his appearance change again apart from his peculiar eyes. The clear, thick liquid seeping from the right of his mouth. Spit. And the sharp fangs his k-9's became as he smiles at you. It clicks in your head the last words Genevieve had muttered out to you "vampire". You expect him to take a bite to end your life but instead he takes a step back leaving you to fend your weight against gravity. "Should go see if daddy's all good upstairs, haven't seen him out here all day" his voice drips with sarcasm. You take a step back expecting him to play with you more but he doesn't. While you slowly walk away, opening the fence door you take one final look behind him. The couple he had came with was still behind the fence sitting idly by as if they were hypnotized.

When your a good feet apart you dash inside and up the stairs having to fight the growing stink in the house especially when you reach the second floor. "Papa!" You call out to him , the hall seeming too dark and longer than usual. There was the adrenaline rushing through your veins that urged you to be faster . As your warm hands grab the handle of your father's room opening it wide the stench of death hits you before the sight. You have to cover you mouth from the smell and absolute horror. There was blood all over the walls, bed his body and his head... it didn't seem quite attached to the rest of him. Eyes wide in shock staring directly at you as if he had kept the face from probably seeing the monster Remmick was. You didn't let yourself see the specifics of the plethora of wounds on his body slamming the door shut. You have to fight the gag trying to push its way out from the bottom of your stomach. A light headedness winds you as your walking away hand over your stomach from the unsettling scene you had witness forever engraved in your brain. One wrong step as your going down the stairs has you tumbling down. You grunt and let the tears you have kept at bay finally spill rushing down with no limit. You weakly get up close to the kitchen table where the liquor from the morning still laid. Your heart clenched at the reminder of this bottle always being around your dad's hand along with his pestering. He may had grown rude and absent for most of your life but he would always be your father. The man who once was a child who did wrong but was still half of you. You bite you hand in an attempt to get rid of the overstimulation of your lymphatic system. Not caring if it drew blood. "The sadness will subside, will weaken with time. sacrifices must be made for freedom".

Your mood soured hearing his voice. He sounded like a fucking preacher what was he now your savior? Is that what he tought. That he had been doing you a service murdering your father like some wild animal with no dignity? There was an unexplainable fire starting to build in your chest. "I can offer freedom that never dwindles, never ceases to exist. Ya won't be anyone's caged bird anymore-". With not another thought you let your instincts take over swiftly grabbing the almost empty liquor bottle and swinging it behind you. He doesn't for see your sudden action not moving out of the way fast enough all you hear is a big thud. The bottle still gripped tightly your hand with no crack. His head is turned toward the direction of your swing, eyelids twitching as he seemed to be taking in the hit. You stand fiercely a mere a feet or two away. You expect anger a violent action back in response but instead he chuckles condescendingly. "you’re letting anger cloud your judgement doll" . You wished you would’ve never been nice to him, never let him in your home and watched him rot out in the wilderness. “Let that go” he commands seeing the way your grip on the bottle doesn’t lessen. “No..” your eyebrows furrow “ya just don’t get ta decide things for me, y-ya can’t just do this ‘didn’t ask for any of this! ” even through the sadness is still evident in your body, you still find your voice. His words your genuine protest made him displeased . He had seen you marble at utterly anything normal, his instrument, himself and the way you responded so sweetly to his touches. You were a bird in a cage. Your father had willingly created your life to revolve around him and he had simply given you the choice now to be with him instead. Were you just plain ol’ stupid? “Ya needed this, I saved you from your helpless nights, the endless chores, the boring ol’ cycle of your insignificant’ life became”. This is when you see him start stomping over to you with a glint of fire behind his eyes. “I didn’t need no saving” you spit out while your lower back was pressed on the floor able. He calms down before grabbing a hold of your jaw before uttering out, “oh my sweet little dumb thing, you do”. Those crimson eyes slice through your wrath realizing no matter how much you protested there was no way out of your predicament. No matter the many ways you sliced it he couldn’t be moved, like some heavy boulder restricting your path. “You all do..” his sharp nails dig into the skin of your cheeks making them sting. There’s a small but heavy knock at the front door that doesn’t make him react just letting your calmly go. Retracting himself from you he watches as you wrestle with the choice of opening the door or not. His look was forbidding but would require trust from you which he had run out of. It was ultimatum that hung in the air without being said , ‘open the door and your reject him or leave it be then open your arms to the sweetness of “salvation” ‘

Another heavy knock seeming more desperate had you turning and directly heading to the door not caring for Remmick any longer. You weren’t sure who you were quite expecting maybe a passer by, another stranger. “You had me stressing’ girl why’d ya not answer fast enough?” Her honeyed voice and her careful glance was such a contrast to the way you looked now. “My lords heaven’ what happened to you!” Genevieve tries to come inside and grab your cheeks now decorated with little droplets of blood streaming down. But you semi close the door on her not completely but just enough to stop her from coming in. “Gene you have to leave- you can’t be here” your hands shakes on the door knob. You didn’t want her to be affected by the consequences of your own actions. Seeing how far it got you father you didn’t want her to meet his same fate but she didn’t listen. “Look I know what I did back in town was horrid I truly apologize for that.” Every time you try to open you mouth to interject she elongated her sentence. “ I came here to make things right to make sure you okay and to say I can help you I know-“ she’s caught off being pounced on like animal by something or someone out of your line of sight with a thud. You were about to react until a hard hand comes to the door from your side slamming it loudly closed. All you are left to do is be willfully tormented by her screams of agony as Remmick locks the front door. “Promised my ol’ couple some food, they were just hungry as dogs” he says this sentiment with sort of lightness, even letting out a small ‘woof woof’. Your stomach twists in disgust and terror having to create distance between the both of you.

He tsk'ed in disappointment at your choice. Noticing your desire to push him aside he doesn't shy away from twitching his upper lip to show you his gnarly fangs. "What a shame I really did like Genevieve" he mocks you slowly moving forward. Another blow to the muscle pumping in your chest called your heart wetting your dry cheeks once more in tears. What would you say to her husband and her kid if you walked away alive. You wouldn't have the courage to look them in the eye and tell them about your cowardliness. How you watched their mother die whilst you were inside in the comforts of your home.

With a scream you rely on instincts jumping on Remmick . This time he expects your fit of violence being able to take your arms in his grasps. You try pushing and pulling to break free but nothing budges. He wasn't a big man so why in the hell could you not be strong enough to fight his hands? It looked like a dance you both were having with your twisting and turning making you really live out the ambiance of a juke joint wild but free. It isn't until your able to kick him that your able to make him loosen his grip to break away. His rough voice calls out as you dart to the kitchen trying to find something to arm yourself with,"All this fightin' wont end up pretty for ya" you ignore him now scowering the plethora of eating utensils in the cabinet. "givin' ya a warnin' you should really heed darlin' " his cockiness, the pet names is what you wanted to wipe clear from his face forcing his mouth to never speak again. You turn to face him standing in the middle of the room with a knife. Shiny and anything but dull. His eyes seem to light up at the thought of you wielding such a dangerous object. Not a spec of fear in his nonexistent soul as you walk up to him eyebrows furrowed, a scowl on your face and all. "Don't be silly and give me that thing" He had played this game before long ago. Your genuine hatred was being conveyed in one single long look, fingers clenching in dire need to cause damage. He extends his hand up for you to lay the knife in his hand to submit.

Instead once you're close enough with no hesitation you pierce his hand not just slashing but digging it in until you could see it from the other side. With haste you twist it back at him so the sharp metal is now threatening his chest. With a burn in your thighs and all your might you push forward successfully overtaking any attempt of a protest to your attack. There's a loud grunt from him as the fact the knife dug deeply into his upper chest. It's quickly overtaken by the fact he loses his balance, back against the small sofa sending him backward into it and taking you along with him. Somewhere while taking the fall you let go of the knife to protect yourself instead.  Winded you try to catch your breath looking over to the side you realized you had missed the edge of the coffee table by an inch. What terrifies you is seeing Remmick stand up, his unwounded hand grabbing the knife handle twisting out of his chest and hand simultaneously with a squelch. You think this is when he’ll get his comeback digging the knife into your heart as he stands above you. Bracing yourself your eyes close but instead you hear the cling from the knife being thrown aside. His Hands coming to the collar of your blouse lifting you up with no difficulty and harshly sending you crashing into the coffee table. The glass breaks instantly some of the wood creating a hard surface to simulate a hard punch to your gut. “Thought you’d be different but you’ve got a fire that never dies just like your mother”. He’s out of breath as he speaks and when he mentions the woman you have never met you wish nothing more than to commit cold blooded murder. Your hands extend in-front of you carefully to attempt to lift yourself up but his foot comes to press down on the skin on the other side of your palm. “she wanted nothin’ more than to desperately live that’s what made it so much more excitin’ to snuff her out”. You cry out in agony as the pressure of his foot causes specs of glass to carve a home into your palm. He decides it’s enough when you pathetically paw at his shoe. You’re able to take a glance at the disgusting wound before you’re being dragged from your collar again. No care for the way the destroyed table poked and burns your knees or body. He brings you all the way up to the wall facing the front door and forcing you on your feet. Your knees are giving out but he makes sure to hold you in place steadily by your neck

“What do ya desperately want hmm?” He teases with a tap to your cheek as he watches you became the defenseless rabbit he knew once again. Red teary eyes defeated just accepting what would be made of you just like your father and Genevieve. This sight arouses him inching his face closer he breathes onto you obnoxiously, “could’ve had so many delicious nights with ya stuck on my mouth oh do I miss your heavenly taste” you spit at him for talking about you as some sort of object. Realizing all those “dreams” you believed to have had were nothing of the sort. Just your mind trying to make sense of events happening to your sleeping body to warn you of the violating creature you’re ashamed to call a man infront of you at your wake. His wet muscle slides out from his mouth, tongue split in two like some sort of serpent to lick it up from the side of his cheek. A big grumble of satisfaction form his chest. “Now I need me some more”. His lips come to yours not in the doting way you expected your first kiss to be but hungry and lustful. You fight against him the sloppy kiss making spit smear all over your lips. Your teeth chomp down in order to make him stop biting his lip , hard.

he curses letting your neck go sending your sliding down. You thought of fighting again or fleeing but your body was far too tired. So instead You're stuck in place fighting the heaviness of your eyelids and tasting the irony substance in your mouth. He squats down infront of you with a lip decorated in red.

Forced you are to look at the man before you that you once considered a friend, dare you say lover, finding him to be completely unrecognizable. He fixes your sweaty blood specs covered hair whilst grazing your cheek tenderly like he had done a few happy summer days ago. "Every time you wake up in the mornin n' take a breath of fresh air, maybe even while looking at the sun setting with a child on your hip" he starts. The once gentle hands griping the back of your head, hair and all, harshly craning your neck back. You can't even let out a whine properly without your lungs hurting . " 'want ya to remember ya don't get to do that because ya were brave or strong enough" he can't help but grumble at the sentiment of you believing these things about yourself. His tone grows dark as he hushes the final dialogue onto you like something sacred only for you and his ears only.

"no ....it's because I allowed you to"

he licks a long stripe up your cheek relishing your sweet blood before he abruptly lets go of your head and leaves you helplessly on the ground. His light steps barely even leaving a track of sound in your ear drums as he opens the once closed door. He walks over your dead friends body only her legs visible from your spot. His body isn't tense, instead he strolls away with a pep in his step, the hat you had given him on his head and you can faintly hear him hum that song. Pick poor robin clean. As if it were a regular Monday night. As if he hadn't turned your life upside down just for fun. The couple from earlier appear from the sides of the door covered in blood Bert taking a hold of one of Genevieve’s weightless legs. Joan give you a smile and a wave with her sharp canines before they start walking away your friend dragged in the dirt along with them. You reap the consequences while Remmick was walking away Scot free. Your heart burns, skin boils, face scorns, mustering up all of your strength you let out a scream of pain, anger and agony all at once. Not caring if it scratched your throat painfully. He keeps moving unfazed until his body is a mere spec in your vision. Your Pathetically Left behind feeling the ache in your bones deep inside, the blood oozing out of your body the stinging tears trailing down your sliced skin. Choosing the mortal cage called your human flesh.

You knew he'd always be hiding in the shadows of the night, waiting, and in some twisted way that brought you comfort.

Authors note: this was so long in the making! I I tried my best to interpret the character of Remmick to the best of my abilities without having seen the movie. I apologize for any spelling mistakes and if you asked to be tagged but weren’t it’s probably because your acc didn’t show up when I tried tagging you. Apart from that I enjoyed writing this and I hope y’all enjoyed it too! :)

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Tags: @duckyhowls @seashelleseashellsbytheseashore @thecutestaaakawaii @akumazwrld

[herstarburststories]

The Cage (Joe Goldberg x Reader)

Pairing: Joe Goldberg x reader

Summary: Joe puts you in the cage after you've seen him in an incriminating situation. He comes back to check on you, and ends up facing a pleasurable situation: you, masturbating in the cage.

Warnings: masturbation, kidnapping, sexual thoughts, smut, unhealthy behavior. It's YOU, ya know what to expect.

A/N: My 1st YOU story! It had to be messed up smut. No specific season here.Please reblog and comment. Hope you guys like it!

You used to have a bird when you were younger.

A parrot. His bright colors seemed to speak under the sunlight when he landed next to you. His wing looked funny, what was later discovered to be broken. That small detail was the perfect excuse to convince you dad to keep the bird.

You named Jorge and took him home.

Jorge was so little, so helpless.

You never put him in a cage, even when your dad brought one because housebirds are meant to be caged, or so he said. — which wasn't much of a surprised. He thought the same about your mom or any housewives. Their cage was just different.

But, you didn't let him get his way. You stomped your feet and threw the prison away. Birds were supposed to be free.

Plus, you related to Jorge in that sense. Everyone, the whole planet seemed to believe that women should be put in cages, in boxes, in any place that could contain them, patronize them. Because the patriarchal cry babies thought that they were too savage, too emotional. A danger to society.

Those people never seem to notice that every single disaster was orchestrated by men's hands.

Colonization, religious intolerance, wars, pseudo prophets, and so it goes.

Anyway, you didn't let the tiny bird get caged, and asked him to promise to take you and fly you away if someone ever tried to do that to you.

It may seem childish, irrational even, but you can't help looking around and hoping Jorge would appear and save you from the cage.

Joe's cage.

Alright, yes. You had many feminist criticism towards how men attempted to force women into fitting their irralistic, many times porn guided caged vision of feminiality. But this wasn't what you mean by that!

Joe Goldberg had a fucking cage! And you were in there: trapped like a hopeless animal.

What did he plan to do with you? Were you going to die? How long would he leave you there without food or water? How were you going to do your basic needs? How would you survive this?

''How did I end up here?" you asked your reflection on the glass. ''You know how, idiot.''

You groaned, hitting the wall in frustration. It wasn't your fault, you knew it. The old cliché, wrong person at the wrong place during the wrong time, all the wrongs in the world wrapped in a pretty lace. Although, the guilty for not knowing better held you tight, it was like you couldn't even breathe.

You needed some relief.

Joe's POV

He sighed, unlocking the door with his free hand whilst holding your meal with the other one. Joe closed his eyes as the door opened with a loud noise, preparing himself to hear your scream and shout. He didn't want to do that! Not to you at least. Joe just wanted to take care of you, to make you see him how he saw you: entirely.

But really, what else could he have done? You saw him with blood on his shirt and a huge bag.

When the man didn't hear your voice, he opened her eyes and arched his eyebrows.

Maybe you understood why I had to do this, Y/N. Always knew you were different, my love.

Joe locked the door again and kept the keys in his pocket, taking the stairs to meet you.

Or, I could be wrong and you could've managed to get out of the cage and be just there, waiting to attack me. You're smart, I wouldn't put it past you.

The closer he gets, the quiet it sounds. The only music is the own stairs crackling under his steps.

But, you know me, Y/N. I'm a true hopeless romantic. What can I say? I still believe. I believe in us. And you'll too, baby.

And then, just like the first flicker of dawn, he heard the most beautiful song coming out of your mouth, a melody that could put Beethoven to shame.

Wait. Are you? Y/N, are you moaning?

He walked faster towards you until he saw a blissful scene unrolling right in front of his eyes: you, laying in the mattress that he put in there, your eyes shut and legs spread open.

Is this a little show you are putting out for me? Well, you got all my attention now, Y/N.

He placed the food on the floor, captivated by the look on your face. There was pleasure in every corner of the cage, your whiny moans increasing as you rubbed your clit.

This what happens when I leave you alone, Y/N?

Your other hands is also occupied, teasing your nipple and squeezing your boob as a finger enters your wet pussy. So needy, pace increasing at each second.

Fuck. You look so hot. I want to get in there, take care of you, touch you, make love to you.

Already used to living in delusion, Joe easily loses his mind in the fantasy: picturing himself in there with you, memorizing your body, fucking you open, hearing your moans directed to him, coming inside you.

You just needed a way to ease your racing mind. There were too many questions, too many deep high fears. Everything was too much in this small place. Similar to animals in cages that go crazy in attempts to get out there and run back to nature. You didn't want to go this far, not to touch you in here as it's a sort of motel and not a hostage situation. Still, masturbation was very proficient to blow off some esteem and get you thinking straight.

Extreme situations call for extrame measures.

Nonethless, you didn't expect to open your eyes to see Joe, also masturbating in front of you.

There's no denying that you that you used to find Joe attractive. Tall, strong jaw, pretty smile, gentle, and dark hair. You thought that this perspective had gone away once he knocked you out with some drug in napkin and you woke up here.

Apparently, it didn't. Not even when he left you there during hours because now he came back.

And he's glancing at you, his hand moving up and down on his erected length.

How long was he there?

Doesn't matter.

A moan escapes at the sight. His hard cock with precum on the tip, while he thrusts in his tight hold and glares at you like he could eat your soul.

You don't doubt that.

There's more than just excitement, there's horror and danger and woe and fear and anxiety laced together in burning red. You want to scream at him in both anger and need, but right now you add another finger to your core, fucking yourself as he tries to get his own liberation. Yearning, yearning.

When Joe howls your name, you can't help but to cum as you glance into his eyes with no shame, too caught up to do anything but to get turned on.

He comes right after you.

His twisted mind whispers that's the most romantic act.

[syoddeye]

heart rot. ghost x f!reader.

heart rot, a fungal disease, decays the inner heartwood of trees, creating weaknesses, while also providing homes for birds. short thing. all vibes, little plot/sense.

he finds her when he isn’t looking. 

or rather, she finds him. 

takes one long look as he drags the man who followed her into the toilet, and shoves him hard enough into the doorframe to rattle the walls. snaps his wrist like it’s nothing.

she decides.

she needs a place to hide. why not behind the biggest, meanest monster in the room? if the thing with teeth and blood on its knuckles likes her?

she’s seen worse.

she sees the ruin of him, too, the wet , festering rot. the hollowed-out hole in his chest, a place no decent thing should want to linger. and she decides that’ll do just fine for a home.

can’t be worse than where she’s come from.

his name is simon. he’s involved in the military. beyond that, it’s not her concern. it suits her fine, though, because he doesn’t ask about what’s behind her. what’s past is past, and he leaves it there.

he’s surprisingly accommodating. well, not accommodating. no flowers, no card. just a key, and no chain to hang it from. clean sheets, at least.

she brings with her all things soft, all things warm. a cup of tea waiting when he returns from whatever he won’t talk about. a comforting hand at the base of his skull when he wakes up tight with sweat, gripping his own throat tight. silence when he needs it. words, when he can bear them. she drags scraps of kindness into the hollow of him, weaves herself a bird’s nest within his ribs.

he warns her. more than once. 

tells her what kind of man he is, what kind of things he’s done. shows her. he’s not gentle. not safe. his moods shift like bad weather, and his hands—well. she ought to be afraid of them.

she isn’t.

she stays.

she continues to surprise simon.

there are nights he comes close, so fucking close, to gutting himself open, prying her out, and casting her off for good. shoving her away before he makes a mess of things, before he ruins this too, like he ruins everything. he’s good at destroying things. lethal. better at it than keeping them. before she learns and sees the full measure of what he is.

but every time, she only burrows deeper. tucks herself in like she’s not afraid of the dark and doesn’t mind the splintering, sharp edges. like she’s already decided, without his permission, that she’s staying.

and at some point, though he can’t say exactly when, he stops fighting it. 

realizes he’s sleeping through the night. that the cupboards are full. that he’s eating without thinking about it, without forcing himself to. there’s a steadying in his hands, a loosening in his chest, an easing in the places clenched tight for too long.

still himself. rough and weathered, but less teeth, more tongue. a longer, slower fuse. patience. letting himself stretch things out and savor instead of devouring it all in a single, starving bite.

and in the small hours, when his hands have left their mark on her skin and she’s pressed against him, breathing hitching but steady—he doesn’t let her go. just holds her, locks her to his side. luxuriates in the weight of her, the absurd, impossible fact of her.

he hopes she likes the cage of him.

because she’s not getting out.

[rafesplaymate]

Yes, daddy.

Older!Rafe Cameron x Stepdaughter!Reader

⋆⁺‧₊☽ navigation. ⋆⁺‧₊☽ masterlist.

warnings: step / fauxcest. infidelity. manipulation / gaslighting. abusive behaviors. immoral though process. threats of abuse. choking / manhandling. mentions of smut. dark themes / adult content. suggestive themes. slight plot twist?

a/n: this was completely self indulgent. for the girls with daddy AND mommy issues. not apart of my ‘Off to the Races’ AU. Can be read as a stand alone.

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She can’t stand it. Can’t stand her mom and most of all can’t stand the way he’s —her’s.

Rafe Cameron came into her life like a whirlwind. Leaving her completely dazed and her mind fuzzy the moment he stepped into her line of sight. He was just so strong, so domineering and had an energy about him that screamed; no matter how much he could harm you —he could keep you grounded and tamed all the same. And ever since then, he’s been all she thinks about. All she wants.

And unfortunately for her. He’s her mom’s husband. A spiteful, vindictive woman whose nasty attitude taints her physical beauty. She can’t help but constantly wonder how someone as out-of-touch and controlling as her was able to tie down the enigma that is Rafe Cameron —but she thanks her for bringing him into her life all the same. Even if it’s not the way she’s been dreaming about or what she wants.

Regardless, she’ll take it. Because the way he allows her to shut off her brain, to find solace and acceptance in his embrace —will forever mean everything. The way he defends her and protects her like his little exotic, rare —caged bird he wants to keep locked away and from the hands of harm. Harm that her mother constantly perpetuates onto her and constantly leaves her in a spiral of hopelessness and resentment.

But not him. No, never him. For once in her life she has someone who stands up to the looming presence that is her mother. Who shuts her up and puts her in her place. So use to the purposeful blind eyes of the rest of her family, so use to the constant repeated words of “suck it up.” It’s validating, it’s acceptance. It’s something that makes her feel less crazy and frees her from the shackles of constant manipulation and gaslighting from her mother.

And now, she stands on the other side of the wall from the home office —sniffling with tears streaked cheeks and a consistent impending fear settled deep in her gut. Rafe and her mother were going at each other’s throats. Verbal attacks and words of rage being thrown around as he defends her being and her mother debases it. Spewing rants of her being an ‘ungrateful brat’ and ‘fucking crazy.’ Her mom’s words of degradation nothing new to her; but it feels like knives stabbing all the same.

It’s when Rafe speaks with pure loathing and booms out one final, “get the fuck outta my house. Now!” Does she hear her mother, for once in her life, slightly realize the gravity of the situation and her perpetuated actions. Her voice breaking slightly and now calmer as she speaks out a, “you don’t meant that. Rafe, she’s my daughter. I have every right to treat her the way I’d like. I wouldn’t be so fucking angry with her all the time if she didn’t act the way she does.” Firmness and disdain laced within each word. The knives stabbing deeper into her daughter’s already fragile being. Hopelessness filling her up —once more.

But it’s the immediate scoff that comes from the one person who’s always sided with her; that makes the pain less unbearable. “Maybe take a look in the fucking mirror, instead of thinking your daughter is the problem here. She’s not, you are. And quite frankly, I’m sick of it. Everything about you —is revolting.” He speaks gruffly, steadiness and profound confidence laced in every truth he shoots back at her.

She listens to his work shoes scuffing across the floor as he steps closer to her mother, his tall frame bending to level his eye contact with hers. Pure disgust, and indignation pooling in his beautiful cobalt eyes as he intimidates her mother. The older woman shrinking slightly under his gaze, but her stubbornness refusing her to completely submit. Staring back into the eyes of the man she once thought was her’s, now slowly but surely become her daughter’s.

“I meant, what I said,” he spoke lowly. His voice confident and tone domineering as he cornered the threat on his little girl. His baby, his sweetheart, his everything. Determined to eliminate it. “Get. The. Fuck. Out of my house. I don’t care where you go, I don’t care what you do or what happens to you. All I know is I don’t want you in my fucking house or my fuckin’ life anymore.” He drawled with pure abhorrence. A snarl on his lip like a lion ready to devour and defend his cub.

He watches as the woman he once thought he loved, he once thought he wanted —completely fold in. The obstinance in her gaze now replaced with despondency —her heart cracking as it finally clicked that this wasn’t just another fight that would pass. Another trial she put her daughter through that would be forgiven. No. This was her getting reprimanded for all the harm she’s pushed onto her. And for once in her life, she’s left speechless. Her mouth opening to reply -much to Rafe’s dismay.

“No. I’m done listening to your bullshit. You heard what I said, I’m gonna give you 20 minutes to take any necessities and get the fuck out.” He snarled once more, pushing her further against the wall as her back hit it. Trapped like a prey in the lion’s den and realizing she was no longer the lioness she once believed herself to be.

When Rafe finally saw her submission, her giving up. It’s only then, did he crack a mocking smirk. The same smirk that attracted her to the man and her daughter too. Yet, this one wasn’t playful —no. It was Rafe’s display of asserting his dominance, asserting that he was the one who ran things and she was manipulated by his whim no matter how much of a ‘hot shit’ she thought herself to be.

“Don’t even think about taking any of the nice shit, either. I bought it, it’s mine. You can take whatever crap you came with, including yourself.” He told her once last time, holding her gaze with his own as his jaw ticked. Imploring her to understand the gravity of the situation, the honesty in his words. Standing straight up to his full height once more when he feels he got his point across and turning his back to the woman he once loved. A physical representation of him shutting her out —once and for all.

And it’s when Rafe exits his office, that he find his princess sniffling with wide, defeated eyes. Manicured hands fiddling together as her pretty, pedicure toes pressed deep into the ground while she fidgeted with herself. Her cheeks streaked with ruined makeup and her gorgeous eyes blood-shot, wispy faux lashes clumped with tears. A frown on her plump lips as her chest heaves and she looks at him with pure melancholy. It’s a sight that both fills Rafe with immense satisfaction but anger at who caused it. His baby bunny, who he would forever keep bound to him —regardless of her relationship to his wife.

His demeanor immediately softened, a mocking coo falling from his pink lips as his large hands reached out and grasped her smaller body against his. Both palms cupping her sticky, wet cheeks as he rubs his nose against hers softly. Watching as her clumped, faux lashes flutter shut and she whines. Falling into him once more and fisting her hands into his already crumpled button up. A fresh batch of tears making their trail down her flushed face as whines turn into pitiful sobs —clinging onto the only lifeline she knows.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he consoled —pressing soft kisses to her lips, tip of nose, forehead and then finally both cheeks. Face manipulated in his grip as she pushes herself deeper into him. It’s when he kisses her cheeks, that his chest burn again with his intoxicating desire for her. The taste of her salty tears against her lips satisfying the twisted darkness inside him. Lightly bringing the tip of his tongue out to lick a new drop that fell. Groaning when it hit his tongue; her despair a drug to him.

Yeah, sure Rafe hates the way her mom treats her. Manipulates her and leaves her daughter’s head constantly fuzzy with stress. But only because he feels that he’s the one who’s entitled to treating her that way. Not her mother, not her family, not her friends or any lovers he’ll ensure she never has. No. Only him. Because she was made just for him to destroy and he’ll be damned if anyone else does.

His baby who he wants to breakdown with her malleable compliance to him. Break her entirely into his sad, little doll that wouldn’t be able to breathe without him. His brainless little girl, who would let him exploit her to his heart desires. Manipulated at his whim, never anyone else’s. His prized possession he’ll keep locked away and submitted next to him while he breaks her down day by day into nothing but his devotee. Making sure she never misunderstands her place in life —to be his brainless, little fuckdoll. Forever and always.

“Don’t cry, hmm. At least not this way.” He taunts with a small chuckle. Watching as she looks deep into his darkened gaze. And the look in her pretty eyes is all the confirmation he needs to know her has her. Not matter what. Pure resignation and undiluted adoration filling the large pool of her iris’s. Her eye color disappearing with the enhancement of her pupils as she looks at him with something that a follower would look at the God they worshipped if he came to stand directly in front of them. He would be everything she’ll ever know.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” He cooes sweetly, bringing his right arm to wrap around her back and his left hand to wrap harshly around her throat. Hearing her breathy gasps as her brows furrow and she lets him cut off her air supply. “The only reason you should be crying is because of me. Not your mom, not anyone else. Me. I want you to save those pretty little tears, you’re gonna need them when I show you how I can really make you cry.” His grip tightens, a wicked smile plastering along his features as he watches her eyes flutter shut and her small fist banging against him to let her breathe. He wants her to know that she only breathes because he allows it.

When Rafe sees her eyes flutter once more with a sign that she’s falling into unconsciousness —does he finally loosen his grip. Watching as her pretty lips widen and she gasp air deeply into her chest. Coughing and gathering herself until she’s back to. Her cries returning with a force as she sobs, letting him pull her into his chest and ruin his white button up with her tears. Swaying them side to side as she weeps into his chest. Deep, twisted triumph filling Rafe’s entire body as she does exactly what he wants. Kissing the top of her head and then nuzzling his cheek against it while her hands come to pull him closer to her and grip the back of his shirt. Hanging onto her lifeline.

It’s when they heard a loud thump, does Rafe’s head turn to the side to eye whatever caused it behind him. His wife standing there, her bag having dropped with a purposeful force on the floor as she takes in the scene in front of her. The twisted feeling in her gut and her resentment toward her daughter deepening as her deepest suspicions are confirmed. All those soft moments, all those borderline incestual touches and gazes. All those crossed boundaries —finally showing what they truly were in front of her.

Her gaze full of pure repugnance as she watches this twisted display of love. Her daughter gazing over her stepfather’s shoulder with a look that left her stunned. Her daughter’s manicured hand releasing his shirt and coming up to grip the back of his strong neck, standing on the tips of her manicured toes as she lifts herself to his level. Whining to him for his attention once more which he gladly grants after glaring at his wife. Pressing her lips to his with haste the moment he faces her as his tongue shoves deep into her mouth. His hand coming to grip the back of her head and keep her pressed right against him as he dominates her once more.

As he dominates her in front of her mother —and leaves no room for questioning at the new regime of Tannyhill. Imploring her again to know her place once and for all.

And it’s when they hear the front door slam shut, does Rafe disconnect their lips. A string of saliva keeping them together as she whines and seeks him out once more, his hand coming to grip her face to hold her back as he lets out a teasing scoff. Watching her eyes look back into his once more, no sign of anything but thoughts of him in her gaze.

“You know your place. And now she does too. Get your ass upstairs. Want you naked, face down in the sheets by the time I come up, princess. Go on.”

He sends her off with a harsh smack to her ass after her turns her around, shoving her forward and toward the staircase as her brain goes into autopilot and her body moves by the will of his words. One thing replaying in her mind over and over again.

Yes, daddy.

⋆⁺‧₊☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊

a/n: want him to use & abuse me so bad. I will be releasing my ‘Euphoria’ AU soon so if anyone would liked to be on the taglist please feel free to comment or message my inbox.

[jaycewithawhy]

I am So Normal about this line. His later line about how he never asked to be human is good too but this right here...

Just... the way that Monty and Esther's relationship subtly reinforces the themes about abuse that the rest of the show explores.

The rest of the characters are dealing with healing from the various traumas of past abuse and trying not to continue the cycles they were hurt by but Monty? Monty is trapped in his abuse right now.

And the way that it's shown...

I saw someone point out that his cage is WAY too small for a bird of his size and that's 100% correct and 100% demonstrates that Esther is a shitty person but the thing about the cage that interests me the most isn't it's unsuitability.

It's the fact that the cage is never locked. Most of the time, the door isn't even closed. There's nothing physically stopping Monty from just skipping town. He doesn't seem to particularly like Esther - even at the start - and he's not subtle about it. We never see any indication that she has any magic keeping him bound to her. (It's not unreasonable to assume that she does, sure, but she's never once shown to use it and that's a narrative choice. The one time she threatens him for overstepping, it's physical.)

Even after he's shown hesitation in following through on her plan, even after they have their big fight, even after she remakes him against his will for the second time, we still see him return to that cage. And the cage remains unlocked, because Esther remains confident in her hold over him.

Because that's the thing about staying with your abuser. It's often not about being physically unable to leave the situation. Esther doesn't keep Monty trapped by locking him up. If she did, all he would have to do would be leave the cage to be free. The hold she has on him is much deeper and much harder to escape.

But not impossible.

It's a little betrayal, in the grand scheme of things, but he does finally act against her directly.

Thematically, it makes perfect sense to me that it's Charles who finally pushes him to rebel. Charles, who promised way back in episode one to befriend him. Charles, who knows exactly what it's like to be trapped by an abusive parent. Charles, who so desperately wants people in circumstances similar to his own be in the right so he can prove to himself that he isn't destined to turn out like his dad.

It's no surprise that Charles' immediate reaction to Monty's little act of rebellion is delight.

I really hope we'll see more of Monty in a season two. But even if we don't, I know he's going to be okay.

He's finally escaped.

[shizuturnspages]

How would the yandere diluc, kaeya, Childe ect, deal with a reader who has severe asthma??? They basically can't keep her locked up 24 hours a day in a room xD

Breathless Devotion

Synopsis: A delicate darling with severe asthma? Someone who couldn’t be locked away forever without risking their life? For a yandere, that was an infuriating challenge. Because while they wanted to keep you safe, protected, theirs, they couldn’t keep you locked up like a caged bird. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t find a way. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Alhaitham, Cyno x Reader with Severe Asthma

Diluc – The Overprotective Shadow

"If I could, I would keep you inside the winery forever… but I suppose that isn’t possible."

Diluc hated how fragile you were.

He’d already lost too much. He wouldn’t lose you.

But keeping you inside all the time would only worsen your condition, and that was unacceptable.

So instead, he controlled your entire environment.

You were kept at Dawn Winery, where the air was clean and fresh.

Any dust, smoke, or potential triggers? Eliminated before they could ever reach you.

He personally hand-picked your medications, consulting with every doctor in Mondstadt to ensure you had the best treatment.

If you needed to go outside, he was the one to escort you—always making sure you didn’t overexert yourself.

But the moment you tried to argue, the moment you said you wanted to live freely—

His eyes darkened.

"Freedom means nothing if you can’t breathe, my love."

And with that?

You realized—you weren’t going anywhere.

Kaeya – The Manipulative Caretaker

"Oh, you want to go outside? I don’t know… what if something were to happen? You wouldn’t want me to be heartbroken, would you?"

Kaeya took a different approach.

He knew he couldn’t physically restrain you 24/7, but he didn’t need to.

Instead, he used your condition against you.

Any time you wanted more freedom? He reminded you of how dangerous it was.

He would guilt-trip you: "What if you have an attack, and I’m not there to save you?"

He intentionally made you reliant on him for medications, check-ups, and comfort.

If you ever had a severe attack, he was the one holding you, whispering, "See? This is why I worry."

He never made you feel like a prisoner.

No, instead—he made it feel like you needed him.

Because the moment you believed that?

You would never try to leave.

Childe – The Possessive Protector

"You’re too fragile, little lamb. I can’t let anything happen to you."

Childe was paranoid.

He was used to blood, war, and battle—but now, his biggest fear was you not being able to breathe.

He kept personal healers around you at all times.

He never let you go anywhere without at least three guards.

Any time you so much as coughed, he was hovering, panicking.

He considered locking you up completely—but after seeing you struggle from lack of fresh air, he compromised.

So instead, he built a "safe space" for you—a beautiful estate where you could roam freely…

As long as you never left.

"I just want to protect you, darling. You understand, don’t you?"

And with his grip so tight on your wrists, his lips pressing to your forehead—

You knew you had no choice.

Alhaitham – The Calculated Observer

"Your condition limits you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work around it."

Alhaitham was practical. Logical. Unshakeable.

He didn’t let panic control him like Childe. He didn’t smother you like Diluc.

No, he calculated everything.

Your schedule was strictly planned—ensuring you never overexerted yourself.

He personally researched every possible treatment to mitigate your condition.

He designed a custom-built home with ventilation systems to keep the air perfectly clean.

He had doctors on standby, but only when he deemed necessary.

He didn’t stop you from leaving the house completely…

But he made sure you never had the opportunity to escape.

Because no matter what, he was always ten steps ahead.

"You might think you have freedom, but let’s not be foolish."

"You belong to me."

Ayato – The Gentle, Yet Unyielding Cage

"I can’t allow anything to happen to you. Please… don’t make this harder for me."

Ayato is subtle but firm. He won’t lock you away—he’ll simply make it so you never want to leave.

Your health is his top priority. He ensures your room is immaculate, free of any possible asthma triggers.

He won’t force you into confinement. Instead, he’ll gently persuade you until you believe it was your choice to stay.

Doctors are always nearby. If you have an attack, the Kamisato Clan’s best healers are instantly at your side.

If you push too hard? He’ll remind you just how fragile you are—and how devastated he would be if anything happened to you.

[gifimay]

shorekeeper x reader x rover HC's

(a little context im actually quite new to wuthering waves I just got to part with the black shores and meeting shorekeeper. so this might not be the most lore accurate)

can be interpreted as male reader and male rover but I wrote this with the intentions of lesbian action, so like its mainly biased towards female reader and rover.

-the three of you guy's have been in a relationship for a millennia, even if the reader doesn't remember it.

-shorekeeper and rover are dedicated to keeping the reader safe, even if that has gone to the extreme in the past.

-(I have a potential yandere idea, where past rover and current rover fight each other because while current rover respects readers anatomy and free will, past rover has seen just how cruel and unjustful the world is and wants nothing more than to lock reader in a glided cage because the readers safety comes first always. Past and current rover get into a huge fight about it. meanwhile shorekeeper really does not know what side to take)

-the three of you are really into playing piano, sometimes either reader or shorekeeper while doing it and rover has to carry you guys to bed.

speaking of beds, shorekeeper has the worlds most large and comfy bed for you three. More often then not you end up squished between them

-if your an early bird now your not, prepare to meet a very sad shorekeeper whenever you leave her embrace, and if you have a heart you wont leave.

-In the black shores, your essentially treated like a queen, past rover made sure of that and shorekeeper held that up. the KU-robots know just how important you are and everyone just follows their example (alto is terrified of the allowance your given)

-shorekeeper likes to stare at rover whose staring at you when your sleeping. then sometimes you stare at shorekeeper whose being stared at by rover, a lot of staring

-shorekeeper often feels insecure about the three of you guy's relationship, she doesn't feel worthy or good enough so you and rover need to shower her in a lot of love(OR ELSE)

-shorekeeper would love to play with your hair when your asleep, she's a little too embarrassed to do it while your awake, rover has helped her gain more confidence though

and thats all I got for now, I do have a really big yandere idea with rover and shorekeeper but thats a whole other post. I do find it interesting that rover and shorekeeper would absolutely share a darling. I feel like they are one of the only duo's that would do it without hesitancy or bargaining. Anyway have a great morning/day/night guys!

[totallynotpochacco]

“I lost you once, long ago.”

Backstory to a possible fic? Or backstory to how he got teleported to earth and finds you again?

Make up whatever you want!

Contains; violence, death, (reader dies) uhm any variant you want!

A/N; I’ve never watched the show but I’ve read enough to know personality’s? Idk I’m just gooning

“As soon as he got it into his head you were lesser than him he knew what he had to do.”

Mark was watching you slowly gasping for air, laying limp on the snowy roads.

“The little bird is out of her cage and dying. How amusing is that.” He said hovering over you with your arms crossed. His laughter quickly shifted into anger.

“You’re pathetic.” He said angrily. Flying down next to you, his shoe splashing in a puddle of red, staining his suit.

“You’re weak. Miserable. And disappointing.” His hand reached out for your hair brushing some of it out of the way gently. Like he still cared.

And maybe he did. But it’s for the best. You were going to die anyway, he was just helping you out. Doing what was best for you.

Because he’s always been the smarter one, the superior. You just were holding him back. You were a weakness.

“All you had to do was stay out of the way, live your life in that house and be good. But no, now they know about you. You’ve doomed yourself, babe.” Shaking his head with mock sorrow.

He bought a house, locked you in it, and told you to stay. Because he was trying to protect you, to keep you alive a little longer. Until eventually he got bored.

But he didn’t realize you’d try to escape him, or that you’ve been planning this for almost a year.

It didn’t matter. He had to finish the job. He gently placed his foot over head.

Tears began rolling down your face as you grasped onto his ankle trying to pull him off of you. “I’m sorry..”

“No you’re not.” Pressure started being put onto your skull.

“If you were you wouldn’t have made me do this.”

“I will find you again. I’m not done with you.”

And then a sickening crunch was heard from under his feet.

It was over, for now.

[caramelt4me]

Secret. - Part I

(Yandere Idol X Kidnapped Reader)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Prologue Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

"Welcome to another episode of Guilty Files, the true crime podcast," a smooth, steady voice resonates from the speakers, breaking the quiet of the cabin. "I’m Liza Lee, and today, we’re diving into the twisted world of a once-revered artist whose obsession blurred the line between inspiration and imprisonment. Picture a cramped underground cell, buried deep where not a trace of daylight can reach..."

𝕋he words rolled over you as you popped another piece of chocolate into your mouth, the crinkling of the golden wrapper slicing through the eerie silence of the cabin. In your other hand, you gripped your tablet, eyes darting between the podcast on the smart TV across the room and the game on your screen. You tapped, swiped, keeping your character alive in a never-ending digital fight, but your attention waned, drifting back to the story Liza Lee was telling.

"Concrete walls press in like silent witnesses, their cold, gray expanse offering no comfort, no reprieve—only an endless reminder of isolation."

The imagery was haunting, yet somehow familiar. You shifted under the plush, oversized blanket draped over you. The half-crocheted flower bouquet beside you slipped down the side of the bed, one of the chunky needles clattering to the soft rug below, muffled by its thick fibers.

In this cabin, you had everything you could ever want. Soft blankets, a bed that felt like clouds, endless books, music, and streaming—all set up by the person who insisted you stay here. Asher, your lover. Or was he your captor? If you were being honest, the lines had blurred a while ago. He’d kept you close, away from your old life, the outside world fading like a dream. But he treated you so preciously, as though you were something rare, something he couldn’t bear to lose.

"But here’s the unsettling part—why was she taken? Was this about money? A ransom demand? Or perhaps the twisted satisfaction of a serial abductor?"

The voice from the podcast tugged your focus back, pulling you into the story of Mary Gomez, trapped in an underground cell. Your brows knit together as you listened. Mary had been taken, not for money or revenge, but because of an artist’s obsession. He saw something in her, something he needed to capture, even if it meant keeping her caged like a bird with clipped wings.

You tried to concentrate on your game, fingers dancing over the screen, but even that failed to hold your interest for long. In this luxurious prison of yours, you had come to know restlessness intimately.

However, it wasn’t as stark as Mary’s despairing cell. Here, there were warm fires, soft lights, books, snacks... every comfort, every amenity you could want. And he visited often, bringing you gifts, spending hours talking with you, looking at you as if you’re something exquisite, something he can never get enough of.

"Imagine your shock when I tell you that her captor wasn’t after money, vengeance, or some misguided obsession with power. No, the reason she was confined, cut off from the world, was far more chilling."

Your mind flitted to your lover, his face flashing in your thoughts—his deep gaze, that intense stare that seemed to see through to your core. You weren’t locked in here, not really; you could leave if you chose.

But whenever the thought crossed your mind, his face, his words, his touch all came back to you, lingering like the faintest, sweetest perfume, coaxing you to stay.

This wasn’t a prison, you tell yourself. Not like Mary’s.

And yet...

"Her captor was none other than Ethan Hawthorne, the celebrated artist whose portraits once graced galleries worldwide. And his only motive? She refused to be his muse."

Liza’s voice felt sharp, unnervingly close to your situation, though you quickly shook off the thought.

Your blanket slipped further, leaving your shoulders cold, so you drew it back up, cocooning yourself in its softness. You glanced around the cabin, absorbing the contrast—the wide windows that open to endless forests, the soft, golden lights casting a cozy glow, the warmth that lingered in the air.

But beneath the comfort was an echo of something else.

How different, really, was your situation from Mary’s?

You shifted in bed, restless, caught between enjoying the comfort around you and feeling trapped by it. The podcast droned on, the story growing darker.

"Ethan, obsessed with preserving her raw, unyielding spirit, imprisoned her in his hidden studio, using her as his living, breathing canvas. With every stroke of his brush, he drew from her the emotions she tried so hard to hide—hope, despair, defiance, and, eventually, resignation."

A shiver ran through you. The parallel wasn’t lost on you. You had felt his eyes on you just like that, watching, waiting, always intent, as if he was trying to absorb every nuance, every fleeting emotion. But he wasn’t a mad painter, you tell yourself. You weren’t his muse.

Yet here you were, tucked away from the world, drawn deeper into his orbit, just as Mary was.

"Then came Ethan’s final piece, hauntingly titled Peace. The painting was his last, capturing Mary in a moment of final, tragic release—her last act of agency."

Your finger paused mid-swipe, frozen above the screen. You think of Mary’s tragic end, of the way she lost herself to him, bit by bit, until there was nothing left. And how Ethan, too, met his end shortly after. Your heart raced, and for the first time, you wondered what your lover might do if you ever tried to leave, if you ever finally grew tired of his quiet, smothering devotion.

"This is the story we’ll unravel today, piece by piece, exploring the mind of a madman and the victim who became his tragic masterpiece."

The podcast hummed on, filling the room with its haunting tones, but you barely cared to listen anymore.

Minutes blurred into hours as the voice from Guilty Files looped again and again due to the auto-reply setting – like a haunting lullaby as the night deepened and stretched into dawn.

You couldn’t remember when exactly you stopped feeling afraid, when the days of forcing yourself to stay awake, tense and watchful of his every move, faded into a quiet, almost comforting vigilance.

Your body hardly held up against the sleep deprivation anymore—the growing dark circles beneath your eyes, a permanent reminder of the restless nights.

A half-smile tugged at your lips as you realized how things have changed.

You once stayed awake out of sheer instinct to protect yourself, to be alert in case you needed to run or fight. Now, it was almost the opposite. Without him here, sleep barely found you. Nights felt endless, stretching on with a kind of hollow ache in his absence.

You shook your head with a soft chuckle, wondering how those intense feelings of repulsion, resentment, and distrust had morphed over time.

You hadn’t erased them from your memory—no, the past lingered somewhere in your mind like a hazy bruise, its details blurry, softened by months of peace. But now, those feelings felt foreign, detached from who you had become.

It should feel wrong, this quiet dependency.

But instead, there was a numbness, a void that only grew the longer you were alone.

Without him, hours slipped by, each minute swallowed up by the white noise in your mind. The days bled together, your once-sharp memories of the outside world fading with each passing sunrise.

You shifted on the bed, feeling a strange pull in your chest, something close to yearning.

He had been the only person you had seen, touched, spoken to for over a year then.

The only one whose warmth had brushed against your skin, whose heartbeat you had felt under your fingertips, whose gaze had persisted on you like a steady, consuming flame. His scent lingered; faint but intoxicating, grounding you even in his absence.

His azure eyes could pierce through you, could see you in a way no one else ever had. And despite the circumstances – despite everything, the thought of his presence was enough to quiet your mind.

He was your lifeline, you realized.

But still, a flicker of doubt remained, persistent and insidious. A small voice whispered from some dark corner of your mind, wondering if, one day, you would end up like Mary and Ethan. If their story—so far removed, yet so disturbingly familiar—might someday become your own. The thought clawed at you, fed your anxiety, a spiraling threat you couldn’t shake. You closed your eyes, the intrusive thoughts circling, until—

A familiar voice, low and steady, broke through the fog.

“You’re still awake?”

You turn, eyes wide and heart pounding, as his silhouette fills the doorway. He was here. Just the sound of his voice pulled you back to yourself, the steady beat of his presence grounding you.

You remain frozen, eyes fixed on the partially open door, waiting for him to step into the room. It had been nearly two weeks since you had last seen him, and by then, you weren’t sure if it was just another trick your mind was playing to keep you company. Normally, you would have leapt up, rushing to the door to greet him, craving his presence like a lovesick puppy. But that night, fatigue held you down, a heaviness that stilled even your reflexes.

The podcast still played softly in the background, its dark tale echoing through the room for him to hear. The voice of the host was sharp, unforgiving as it detailed the spiral of obsession and control. For a brief moment, you considered turning off the TV, dousing the flames before they ignited something. But the small voice in your head urged you to let it play. You weren’t forbidden from watching what you wanted—but the choice of a story that cut so close to your reality would undoubtedly provoke him. And that night, some reckless part of you wanted that.

It had been a long time since you’d felt the fire of rebellion. These days, your resistance had dulled, your heart no longer set on escape. But a strange desire lingered to test his patience, to push him and see what might lie beyond that endless restraint he showed you. If he could shatter into the darker version of himself that you had glimpsed once, if he could give you a reason to feel that old, familiar defiance… maybe then you’d feel the spark to resist, to remember the drive to escape.

You finally heard his footsteps from the dim hallway, and then he was there – standing at the edge of the bedroom, his gaze locked on the TV screen.

He looked… different. The warmth that usually softened his features was gone; his face was unreadable, lips pressed tight, eyes focused intently on the flickering screen. In the pale glow of the TV, he looked cold, a shadow of the man you’d caught a rare glimpse of when he was with his manager. Mr. Baek was his name, you remembered.

But then, his expression shifted. His shoulders tensed, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed, seeming to struggle against something unsaid. His azure eyes met yours, and for one wild, exhilarating moment, you braced yourself, expecting the crack of anger, the explosion of emotion you had tried to provoke. But instead, his gaze wasn’t clouded with betrayal or fury—it was softened, tingling with something like… worry.

A pang of frustration twisted within you, and you felt yourself frowning slightly. Every time you tried to defy him, to lash out or make him question you, it would be always the same.

Rather than reacting with the anger you expected, he looked at you with concern, as if worried you might have accidentally hurt yourself in the process. Your resistance had become something almost… childish, a temper tantrum to him, and he was the unshakable adult, the one who only wanted to make sure you were safe.

You were caught between loathing and surrender when he finally walked toward you, his expression softening further with each step. He reached the bed, his hands warm and steady as they brushed gently against your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch melted something deep within you, that stubborn knot of defiance uncoiling despite your best efforts.

“Are you mad at me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable. His eyes searched yours with a quiet, heartbreaking sincerity, like he was on the edge of breaking himself.

You opened your mouth to say something sharp, something that might salvage a piece of your independence, but the words catch in your throat.

“No,” you said instead, your voice small, subdued. You looked away, guilt creeping in despite yourself, a feeling that maybe letting the podcast play had been a step too far.

Maybe you had miscalculated the game, and were, instead of the satisfaction of resistance, were left with a hollow ache in your chest.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your forehead with a tenderness that nearly let you loose. “I’m sorry, baby. I kept you waiting for too long this time, didn’t I?”

The question hung between you, heavy and painfully intimate. You don’t answer, keeping your gaze fixed downward, hoping he wouldn’t see the storm of emotions threatening to break through. Your fingers clutched the edge of the blanket, grounding you, as you struggled against the pull of vulnerability he drew from you so effortlessly. In your silence, he lingered, his thumb brushing over your aching lips, a gentle reminder of the hold he had over you.

And as the light outside began to creep in, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was any part of you left that could still muster the will to leave.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

@shadowytravelerlover

[wingedfuncomputer]

The outskirts of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

Warnings: naive!reader, apart from that none really just your father lowkey being rude to Remmick cause he’s Irish 💔.

Authors note: This is just a slice of what I’ve been writing for Remmick. My actual word count for the story is 8.5k as of now, close to finishing but I wanted to see if it’s something you Remmick lovers would want to see (I know it’s pretty lengthy). My story is aimed at not just the romance but scare factor? If that’s what you can call it. no full fledged smut or healthy romance here just trying to ground myself in realistic outcomes. I don’t think that man could love normally lmao. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 1.4K Fic playlist Full Fic!

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From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set she was tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacted the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled your active swipe back and forth stopped confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be  thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble from a very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir".  You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man who stood at the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving".  Your heart  ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him n’ get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then proceeded orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled my father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady much?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request to come inside, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. He had good amount of muscle on his arms and lines on his face. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you no lack of confidence, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property".

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him you yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands go up to your father’s arms as you can see his anger exalt, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger is concentrated on you before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside from your arm instead. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once behind you once more offering a look of "I'm sorry" before the front door is slammed shut by your father.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being  ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. "coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick you repeat in your head liking the ring it had to it. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself  which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage had nothing to do with your lack of a response. " f’course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks in embarrassment . "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time, my father...-that is no way to be treated". He just smiles, a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often, let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. stayin’ around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you so how would tolerate this stranger . His eyes are trained on your every twitch, your chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your  father it was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind in contemplation. If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go in town for food trips or what not for the farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

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[littlemissmiller]

Bird in a Cage

Part 1: To Me, You Are Divine

Pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

Summary: a young president snow decided to kidnap you and take you as his prisoner in his palace. he needs a First Lady, and you could be the one…

Warning: 21+ (drinking) eventual smut, non-con, mentions of drugging (reader gets drugged by coryo), toxic themes, possession, stalking, kidnapping

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: hi…still working on Summer Highs and The Shopkeepers Daughter part 2 but in typical ADHD fashion, they have been left still yet to be finished. in the meantime (also in typical ADHD fashion) i got sooooo caught up in this story that i kinda wrote it and can’t seem to stop. The words are just flowing outta me. anyways i need to get a pedro fic out (which i have those started too!) ok so enjoy this y’all it’s so fucking dark 🤍 also…we already almost at 300 followers so I would appreciate the follow (and who doesn’t like a nice round number)

Series Masterlist

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The vastness of the palace made you feel even more alone than you already did. Being trapped in this room all day and night was starting to become unsettling. It is only a few days and still, you haven’t even made contact with the man who is holding you in his possession. Coriolanus Snow, the young president, had taken you as his own. Little did you know that you are just merely a part of his collection. The collection of girls he had taken home, held captive, then released when he wanted a new one. And to keep these women quiet, money and the veiled threats of losing your life or a loved ones. He was no stranger to keeping his promises. So when he saw you at The Gamemakers Gala, you became his prey. He had taken you home to the palace and made you his.

You were sure it was only two days, but still waking up groggy, confused, and unsure of your location can make time feel like a burden. But a maid had told you two days ago, so you went with it. Apparently he has every intention of seeing you, but based on the light outside the window, evening is setting in, so you’re not sure. You had no more tears left to cry as you lay and waited for dinner. You’re not sure how much longer it is, but eventually someone knocks on your door. You pop up, and a maid enters the room. She rolls in a mahogany tray table with fresh polished silverware, and a plate cover to match.

“Your dinner” she announces

She reveals a freshly seasoned sirloin steak, with the most perfect mashed potatoes you’ve ever seen, topped off with fresh cut chives. And he even sent you a slice of chocolate cake. It’s truly the most perfect plate you’ve seen and it was only your second dinner here in the presidential palace. Despite being held captive, Snow was keeping you well fed. You nod at her and begin digging in.

“He wishes to see you after dinner. I’ll wait outside to escort you.”

You look up at her in shock and then another wave of surprise hits you as she hands you an outfit. It was a black two piece. A halter top and pants with the slits of the leg cut out, like a two legged skirt and a pair of lace up, black heels She then hands you a bag with some foundation, mascara, lipstick, and a compact. You take it and she leaves, locking the door. You sit there, fearful and confused. What was he planning on doing to you? Why is he dressing you up like a doll and fattening you like a pig? You look back down at your dinner plate with a new found disgust and push it away. Fuck it. If you don’t finish your dinner, you don’t have to see him. You’ll say you’ve fallen ill, which you practically have when the reality of your situation comes crashing down on you again. You toss the outfit and makeup onto the bed and cross your arms.

A few moments pass and before you know it the maid is knocking again. You assume she’s checking on your progress but she simply walks in with a white envelope in hand. She gives it to you without a word, leaving the room, locking the door again. Your name is printed in fine calligraphy, a deep blood red. You turn it over and notice the, white, wax seal, engraved with a rose. You shakily open it, and reveal a note. It reads:

My dear,

I’ve seen this little show before. I always find it charming and I of course love a good game, however, I know you will not win. No matter how hard you try. This being said, I of all people know how to use hunger as a weapon and trust me your body will crave it soon enough, or I could ask the chef to cook for one less person while you’re in my care. It’s up to you.

Don’t keep me too much longer.

-C.S.

Fuck. He’s watching you. A new wave of consciousness creeps over you and you frantically look around the room, then realize he is probably still watching and stop your movements. You sit on the bed, look at the meal and sigh. Your stomach is growing given lunch was soup and some bread. It was a rich chicken noodle, but not filling enough. He must have planned that too. All a part of the game he was apparently playing with you. You begrudgingly take up the fork and knife, slicing up the juicy meat and biting into it. Of course it’s divine, and a small moan escapes your lips and you scoop up some mashed potatoes.

You take your time to eat though, making him wait even longer for you, despite his request in the note. Maybe you can win this game. In your own little ways. You eventually finish your meal and stare at the outfit and makeup bag. You sigh, seeing that this may be the only way out. You touch the fabric, it’s so silky and smooth. It dances on your fingertips and you can’t help but want to at least try it on. You know once you do that, you’ll be truly trapped in his game. You sigh and want to cry, but hold it together. Now that you're painfully aware he’s watching you, you know the only thing that will please him next will be to do as you're told. Or starve until you die apparently. Would he really do that to a citizen of The Capital? You figure he just might, considering you’re this far into his plans. You take the outfit in your hand and walk into the bathroom attached to the room.

As you change, you wonder if he’s still watching you. You hope not. You’d hope he’d give you that privacy, then again you still don’t know what he has in store for you. Given that he’s making you change outfits, it seems like he wants a surprise. Like a gift being presented to him. As you strap up the heels, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. You take a deep breath as the tears start to well in your eyes. Now is not the time to fall into a mess, he wants you beautiful for him and you need to be to make it through this. Once you get a better layout of the palace and his room, you’ll be able to formulate a better escape plan.

You knock on the door and the maid opens it. She is now accompanied by two armed guardsmen, which you assume is to keep you from running. You hold yourself high as you walk out, even though your fear is still sitting in the back of your mind. Without a word, the two men and the maid walk you through the palace. It’s just as beautiful as the pictures you’ve seen. Tall ceilings, marble floors, wide windows, grand staircases. He truly has it all. You follow the group down a long hall, walls decorated with pictures of Panem and Snows of the past. Based on the pictures you see now, he looks a lot like his father. Finally, they arrive at a set of double doors, the same mahogany as the tray table. The maid knocks twice and opens the door. She stands aside and you walk in. The walls of his room have the same white marble as the floors outside, adorned with gold plating. The floors match the door and in front of you is an empty desk and red armchair. Standing beside the wide window, with his back to you, President Snow spares a quick glance over his shoulder, giving a satisfied smile.

“You found your way.”

“I was escorted.”

“That’s not what I meant dear. You look stunning by the way.”

“Well you did pick it” you scoff

“Is that a little attitude I detect?” He clicks his tongue at you “tsk tsk oh my dear, you really want to play like that hmm?”

“I don’t want to play any games, President Snow. Just please, can you tell me why I’m here? Why was I stuck in that room alone for two days?”

“To monitor your health. The drugs I gave you can sometimes make you nauseous for a few days.”

You temper your breathing. So you could have been there for much longer without realizing it. When you woke up that next morning, not in your own bed, in a room completely foreign to you, you did feel slightly groggy, highly confused and had no memory of the night before, which you chalked up to drinking. But no, Snow had drugged you and kidnapped you. And now here you stand, face to face with him. You don’t even remember meeting him until now, now something tells you that you did a few days ago.

“Well why am I here?”

He smirks and walks around to you. You don’t let your eyes leave him. It’s hard not to when his piercing blue ones practically beckon for you to stare into them. They call you, keeping you focused. Now that he’s closer up, you can see the handsome features you’ve only seen in newspapers. The same face that would sit on your coffee table and sometimes be used as a coaster, is now staring at you intensely. He eyes you, and you watch them trail down your body.

“Come closer to me.” He beckons, curling his index finger.

You nervously waltz forward, looking down nervously.

“Look up at me. Did you forget your manners?”

“No…” you breathe, now close enough to be able to touch him.

“No? What did I just say about manners my dear?” He chuckles

“No, President Snow.” You tremble

He reaches out, holding your chin, making you look directly at him.

“Good girl. You’ll learn. Consistency is key after all.” He trails the pad of his thumb against your lower lip and coos at you, almost forgetting his own manners as well. He clears his throat, and removes his hand.

“You want to know why you’re here?” He continues

“Yes, President Snow.” You nod

He smiles at you and tilts his head.

“You’re learning. That’s good.”

He pauses

“I brought you here because I think you’re special. Maybe you are even special enough to keep…”

“To keep, sir?”

“Mhmm” he walks around you, examining you. He brushes your hair back behind your shoulder and wafts in your scent.

“I assume you showered this morning? You smell nice.” He continues

“I did. I used the body wash that was available to me.”

“Good.” He smiles

There is a moment of silence while he continues to look at you. He walks to face you again and you look back up at him quickly.

“So here’s how this will work, you will live here, with me, in the palace. We will start dining together and you will accompany me to events if necessary. People won’t be suspicious since they assume that I was a president of integrity that made sure you got home safe and sound after the gala. They will assume you fell for my chivalry and I under the spell of your beautiful face.”

“For how long?” You stutter

“Well you see, I don’t have an answer for you on that. See I said you can’t win earlier and that wasn’t entirely true. You can win this game.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m looking for a First Lady of Panem. I believe you could be qualified to fit that role, but I like a good trial run with things.”

“So you kidnapped me, because you want me to be your wife.”

“That’s a strong word, but if everything works out then yes, but if not you will be properly reimbursed for your time, a non-disclosure contract will be drawn up, and you’ll be free to live as you please…as long as you don’t go around talking about this, then you’ll have bigger problems. Do you understand?” He raises an eyebrow

“Yes, President Snow…”

“Good. When I’m not around, the maids will tend to you, and you will from now on have armed guards with you at all times. When you sleep, they will guard your room.”

“I understand.”

“You are very lucky either way. I do believe most women would love to be here right now, hand picked by their president. I have fine taste you see, and that applies to the women I make mine as well.”

“What if I win,” you start, putting win in air quotes “then doesn’t that mean I stay here. With you…forever?”

“That’s right my dear, you’ll be by my side, rule over Panem with me.”

“What if I don’t want that?” You mumble, fearful of his answer

He steps closer and smiles at you. He takes a lock of your hair and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. He drops it and smooths it out along your collarbone.

“Oh, I’m sure you will. Once you see what this lifestyle has to offer, you’ll try to be my most perfect girl.”

Your eyes widen and your heartbeat speeds up. You have nothing to say, as if all language has escaped your brain.

“Do you have anything else to ask me?” He smiles

“Why not just find a wife through normal means? Meet someone and get to know them?” You quiver again

“Why would I do that when it’s in my complete power to pick and choose. It’s easier that way too, I hate courting somebody, that silly dance people do. Does she like me, does he think I’m pretty, blah blah blah. All nonsense if you ask me. I know I like you. Like you enough to see if you're a good fit. All I really have to do is get you to like me. It’s better that way. You go to the store to buy things like apples, well I picked mine straight from the tree. I don’t go through anyone for the things I want. I just…take it.”

“And you won’t hurt me?”

“Hurt you? Of course not. Why would I want to hurt a beautiful thing such as yourself?” He smirks.

He walks back around you again and stands behind. He places his hand on your shoulder, brushes back your hair and leans into your ear.

“You should know how beautiful you are. To me you are divine.” He whispers, his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear.

He rubs your shoulders tenderly, thumbs moving along your spine. Then unexpectedly, you feel his lips press against your neck. He applies a fair amount of pressure, leaving several kisses behind as he pulls back.

“Did that hurt?”

“No sir.” You breathe

“See. Like I said I don’t want to hurt you”

He returns his lips back to your neck, his hand creeping up to your jaw to push you more aggressively against his mouth. Your breath hitches and heartbeat speeds up. You want to turn him away, push him off and scream that he's an absolute monster, but your body begins to betray you. A slow heat creeps up your body, your cunt beginning to throb. You purse your lips, controlling your breath as he continues to attack your neck.

“Tell me, what can I do to make you happy while you’re in my care. I do truly desire your comfort as much as I desire to find a proper First Lady.”

“I want to be able to speak to my family. Do they know where I am?”

“Right now, they assume that you are away for work, and got called up to model the latest dresses for future Hunger Games contestants this summer. To them, you’re in District 2 for a few days.”

With that you snap and push him away, flinching as he tries to kiss you again. In response, he clutches your arm and pulls you back to him. He tightens his grip, teeth grazing your ears.

“Or I’ll send them another letter saying you were found dead after the gala, popped some pills looking for fun and took your last breath instead.” He grits harshly

“You said you don’t want to hurt me.” You whine

“I don’t want to. But I most certainly can.” He growls

“Please, I don’t want this please just let me go instead, I’ll take whatever money you offer, I don’t want this!” You begin to cry

“Let’s be honest, you don’t know what you really want. If you did, you’d be begging to stay. So I’ll show you. I’ll show you everything you could really want and more”

He once again surprises you, kissing your cheek, softly letting your tears roll onto his lips. He holds you more gently now, and you can feel your body wanting to melt into his arms. You start to stifle your tears and he soothes you.

“I have a feeling you just might be the one. You’re not like the others so far…”

“Others?” You mumble

“Mhmm. They aren’t around anymore. Like I said they got their dues instead. They know what happens if they speak up. I think you should really think about what it means for you to be my prize. Because like I said, even if you lose the game, you still belong to me.”

He kisses your jaw, hands settling on your waist. He coos into your ear, stroking your hair. You sniffle and look down at the floor. He moves his hand and tilts your head back up.

“You’ll be able to talk to your family soon enough darling. I promise.” He kisses your cheek again.

You shutter against him, more cries desperately wanting to escape your lips, but the way he continues to stroke your hair, soothes you. You suddenly feel so conflicted, accepting his comfort, but wanting to turn him away.

“In the meantime my dear…” he moves his hands back to your waist and squeezes your hips. Your body tenses at his actions and he moves his lips back down to your neck. You are somewhat frozen, trying your best to focus more on the pleasure he brings you.

“I’d like to get to know you better. Show you how beautiful you are? Hmm would you like that?” His left hand trails up your body, stopping just as he reaches your breast. You quiver at his touch, and turn to look toward him. Your eyes are full of fear and Coriolanus can see it. He sighs.

“Or perhaps another night. I’ll let you get more settled in…” he kisses your cheek one last time, before stepping in front of you. You look up at him and nod. With the pad of this thumb, he wipes a tear away. He calls out for the maid and she opens the door.

“I think we both shall retire for the night.” He tells you.

He holds your chin one last time, and you face him fully.

“I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow. What do you like?”

“I’ll eat anything you give me.” You quiver

He gives you a faint smile and a simple nod. He sends you off with the maid and armed guards back to your room, watching you as you go. Once you return, you are left alone again and remember that he can watch you in this room. Which he is. As soon as you left, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and turned the video feed back on. He watched you enter the room. As you sit on the bed, trying not to cry, then look over into the bathroom and huff. You stand back up and storm in, closing the door behind you. You let out a huge sigh of relief. You were sure he would be persistent, not stop until he truly got what he wanted. Which is you. You sink down onto the floor, bury your face in your knees and let out a slow, soft sob.

꧁🝮꧂

Next Chapter

[volturissideslut]

Hello!! Can you please do a yandere Marcus x stubborn human reader who’s a shield like Bella so when Marcus kidnaps her, they can’t use Chelsea or Corins gifts on her and she tries to escape multiple times which increases Marcus’s anxiety about her safety so he locks her up in the tower with Sulpicia and Athenodora. She stops talking to him when he comes to visit and finally Marcus falls to his knees begging for a chance and she ignores him, so Athenodora and Sulpicia explain his past to her. She feels sad and gives him a chance in return he has to let her have her own room and not in the tower. He reluctantly agrees and she slowly becomes more affectionate with him. Maybe height difference+ cute ending🥰please ignore if you don’t like it!!! Thank you!! 🫶🏻

𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖚𝖘 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎

"I am not a bird Marcus! You cannot expect to cage me and have me stay willingly" you huff from the other side of the room at him, too angry to allow him into your space. It had been an immediate adjustment, having gone from having your own place and freedom, to being confined to the hallways of the castle, and now locked in this one teeny (roomy, but the walls became suffocating in the long hours) tower.

"I do not intend to cage you, but you are so infuriating! How is it you attempt to escape from a fortress of vampires and not be caught, just to walk around the town willy nilly? It is not safe for you to wander. It is not safe for you to leave here. I am your mate and my duty is protecting you, and so you shall remain here" his glare is cold and it makes you wonder what warmth you might have imagined in him when you first met.

"And what if i don't want to be your mate, hm? What if i'm happier gone?" A step too far perhaps. He marches from his place up to you, invading your space completely. His nose brushes against yours, and though his touch may be delicate the fury in his eyes sure isn't.

The silence is palpable, the only noise in the room being your heavy pent-up breathing. He towers above you, head tilted down, and all your eyes see is the pitch blackness of his. Oh how you've angered him.

Your mouth goes dry, tongue dropping, and heart beating. "I'm sorry Marcus, I didn't mean-"

"Don't ever doubt my intention with you, Tesoro" the pet name seems more acidic than before, yet his forehead pushes against yours oh so sweetly. "I will tear down covens to bring you joy, burn the world for your mere satisfaction. I will not risk your safety. You want out of this tower? Fine. Come back to our chambers and play by the rules." The vibration of his voice has she almost in shivers. Perhaps with brazen lust of a deeply connected fear.

Heart in throat, you nod- not once breaking eye contact with the inky black of his. "i'll come back" your voice is a whisper, delicate like this moment as you watch him physically relax. He straightens up, now towering a whole head above you. "and i don't doubt you"

And for the first time in weeks, since you first tried hopping out a window to visit some stalls, you see his face relax and a small smile grace him.

Marcus leans over, a chaste kiss pressed into your lips. "Good" his eyes close, and he lets out a silent breath of relief.

"But we should talk about assigning me a guard, so that i might be able to have some freedoms at least?"

"If that is what keeps you with me" his head is in the crook of your neck, much like an overstimulated cat hiding with their chosen person. And you let the moment last, him getting affection the two of you had starved yourselves of for a week.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Ciao, blusy! 😊

I think this idea might be a bit triggering, so you can totally ignore it if you want, but I just thought of it and had to share! What if Mother Miranda kidnaps the Reader because she thinks they know who the perfect vessel for Rose could be, but they really don’t have a clue?

So, after asking a bunch of questions and getting no answers, Miranda gets super mad and hands the Reader over to Donna to lock them in the basement. Miranda drops by every now and then, trying to get the Reader to talk, but when they keep quiet, she loses it and tortures them. After she’s done, she tells Donna to do the same when she's gone.

Donna hesitates at first, but eventually decides to take care of the Reader after Miranda leaves the mansion. This whole cycle keeps happening—Miranda tortures the Reader, they don’t know anything, then Donna comes in to help afterward.

But one time, Miranda totally runs out of patience and goes harder on the Reader than ever before. Donna can’t handle it, so she finally steps in and convinces Miranda that the Reader really doesn’t know anything. After that, she takes extra care of the Reader and all that good stuff!

Yesss!!!! Sorry about the delay and thank you for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

Hopeless

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, slightly dark themes, hurt & comfort, fluff...

Word count: 7,514

Summary: You are trapped in a nightmare and no one was going to save you...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“She's a stubborn little bird,” the blonde commented with a sinister smile, glancing sideways at the other woman accompanying you, the one dressed entirely in black.

“I don’t...” you murmured.

“Shut up!” the woman dressed as a priestess, the woman who had kidnapped you a few days ago, shrieked. “If you're not going to tell me what I want to know, remain silent.”

The other woman looked at the witch briefly, but you couldn't tell how, since a strange black veil covered her face.

You knew little about where you were at that moment. You remembered the cold, an impressive mansion next to a waterfall, a portrait you could barely make out, and finally the darkness and dampness of a basement.

At least it wasn't the kind of cage that woman Miranda had locked you in for days, but of course, you were aware that your situation hadn't improved at all.

“Ugh...” Miranda sighed, rubbing her eyes and shaking her head. “Donna, I guess I can trust you.”

The lady in black nodded slowly, without saying a word. All you could do was watch, instinctively protect yourself, and slide to the floor. Trying to escape wasn't an option; you had marks on your arm to prove it.

The veiled woman didn't move; she stood before you, like a stone statue. You didn't know for sure, but you had the feeling those hidden eyes were watching you.

The priestess moved forward, leaning over you as you shielded yourself with your arms.

“You're lucky I have important things to do than make you talk, little bird,” Miranda whispered to you, tilting her head. “Or rather… You're almost lucky,” she murmured with a terrifying laugh, sitting up and addressing the woman in black again. “Fine, Donna… Keep her alive, will you?”

The lady nodded slightly again, and a cold draft told you that your kidnapper had moved away, causing you to lower your arms. The woman leaned toward the witch, murmuring something you couldn't hear.

“Of course you won't let me down, my dear,” the blonde said. “Well, I have to go, and I'll tell you again: As much as you'd like to play with her... don't kill her, okay? And you, little bird,” she whispered, approaching you again. “Don't force poor Donna to disobey me, will you? She doesn't like rude dolls.”

With a wide smile, the kidnapper turned around, leaving the dark room, leaving you alone with the unknown, silent lady.

The sound of the elevator told you she had left, and your heart calmed slightly, at least until your gaze fell on the strange woman again.

The silence was somehow reassuring, but uncomfortable. That lady in black stood motionless, her eyes probably fixed on you. For a moment, you thought you felt some relief, but the words of that woman, Mother Miranda, echoed in your head.

“Please...” you sighed softly, keeping your gaze on her. “Please help me, that woman has kidnapped me.”

The lady didn't move, but she turned her head towards you, showing she was listening. Of course, there was no response.

“Please, I shouldn't be here, I...” you insisted, standing up, but keeping your distance from that Donna lady. “I haven't done anything to deserve this.”

Once again, silence reigned in the dark basement.

“I've been locked in this place for days. I'm hungry and thirsty. Please, I beg you, set me free,” you pleaded, clasping your hands together.

A sigh escaped the black veil, and her heels clicked as she got closer to you, as if she were studying you, watching you. A pale hand reached out slowly, cautiously, towards your face.

You averted your face from the contact, causing her arm to flinch and a gasp to emerge from the black fabric. Then, without saying a word, she walked toward the door, ready to abandon you there.

“Wait!” you screamed desperately, lunging at her, grabbing her wrist. “Help me, please,” you whispered.

The lady turned slowly, slipping from your grasp with a sharp movement, but not moving away from you.

“Please... Donna, y-your name is Donna, right?” you stammered, breathing heavily, sensing an invisible danger that seemed to be stalking you.

She looked at you, you were sure of it, and grabbed your shoulders with a swift movement, forcing you to walk backward, to the back of the room.

“No, please, no,” you said, closing your eyes, fearing a retaliation, one that never came.

The sound of her heels fading away made you relax, keeping your gaze on the lady in black as she disappeared through the door, merging into the darkness of the basement.

“No...” you sighed, walking back to the exit. “Wait, please wait!”

The door slammed shut in your face, and you began to bang desperately on it.

“Help!” you shrieked, your fists bouncing off the wood. “Please, someone help me!”

“Shut up, you noisy girl!” A disgusting shriek came from the other side of the room, making you flee to the small bed. Could it be that strange woman? That voice certainly didn't suit her at all.

Exhausted, you sank onto the mattress, curling into a ball and letting the tears escape. Your situation hadn't improved, it never would.

Maybe it was your fault for fleeing your country, for seeking refuge on the old continent, for wanting to create a new life.

Almost a year ago, you lost your father, the only person you had left in the world. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could still hear his last words, his distorted voice through the phone, his last call.

“You have to burn those documents, (Y/N), do you understand?”

“Dad, what's going on?” you asked, his voice sounding cold, as if he were hurt.

“Honey, y-you just do what I say, do it, (Y/N), and no matter what happens... Remember, your father loves you more than anything...”

You obeyed his orders without question, unaware that it would be the last time you would speak to him.

The next day, reality hit you. That strange scientific expedition had gone wrong. The ship your father was on, along with his companions, had run aground in the Louisiana swamps; there were no survivors.

You'd never know what really happened, what was in those documents he forced you to destroy, but you barely gave it any thought. You were left alone, your dreams as a young scientist sunk with that ship.

Nothing mattered anymore; nothing was left for you in the United States. You'd have to start from scratch.

You spent months traveling around Europe, looking for the ideal place for someone like you, but there didn't seem to be one. Romania seemed pleasant enough, and spending one more day among those snowy mountains was the worst decision of your life.

Being kind was your downfall. An old woman asked you for help crossing a street, something that wasn't suspicious at all. Then you saw her smile, and everything went black.

You woke up in a cage, next to a blonde woman who called herself Mother Miranda. It didn't take you long to recognize that woman in one of your father's photos. She, along with him, had worked in the scientific group, The Connections, and had been on the Louisiana ship.

It was impossible; that woman was an old woman, and suddenly, she transformed into that horrible witch.

What did she want from you? Information, documents your father had kept secret, documents that apparently contained something very important to her.

And so, you ended up kidnapped in that strange village filled with nighttime roars, with shadows that seemed to lurk around that imposing castle. But Miranda's patience had its limits, and after days of torture, she decided to take you to that mansion, with that lady in black.

You were trapped in that place, and the worst part was... no one would come for you, something Miranda reminded you of again and again. What horrors awaited you with that woman in mourning? It seemed you wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

Your crying was interrupted by the creaking of the door.

That woman named Donna appeared slowly, and you instinctively got out of bed, leaning against the wall farthest from her. She was holding something in her hand, something steaming, which she placed on a small table next to a glass of clear liquid.

“W-What...?” you sighed in confusion, peering over to see what the steaming plate contained. It seemed impossible: Food. “What...?”

She didn't answer; she just stared at you, as if waiting for something. You, of course, didn't move, but tried to confirm that what was on the plate was indeed food, eyeing it suspiciously.

“A-Are you giving me food?” you asked in a low, cautious voice, taking a step forward. “Why?”

You expected nothing but a tense silence in response.

A tired sigh escaped from behind the black veil before the lady approached, roughly tugging at your arm and leading you to the table.

“Let me go!” you yelled, trying to defend yourself. You were weak, and that woman seemed stronger; you had nothing to do. “No!”

Her hand rested on your shoulder, pushing you down onto the chair in front of the steaming food.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice trembling, your senses clouded by the alluring smell of that plate of pasta. “What do you want from me?”

She didn't respond. She let your arm go and brought it up to your face with a strange, erratic movement, wiping away with her thumb a tear that was running down your cheek. You remained motionless, petrified with fear as her hand moved down to yours, to the marks left on your skin by the handcuffs you wore in that cage.

Her finger curiously traced the wounds, gently, delicately.

Your instinct forced you to move away, frightened, and she responded with a quick gesture, moving away, but still looking at you.

The lady clasped her hands in front of her, nodding towards her plate of food, turning and disappearing quickly, leaving you alone again.

When you recovered, you looked at the pasta. It might have been poisoned, it might be the last thing you'd ever eat, but your desperate stomach growled loudly, forcing you to pick up the fork.

The flavor was perfect, delicious, and the warmth ran down your throat, comforting you. There was nothing unusual, no sour taste to indicate that the dish had been altered in any way. It was food, real food.

You devoured the pasta quickly, noticing how you regained some strength, how the water calmed the screams in your dry throat. Maybe you'd gotten lucky, or so you thought for a second.

After dinner, you began to feel lucid and looked around the room more closely.

Flour, cans of preserves, boxes... At least you wouldn't go hungry. You sat up in bed, sighing, wondering what you could do to save yourself, and noticed a detail: the bedroom door wasn't completely closed; a black line appeared between the frame and the handle.

“My God...” you sighed, slowly getting up, pushing the door to check that it wasn't, indeed, locked. That could be your chance.

You were afraid, but your desire to escape was much stronger. Carefully, you walked, peeking through the door, looking around. Darkness was all you could see.

After a few minutes, checking that the woman wasn't around, you decided to try your luck, see if you had any luck left. You slowly left the room, wandering through that damp and gloomy place.

The labyrinthine hallways were a bad idea, and you turned to look for the exit, only to find a wood-paneled room, one that seemed to lead to a possible salvation. The creaking walls and the feeling of danger invaded you, forcing you to walk faster.

A smile formed on your face when you saw your salvation: an old-fashioned elevator that seemed to be waiting for you.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you repeated, nervously pressing the button, trying to open the door grille, without success. It was locked. “No, no, no, damn it,” you wailed, grabbing the bars and shaking them. “There has to be something around here I can use to open it,” you muttered, looking around.

“I wouldn't do that, stupid!” A squeaky voice like the one from a moment ago startled you. You'd been caught.

You gasped in shock, turning around as quickly as you could; there was no one, nothing in that place, only the dim light from a lamp, confirming that you were alone.

“Shit,” you whispered, your heart about to jump out of your chest, scanning your surroundings, looking for the lady in black, the source of that unpleasant voice.

Walking, you moved forward, peeking into the rooms you found and tripping over something that had been thrown on the floor. It looked like a doll, an antique ventriloquist's doll made of porcelain and wood.

“What’s this?” you asked quietly, bending down to pick up the puppet and examine it closely. “What the...?”

“Boo!”

“Ahhhh!” you squealed as the doll moved, as that squeaky voice came out of its mouth and its limbs thrashed in your arms. “Oh, God!” you squealed again, dropping the doll and running through the hallways.

“Hey! Be more careful, stupid! I'll tell Donna, I'll tell Donna!” it crooned, its sinister laugh echoing off the basement walls as you desperately tried to flee.

“Fuck, fuck,” you gasped as you ran, staring into the darkness behind you, clumsily tripping over something that crossed your path, a black figure you knew. “Donna...” you sighed, horrified by the consequences of your attempt to flee, but too scared to even think about it.

“Hey, come back here!” that voice shrieked, forcing you to make a stupid gesture, to take refuge behind the veiled woman, protecting yourself from that terrifying living doll.

The lady in black turned her head towards you, allowing you to see a thin line of pale skin on the sides of her veil. Realizing your mistake, you stepped away from her black clothing, unable to find a valid excuse for your behavior.

“S-Sorry, I was...” you murmured, moving further away from the lady as she followed you with her gaze. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

“Bullshit! Donna, she was trying to escape!” the voice spoke, making you retreat behind the lady again, who this time pulled you away, grabbing your arms.

“Please... I won't do it again, I...” you begged as she held you, while, out of the corner of your eye, you saw something impossible: That doll walking on its own, approaching you. “Oh my God... it's impossible...”

“Shut up, silly girl, do you think you could escape? Silly, silly,” the doll mocked, hands on its hips.

The lady abruptly let you go, approaching the puppet, extending its arms to her owner.

“How is this possible?” you asked, delirious at the sight before you, observing every detail of the doll. “No... This isn't happening.”

“Miranda didn't send us the smartest girl in the class, huh?” the puppet mocked, causing its laughter to bounce off the walls. The woman in black remained motionless.

“Are you a ventriloquist?” you asked, slowly moving away from the lady and her doll. “S-Sorry, I…”

“Shut up, silly girl,” the doll—or the woman, you didn’t know—scolded you. “By the way, the bathroom is down the hall on the left, not by the elevator gates.”

“Yes, I…” you said, thinking maybe you were talking to Donna, that it was her way of communicating with people. “I won’t try anything again, I promise, but please, d-don’t hurt me, Donna.”

“Donna? Lady Beneviento to you, stupid,” the doll snapped, making your legs shiver. “I’m The Fabulous Angie, but you can call me Angie for short,” it said afterward, extending a wooden hand towards you. “Come on, don’t be rude!”

Hesitant, but wanting to protect your life, you shook off the doll’s hand, walking away shortly after, your gaze searching the end of the hallway.

“That's it, go to the bathroom and then to bed, silly, don't make us angry,” Angie said, as you walked around, mouth agape.

You had no choice but to do what she said; everything was too strange, and you were too tired to think about anything else or run for your life.

Once in bed, the thoughts and memories of what you had experienced prevented your body from resting; living dolls, women in mourning, dark hallways... Yes, you might not be in a cage anymore, but you were in another prison.

The creaking of the door put you on alert again, deciding it was best to pretend to sleep, hoping the punishment for your disobedience would be swift.

The mattress sank with a new weight, and the scent of lavender that flooded your senses told you it was the lady in black who had sat down. With your back to her, you closed your eyes tightly, suppressing as much as you could the trembling of your body, the involuntary sobs you were emitting.

“Ti prego non piangere...”

You had to make a great effort not to jump when you heard that hoarse voice, so different from the doll's. You felt a warm hand in your hair, a subtle and silent caress. Her hand tangled itself slowly in your hair, and another hand pulled up the sheets to cover your trembling body.

Despite the strangeness of the situation, you didn't move. You let her cover you in a disturbingly maternal way, getting up with a sigh and carefully closing the door again.

You didn't have the desire or the time to think about what had just happened; it would be best to wait until the next day.

Nothing happened when you woke up. There was no punishment for your daring; there was nothing, only silence, only the distinctive smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of heels leaving your room.

“What?” you said drowsily, checking that you had a full breakfast on the table, your eyes searching for the lady in black. “Breakfast?” you asked, your voice cracking with sleep. You looked at the toast and the freshly brewed coffee.

“Good morning, stupid!” a high-pitched squeal almost made you jump.

That horrible doll was on the floor, waving mockingly at you. No matter how hard you searched, you couldn't find its owner, and you couldn't find a rational way to explain that extraordinary ventriloquism.

“Ahhh,” you murmured in fear, shrinking in on yourself as the puppet climbed onto the table.

“Well, I hope you've learned not to try anything stupid, silly girl,” Angie said, in a military tone. “It's your life that's at stake.”

“Miranda said she needed me alive,” you whispered, causing that sinister laugh to hurt your ears again.

“Oh, there are worse things than death, silly girl,” the puppet mocked, leaning too close to you and pretending to clear its throat. “So, Donna asked me to tell you that you can't get out of here, no matter how many times you try.”

“Donna told you to tell me? Aren't you her?” you asked curiously, shaking your head, but letting your hunger take over, reaching for a piece of toast. “I don't understand what's going on here...”

“Me? Donna? Please... I'm much more funny than her, you'll see,” the doll laughed, sitting on the table and swinging its legs, leaving you more and more astonished. “Anyway, you can wander around the basement, but try anything strange and you'll pay dearly for it, stupid...”

With those disturbing words, the doll disappeared, causing the idea of ​​escape to return to your mind, but not as intensely as before. You knew there was real danger in that place.

Two strange days passed. You ate breakfast, lunch, dinner... That strange woman fed you, but never said anything, not a word came from behind that black veil. You only saw her on those rare occasions; the rest of the time, you were alone.

Despite the warnings of that impossible living doll, you tried to escape once more, realizing, to your misfortune, that the place was much more dangerous than it seemed.

It was so real... much more real than a dream. The hallway was on fire, a ship's siren ravaged your ears, and your dead father haunted you, blaming you for everything. You didn't know what that was, how it was possible to hallucinate so lucidly every time you approached the elevator, but you didn't ask.

Donna, that Donna Beneviento, seemed to pay no attention to your escape attempts, probably because she, somehow, was causing those horrible visions. Resigned to staying there, you began to carefully explore that basement.

There was no torture, no contact. If it weren't for the fact that you knew the Angie doll was following you, it would seem you'd been abandoned to your fate in that place, alongside a lady in black who seemed nothing but a ghost.

“Hmm...” you murmured one bored morning, tired of begging for your release, accepting your cruel fate, studying the books in the old office.

In one of them, something was sticking out of the pages. You carefully pulled it off the shelf, frowning as you read a title you didn't understand.

“Italian? Great, I should have paid attention in my classes,” you commented with a wry smile, flipping through the pages until you found the paper sticking out.

It looked like an old black and white photograph, a photograph showing a family with serious expressions: a father, a mother, a teenage girl, and a baby, held in the woman's arms.

Curious, you turned the photograph over to read a small inscription.

Famiglia Beneviento, 1987

“1987?” you asked silently, shaking your head and turning the photo over again.

The teenage girl looked somehow familiar; she was a brunette, with her hair tied back in a messy bun and... with a scar across her right eye. In her arms, there was something even stranger: that sinister doll, Angie, was resting in the arms of the young woman, which meant one thing: That girl was Donna, the lady in the black veil.

“It's not possible,” you said, reading the inscription again. No, it certainly wasn't possible. The lady's hands were young, too young for that date, for all the years that had passed. “What are you?”

“Do you find anything interesting?” A familiar voice made you turn quickly, to discover something terrifying.

That horrible witch, Mother Miranda, was leaning against the doorframe, staring at you with glowing eyes. Fear gripped your body; the relative tranquility you'd experienced disappeared with her presence. You backed away slowly, your throat dry, you were paralyzed.

“You look fine, (Y/N),” the blonde commented, approaching slowly. “But I'm afraid we need to talk.”

Screams, demands, shoving… Your days in that cage resurfaced from your vague memory. Miranda tortured you on a chair, inside a sinister workshop while the lady in black, oblivious to what was happening, seemed to be working on something.

“You can’t remain silent forever!” Miranda shrieked, furious, gripping your cheeks tightly as your tears stained the stone floor. “For the last time…” she snarled, hurting you, digging her metal nails into your skin. “Where are those documents? What was the plan B?”

“I-I…” you stammered, paralyzed with fear, hissing in pain. “I don’t know what plan B you’re talking about, I don’t know anything, I swear…”

“You’re lying!” the witch shrieked, letting you go, almost knocking you off balance. “Your stupid father discovered a way to improve Eveline… I know you know it, speak up!”

“I don't know who Eveline is,” you said, your voice breaking, clumsily shielding yourself with your arms. “I don't know what you're talking about!”

“You useless little girl!" she yelled again, slapping you hard, knocking you to the floor. You felt a painful wetness on your cheek.

Desperate, you curled up on the cold stone floor, pleading desperately.

“Please... I don't know anything, please,” you sobbed, letting your tears soak into the blood running down your cheek due to the cut of her golden nails.

“Ugh,” Miranda protested, crossing her arms and shaking her head. “You're stubborn (Y/N),” she murmured, approaching, bending down and tugging hard at your hair. “Luckily for me, no one's coming after you. You can shut your big mouth as long as you want, I can wait…”

The woman released you, causing your head to bounce against the floor as you sobbed uncontrollably.

“Sorry, Donna, looks like you have to hold her in a little longer,” the priestess murmured before disappearing from the doors. “I'll come back tomorrow.”

The silence was only interrupted by your crying, your moans of pain. You remained lying on the floor, being closely watched by the living doll, which moved away, running toward its distracted owner.

“That looks bad,” Angie commented.

The woman stopped sewing, glancing at you before continuing.

No one was going to save you, and that reality made your tears intensify.

“I-I have to get out of here,” you muttered, dragging yourself along the floor towards the exit, clumsily trying to escape, something you knew you couldn't do.

The lady in black abruptly rose from the chair, still watching you, walking slowly towards your torture-battered body. She seemed nervous, playing with her hands in front of her body and seeming to nod and shake her head erratically, turning away from you.

When you heard her walk away, you continued crawling, but exhaustion and despair stopped you, causing you to collapse.

Donna, Lady Beneviento, stood up again, gesticulating strangely, as if she were debating something internally. Finally, her pace quickened, and her arms picked you up from the floor, pulling you to your feet. Panic gripped you.

“No, no! Please, no!” you begged, struggling with the woman, preventing her from holding you, kicking until she had no choice but to lift you into the air with a strength that was unnatural.

The lady in black effortlessly led you to a room adjacent to the dark workshop, dropping you into a chair. You tried to get up again, but a firm hand on your shoulder prevented you from doing so.

Weary, you lowered your head, the cut on your cheek beginning to sting. Donna stepped away when she was sure you wouldn't try to flee, opening a small cabinet on the wall as you watched.

“Please... let me go,” you sobbed, feeling the desperation speak for itself. “Please, Don... Lady Beneviento...”

She didn't respond. She turned around, holding a few jars and bandages, sitting in front of you. Frightened, you sensed a new round of torture.

“Don't do this, you don't have to do this...” you sobbed again, grabbing her wrists before they moved towards your face. “No, please...” you sighed, seeing in the motionless lady an opportunity to fight. “Don't touch me, don't touch me!” you screamed, frantically, moving your hands as hers approached your face again.

In one of your desperate gestures, you grabbed something, a black cloth that had been left in your hand; the black veil. Shocked by what you had done, you looked at the lady, discovering a truly beautiful woman, with a deformity on her face that was far from the small scar in the photograph.

Her single eye widened in surprise, and her expression grew cold, turning dangerous.

“Oh my God... I'm sorry,” you said, lowering your gaze, squeezing your eyes shut to withstand the blow you were sure to receive. Nothing happened.

Donna snatched the black cloth from your hands, glancing at it briefly, then back at you and finally deciding to leave the veil on the table.

“What... What happened to you?” you asked, moved by her appearance, by a beauty that seemed impossible to you.

The woman kept her gaze on you, but said nothing. She quickly brought her hands to your face again, bringing you back to the harsh reality.

“Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!” you begged, shrieking, resisting her advances.

A cool sensation and a slight stinging settled on your wounded cheek. Fearfully, you opened your eyes, discovering that her hand was on your skin, alcohol and a cotton ball were cleaning your wound.

“What...?” you murmured, confused, seeing that this strange lady was healing you, looking intently at your wound while the cotton ball soaked with your blood. “Ouch...” you moaned at the stinging, causing her hand to retreat.

Her mysterious gaze rested on yours briefly before she brought the cotton closer again, her movements gentler.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, sobbing, feeling a strange relief in your wound. “Why are you healing me?”

Donna didn't respond; she continued with her meticulous work, applying disinfectant, studying each of the blows the blonde witch gave you. She spread cream on her hands and carefully rubbed the bruises on your wrists while you, paralyzed, could do nothing but watch.

“Why aren't you talking to me?” you asked, pulling her back from her strange task, making her look at you briefly. “Talk to me!” you squealed demandingly, pulling your wrists away from her touch. “Fucking hell, say something!”

She gave you a dark look, but grabbed your hands again, applying more cream to them, ignoring your words.

“Shit...” you protested, shaking your head, wondering what you could do to get a word out of her mouth, an explanation, a reason for everything that was happening. “Don't you speak my language? You're Italian, aren't you?” you said, knowing you were walking a tightrope.

The woman stopped, but silence was still her answer.

“Fuck... P-Parli l’italiano?” you stammered clumsily, without causing the slightest reaction from the brunette, who seemed to be staring at your hands. “Aiutami, per... per favore...”

The woman looked up, removing one of her hands from your wounds, running a strange caress over your face. For a moment you thought you saw a smile, a change in her expression, but it was fleeting, too short.

“This isn't fair,” you sobbed, unable to get a response. “I shouldn't be here, I... Ah...” you hissed in pain as she placed a small bandage on your cheek, securing it tightly to your skin.

She opened her mouth, even if it was only for a brief moment, but no words came out. She simply rose from the chair with a discreet sigh, picking up her veil and putting it back on, ready to leave you alone.

Without fully understanding what had just happened, you dissolved into tears, in the confusion surrounding that new life, that horrible new life.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last time Miranda went to that house. Like a sinister routine, the torture took place in that old workshop, and then, yes, then that lady in black, that silent, strange woman, treated your wounds.

Torture, affection, care... a spiral of pain and comfort repeated itself for several days. You could think whatever you wanted, but deep down you saw something different in Donna, something different in that woman who, little by little, stopped wearing the black veil, allowing you to study her features.

Your desire to escape was still intense, but doing stupid things wouldn't improve your situation. Somehow, that woman felt a certain... affection for you, a certain pity. Maybe you needed a different strategy.

“Why dolls?” you asked, wandering through the workshop while the lady painted a porcelain face. It was a bad idea, but you had to try.

During your stay in the basement, you had learned a little more about her, a little more about the lady in black. Apparently, she wasn't right in the head, suffering from an illness she inherited from her family. She was a shy girl who only spoke through her doll.

Your investigation came to an abrupt halt a year too far in the past, when, apparently, Mother Miranda took pity on her soul after the death of her family.

Something had happened; something had caused that woman to retain her youth after all those years. She couldn't be that old, she simply couldn't, just as her doll Angie couldn't move on her own. You were convinced; Mother Miranda had a lot to do with it.

“Y-Your father made dolls, didn't he?” you insisted upon hearing her silence again, leaning a closer to the lady, who paused for a moment. “I-It's a strange job. You don't see many porcelain dolls anymore.”

Donna didn't respond, but you were used to it. You sighed, shaking your head and picking up a finished doll, observing every detail, but still glancing sideways at the lady in black.

“It's beautiful,” you said with a natural smile, combing the toy's hair. “You're good”

“Basta,” a hoarse voice made you put the doll back. It wasn't the irreverent Angie speaking, it was that husky voice you heard on your first night in that house. “I know what you're trying to do.”

“Donna?” you asked surprised. She had spoken. “Oh, so you can talk,” you said in a lower voice, pulling away slightly when her eye met yours.

“Mother Miranda warned me,” the lady whispered, putting that porcelain head aside and crossing her arms. “She warned me that you would try to get along with me, that you would try to earn my sympathy.”

“I didn't...” you said, knowing that she understood your attitude, that she wasn't as easy to fool as you thought. “Well, so what if I do? I've been in this house for two weeks, trapped, being tortured.”

“That's because you want to,” Donna murmured, making you raise your eyebrows.

“Because I want to? That's a good one,” you said incredulously, crossing your arms. “You kidnapped me.”

“I didn't kidnap you,” she said, slowly standing up, making you regret your words.

“You're keeping me here,” you challenged, your voice nervous but strangely confident.

“I follow Mother Miranda's orders,” she stated, blinking erratically and sitting back down, sighing.

“Of course, you always follow Mother Miranda's orders,” you whispered, unfortunately loud enough for her to hear. “What the hell do you owe that horrible woman?”

“Don't you dare talk about Mother Miranda like that!” Donna shrieked, furious, clenching her fists on either side of her hips. “She saved me, she saved us all!”

“She did that to you, didn't she?” you said confidently, pointing at the deformity of her face.

“You...” the lady hissed, looking at you darkly. “You don't know anything, stupida,” she snarled, looking away. “Everything changed. I changed for her, for the Gods. It doesn't surprise me that an outsider like you doesn't understand.”

You were about to say something, but decided to keep quiet, decided to suppress the curiosity her words stirred in you.

“Do your siblings also obey her that way?” you asked, certain you were beginning to understand how that village worked, the Four Lords, the Black Gods…

“Mm,” Donna murmured disinterestedly, returning her attention to painting that empty face. “(Y/N)...” she said in a slightly different tone, with a different expression.

“You know my name,” you sighed, confused, trying not to lose your temper.

She didn't respond; of course she didn't.

“Just tell her what she wants to know,” she finally whispered, subtly signaling to you that the conversation was over.

“I'd love to, but it turns out I don't know anything,” you replied, leaning on the table, watching her hands work delicately. “So I guess things will stay this way, huh? Miranda tortures me, and then asks you to heal me so she can break me again.”

“She didn't ask me to heal you,” Donna said in a dark voice, making you freeze for a moment.

“No...?” you stammered, blinking in confusion. “Then... why are you doing it?”

“I hate seeing something so beautiful damaged...” It was a sigh, a terribly low whisper that came from her lips. It was the last thing she said before silence fell in the workshop.

The lady's words entered your ears, lodged in your mind, in your chest. A strange statement that made you begin to feel a certain... relief, the certainty that this woman wouldn't hurt you.

You didn't understand her elusive reasons, her veiled words, but you embraced your new reality. Miranda would hurt you, but Donna would heal you, take care of you. For someone like you, it was much more than you thought you deserved.

But the torture grew worse and worse. Miranda's screams masked Donna's subtle words of affection, her strange whispers in a different language. The blows and the slaps began to make your skin forget the soft touch of the dollmaker's hands, the relief you felt from her caresses.

Even Miranda, tired of her failure, ordered Donna to torture you, to extract the information in any way possible. But Donna... she didn’t do it.

Everything turned dark, sad, and you didn't know how much longer you could endure.

“I can't take it anymore...” you sobbed as Donna treated your scratches, your new wounds now overlapping the old ones. “This is too much...”

“You can stop this, (Y/N),” the brunette murmured, wiping the blood from your arms. “Just tell her what she wants to hear.”

“I don't know anything!” you shrieked, pulling away from the lady's caresses. “I don't know anything... I... I burned the documents, I didn't read them... but she doesn't believe me... she'll never believe me... If there were any way to know what was in them... But there isn't...” you cried desperately as the lady looked at you stoically, without interrupting you.

“I believe you,” Donna said, making you rise your head. “No one is stupid enough to put up with this on purpose.”

“Do you believe me?” you asked hopefully. She nodded slowly, grabbing your hands, which began to caress each other. “Oh my God... you have to, you have to tell her.”

“I can't,” the lady sighed letting your hand go and shaking her head.

“Fuck... well...” you muttered, starting to lose your temper. “Then just kill me! Kill me now, I can't take it anymore! I can't do this, Donna, I can't... I'm suffering...” you sobbed, letting your body lean into hers, letting her arms wrap around it and your head bury itself in her chest.

“Calmati (Y/N),” she whispered in your ear as you clutched her clothes, desperate, crying like you never had before.

“Yesterday she asked you to torture me,” you said, your voice muffled by the fabric. “She asked you to continue and you didn't... Fuck!” you shrieked, abruptly pulling away, standing up from the chair. “I don't even have a reason to want to get out of here! My parents are dead, my girlfriend left me and... Shit, shit, shit!”

You screamed, kicking chairs, everything within reach.

“My life is so miserable that you're the only person who's ever given me any affection! And look at you, you're crazy, you have living dolls and... Fuck!”

“I'm just trying to take care of you,” the brunette defended herself, hurt by your words. “I know what it's like to be alone, you know? I know it better than anyone, but you... you can still save yourself, just... you just have to tell her...”

“I have nothing to tell her,” you said in a passive tone, slumping into the chair. “If you truly believe me, you know there's no solution, I have no escape,” you commented indifferently, playing with the bandages.

 “It's only a matter of time before Miranda realizes. If she doesn't kill me first, then...”

“Then?” the lady asked, with a childish look.

“I'll die,” you declared, shaking your head, noticing how you had accepted your fate. “She'll kill me or, well, she'll set me free, and then... then I'll be alone again.”

“I-It doesn't have to be that way, (Y/N),” Donna intervened, gripping your hands too tightly. “You could... you could stay here, with me. Neither of us would ever be alone again.”

You didn't answer, didn't want to answer. Stay with that woman? It’s crazy...

As time passed, the proposal faded. You didn't speak of it again, nor did she, but somehow, it sounded better and better in your head, even though you refused to think that way.

“I've had enough of you, (Y/N)...” Miranda hissed the next day, in another round of relentless torture, pacing around your semi-conscious body. “I'm getting tired, girl... I'm getting tired of you.”

“T-Then... kill me,” you said, your voice hoarse from crying, from the pain of an excessive beating, from noticing how she'd already lost her patience.

“Mm, you'd like that, wouldn't you?” the witch mocked, putting a foot on your chest. “I'm not going to give you the satisfaction... Speak!” she yelled, stomping hard on your foot, causing your screams to echo around the workshop.

Donna looked away, pretending not to see, not to know what was happening. Your eyes sought her help, that affection she gave you, but it was far away, too far away.

“You impertinent brat,” Miranda murmured, grabbing your arm, forcibly lifting you to your feet. “Very well, I think you can still talk with one less arm,” she threatened, lifting you up and pulling out her golden nails, ready to mutilate you.

“No!” A different scream appeared in the room, and the priestess abruptly stepped back as some arms pushed her away. “Basta! Basta, per favore!”

It was Donna, the lady in black pushing her Goddess away from you. Miranda's face was something that would be difficult to forget.

“Donna,” the witch said, straightening her clothes, approaching the brunette, who bent down to gather you in her arms, cupping your face. “What are you doing? Donna! Cosa fai?”

“D-Don't hurt her anymore, please, don't... don't hurt her,” the brunette sobbed, caressing you softly, letting a tear land on your surprised and weak face.

"Oh, I can't believe it," the blonde laughed, walking toward you, tilting her head. “Don't tell me you've grown fond of her... What were you doing when she asked you to torture her? Cuddles?” she mocked, pouting.

“S-She... (Y/N) doesn't know anything, Mother, she told me,” the Italian woman said, her voice breaking, flustered by her creator's anger. “She doesn't know anything...”

“She doesn't know anything,” she repeated, with a nasty grimace. “Gods, Donna, I can't believe you're stupid enough to...”

“(Y/N), tesoro... please, look at me...” the lady in black whispered, patting your cheeks to keep your eyes from closing. “Perdonami…Perdonami, tesoro…”

“Please, I’m going to throw up,” Miranda sighed, observing the scene and shaking her head, her expression changing. “Have you fallen in love with her, Donna? How predictable…” she murmured afterward, bending down towards you.

Donna pulled you away from her touch, causing the witch to laugh ironically, standing up again.

“Damn… it’s true, isn’t it? That girl doesn’t know anything,” she commented with a nervous gasp. “Then… well, I guess you can have her. But I’m warning you… I don’t want any trouble,” she said in a disgusted tone, fading into a black cloud.

“D-Donna,” you gasped, weakly grasping the pale hand that was caressing you. “Donna…” you sighed, letting your eyes close slowly, succumbing to the darkness.

“No, no! Per favore! (Y/N)!”

You thought you'd never open your eyes again, but you did, slowly, feeling a strange, pleasant comfort.

“Mm...” you murmured, your body aching, discovering an unfamiliar room and a pressure on your hands.

Donna was sitting in a chair across from you, her head buried in the mattress and her hands tightly squeezing you. She was crying, you could feel it. Somehow you remembered how she had saved you, what had happened; you knew Miranda wouldn't come back, thanks to that strange lady in black.

Your hand slipped from hers and traveled to her black hair, stroking it slowly.

“(Y/N),” she gasped, raising her head hurriedly, tightening her grip on your hand. “You're awake.”

“Yes...” you sighed, looking around. “Wow, this bed is much more comfortable than the other one,” you joked, checking your wounds.

She laughed through her tears, sitting on the bed, still looking at you, admiring you.

“It's all over now, (Y/N), she won't hurt you again,” she explained, cupping your face in her hands, making you smile for the first time in a long time.

What happened next surprised you, but it wasn't unpleasant at all. Donna pulled you in, briefly placing her lips on yours in a salty kiss, quick and clumsy, but terribly affectionate.

“You... you saved me, Donna,” you said, ignoring the kiss. “Thank you...”

“I couldn't do anything else,” she replied, signaling to Angie to give you a glass of water. “Drink, you need to hydrate.”

“Yes,” you sighed, looking at her lips, leaning in closer, kissing her again, deepening a kiss of gratitude, with an affection that went far beyond simple affection, although you tried to ignore it.

“I liked that,” Donna said shyly, her cheeks flushed, like a little girl. “S-So that means... you'll stay with me?” she asked impatiently, kissing you quickly again, caressing your free hand as her lips sought to touch yours in a clumsy, inexperienced, but adorable way.

“I can't imagine myself anywhere else but with you, Donna...”

[rinnstars]

boxed up!

spring cleaning season calls for him to remember you

itoshi rin x reader: bllk + post canon, angst, short drabble bc of exams, not proofread + likes n reblogs r appreciated

he feels like a bird trapped in a cage - surrounded by ropes and chains that keep him sitting her for the past hours. what was supposed to just be spring cleaning for the holidays as dictated by his parents turned into a time travel to a time he much rather not remember. he should be outside right now, enjoying dinner that was his favourite as a treat for winning the match, he should be playing games or watching horror shows right now, he should maybe even be practicing his football but all he can do is to sit in silence without any movement as though a deer caught in headlights.

polaroids scattered around him - your radiant smile instead now fills with him with bitterness and anguish that he can feel deep in his ribs, as though eh had lost a part of himself the day he lost you. he picks at each polaroid, looking at every single detail of it - from the background of the classroom you both shared that was decorated with sprinklers and balloons, the last birthday you’ve spent with him. and he looks at the others, plain and simple photographs of just you - wearing his shirt, caught unaware, lip swollen from kisses and all. and broken pieces from you and his shared bracelet, scattered over the photos when he first opened the long-forgotten box he’s kept ever since you left. and even the lipstick you left with him the last time you were here in his room, he still remembers the way you slept on his bed, leaving a dent that he still doesnt dare sleep on in fear of ruining the last physical reminder he has of you, the way you hugged him so tightly as if you knew you were going to leave soon, so hard he swears you left an imprint on his ribs that he can feel a ghost touch on. he still has a small vial of your favourite perfume that you gave to him as a joke, yet he remembers the exact smell, the exact fragrance, the exact sensation it ignited in him whenever he catches a whiff of that scent that he can only associate now with you.

and maybe he kept everything in this box under the guise of passing it back and maybe fate is kind enough to let you leave without any fuss, without coming back to see him one last time, without ever taking back these physical reminders of. yet, he wonders if its worse that you’ve never came back, not once, and he’s never seen you again since that night. he wonders if you disappeared completely from the world without so much as a trace, your phone number is no longer yours he finds out weeks after, and your house now empty of you and of any furniture that he can recognise. he wonders if you hate him so much that you’ve simply ran away - ran away from the collapsed house of cards that he must have destroyed with his roughness, ran away from the same bird cage he’s now keeping himself in alone suffocating and drowning in the same familiar pain he used to be in, ran away from him.

its been years at this point, but every spring cleaning, its still the same. he’ll pour every single memory left of the both of you and each time, he locks the bird cage containing himself and the ghost of you tighter than before - just for a tinge of hope that one day you’ll remember and come back to just maybe free him, or at least look at him through the silver gates that would just maybe satisfy your anger and bitterness and resentment left towards him.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Sings Part 20

Hello! We are back with more of this lovely fic. I think this will have 24 chapters if it keeps going the way it's been going this last week. It might surprise me. It has before, so we'll see.

In this we have Chrissy apologizing and Steve meets the family.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

~

The next morning there was a knock on Steve’s hotel door and he went to go get it. He wasn’t expecting anyone. All the kids knew to wait for him down in the lobby and Eddie was off visiting the mysterious Uncle Wayne. And as far as he knew the rest of the guys were off doing other things today, too.

He opened the door to a large bouquet of purple hyacinth obscuring the person who was carrying them. He knew it wasn’t from Eddie. They would have been yellow and daffodils. His favorite.

Suddenly they were being thrust at him, forcing him to take them. “Oh!”

But once they were in his grasp he could see the bearer’s face. Chrissy was standing there looking sheepish.

“Oh hello,” Steve said awkwardly, standing there with the flowers in his hands. “Um...thanks for the flowers?”

She bustled past him into his room. “Sure, come on in.”

She flopped down on the chair and leaned her elbows on her knees. “Look, I’ve been an ass. I big one. And that’s on me. But I think I need to explain why. So sit down and buckle up. This is going to take awhile.”

“Uh...” he waved at the phone. “I was going to order some breakfast if you want anything.”

Chrissy blinked up at him for a moment. “Sure...um, an egg white omelet with sour cream and ham please.”

“Right on it!” Steve said with a grin. He wandered over to the table and took out the flowers that housekeeping put in a vase on it every two to three days and replaced it with the hyacinths. Then he called down for room service.

“You didn’t have to dump the other flowers,” she said tilting her head to the side as Steve threw them away.

“Nah,” Steve said like a half shrug. “Eddie gets me flowers all the time and I do the same thing. Rosa prefers those to the high priced unscented things the hotel gets and is always happy to see me trash them.”

“You really made friends here,” Chrissy said, leaning back in the chair. “I’ve heard nothing but good about you from the staff.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Look my parents were assholes, but they were rich assholes who knew that if you didn’t treat staff well, than you would get stiffed in service. They raised me to do the same. Then they became my friends when the only people still talking to me were barely teenagers and their parents. Oh and Eddie of course. I would have been lost without them.”

“I’ve severely misjudged you,” she murmured. “Hence the flowers. According the florist purple hyacinths mean ‘please forgive me’ so...”

Steve shrugged and came over to sofa, where he flopped on it sideways, tucking one arm behind his head. “Story of my life. I think the only person who’s come into my life that immediately didn’t judge me for being who I am was Eddie. And even then he was worried I might be under eighteen.”

Chrissy snorted a giggle. “Look, you looked like a baby chick out there in a sea of metalheads so it’s not hard to see why.”

“Oh didn’t I know it,” he said shaking his head. “I was looking to get laid to have a warm place to spend the night and maybe a couch for a week or two while I tried to get out of town. But then Eddie happened and the rest is history.”

“Well,” Chrissy said with a smile, “you certainly made him happy and I’ll admit sending him your fake ID was inspired.”

“Thanks!”

“So as an apology,” she said, continuing, “I’d like to something special for each of your kids. We got Lucas on lock, but I don’t want the rest of them feeling like you love Lucas more...”

“You’ve got younger siblings, don’t you?” Steve asked with a small smile. “I bet they were the gold child that could do no wrong while you were constantly told you’ll never measure up?”

Chrissy blinked at him for a moment. “How did you know? I’m pretty sure if you had sibling they would have been brought up before now.”

Steve sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “My cousin, Scott. Not the one who bounces for The Hideout, but the one who made my ID. His parents always wanted a little girl and after three boys, finally got one. Amanda was their parents little darling who could burn down an orphanage, steal a police cruiser as her get away vehicle, and crash it into a cancer ward, and they would still find a way to blame Scott or one of his older brothers.”

“Okay then,” Chrissy said with a huff of breath. “Yeah, that’s exactly how it goes. Thankfully he has sense, but yeah. I just don’t want your other kids to feel left out.”

“Agreed,” Steve said. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to fulfill all of them but here’s what they like.” And then he broke down all their passions.

Chrissy nodded. “Hey do you have some paper and a pen? I want to write this all down.”

“On the desk,” Steve replied. “It’s where I tried to live up to other people’s expectations by trying to get a job, even though my dad made it super fucking hard.”

Chrissy got up and moved to the desk. “I heard about the ice cream incident,” she said over her shoulder. “Eddie wanted to sue, but Chief Hopper talked him out of it. I’m still not sure it was the right move to let it go. You could have been seriously hurt by the stunt. What if it had hit your head or you slipped on the sludge? You could have died.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said with a sigh, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “But Hopper thought that scaring them by taking them down to the police station would have been enough of an incentive to never do it again.”

Chrissy came back with the paper and pen. “Still bullshit. So let’s make sure I have this right, Max likes skateboarding and video games. Dustin is a huge Corroded Coffin and heavy metal fan, but also likes building little machines and stuff. Mike is also a metal fan, but he likes writing and D&D.” She paused for a moment. “Well, they all like D&D, but especially Mike. Ellie likes fashion and fabric arts. Will is a little artist and has gotten into painting lately...” she looked up from her list. “Does that cover it?”

Steve nodded. “Yup! I hope you can do something for them. Lucas was the easiest because of the basketball game.”

“I can knock out all of them in one event,” she said with a smile. “Or at least one event will spawn a couple of others if I finagle it right. And finagling is what I do best.”

“Oh?” Steve said, tilting his head to the side. “Wha’cha got?”

She stood up with one fluid motion and a change came over her features. Steve suddenly got why this tiny woman was in charge of the biggest metal band in the world.

“You haven’t met Uncle Wayne yet, have you?”

~

Eddie was vibrating happily beside Steve in the Sunbird. “I can’t wait for you to meet Uncle Wayne. He’s the best the thing that ever happened to me.”

“So you’ve said,” Steve said, shifting to let his baby unwind on the country road. “He instilled your sense of responsibility and caring to others in a bad way.”

“Yeah,” Eddie chirped. “He took me in when dear ole dad decided that the best way to pay back the loan sharks on the house was to burn it down for the insurance. Only the dumb bastard used gasoline and even the stupidest adjuster can tell a gasoline fire on the spot. He tried to tell them it was the loan sharks, but they didn’t believe him and he went to jail for arson.”

“Ooh,” Steve said with a grimace. “My dad is an abusive ass, but at least he’s not trying to burn down houses.”

Eddie snorted. “Dad of the Year he was not, ole Al Munson. Was even worse when I got famous and he tried to take credit for my success.”

“From the confines of a jail cell?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s some pretty fancy mental gymnastics. Maybe he should try out for the Olympics.”

Eddie laughed.

They pulled up to the house and Steve secretly thought it was amazing. It was a sprawling ranch style house nestled on acres of land, stretching out as far he could see. There weren’t any animals that he could see, but there was an amphitheater and things that were set up for parties and weddings.

A lovely gazebo, a dance floor with an area for the band or DJ, beautiful trees everywhere with fairy lights strung up everywhere. But there was also a wilderness to it as well. Steve could almost hear the sounds of laughter and tinkling of glasses raised in cheer.

It was magical.

Eddie hit his shoulder. “Come on, let me introduce you to the man of the century.”

Steve got out of the car and hurried to catch up to Eddie. They knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal an older man that looked nothing like Eddie at first glance. He had short, thinning grey hair without so much as a hint of a curl, deep set eyes that spoke of a life of hard labor, and a face that was closed off.

Until he saw who was standing on his doorstep. Then the man lit up like it was Christmas. His face fell into an easy smile and the brown eyes twinkled. And there it was, the resemblance.

“Eddie!” Wayne greeted and pulled him in for a hug. “You said you’d be dropping by today, but I thought it would be later in the evening.”

Eddie smiled. “I assumed we’d be later, with lazy over here liking to oversleep, but it turns out the jock is strong with this one!”

Steve pushed Eddie’s shoulder playfully. “I do not oversleep! I get up at eight every morning to go for a swim or a run. You’re the one that likes to sleep in!”

Eddie cackled as Wayne let them in. The house was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. It was warm browns and soft reds with wood paneling everywhere.

“You have a lovely home,” Steve breathed, eye wide, jaw slack. “You can tell it’s well loved and not some stand-in for a catelogue somewhere.”

Wayne tried to suppress his smile, but the amusement crinkled his eyes. “Thank you. The perks of having a rich nephew who likes to dote on everyone and everything.”

Eddie ducked his head and shoved his hair in front of his face. “Flatterer!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wayne said shaking his head. “Flattery works on you. Get in here, you big goof.” He led them to front room and pointed at the biggest, fluffiest sofa imaginable. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll go get us some drinks. Is Coors okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a smile. “Sounds good.”

Eddie nodded and then when Wayne left the two of them alone, the manic energy returned. “So what did you think of him? Like first impressions?”

“I’d have him adopt me from the house alone,” Steve said with a snort. “But no, he seems nice. I like him.”

Eddie grinned. “So this is the type of place you like? Interesting, very interesting.” He stroked his chin like he was stroking an invisible beard.

“You’ve bought me a car, clothes, and even jewelry,” Steve said pulling out his canary necklace from his shirt, “you buy me house and I’d marry you on the spot.”

Eddie leaned into Steve’s space. “That’s an incentive, not a deterrent there, Stevie.”

Steve blushed and was grateful when Wayne came back with the beers.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” he said as he settled into his arm chair. “Eddie liked talking about ya, every phone call, every visit would have something you did or said.”

“Wayne!” Eddie huffed, shoving his hair in front of face again.

“He taking good care of you? My boy?” he asked leveling Steve a stern look. “Don’t feel you hafta lie to me because I’m his relation.”

This time it was Steve’s turn to duck his head to hide his blush. “Yes, sir. He’s been taking care of me better than my own parents could. Or would.”

“Good,” Wayne said with a smile. “Now tell me what you think your Pacers chances are against my Hornets this year...”

Eddie groaned, but Steve leaned forward and started talking to Wayne excitedly.

Eddie smiled fondly as he settled back to watch his two favorite people get acquainted. And if the night went on as it started, they would end up liking each other. And that was all he could ask for really.

~

Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: CLOSED

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3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

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10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[fancyfeathers]

LOVE THE TIM IDEA!!! Thank you for the food!!!

What funny is that when the death is announced both Jason and Dick would both internally and outwardly roll their eyes. Because 1) they knew it 2) Dramatic much?

Their thoughts quickly come to an halt when their darlings start getting Very Distressed. When they manage to get them home they definitely are inconsolable. Sooooo they tell their darlings that no, their sister isn’t dead their brother is just Very Dramatic and Impatient.

Yandere!Batfam Hunger Games AU

Dick's darling literally cannot breathe when she found out because of how hard she, Jason's darling was just in pure shock, she could not get herself to move let alone eat or bathe. Dick and Jason are not supposed to tell them anything, just let the cameras film their pain for the world to see, but eventually it becomes too much and they have to tell them the truth.

Tim's upset at his brothers, and his sisters-in-law are angry at Tim. There cannot be one family dinner without one of them making a remark at Tim after he keeps her sister locked up like a caged bird, not letting them see her or eat with the rest of them even if dinner is being held at his home. This is almost always in a headache for everyone, Tim looking exhausted as he goes upstairs to bring a plate of food up to his darling, either Dick or Jason dragging their darling home to deal with their misbehavior, and then Bruce and his darling having to deal with the tense air as they leave in silence.

Spoilers for Sunrise on the Reaping beneath the cut!!!

I also think for a while after her death, her mentor from the games was also in so much pain. As I mentioned in this post, her mentor was Beetee Latier and if you are familiar with the Hunger Games, he was forced to mentor his own son in the 50th Hunger Games as well and I think Tim's darling reminds him of his dead son, becoming like his daughter. So having her survive the games and then die afterward hurts so horribly. Then of course he eventually finds out she is alive and gets the idea to loop her sisters in on the rebellion and get revenge for what the Capitol has done to them.