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imtooscaredforthis · 4 years ago

Text

Unknown Caller

Ghostface x Reader Smut

Summary: Late at night, you start getting texts from the serial killer and your stalker, Ghostface.

Mentions of: Threats, Death, Stabbing, Sexting, Phone sex, Knife play, Oral Sex, Voyeurism, Recording w/out Consent and Danny being super horny

Word Count: 2.4K

With an exhausted groan, you collapsed back onto your bed, letting the mattress suck you in. It had been yet another long, shitty work day, leaving you mentally drained and wanting to sleep.

The only thing that kept you from sleeping was how gross, sticky, and sweaty you felt from walking around in that shitty waitress uniform. It was a summer day in Florida, after all. Of course you would be burning your ass off. And somehow, the urge to take a shower overpowered your fatigue.

So after an extra moment or two of laying down, you got up, grabbing your phone and a towel, heading into the bathroom and locking the door behind you, just in case any unwelcome visitors came in. You knew exactly who that visitor was.

You tried to shake the thought of the masked murderer, not even daring to think his name. The last thing you needed tonight was having him come around. Maybe he would just give you a break for once and leave you alone. Maybe…

Sighing, you tapped at your phone, playing some music and stripping down. Stepping into the shower, you turned the heat all the way up, letting the hot water pour down onto your skin until it turned red. You washed off all the stress and trouble from the day, finally being able to relax.

Once you got out of the shower, you slipped on a black lacy bra with matching panties, using a robe to cover it up. You had grown used to spending the nights alone, with no one to take home, no friends to speak with.

You lost them all, since they all thought you were being crazy and paranoid about being stalked by Ghostface. Even after one of your dear friends died, (the only one who believed you) they still thought you were crazy. In fact, they thought you killed him. And the cops were no help either, thinking all the threats were just some prankster or copycat.

So now, here you sat on your bed, scrolling through social media, when you got a text.

Unknown: Evening, gorgeous

You stared at the message blankly, feeling your heart drop in your stomach. It was him.

You cast a protective glance over at your bedroom window, which had the curtains drawn and the blinds shut, as an attempt of giving yourself some sort of privacy from the stalker. Was he out there? Waiting outside the window to peek, or behind your door to jump out at you. Even though he’s been doing this for a while, you’d still never get used to it.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you began to type up a message to respond to him. You learned the hard way to answer his texts and calls.

(Y/N): What do you want to torture me with now?

Even though you were still quite afraid of the killer, there were times where you found him a complete nuisance, and got the guts to told him. This was one of those times.

Unknown: C’mon, don’t be like that. I have fun with the games we play. But I want to try something different tonight.

(Y/N): Like what?

Unknown: Like how I can see what you’re wearing and can’t help but wonder if you put all of that on just for me

You felt your face go a bright red, looking around and grabbing the hem over your robe, moving it over, attempting to cover up your body.

Unknown: There’s no use in covering it up now, I’ve already seen everything and it’s gotten me so hard

Looking at the text, you blinked a few times, making sure this was real. Maybe it was just some weird sex dream. You pinched yourself. Nope. This was real. The feared serial killer of Roseville was sexting you.

Unknown: You look so cute like that, all surprised and scared, it makes me want to cut you up and fuck you until you can’t walk.

Unknown: You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

Your mouth went dry as you tried to think of something to text him back with, your body running hot with arousal. You can’t believe this is turning you on. It really shouldn’t be.

Unknown: There’s no need to be so shy, (y/n). You know we can be honest with each other.

(Y/N): Yes I would

Unknown: Good girl

Unknown: My cock is just throbbing thinking about how nice and tight you would be, how good you would squeeze me, how I’d love to fill you up with my cum. And you’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you, baby?

(Y/N): Fuck yes

You rubbed your thighs together, feeling how drenched you were getting, a silent moan leaving your lips, not even realizing he was paying attention to every little detail.

Unknown: Shit, that was so hot. I’m really turning you on, aren’t I?

Unknown: You want to touch yourself don’t you? Want to get off on the dirty things I’m telling you? Well you can’t. Not unless you beg for it like a good girl.

You would object, but you knew you were too far in to stop yourself. It had been quite a long time since you had done something like this, and a part of you felt desperate. So, you did it. You begged.

(Y/N): Please, Ghostface. Please let me touch myself.

Unknown: Good. Go ahead, but take off that robe. You won’t be needing it.

Moving your arm out, you shrugged the robe off your shoulders, spreading your legs ever so slightly. Might as well give him a show.

You ran your hand down your stomach, moving it down to your hips, and then your thigh, while your other hand stayed high on your chest, running your finger over your clothed nipple. After a moment or two, you dipped your finger under the fabric, running it up and down your drenched slit. You played with your clit, leaning back and moaning softly.

Unknown: Fuck, I just want to run my knife all over the curves of your body

Unknown: Put two fingers in

You did as told, pushing two fingers into your opening, thrusting them in slowly. You didn’t even notice the distant flash of a camera recording you peeking out from behind your window.

You shut your eyes, biting your lip and arching your back, as you began to pick up the pace. The sound of your phone chiming managed to make you open your eyes, and snap out of your little fantasy, looking down at your phone.

Unknown: You look so fucking hot right now, I want to come in there and ruin you

(Y/N): Why don’t you?

Unknown: It’s tempting, but I need to do one thing first.

Unknown Number is calling…

You picked up, slowing your fingers. “Why’d you- why’d you stop?” He questioned between groans, his voice strained. So he was touching himself too.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to-”

“Keep on going. Don’t stop. Add a finger.” He instructed.

An image of Ghostface stroking himself popped into your mind, making you pick up the pace. A string of mewls and whimpers left your mouth as you went even faster, feeling yourself grow close.

“You sound- shit, so nice babe. Makes me want to- even more-”

“Fuck, I’m g-going to- ah” Your body froze up, feeling yourself clench around your fingers.

It seemed like he was close too, considering how much he was panting, low groans and grunts. There was a brief silence on the other line, and you wondered if he hung up on you. But then, he spoke. “I’m coming in.”

He ended the call and you felt your heart leap in excitement, calming down from your high, and preparing for him to come in. You looked from the window to the door, wondering where he’d be entering.

A few minutes went by, and he still hadn’t shown up. A part of you wondered if this was some sort of sick game to humiliate you. If he was just going to leave you all alone.

“Miss me?” A familiar voice whispered into your ear, making you jump.

“Jesus don’t scare me like that.” You muttered, turning to face him.

“Why so grumpy? Is it because I kept you waiting? So impatient, so needy. I love it.” He grasped your chin, tilting your head and making you look up at him. He ran a gloved finger over your lips, tracing your cupid’s bow.

You felt your body grow hot at the contact, your thighs clenching together. He noticed, moving his hand away to finally give you what you so desperately craved. Grabbing your shoulders, he pushed you down on the bed, straddling you.

Slowly, he ran his knife over your skin, tracing it from your throat, down to your collar bones, and to your chest. It seemed he was being merciful tonight, because you could barely feel the blade against your skin, only a light tickle.

Moving his weapon to the middle of your chest, Ghostface sliced open your brassiere, splitting it in half and revealing your breasts. Well, there went your good underwear.

He ran his finger over your nipple, watching it harden under his touch, pinching it softly. The killer studied your expressions closely, taking in every single detail. The way your lips parted slightly, the way your cheeks heated up, and the way your eyebrows knitted together. God, you were so adorable.

Ghostface shifted his attention to your panties, cutting them off on the side, and pulling them down to your ankles slowly. He moved his hand back up to your opening, running his finger up your wet slit, feeling how soaked it was.

“So wet, all for me? I must’ve really left you waiting. Guess I better get to it then, huh?” His voice was smug, low, and full of mischief. You knew he was playing with you.

He rutted against his hips against you, making you whimper slightly. You knew he wouldn’t do anything, until you said it. “Please, fuck me, Ghostface.”

“Danny.”

You felt your eyes widen at his words. “What?”

“Call me Danny.” In all the time that you had known him, you never got a name out of him. But he was telling you it now. Why? Why was he doing this?

You were too busy processing what just happened to notice the sound of his buckle clicking, and his knife dropping onto the floor, while he was now holding his phone instead. The flash of a camera burned into your eyes, making you look up at him and snap out of your thoughts.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, squinting at the light and covering your eyes with one hand trying to hide the glare.

“Makin a little movie.” He grabbed your hands with his free one, moving them from your face and pinning them above your head. “And you’re the star. Aren’t you excited?”

“I- shit-” Before you could even respond to what he was saying, you felt his cock press up against your soaked folds.

He moved his camera down to your breasts, watching your chest heave, before moving it back up to your face. “Now what’s the magic word? C’mon, you know what to say. You’ve been saying it all night.”

“Please, Danny.” You begged, bucking your hips up against his hardened member. “Please what?”

“Please just fuck me.” You rolled your head against the pillow. He was driving you crazy at this point with how much he was teasing you and making you beg.

Finally, he gave you what you had grown desperate for, entering you with a rough thrust. It was painful at first, the killer not showing any mercy, but you forced yourself to grow used to it.

You moaned out, the feeling of fulfillment overcoming your already sensitive hole. You arched your back, grabbing onto his forearm, digging your nails into his muscle under his robe.

Tears began to stream down your face as you babbled, incoherent words slipping from your lips. It was too good, and you couldn’t think of something, anything, to say to describe it. He was fucking you stupid.

He zoomed in on your tears, watching as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Damn, baby. Is it really that good? Do you love getting fucked by my cock that much?”

You didn’t speak, not even sure if you could. He pinched your nipple, making you yelp. “Y-yes! Its- it’s so g-good.”

Danny moved his free hand to your clit, thrusting even deeper, until he hit just at the right spot. You cried out, clenching around him. Moaning out for him to please never stop, to keep going.

“Oh baby, you think I could stop? Not with the way you’re clenching around and calling out my name, begging for- shit.” He grunted, feeling your walls begin to massage him, you were getting close. And so was he.

He nestled his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder, pulling his mask up his face, and biting down, breaking your skin and drawing your blood, his movements growing even harsher. While you dug your nails into his back, reaching your orgasm, Danny not too far behind.

The half-masked killer wiped the blood from his lips, grinning down at you. “There, I marked you as mine. You’re my little slut, got it? Say it.”

You nodded, eyes still shut, your mouth open with only moans and gasps escaping. You forced yourself to speak, voice all hoarse and raw. “I’m your slut, Ghostface- Danny- whatever, I’m all yours.”

“That’s it. Such a good girl. Fuck-” His thrusts grew sloppy, and he rubbed at your clit even harder, making you climax once again with him. He pulled out, releasing on your stomach, and ending the video.

He pressed a rough kiss to your lips, before readjusting his mask, cleaning himself off, and fixing his clothes up. All the while you laid there, nude, panting, and coming down from the intense high you just had. You felt another flash blind your eyes, and the sound of a camera clicking, knowing he just took another picture.

Moving aside your curtains and blinds, Ghostface unlocked your window, pulling it up and stepping through. “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime. See you soon.”

#dbd #dead by deadlight #dbd x reader #dbd killer #ghostface dbd #dbd ghostface #ghostface #ghostface x reader #dbd jed olsen #jed olsen #danny johnson dbd #dbd danny #danny johnson #smut tag

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ficsnroses · 4 years ago

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Skin to Skin - John Wick x Reader

summary : coming home after a rough night, all John wants to do, is hold you close, with no barriers between; skin to skin.

warnings : so much fluff omg. nudity, sex talk. x f! reader.

words : 2.5k

Notes : guess who’s 84 years late to @toomanystoriessolittletime��‘s birthday challenge? :) prompt is the song Yellow by Coldplay. I tried to add only small hues of the song in to keep the story as original as possible. song lyrics are >bolded<. please leave a comment, anon or not if you enjoy! it means so so much and helps me write.

Steph, I freaking adore you my wonderful amazing german friend. you deserve to be celebrated regardless of a birthday or not xox. hope ya like it!

‘Tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night, to let her breathe.’

The moon sat heavy that night; bold, grey, silvers spilling into your eyes that searched, hoped, prayed he was alright. It sat in the inky blackness of the night; painted as the hallow inside your heart.

John hadn’t come home yet, hadn’t so much as called you to tell you he’d be in later than usual.

The cloudiness is killing you, suffocating you; the unknowing is killing you. John’s profession proves cold, stoic, chilling graves and pungent fingers. On his hands, lays the sin he’d never consented to; the daggers he sends are ones he’d never wished to carve.

Your John, pleads, begs, reveries of a life far away from the murk. Far away from the dark clouds that cave around your happily ever after, the grim that taints each semblance of normalcy he desperately craves.

There’s something special about the moon, a vulnerability the sun doesn’t know.

The moon sees everyone at night, at most vulnerable. The moon is often the last thing we cease to; something everyone, every single one, of us, can see. No matter where, no matter how.

If John isn’t home, resting his weary bones beside you; he’s out there.

Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere…

Looking at the moon, too.

You fear that someday, some day sooner than you’d ever dream, John won’t bid goodnight to the moon. You fear that someday, somewhere, he’ll be consumed by the same inky blackness; that someday, your John, won’t come back to you. Potent, haunting thoughts chill your every bone tonight;

but you’d only told the moon.

The crisp of your soft sigh is deep, dragged. It hosts unease; withers within your throat, staring out to the big, mean ol’ moon. In a sea of silky sheets, you sit undone, awaiting the return of your love. Somehow, someway, he’d always make it back to you.

You whisper to the stars that it’ll stay true, that soon, he’d succumb to your waiting arms, lose himself in your embrace the same way,

the moon melts into the sun, each and every morning.

Your thoughts interrupt, a perk of ears hosted by the singed creak of the crème bedroom door open, you’d almost forgot what true, utter, gratitude feels as, before the wash of relief of this moment.

Relief comes in tides, in wavelengths that crash over the uneased shores of your thoughts. In this moment, the sea sinks back to where it belongs, the waves calm, and the moonlight reflects off the inky blackness in vibrant, tranquil, stillness.

Stood in the tall frame of the bedroom door, your John, positions in dreary boned stance; the pitch black suit he wears accents the grim to his features, the most telling of the day’s worries play out on his sunken expression, weary orbs that drown into yours, silently pleading. A glimmer of a smile graces his face, yet it holds nothing but the icy unease, the fatigue that courses through his veins.

Your John, looks exhausted. Everything from the strong, sharp cut of his jaw, to the thin fullness of his lips and the gentle limp in his composure. It all writes as a sheer agony, his limited portrayal letting you know that tonight, would write itself out as one of those nights.

Something ripples in his eyes; something sad, something craving an ounce of sweet, at last. “John, baby?” A quiet croak as you frown, forcing your rasped vocal chords to inquire. Peeling the silken bed sheets off your worrisome frame as you crawl his way to the foot of the bed, John sighs a heavy exhale, crisp suit jacket discarded to the vacant love chair to the corner of your shared bedroom.

In this bedroom, John and you have shared the sweetest of remembrances. Soft, quiet giggles in the dark, gentle, loving touches in the midnight gleam. Within these very walls, you’ve whispered confessions of love a thousand times, never enough.

Some nights, peace triumphs, quiet kisses and tender holds are all the gray walls know.

Some nights, however, it feels as if the nightmares that follow John, claw into your skin. Some nights, escaping the dark becomes tough; and all you can do,

is hold him.

Remind him what it means, what it feels to be human.

You weren’t sure what tonight would play out as. All you know, is hold him you will; kiss his each bruise you will.

Love him, you will.

His laboured sigh is dense, heavy, and his eyes fall downcast when your arms find him, walked up to his towering frame. Your gentle hand rests to his cheek, and you breathe in slow, calm whispers. Much to your gratitude, few fresh cuts litter his face, but the wounds that pierce deeper, are the ones inside.

You don’t know what happen today, what had hurt him more than usual.

And you won’t ask.

You know, you understand. That some wounds never heal, and some scares only burn, the more toil they see.

“Can we…” His tone is gravelly, thick with need. As your hand plants to his chests, and the other says situated to his cheek, you gently coax the skin under his eye with your thumb, soothing. Arms wrapped around your waist, the cold chill of his hand that rests to your hips sinks into your heart seams.

Whoever, whatever did this to your John, you’d wish a thousand moonless nights upon.

A thousand curses fly with the wind their way.

“Can we lay?” John jadedly asks, honey brown eyes soaking into your soul, and you swallow a lump that makes camp in your throat. You nod gentle, a warm smile his way; something that nurtures, soothes his broken soul.

“Of course.” Kissing light to his jaw, you begin to slowly work on the worn out clothes that embroider his skin. The shock of your soulful touch elicits a soft, content sigh off his lips, his own hands never leaving the delicate curves of your body.

Often, on tiresome nights, and days where he needed to feel something; the only antidote that would suffice, would remedy the hallow that carves home inside each crevice of his soul was, laying with you.

With no barriers, no limits. Skin to skin,

sulking within the safe corridors of the arms of the women who owns his entire soul. Safe, within the touch of you; the only other that knows of all the pain that subsists within him.

Perhaps, just as the silver moon; John has a side that isn’t shown to others. He has a dark, guarded side, that no one, no one other than you knows.

And perhaps that is why he feels so deep, longs to be so thoroughly, intimately connected to you. Because you are the only one who really knows him, loves him despite it all.

Gently peeling off his pearly white dress shirt, the buttons come undone within the reach of your fingertips, the skin underneath revealing scars, old and new peppering his skin. The scent of his musky cologne, barely radiating off his skin kisses your nose, and you delicately discard the seams of the fabric off his body. John only stands, watches you undress his body, watches you drink in everything that is him. Gently, you kiss a freshly littered, deep purple bruise that paints to his chest, lips pressed against the skin for a moment longer. Slow, and soft, your hands begin to undo the heavy buckle of his belt, unravelling each inch of him as a beautiful gift.

Which he was; your John, was a gift. Something you’d thank the sky for each day.

As you work his bottoms, John’s hefty hands begin to unstitch across your top, fingers travelling up the hem of your shirt before removing it from your body. His eyes savour your skin, goosebumps layering each inch of your being when he moves closer, slower, deeper, gently reaching behind to unhook the clasps of your bra that shield your modesty from him. Upon removal, John sighs, seeing the beauty that makes home within you. The silk of your satin skin, the swell of your perfectly beautiful breasts; the exquisiteness of what was his.

As you finish removal of his belt, your delicate fingers peel his slacks and boxers off his skin. Smiling slight when his bare, broad and handsomely dark figure stands with you, your eyes brush over his glorious, exposed manhood, hiding underneath a beautifully dark bush of hair; butterflies sparking within your mid, reminiscing on the way his weight, his throb feels inside your aching walls; the way your body yearns for him even after you finish.

and you take his bulkier hand in yours, guiding his bones to the safe haven of your shared bed. Silky sheets prove inviting, comfort of cotton pillows and endless security lure a much somnolent John their way.

Tightening a soft squeeze to your lover’s hand, your eyes connect to his, certain, assuring. Gently guiding him to lay on the mattress, you whisper a quiet ‘relax, baby’ into his ear, watching the way his bare form climbs into the sheets, heavily exhaling as he pulls the covers up.

To your frame, his inquisitive eyes glaze over each inch, intently watching at the way you softly, unhurriedly peel off your own bottoms and lacy underwear, showcasing to him the vulnerable, delicately intimate sight of your unadorned body and naked breasts, before unravelling the sheets beside him, and climbing in.

John’s arms habitually open for you, the brush of his callous skin against yours as he draws your figure proximately close makes your head swim and your lips part, gently kissing a fresher, deeper mauve bruise into the soft skin under his neck.

Only this bruise, is composed out of nothing but pure, unconditional, love.

As your arms loom around his neck, his lips embed a small, loving kiss to your forehead, sighing against the skin. He’s big, beautiful, and warm. His hold is the warmest, purest form of,

yellow.

“You’re tense, baby.” A hand cupped to his cheek, your soft padded fingers barely scratch his beard, voice quiet, guarded above a whisper. Sighing deeply, John’s chest heaves a deep inhale, against yours. With a timid, gentle nod of acknowledgement, John only shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to just bask. Bask, with you.

“Baby, you’re so stiff.” You offer an index to his chin, lifting his eyes to lock with yours. Slow and soft, your spare hand travels to the space between your intertwined bodies, to his manhood, wrapping your hand delicately around the girth of his cock. With a few tender, measly, gentle strokes to his shaft, you whisper. “Do you want me to…?” You propose, more than willing to shower him with relief; to allow him to completely relax if he needed it. John sighs to the feel of your hand on his cock, caressing.

“Fuck…” He exhales, eyes closing as his arms tighten around you. “Feels amazing.” He confesses, yet interjects with a draw of your body closer. “But it’s alright, sweetheart. Later.” Breathe hot against your neck, he rests within you. “I just want to hold you right now.” With his head falling lower, he buries his face into the safe dip of your breasts, kissing a soft peck into the delicate skin. “You’re all I need.” He barely whispers, breathing in the saccharine scent of your skin. Raking soft tugs into his chocolate mane, you nod, holding him closer, tighter, feeling his skin, warm and proximate on yours. John relishes for a moment, before his gaze moves up to look at you, and he sighs. He sighs deep, and his head moves back up, lips offering a soft peck to yours, before his eyes gaze into yours.

For you I’d bleed myself dry, for you I’d bleed myself,

dry.

Staring into your warm eyes is a remedy of its own; a symphony of its own. He thinks, that truly, if the moon loves him, do the thousands of stars, speckled in the dark even matter? If the moon loves him,

if the moon

loves him.

His moon; loves him. His moon, loves him so much, that her eyes well up with tears, knowing he’s safe, within her arms.

Your fingers bury in his hair, reaching softly in to trail your fingers over the rough skin of his neck, stopping at his defined adam’s apple. Leaning closer, you allow your fingers to trail up his stubble ridden chin, before settling on his parted lights. Known, you feel him kiss to your delicate finger tip, his eyes habitually closing, sighing when your legs tighten, tangled to his, and your hold on him firms. Lazily, you draw circles to his chest, smiling, breathing with his heartbeat completely synced with yours. He looks beautiful, like this. Exposed, bare, vulnerable; yet completely safe, willing to be seen.

And you think, you wonder. You know; that all the pretty, golden stars, they shine for him.

This, was true intimacy. Moments such as this, where sex wasn’t needed, chases of orgasm nothing close to what truly mattered. All that triumphed, all that was dire need, was the feel of his skin on yours, and yours on his. The reminder that you are real, as is he.

It’s true, look how they shine for,

you.

His feelings are real, what he’s been through is real.

But, only, solely as real, as the feel of his skin on yours. The feel of the love that also runs in his veins; the feeling of life you bring him when your bodies collide, when your warmth envelopes him.

John’s hand brushes to your hip, just above the delicate swell of your bosom, and you know what he wants. Knowingly, you lean in close, one last time, to allow a soft, love soaked kiss to his pink lips, and a gentler, easier one to his stubble ridden cheek, before you turn in his embrace, your back pressed to his chest.

And as always, as true to a hundred times before, John’s arms tighten around you further, pulling your body in as close as could be, before nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, where he’d speckle a few kisses, sighing. And there he rests, with his face buried between your skin, and your hands holding his that rest to your mid, soft legs tangling with his tired, worn out ones. In complete, simple silence, you both relish in the tune of each other’s silent breaths, skin to skin, relishing in the symphony of your love.

The world ceases to exist in moments like this, the inky blackness doesn’t matter. All that matters, is you and him, and your combined energy, strong as a supernova.

And perhaps, you should crumble for better reasons.

But could reason compare

to this man you call yours? He brings the light of a hundred suns to their knees, the black of a million nights turns yellow.

And for him, you’ll crumble a billion times.

You’ll paint each ounce of him yellow.

because you think- you know,

you love him

more than the moon, and all it’s shining stars.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick x you

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gothchickwriting · 5 years ago

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Sakamakis/Mukamis x Witch! Reader Headcanons

Request: hi 🐻 if the requests are open, can I ask you a headcanon? in particular, how would the sakamaki and mukami react if they discovered that the reader is a powerful witch? sorry for my bad english 😔, if you don't feel like writing this my request you can safely cancel it and I thank you for your attention, honey 💙

Ahhhh! I'm sorry this took so long. Writing Kou and Laito makes me nervous since I feel like I can never do them justice. Enjoy, Babes!

Warning: This contains blood, blood drinking, abuse, dubious consent, smut???, and the Dia-Boys being Dia-Boys.

Sakamaki Household:

You were different than the other sacrificial brides. They can smell it on you. A sweetness rolls off of you in waves and it's your fault for smelling the way you do.

Some surround you and all you can see are sharp teeth at every angle waiting to dig into you. Your heart is thrumming in your ears and you push them. Physically... mentally... spiritually. It's enough to knock the closest ones back and gain some distance before that same energy crackles around your fingertips.

You take a stance, but your back is against the wall. It's as much of a shock to you as it is to them to see some of the objects nearby float. A nearby window has a crack that spiderwebs wickedly along the glass.

The boys are more stunned than hurt. They're vampires. It's going to take more than that to really ward them away. If anything, a power like that makes them crave you even more.

Shu Sakamaki:

He was sure witches had died out centuries ago. They were in limbo within society, not belonging anywhere. Too weak for the demon world and an object of fear for humans who didn't have that sort of power.

And you had a lot of it.

He'll provide you with a tome or two in the form of lounging around a forgotten section of the family library. It would put you on the right track to harnessing your potential.

But if you read your incantations too loud and disrupted his sleep? Expect a moody, grumpy Shu.

But your blood?

It was all worth it for a taste.

You had been studying quietly as you could. The goal you've pored over endlessly this entire week was to make the cushion in front of you float. It seemed to taunt you from its position on the table, undisturbed as much as you've tried. The last cushion you attempted this with exploded into a plume of feathers. You muttered your incantation quietly and you felt that familiar energy spark to life at your fingertips. Much to your glee, the pillow shifted and began to lazily rise. All of your concentration was cut short by the hand that swallowed your wrist.

The cushion, like the one before burst into a flurry of feathers that made a mess of your study area.

"You're loud." It was all Shu said to you before you were yanked down onto his lap. He'd been resting in a chair for a few hours now as you read. What he muttered to you was nothing new. You're bothersome, you're noisy, you're a hopeless little witch, aren't you? After hearing all of it, you wonder why Shu even puts up with you aside from when you take care of him when he's too lazy to do it himself. And then you're reminded why when he bites you.

The blonde's bites are slow and somehow less painful than you think they'd be even though the piercing of your skin seems so loud in your ears. He takes his time. Shu's languid swallows fill the silence of the library along with the puffing of your breath which melts away into coos when the initial pain fades and is replaced by something much better.

You're on a cloud with the distant violins that sing from his headphones.

And then you feel dizzy. "Shu." You tap his chest. "Shu... I-I can't." You stumble over your words, tongue-tied and dazed. He pulls away and laps your wound closed with a slow sweep of his tongue. The rush your blood gives him is amazing and he can feel his power grow with every swallow.

You're the perfect wife for the next Vampire Lord.

Reiji:

His brothers are undeserving of such a powerful witch. They don't have the drive to teach you what you need to know. Mastering magic takes discipline, and if there was anyone within this house who had that quality, it was Reiji.

Unlike Shu's lazy approach, he expects you to study. Reiji provides you with tomes and ingredients and he wants to see the fruits of your labor.

If your spells and incantations aren't precise? You clearly didn't study hard enough. Your hands become intimately familiar with a ruler or his crop for each mistake you make.

His patience and "kindness" has its price and the price is blood.

Your yelp carried throughout Reiji's study when he swatted the back of your hand with the crop that had been held so casually by his side. The chalk in your hand was dropped as you clutched the skin that would no doubt welt within moments. "Honestly." The vampire drawled. You could almost taste the venom behind the word and it made your muscles lock in fear just like when you heard that damn crop whistling through the air. "Must I hold your hand every step of the way?"

You were quick to shake your head. "No, Sir." The term fell from your tongue easily. Reiji gave a hum. Hungry eyes bore into the reddened skin that you so desperately attempted to hide and soothe.

"Then I suggest you finish that sigil and summon a familiar."

And so you did.

Your hand was shakier than it was before and sweat dotted your brow from your concentration. There was no describing the stress about drawing this out to perfection. The room was getting hotter as your swirling patterns began to complete the symbol you so desperately had to finish. And, as fate would have it, your chalk broke from the force you were drawing with.

The candles in your circle died out all at once and the stifling heat faded. Your mouth opened up but you were just so crushed. "I-I can do it again." You scrambled to correct yourself. "I just need more chalk... Sir."

But Reiji wasn't pleased. Not in the slightest. His crop was set on the desk of his study and you could feel how your heart pounded wildly in your chest. Reiji tended to get creative when he was unhappy and scenarios played out in your mind, each was worse than the last.

Psychological torment could be just as satisfying to him as the physical side.

Gloved fingers hooked into the collar of your shirt as he knelt beside you on the carpet. He pulled it down far enough to get at where he wanted. Reiji scared you to death. He could make his bites feel like death or have you gasping out from ecstasy. The vampire bit just below your collarbone and you swore that you felt him graze the bone with the puncture.

You shrieked and foolishly grasped at his button-up, but with the high that your blood gave, he didn't seem to care at the moment. His swallows were purposeful and you couldn't hold back the tears as a burn flooded your body. Just when you began to think that you might actually die, he pulled away.

Fangs that were still a dizzying red were flashed with a sadistic grin as he took in the look on your face. "Go on then. Use the healing incantation I taught you." Reiji stood to collect his crop once more. "I assure you, you'll be using it plenty tonight."

Ayato:

Of course, the one who deserves to drink from a witch is Yours Truly. Don't you agree?

Whether you do or don't, it doesn't matter. Ayato isn't asking for your permission.

He's telling you that you're his blood bag, and you need sate his appetite... Or he knows how to make his feedings hurt.

Do you have a spell for that? No. He didn't think so.

Ayato will drink from you until black spots dance across your vision and you don't have the energy to gather up your magic anymore.

His bites along your neck are sharp and aggressive in his excitement. Ayato doesn't even stop to sip a single drop from the scrapes and small punctures along your skin. "Heh. What a rush." He pulls away to watch the blood leak into your collarbone before dipping in to greedily drink from the small pool he's created.

"Oi. Don't pass out on me." The back of his hand taps your cheek as black spots appear in front of your eyes. "It's your fault for being so damn addicting in the first place." He sneers at you before leaning down to take his fill once more.

Your struggles are weak. You can barely push at his chest physically let alone use any magic to throw him across the room. With each sip, your mind grows fuzzier. He enjoys the fight in you, he's said so. But Ayato isn't one who likes having his meals interrupted.

So Yours Truly found a way around the tricks you have up your sleeve.

He licks over to wounds to close them and finds that you've gone limp. Ayato huffs as he looks over your unconscious form.

"Tch... We didn't even get to the good part."

Laito:

So you're a witch? How exciting.

Laito's never slept with a witch before, but he's sure that he can break you down the same way every mortal woman has.

If not, well, he's going to have to learn and the best way is through practice.

"Pretty Witch", "Witch-Chan"

He teases you the most without a doubt: "I can't help myself from coming back, Pretty Witch. You put a love spell on me, didn't you?"

Did you know that when he makes your eyes start to roll that you both float a bit off the bed? How dirty.

"My poor little witch." The redhead coos as he tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear. He loved that look on your face. Flushed and wanting as you gripped at his jacket. You were as addicted to him as Laito was to you. He chuckled low into the skin of your neck as he teased you. "I didn't think that you could get tired out so easy. Fufu... But I guess that you don't need stamina if you have all of that magic, do you?"

You fell for the taunt, but it wasn't quite what he expected.

Your hand moved to knock that damn hat off of his head before your fingers weaved through the soft tresses of his hair. You fist your hands into it and pull him into a hungry kiss to shut his smug mouth up for a moment. Laito's hands press harder into the wall that he's trapped you against as he gives a soft sound of pleasure and approval into your lips.

Laito can taste the energy that radiated off of you. It was like running his tongue along a battery. And he. Fucking. Loved it. He practically melted when you bit his lip. It was hard enough to split that perfect, pale skin but he still grinned despite the red that dripped down his chin. "Pretty Witch-" His fingers drummed along the inside of your thighs. "You're at your best today. Fufu. Show me how far that can get you." He couldn't stop the giggle as you pulled him in for another bruising kiss.

Kanato:

Out of any of his siblings, he thinks your powers are amusing.

With Kanato, it's sink or swim. It's hard to tell what's on his mind. He'll go from hot to cold in seconds, so it's better to try and stay on his good side.

That spell your mumbling better be nice, or he'll have to sew those pretty lips of yours shut.

You're awfully cute thinking that you outnumber him with that gremlin familiar of yours. What? Didn't you know? He can make Teddy play too.

And you better pray to a deity that's willing to save you if one of your spells go array and Teddy is caught in the fray.

Kanato will burn you like the witch you are.

You don't know why you'd hoped that today would be different. Every day after lunch, Kanato would have a table for you both set. Pastries would be piled beautifully atop their dishes, and Kanato had a knack for pairing the perfect tea with your snacks every time.

At first, you were wary that he'd drug them somehow to make you compliant. Most days you wish he did.

At least you'd have an excuse as to why his bites felt so nice. "Mortal women tend to get angry if they don't feel good, don't they?" But you endured it for your familiar who was seated next to Teddy. You could see it in their eyes. They wanted to help, even if Kanato hurt them until they disappeared to their plane to recover. But you took comfort in your gremlin.

Your familiar was the only good thing in this house. They did their best to pet at your hair when you cried when the reality of your situation hit you hard. They even went so far as to collect little baubles to help you heal and to negate the effects of your anemia.

They didn't deserve to suffer.

Kanato sunk his fangs into your wrist. You couldn't help but shiver. The small vampire shuddered against your skin as he sipped from you as if you were a fine wine instead of a person. You might as well be with how he assured you that your blood was the finest quality.

"Amazing." You barely ignore the blissful heat that radiates from your head to your toes to look at Kanato. He observes the energy that surrounds your wounds once he's pulled away to mend them closed.

You don't know why you hoped today would be different. That Kanato would choose the pastries over you.

Subaru:

Subaru is the most mistrusting of the Sakamaki bunch. His disdain doesn't match his kind gestures. It sends a number of mixed signals.

He'll gift you talismans to prevent his family from sucking your blood, a book filled with wards to draw on your door and windows, and a knife.

The latter is a last resort with these new comforts.

When he visits you, he's likely to accuse you of casting a spell on him. He knew he couldn't trust a witch. What did you do? Make him want to be your guardian? Are you slowly taking his will?

He's hungry and yet all he can do is take his frustrations out on his surroundings.

But there's a small, small part of him that's proud when he sees his gifts at work. He's able to protect one thing in his life.

You must seem like a madwoman with the symbols etched onto every surface of your room. You could even accept those claims. When you see those same protective wards glare at you through the night, you know it's excessive. The talisman on your neck doesn't leave you. Ever.

Even if the brothers threaten to break your skin or bones, you refuse to take it off. It seems to make them dizzy and nauseous. You rush into the kitchen some nights to fill your room with enough food to get by.

You're wise enough to know that it's better to reduce the chances of receiving the ire of vampires by closing yourself off. They feel cheated and you feel victorious.

Your attention is ripped away from your tome and jar of marshmallow fluff by a knock at your door. The only way they can come in is if you open your door. You swallow and set your book and snack on the nightstand.

"Woman, if you don't open this damn door, I'll kick it down."

There wasn't a doubt that Subaru would try and you rush to open it before his thin patience snapped. Your door is opened to reveal your guardian who holds one of the best gifts so far. A dinner tray with a bowl of steaming, homemade soup. His eye isn't on you for long. "Here... I don't want you getting sick from eating that crap all the time." The young man jerks his head towards the marshmallow fluff.

You take the tray with a small 'thank you' before hesitantly taking a step back to give Subaru enough room to enter. He sits with you on your bed as you eat in relative silence. The vampire sits as far away as possible and attempts to give a sly rub to his temple as the talisman begins to work its magic.

Subaru looks deathly pale. You'd say he looked ill if you believed a creature like him could get sick. You take a final bite before setting the tray aside. "I know you're hungry." The vampire stiffens at this.

Slowly, you begin to reach up to unclasp the necklace. "So let me do this for you." Your final line of defense is tucked into the drawer of your nightstand.

"I'll break you." And you didn't doubt his threat at all.

The Mukami Household:

They are likely to whisk you away after receiving orders from "that person". The brothers need to get more powerful if they can ever hope to live up to their expectations. If "that person" says that feeding off of a witch is how they're supposed to accomplish that? Consider it done.

Here is where you can expect your powers and abilities to shine.

Honestly, it might be more about them hoping that you'll somehow "gift" them a power of sorts. Example: If you can see the future through brief visions, they would hope to do that as well after drinking your blood. That must mean you're their witch and it's destiny, right? Your blood chose them.

Ruki:

Like Reiji, he'll expect you to study and hone your skills.

You aren't quite livestock, more like a servant. You're expected to perform your duties as their witch without question or fail.

After all, Ruki could find very creative ways to make sure you remember your place.

Drained and locked in the dungeon will do for the first offense.

But if you perform well? It's the sign of a good master.

... And maybe he'll gain some of those abilities in time?

"Again." The order you received seemed nearly impossible. Sweat dotted your brow from exertion and concentration. There were thirty candles within the dining room and you had to light them all at once.

Ruki didn't doubt your power. Far from it. He simply wanted you to be more precise with your spellcasting. He glanced at you from the pages of his book. You clenched your fist to summon a wind to snuff out the flames. That was the easy part...

Heat spawned at your fingertips as you rubbed your hands together before you let the energy flow forward with a flourish. You swallowed and glanced over to each flickering light... twenty-eight of them.

The halfling snapped his book shut. "Again." You clenched your fist once more and wiped the sweat from your brow, ready for a long night of practice.

Yuma:

You'll definitely have more direction on becoming a green/garden witch with Yuma. He'll teach you everything you need to know. How to grow your plants, care for them, dry and store them away for future potions.

He'll make room in his garden for you and the ingredients for whatever you'll need.

Yuma is very vigilant about your gardening. If you don't have a green thumb, expect to have one after a few weeks of coaching.

He believes that part of your magic could stem from eating good food, so expect him to give you fresh fruits to start your day.

God forbid if you give him an apple. "You tryin' to poison me, Witch?" He'll still eat it with a big grin on his face.

You toiled away on prepping your latest batch of tinctures in the spacious kitchen. The activity was relaxing in itself. It kept your hands busy and creating them was slowly becoming a hobby. You'd nearly finished putting a lid on your third when you felt a rough hand on your hip. The other was busy brushing the hair away from your neck. "Yuma-" You attempted to bat his away. "I'm busy."

Your reasoning didn't give the half-vampire much pause as his nose skimmed along the back of your neck. He bent down far enough to eye your progress before he scoffed. You could feel his grin blooming against your neck. "I'm not seeing anything that can't wait."

It was all Yuma offered you before you felt his fangs pierce the skin of your neck.

His gulps were as greedy as the arm that snaked around you. It was something you were grateful for since you doubted your hold on the countertop could keep you from buckling. He always drank until you were dizzy. Whether he did it out of his own enjoyment or simply because he needed more blood to fuel a vampire his size wasn't clear to you. For all you knew, it could be a mix of both.

Finally, he pulled away and licked at the wound until it closed. You were dizzy, you were flushed, and you doubted you could finish up your tinctures if you tried. "C'mon, Witch." Yuma lifted you up and secured an arm just above your thighs. "We're taking a break."

Kou:

Kou with a witch is the bane of Ruki's existence. The idol always seems more energized after drinking from you.

Expect him to hunt you down and bite you before his shows and maybe even after if his meet and greets with his fans wearing him out. He's almost always sure to flash you that charming smile the girls fawn over when he's finished. As if he didn't just get done draining you.

"You taste so good, Pretty Kitty. You saved the best blood just for me, didn't you?"

Witch? More like a black cat. There's no way around it, no matter how much you insist.

But he's expecting... something. Anything. The rush your blood gives is amazing, but Kou expected to gain some of those neat little abilities of yours.

Don't you know that this is a give and take relationship? He's been so kind to you. The leeway he gives you sickens Ruki to no end.

So maybe... he needs to shorten your leash and remind you why you're here.

The puncturing of your forearm earned a bit of a yelp. You should have been used to fangs piercing into your skin, but Kou sucked at your wounds so hard. He dug into you as if this time would be any different from the last. The sharp pain didn't fade and it took you digging your fingers into the plush couch arm to keep yourself from ripping your arm away and creating nasty gashes.

He might switch from his kind persona to an unforgiving warden if you did. Kou would probably be upset enough to let you simply bleed out for a while before he considered lapping at your wounds to close them.

His desperate suckles died down as the rush of magic seemed to flow through him soul deep. A please hum reverberated against your skin, and if you didn't know better you'd say he was purring. Kou pulled away with a sloppy pop before his tongue swiped over the wounds he had inflicted before they faded away into your skin.

You were lightheaded and the phantom pain still throbbed against your skin, yet there was nothing to show for it aside from the evidence Kou wiped away in front of his vanity.

"Thank you, Pretty Kitty." The blonde chirped like a kid who'd just gotten a treat. "Now, behave yourself until I get back. The show won't be too long." He shot a wink your way before he left his dressing room. He was bouncing with energy as he made his appearance on the stage, and the cheers could be heard from where you'd slumped over on the couch. You were too exhausted to do anything else.

Azusa:

He's intrigued by your powers, and he's as much of a helper as he is a disaster waiting to happen.

Azusa is content with watching you work or helping when he's able.

He's probably the only one who will call you by your name the first time you ask. You're not 'Eve', you're a witch.

Put a lock on your cabinets. He's likely to hold potions and tinctures to examine them in the light, daydreaming about ill effects, and possibly drinking them.

"Y/N... Will these burn me from the inside out? ... Ah.. That would feel wonderful, wouldn't it?"

What's more concerning are the runes he's taken an interest in lately. He insists he can help. He's seen tattoos of these symbols floating around. Azusa doesn't think they're deep enough to do those women much good. They've barely scraped the surface of your potential.

So he'll help you by carving them into you until he's sure you feel those markings within your very marrow. And maybe, just maybe, you'll be happy enough to carve him up just like he's shown you?

You hesitantly grasped at the bouquet of roses that Azusa held out for you. "Oh... Thank you." The scent from them was so strong that you took a moment to enjoy it. A weak smile found its way to your lips. "This is very sweet of you, Azusa."

He simply hummed before his hands grasped yours in a tender gesture, trapping them around the bouquet.

"...I wanted to make you happy." Your blood ran cold. You had a sinking feeling even before he began to squeeze your hands. "I thought if I helped... you'd forgive me." Instinct made you jerk your hands within the vice-like hold he gripped them in. He thought you hated him for being so nice. Just like his brothers.

"Azusa! Please!" It was enough to draw a sob from you. "Stop."

His hands fell away and you dropped the roses altogether. Tincture ingredients or not... they weren't worth suffering over. Your palms were bloody and they shook from the pain. Azusa gripped your wrist and began to suck on the red that bathed your fingers.

"Hey... Y/N... you'll love me lots if I help... won't you?"

343 notes · View notes

minthysugamon · 4 years ago

Text

Barell of a Gun (Hitman! Jimin x Reader)

(Warnings: This one is pretty dark. Please don't read if you feel uncomfortable at the mentions of Paid Murder,Gambling,Uncomfortable Situations and Kidnapping. This doesn't depict Jimin's real personality. It's only a work of fiction. Please don't associate Jimin with this after you read it,he isn't like that in real life. IT IS ONLY A WORK OF FICTION BASED ON A JAMES BOND-AGENT 47 TYPE OF CONDUCTING LINE)

Word count: 2045

As soon as night has fallen,he started to get ready. Pen,check. Knives,check. 9mm,check. Everything was going perfectly. Park Jimin never paid attention to the victim. At least,he never let his emotions rule over the goal he had in front of him. And that goal was the 1,000,000$ he will get after he eliminated the person in the portfolio. It's a well paid price,and until he does the job without being noticed,it's worth it. He never accorded time to his emotions. It's a rational job,find the person,eliminate them,get paid. Nothing really hard. He prefers to say eliminate because killing would make his targets look like victims,whilst most of them are just rotten people.

"Agent 91,welcome. Please type in the password to unlock." His computer displayed the following words. He typed it in once. Doesn't work. The fourth time,same thing happened. "Fuck. Not again. I don't have time for this shit right now." Jimin was starting to get agitated. The fifth time,he just scanned his retina,hoping it would work. And it did. Thankfully. Because if it hadn't,the whole fuck-up would've cost him a lot of money and primarily his life,probably.

While sitting in the car,you had some Depeche Mode song your brother was blasting earlier in his room,stuck on repeat in your head. It was called Barrel of a Gun or something,the guitar riff was kinda cool so it stuck to your neurones. The ride to the casino was accompanied by an awkward silence,your date for the night has chosen some pompous place to dine at and now wanted to go gamble some money away. He was the son of some rich politician at your school,of course he would do something like that. "Did you like the meal?" The guy placed a hand on your knee,not as if you had asked,but for the moment you didn't do anything. "Yes,i liked it,even thought the wine was a little bit dry for my taste." He simply smirked and rolled up the partition in the back of the Limousine before his hand has made its way higher up on your thigh. "Well..if it can comfort you,i know that something won't be as dry as the wine tonight." Breaking point. You took his hand into yours and simply smiled. "Jacques,listen. I appreciate your gestures and all,but please,please,pretty please,don't ever fucking touch me again without me consenting to it." You heard a pop coming from the bone of his hand,not realising you were literally almost breaking it so you had let it go.

Jimin had stepped into the grand hall of the Casino of Monte Carlo,getting the casual verifications done. He stood at the roulette table,and since he had some time to kill,he didn't mind gambling away some thousands. The main point was to blend in,not to be outstanding. "Mesdames,Messieurs,Faites-vos jeux." He had forgotten how wonderful the french language sounds...as wonderful as a cat choking on some plastic wrap. His bet was put on the number 3,his lucky number. Not that he was superstitious,but it always brought him chance,so...why not this time? "Les Jeux sont faits." As soon as the roulette started spinning,he looked around himself and finally saw his target. But it wasn't planned that he will have company.

Sitting besides Jacques while he was playing a hand,needless to say,it was more than just boring. You never wanted to go home as much as you did now. Plus,the high-heels were killing your feet,it was a plus reason for you to just get up and leave. But you didn't. Simply because he was already kind enough to take you on a date,so,you had nothing more to do than just sit beside him and observe. Jacques wasn't good at Poker,even if he liked to think the opposite,and his loss was already over 100,000€. If he were a simple man,he would already be indebted,but it wasn't the case. The game only started to be interesting when another man sat down at the table and joined the party.

"May i?" Jimin asked with a small smile on his lips. He knew his target was beside him,it will be easier to calculate his every moves. But he didn't realise it will be harder since you were in the frame too. As soon as the game started,he saw that the guy wasn't good at playing,only bluffing,so,he took this to his advantage and told himself he will use the "I'm just tryna help you bro" card later. Jimin's eyes were mostly on you though,and he didn't calculate his emotions,but he would've been lying if he said you weren't beautiful.

You were looking at the cards in Jacques's hands. Seeing the 3 others on the table,he was already fucked,but of course,he had to bluff. "50,bet" echoed from the man beside you and everyone folded. Except one. The new player at the table. "Oh...i see you play with big amounts...let me make it more interesting then. Calling 1600." The black haired man's proposition made you jump a little bit. It wasn't only 1600€,but 1,600,000. "So..? What do you think? Reasonable proposition,no? Or...are you scared of losing?" The guy smirked and your partner stood up. "I'm going for a smoke. Pause the game." "Man,it isn't such a bad proposition,but okay...let's say 1,400,000 to save your honor." He followed Jacques to the balcony. Which was a pretty bad idea knowing how he can get when he's angry,you knew how out of hand the situation could get,he was the same at Uni. Anger Issues was his middle name.

Jimin was only trying to provoke the poor guy. Poor...let's not say that. He was the kid of an asshole that got rich by scamming poor people. Let alone,the father was a politician. The only way for Jimin to attain his final target was to hurt him. Not that he had to,but it was more effective this way. "Stop fucking following me. I have enough of your gimmicks. I saw how you were looking at him. You're on a date with me,not him." The hitman simply laughed. "Oh..you thought your little girlfriend came after you? Believe me,she has better things to do. Now,if you excuse me..." Gun cocked. Silencer already on. And fire. The bullet went straight through the younger one's head,in between the eyes. "Bull's eye. Good." As the body of the guy has fallen,Jimin started to wipe his silencer and put the pistol away. Too bad the girl was at the balcony as he did it.

"What the fuck have you done? WHO THE FU-" You screamed at him,but the scream hadn't live to its full potential as the guy from the table had silenced you with a hit to your head. You woke up five hours later,tied to a chair,in a living room in some old ass apartment,still propably in southern France. "Rise and shine babygirl,you're safe now. My name is...you have no buisness knowing it,but call me 91. Or Jay. Whatever suits you." As you looked around you,you saw nothing you could recognise. Only the feeling of the rag on your mouth was prominent,with the bounds around your wrists and legs. "I guess i should take off the gag...but can i trust you to not scream?" You nodded,already planning to get away somehow. As Jay took off the gag you inhaled and tried to scream but he had his hand in front of your mouth. "I should've killed you when i had the chance. I didn't need any kind of witnesses. But here i am,trying to plan out something so you don't talk. Now. Stop screaming or i'll send a bullet flying through your brain. Also..what's your name again?" He knew it of course...but wanted to hear it as he took off his hand of your mouth and looked at you. "Wasn't that your initial plan? And my name is (Y/n)." The sass in your words left him surprised enough to smile and unload his gun. "Wow,getting sassy i see. I like it." "Why did you kill him? Was it because he was involved in some shady buisness?" You talked way more than you should have. And Jimin liked that. More information means more time...which means a better approach towards the target. "What do i look like? A social justice warrior? Honey,i get paid for shit like this. But now,my only problem is you. What should i do with you? You weren't in the frame. And now you are here,bound to a chair...don't get me wrong,i like the view,but you shouldn't have wandered away from that goddamn table yesterday." You simply lowered your head and looked at his hands. He was fidgeting. Unable to decide what he should do. "You should probably kill me then. I mean,if i am too much to handle,and since you know i'll be talking as soon as i get out of here,you should just choke me to death...quick and effective." He smiled and took your chin with two fingers so you were looking into his eyes. "Let me think about it. But i already know i won't kill you...in the end,you're truly innocent so..there would be no fun in that." "So...you're pretty much a social justice warrior then" He let your chin go and stood up to walk around the apartment.

Jimin knew killing you would've made too much mess,plus,cleaning the whole appartment after it would have taken too much time. Plus...he kinda started to like you. You were the type of girl he could settle with. So he went with plan B...or more like,he wanted to go with plan b which was about to let you go and threaten you to not talk. But as soon as he heard footsteps coming towards the apartment,Jimin changed his mind and chose Plan C. "You'll be coming with me. We have to get away. I already lost more than 3 hours with you getting in my way."

You were quickly untied and he secured a gun around your thigh. "You know how to use one? Just in case,to be safe." Why on earth would he give you a gun? "I could kill you right now if i wanted." "Yeah,i know,but you don't want to. That's the positive point. Now open the window and get out." God knows why you obeyed him,but it was almost automatic. Did you like the rush of the situation? Maybe yes. Maybe it was simply because you were scared...maybe it was because you kind of liked the way the whole situation turned out. He was following you as soon as he cleared the area,and unlocked his car. "Get in. I'll be here soon. No more than 2 minutes." "Huh? Where the fuck are you going?" "Getting my shit and then i'll be here." And with that,he was already on his way.

No more than two minutes after,he was back with his suitcase and the briefcase containing some papers,his pc and most importantly,the money. "Buckle the belt. We'll be on the road for 10 to 15 hours..." "Where are we going?" He simply smiled and turned the engine on. "Let that be a surprise..." "So...you're pretty much kidnapping me,right?"

He chuckled and looked into the rear-view mirror. "It's better than the barrel of a gun against your head at least. And...you'll see,it won't be as bad as you think."

Was this really the life you were about to live? Probably. Was it safe? Probably not,but did you have any other choice? No. But...little did you know,it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

(Y'all,i'm sorry if it is bad...i really wanted something different but in the end idk...it doesn't seem good to me...i let you all be the judge)

#bts #bts scenarios #bts au #jimin au #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin #jimin x reader #bts hitman au #hitman au #bts imagines #bts scenario

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profitinaecho · 4 years ago

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So You Want to Spin Ch11

In retrospect, maybe spending twenty minutes teasing Max wasn’t the greatest of ideas based upon the long, drawn out torture he is laving on her body. She was banking on him being so excited to get inside her that he wouldn’t draw it out. But after months of pent up frustration, Max is taking it out on her in the best way possible.

“I want you to feel what I feel for you.” Liz admits to him shyly laying sprawled out next to him in bed in the wee hours of that morning after what feels like hours of torture with his mouth.

“More echos?” Max raises a cocky eyebrow. He had teased her until she begged him for relief repeatedly. He has no doubt he could get her there again if she asked him to.

“And everything else.” Liz giggles as he rolls on top of her again, kissing her soundly.

It’s as close to admitting that she has fallen for him Liz is going to get tonight so Max doesn’t push her. His girl hates feeling vulnerable. So he kisses the back of her hand and holds intimate eye contact before finally sliding inside her. He doesn’t know how he lived without this feeling before now.

Max lifts and lowers her, faster, harder, deeper- whatever she is mindlessly chanting under him. His fingers slide through her long dark hair, teeth gnashing as they try to keep their mouths together. Liz comes once again, her limbs wrapped tightly around his and she feels him tense then relax under her as he quickly follows.

They catch their breath laying sweaty on their backs side by side. Their ankles are intertwined because the idea of not touching in this moment is unacceptable but they are too hot to be completely touching. Once their breathing has slowed, Liz rolls back on top of Max’s sweaty chest.

“We should probably talk about what comes next…” Liz glances up at Max shyly through her lashes from where she is sprawled out sweaty and naked on top of him.

“Well if you give me a minute to recover…” Max shifts under her suggestively, tracing her spine with the tips of his fingers. He’s exhausted and the happiest he’s felt in a long time.

“Uh uh. That’s not allowed.” Liz shakes her head at him, smiling giddy. She places wet kisses across his chest and his heart before taking a deep breath. “What about when we return to work?”

Max clears his throat at the turn the conversation has taken and feels completely naked under her penetrating gaze. “I guess that would depend on whether you want to continue this or not.” He wills himself to keep his expression neutral in case she shoots him down, but his heart skips at the idea of being together.

Liz bites her lip and her stomach flips with anxiety. Commitment has always made her nervous and part of her wants to run even considering the idea. “We probably have to go to HR when we get back, right? And sign a waiver?”

Max releases his breath with relief and nods. “Yes, there’s some sort of ‘I consent to be touched by coworker’ form.”

Liz nibbles along Max’s collar bone before tipping her head up to whisper in his ear. “I completely consent to be touched by my coworker.”

Max rumbles out a laugh before slipping his hands lower down her waist below the pepper printed sheets. “Good.”

____________________

After not near enough sleep, Max’s alarm goes off. Liz grumbles on top of him and he has trouble locating her face under her tangled wild mane from his hands running through it.

Max cuddles her close, whispering, “I know. I don’t want to wake up either. But we have to go get a new tire and I’m not leaving you alone in this sketchy hotel room.”

“Coffee” Max swears he hears from under the mass of dark hair and he smiles, finger combing the ends of her hair. Liz shifts a little, feeling deliciously sore.

“I bet the repair shop will have some good coffee. Not that it matters with all the stuff you add in to it.” Max wishes he could stay in this bed with her forever but work is calling. They have murders to solve and are on a deadline.

With a grumble, Liz squeezes his torso good morning once before her head finally pops up and makes eye contact with him. Max kisses her nose and smiles lopsidedly at her. It always takes Liz a moment to accept that she is awake and it is best if he leaves her alone until she gets there.

Normally, he brings her a cup of coffee in the morning to help Liz wake up but their room has no coffee maker or complimentary breakfast. Tracing shapes and lines gently along her back, Max hums to himself while Liz stretches.

“I don’t want to leave this bed and go back to real life.” Liz places kisses along his pectoral muscles before stretching and sighing. “Reality isn’t any fun.”

Max leans down and kisses her forehead, inhaling the scent that is Liz before pausing when she giggles. “What?”

“You smell like rain. And sex. And me.” Max can feel her lips curving up into a smile against his skin.

“We should both probably hop in the shower then, huh?” Max suggests, rolling Liz onto the psychedelic pepper floor to the sound of her giggles.

____________________

After getting dressed and ready for the day, the couple check out of the motel and follow the clerks direction to a nearby garage to fix the tire. While they wait, Liz pulls out her spreadsheet of family’s they need to visit for DNA and interviews.

“Do you think we can fit two families in still today? We might need to add an extra day.” Liz chews on her pen thinking about the logistics.

“We can play it by ear. We have a couple extra road days for wiggle room if we need them.” The plan had been to have collected all the samples and be back in Roswell by Tuesday so that Liz could send the samples off to be tested as soon as possible. But as long as they return by Friday, they will still be able to mail the samples that week.

“What if he kills again before we catch him, Max?” Liz worries. The thought had been plaguing her and she felt heavy with the pressure.

“I hope he doesn’t but if he does, maybe he will get reckless and we will finally figure out who he is.” It wasn’t much of a comfort, as they both knew a serial offender wouldn’t just stop. But maybe they would get lucky and the killer would take a break long enough to catch him.

“You’re right.” Liz nods at his assertion.

Max slides his hand along the back of Liz’s neck, gently rubbing away the tension to comfort her. They fade into their own personal Max and Liz bubble away from the smell of motor oil and nascar posters. They show each other comfort through their touch until a throat clears and they are reminded they are not alone.

“Mr. and Mrs. Evans? Your car is ready” calls out a young handsome mechanic, dangling their keys.

“Oh, we’re not…” Liz starts and Max smiles, taking the keys from the man’s outstretched hand.

____________________

Max pulls up to a decrepit adobe shack at the address Liz gave him and turns off the car. “This is it?”

“I think so.” Liz double checks the Guitierez family’s address on her paper with the dangling house numbers on the home in front of them. “It says number 514.”

“Stay behind me, just in case.” Max rumbles, unclicking his seatbelt and getting out of his cruiser. Liz comes around the hood of the SUV holding his cream colored cowboy hat. Max gently takes it from her hand and plops it on his head, advancing to the home.

Suddenly the door swings open, and a tan skinny Latino man steps out onto the porch. “We don’t speak to gordito policia.” He crosses his arms and stares down at Max from his weathered porch.

Max doesn’t know what “gordito” means, but he has some guesses. “We’re here to talk about your missing sister? Rosa?” Max shifts from foot to foot trying to get a read on the situation.

Liz comes out from behind Max and smiles tentatively at Mr. Guitierez. “My sister’s name was Rosa too. She died ten years ago.”

“Did you find Rosa?” Mr. Guitierez glances at the back of the cruiser and then back to Liz.

“We have several unidentified remains back in Roswell and we need the DNA of a family member to compare the remains to for identification.” Liz explains.

“Your DNA will only be used for identification, you have my word. It will have no effect on your immigration status.” Max adds, heartfeltly.

After thinking about it for a moment, Mr. Guitierez gestures for them to follow him inside his home. The house is in dire need of repairs but homely.

____________________

When they get back on the highway, Max smiles over at Liz. “What does gordito mean?”

Liz bites her lip to try to stifle a laugh. “He called you a fat cop.”

Max gasps, as if outraged. “That’s not even accurate. I’ve cut way back on my donuts.”

“You had three chocolate donuts this morning.” Liz smirks at him.

“I had to put back on the calories we burned last night.”

“Uh huh. If you say so.”

“Hey, I’m sorry about your sister.” Max whispers, suddenly serious.

“Thank you. It was a long time ago. She overdosed from a toxic mix of pain medications and whatever else she could find.” A single tear rolls down Liz’s cheek and Max squeezes her hand.

____________________

“My feet hurt” Liz pouts, rubbing the arches of her feet. The couple are settled into their nice downtown El Paso hotel room they were unable to reach the day before.

“That’s because you were in heels all day.” Max drops his suitcase on the opposite bed from where Liz is sitting and perches on the bed facing her.

“I have to because you’re so tall or I end up looking like a child next to you and no one will take me seriously.” Liz groans, massaging her sore feet. It was the uneven sand and rocks that did it.

“Maybe you’ll grow.” Max teases her, taking her left foot into his lap to massage her arches.

After a while, Liz starts to feel better and smiles innocently at him as her barefoot skirts up his thigh. “Speaking of growing….”

Just as her foot skates across his erection, Max growls. “You asked for it.” He warns, dropping her foot to the floor and pouncing onto the neighboring bed to the sound of Liz’s delighted laughter.

#rnm echo #rnm fic #roswell new mexico #ficlets? ficlets?#So You Wanna Spin the World Around

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cchellacat · 6 years ago

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Thank You For Your Service:Pt3

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Wintershock: Bucky Barnes x Darcy Lewis

18 + For some smut.

For the next week Darcy stuck to the confines of the Tower. It wasn’t hard, the place was a veritable mini city in it’s own right. The first floor was made up of two restaurants, a boutique and spa. Never let it be said that Tony would ever let anyone in his employ do without the essentials. There was also a fantastic lending library on five, a gym for the Avengers personal use on sixty-five and an Olympic size pool on sub-level three.

She spent plenty of time stewing over the thought of him knowing who she was that first night, but eventually she admits to herself that he seemed shocked when Tony introduced them too. She still made it her mission to avoid James Barnes at all costs though, she wasn’t ready to face him yet.

Every time he tried to track her down, she used the private elevator and Jarvis to circumvent his attempts. Luckily Jane had left for a short trip to Culver to give some lectures, so Darcy wasn’t stuck in the labs where she knew she was all too easy to find.

The problem of Barnes as her bodyguard was keeping her from sleeping well. She was still furious with him and pissed at Tony for making her comply, but she had went back and retrieved the tablet he’d left her and after reading through it she knew he had a point. It still chaffed though. She had spent so much of her life looking out for herself that it went against everything in her to allow someone else, no matter how well meaning or right to dictate how she conducted herself.

The problem is that she is frustrated and confused by the sudden insistence. She's been working at SI for two years without a bodyguard and only a light protection detail when she and Jane go to international conferences. Darcy is convinced the only reason Tony is insisting on a bodyguard now is because he found out she was his daughter. Thor insisting on Jane having protection when he wasn't there makes far more sense, she is the future Queen of Asgard and he knows there are people who are opposed to Jane’s future status. Darcy is just a low level assistant, no one even knows about her blood connection to Tony.

She also spent some of the time the past week, researching him. Oh, she knew the basics, everyone did, but what Shield and the Avengers allowed released to the public was far less than what she could get her hands on hacking the Tower servers. Jarvis was good enough not to tattle on her, so there was that. After the confrontation in the elevator she had also had to get into Jarvis code and convince him to delete the footage of their hate fueled sexcapades, the last thing she wanted was Tony blowing a fuse because she got her freak on with Bucky Barnes.

She hadn’t been able to resist watching it before she deleted it though. Watching them tear at each other was thrilling, it had been primal and raw. Seeing it from the outside, coupled with the memory of how it had felt, she had touched herself, coming harder by her own hand than she had in years. It took her breath away to see him fuck her, to watch as all that raw strength, a body made and sculpted for war, held her effortlessly, taking her apart. She lost track of everything watching it, watching them, their reflections carrying into infinity as he claimed her. It’s what it was, there’s no other way to describe how he took her, even as she claimed him back, teeth and nails marking him. She blushed seeing it, seeing her own wanton abandon.

Watching as her body arched into his and how she pulled on his hair, the grunts he made as she clenched around him had her cuming around her own fingers. It made her ache to feel him again, to have him fill her with his cock and mutter filth in her ear the way he had. She watches his face when he makes her come, sees the awe and possession in his expression, the way he looks at her like he wants to keep her. It’s how she knows that it isn’t just her imagination. There is something important between them, something visceral and deep.

He could have broken her if he’d been any less in command of himself. She knew that now, understood and was thrilled by the thought of it. She’d seen the footage of the Winter Soldier on the bridge in DC. He and Steve had been all out against each other on that highway and Barnes had held the upper hand, had been winning even before Steve realised who he was. She was just a fragile human, the control he exerted over himself even as they lost themselves in angry lust had been absolute.

She’d stood in front of her bathroom mirror every evening and morning, fingers tracing over the bruises he had left and knows he could have broken her bones, but he hadn’t. He’d left his mark, his fingerprints on her skin, blue and purple fading to green and yellow. When they were finally gone she had felt bereft. Part of her wanted those marks back on her body, claiming her, branding her. When he’d been inside her she’d felt whole in a way she’d never experienced before.

Knowing his story better after pouring over the files only made her want him more. She wanted to hate him, she really did, but he’d promised he hadn’t been following her, that meeting her had been just that, a coincidence. She believed him, but that didn’t mean she was going to make this easy on him.

She’d eventually calmed down after everything and decided to beard the lion in his den. The surprise on his face when she turned up at his office door had been genuine.

Darcy smiled nervously at him from the doorway before stepping inside. Bucky looked up at her knock and motioned for her to come in. The office was utilitarian and almost empty, other than the desk and chairs. Book shelves lined one wall, bare and waiting to be filled, on the window sill was a large cacti, the kind you see in garden centers the world over. She wonders who bought it for him, somehow knowing it’s not the sort of thing he would have chosen for himself.

“Hey.” it’s all she manages to say. Unsure of what you're meant to say to the guy who’s fucked you twice but whom you’ve never actually had a proper conversation with.

“Darcy.” He seems just as unsure of where they stand as she does. He stood there, waiting until she sits down before retaking his seat.

The silence makes her edgy and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Nice cactus... how’s it going?”

He spares the greenery a quick look of derision before turning his attention back to her.

“It’s good, getting through a review of personal and doing some additional background checks, I didn’t realise how much paperwork this damn job was going to involve.”

She smiles, fingers drumming against her thigh.

“You know this position comes with a PA, right? Haven’t you found someone suitable from HR yet?”

“I guess just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Still a lot of things on the list, honestly I think I forgot with everything.” he gestured vaguely at the boxes of files on the floor around his desk. “But, what can I do for you?”

“I umm, I wondered if you wanted to get a drink tonight. Let me apologise for jumping to conclusions the other day.”

It’s as close as she’ll come to saying she was wrong for being so upset with him. A peace offering and a date in one.

Bucky sighs and looks down at the desk, flicking an eye off to the side and the moving a file over the offending paper. She holds her breath, thinking this was not the response she expected. She sees it coming even before he speaks.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not? We’re both consenting adults, you’re not my employee and I don’t work for you…”

“It’s a conflict of interest Doll.” he still won’t look her in the eye.

“Why are you so determined to keep me at arms length? I’ve seen the employment contact Tony had you sign, there’s nothing stopping us from seeing each other. I know I’m not wrong about this, you like me, I know you do.”

“You’re right, I do, but we still can’t do this. I need to focus on my job, I can’t do that properly if we’re involved. I don’t want to slip up and you get hurt.” he sounds sincere, but she’s known men who could do that even when they were lying, and right now he wasn’t telling her everything, she could feel it.

“So assign me my own protection detail. I’ll follow the rules, not cause any trouble. Tony won’t mind so long as I stick to the program.”

“I can’t do that, Tony asked me to be your personal security, I gave him my word, I’d never forgive myself if another Stark died when I could have stopped it.”

She feels the bottom drop out from underneath her. More excuses, she’s an idiot, maybe he was interested enough to fuck her but not have a relationship. The thought tasted bitter in her mouth.

“You don’t have to lie to me, if you don’t want to go out with me.”

“Doll, it’s not like that, I do like you, I just… I can’t trust anyone else with your safety.”

She stood quickly, and strode to the door, she had to get out of there. there is a clatter of the chair as he stands and comes after her. It’s like the elevator all over again, he catches her before she can open the door, pulling her round to face him, she braces her hands on his chest, all too aware of his body only a hairs breath from her own.

“Darcy, please understand, it’s not about you, this is on me.”

“Then quit. Tell Tony you can’t do it, tell him we already knew each other, that we want to date. He’ll understand. You’re not responsible for me just because you played a hand in Howard and Maria’s deaths. I never even knew them. Give me another security detail.”

His grip on her arms tightens briefly, she sees the conflict in his eyes.

“I’m not going to break my word.”

“No, but you’ll break my heart just fine.”

She pushed out of his hold and spun, leaving him behind. This was not over.

IT doesn’t make any sense. Why would she merit the Winter Soldier as a bodyguard and not Jane? Why would she get the scary supersoldier when Jane is the bigger target of the two of them? There was something more going on, there had to be. She just wishes she could figure out what. Until then, well. She knew now, from his reaction at the last, he definitely wants her, just as much as she wants him. She has to make him see she’s not going to give up.

If he wanted to be her bodyguard so badly, well, she’d make him jump through so many hoops and over so many obstacles he’d quit. He was just as affected by her as she was by him, that much was clear, but she knew he’d resist letting anything happen between them while he was meant to be her protection. But she wanted him, badly. Badly enough that she’s prepared to tie the man in knots until he resigns as her bodyguard, because she knows in her soul she needs him, she wants to know if they could be something.

The first time she decides to leave the Tower is Tuesday evening, there’s a great little pizza place in the East Village that she’s been dying to try out, she knows she should call him, tell him she’s going out, but she wants to know what will happen if she doesn’t. So sue her, she’s always been too curious for her own good.

The trip down in the elevator is smooth as always but being in the small space, the memories of what he’d done to her push to the front of her mind. When she gets off on the ground floor she’s wet and frustrated and ready to turn around and got back to her apartment and deal with the unexpected arousal. Before she can call the lift back she spots him. She’s not sure if she’s surprised to see him, leather jacket and gloves on, standing by the front door of the lobby. He looks good, the look he gives her and the small smirk enough to make desire and ire curl in her belly in equal measure. She squares her shoulders, unable to back down now and crosses the lobby at a clipped pace.

He doesn’t say anything as she marches past him, just opens the door for her and follows behind.

Darcy is hyper aware of him, just feet behind her to her left. She refuses to turn a head and look at or acknowledge him, but part of her itches to sneak a peek, to take in how fucking pretty he looked. The whole trip goes off without a hitch, he trails after her, she grabs some dinner and then he follows her back.

The little trip out served its purpose, he knows when she’s leaving, good. The next three days she randomly pops out of the tower on a ridiculous number of errands that have her all over New York. She can see the irritation building in him, the way his gaze narrows as her smiles become sunnier and sunnier. She takes a deep satisfaction in making him follow her from lingerie shop to lingerie shop, dumping the many bags she exits with into his arms.

It’s day four of “Drive Barnes into Early Retirement”. She set her alarm for 3:45am. There’s a 24 hour lending library halfway across the city she likes and she’s already booked her Uber. She wonders what he’ll make of this trip. By her calculations he would be in bed right now, sleeping. Jarvis would alert him of her intention to leave, she can’t wait to see if he can catch her before she makes it into the Uber.

She had slept in her clothes, so grabs her purse and coat and high tales it out of her apartment and into the elevator.

When she reaches the lobby he’s not there. She only hesitates for a moment before striding outside, looking for her ride. It’s not there yet. She stamps her feet against the chill and checks her phone impatiently.

She thinks she should feel less surprised than she is when a black SUV pulls up and Barnes rolls down the window.

“Get in.” it’s terse and strained and she can see the dark circles under his eyes. For a second she feels at least a little guilty for running him so ragged but then stamps it down.

The drive to the library is tense and silent. She looks out the window and resolutely ignores him, scrambling out of the car when they arrive and hurrying inside before he can do something dumb, like open the door for her.

Inside she scurries away till she finds the section she wants and peers at the titles. She can feel him watching her at first as she wanders the stacks. Eventually she gathers the books she wanted and finds a nook to sit and read in. He takes up the chair opposite her and sits with a book of his own.

For the next hour she reads without much focus, finding herself going over the words three of four times before giving up. When she looks over at him he’s slumped in the seat, book closed in one hand and his eyes shut. Again, the traitorous feeling of guilt creeps in. She knows he’s been working hard the last two weeks, increasing security for the Tower, putting new protocols in place, reviewing the existing personnel and a whole slew of other things, she hasn’t made any of it easier on him.

The thing is though, it stung. She wasn’t good at handling rejection, even when it came from good place. He’s trying to do the right thing. Keeping his work and personal life separate. She gets it, but it’s frankly ridiculous. He’s already slept with her, twice, not that she could call it sleeping. She finds herself staring at hm again, in all honesty he is hard to look away from. Fuck he looked cute like that, all soft and warm and vulnerable looking. There was a tiny little frown line between his eyes, she wanted to smooth it out and kiss his brow, take away whatever was making him anxious. Then again, she’s probably the cause of it. She sighs and waits. She’s not going to wake him up yet.

The light slowly filters into the space as the sun rises and she keeps watch wondering if she should rethink this whole thing. It’s nearly seven when she finally reaslies she’ll have to wake him if they want to be back at the Tower and have time to get ready before work. Jane is back today too, so Darcy knows she’ll have a heap of work of her own waiting in the lab.

She puts the books she chose back on their shelves and grabs the one he was holding too, it had dropped to the floor an hour earlier, but he hadn’t stirred, he must have been really tired.

She tries waking him gently, just calling his name, but he’s out for the count. Giving up she places a hand on his shoulder to shake him and suddenly finds herself held down across his lap, his hand at her throat, his eyes wide and blue, inches from hers. His grip goes slack immediately, she can see the horror in his expression and she grabs the bionic hand at her neck, holding it against her chest.

“I’m fine, I know better, I won’t wake you like that again.”

For a moment everything is still and then he closes his eyes and rests his forehead to hers.

“I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t even hurt me, just restrained me. I’m fine, see?”

She keeps her tone light and reaches a tentative hand up to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing against the growth of stubble on his cheek. This close she can clearly see the grey creeping through the dark, it's adorable and so human she wants to coo.

He opens his eyes again and she feels lost looking into them. She thinks she can see everything in the blue, every thought that crosses his mind seems to be reflected there. Guilt, remorse, frustration, gratitude… the heat rapidly creeping into his gaze sends a frisson of desire through her, skin prickling, nipples hardening and warmth pools in her belly.

He’s going to kiss her, she can feel it in her bones, sees the way his eyes drop to her lips and back again and she grips his shoulder even as he heart starts to pound.

Why does it feel like this with him? It’s the only thing she has time to wonder before his lips meet hers. Soft and warm, moving over hers, the kiss is gentle, slow. Full of something unknowable and dark. His hands grip her waist, pulling her up till she’s sitting in his lap, his mouth coaxing hers open, one brush a time.

The first swipe of his tongue at the seam of her lips leaves her gasping. He kisses her with the sort of focus that wipes all thought from her mind, makes her weak all over and has her mewling like a kitten with each stroke of tongue to hers. All she can feel is him, the restrained strength and power under her hands, the taste him on her tongue as he plunders her mouth. She wants to crawl inside his skin, wants to put aside the past two weeks and start over, right here, now.

Her body already knows his touch, it sings under his hands, as he runs his fingers under the hem of her shirt, skimming over her skin, pulling her closer. She finds herself with her hands in his hair, soft and curling at the ends as she tugs on it gently, the tiny little growls of need he makes when she does it, brings a curl of a smile to her lips. This is everything she wants with him. Heady kisses that last forever, wandering hands and the smell of him, deep and earthy saturating the sheets of her bed. She curls into him, to his warmth and sighs some more as he makes love to her with his mouth. She’d forgotten what just kissing was like, how good it could be, how meaningful.

The sudden and insistent ringing of his phone interrupts them. He pulls back from her, both of them a little breathless, but she sees the regret begin to set into his expression and pushes off his lap, standing and grabbing her purse and coat. It’s like being doused in ice water, the abrupt turn from something deep and warm to the cold indifference of his rejection, hollowing out her soul, leaving her empty. She’s vaguely aware of him answering the phone, of the gruff impatience in his voice as he talks to whoever is on the other end. She uses the brief few moments to pull herself back together, to plaster a facade of calm nonchalance over the bitter burning sting of his regret. She won’t let him see how much it hurts, won’t let him see how close she is to begging for him like some love sick ninny.

“You ready to go?”

She doesn’t turn, can’t bare to look at him and see that same dismissal again. She just nods and makes her way out to the car, once again hyper aware of him only feet away.

In the SUV she jams a finger at the radio and switches till the sound of Eric Clapton comes loud over the speakers.

“We can’t keep doing this Darcy.”

She wishes he didn’t sound so vulnerable, his voice bordering pleading in it’s tone. It gets her back up, sours her mood still further. God, he made her feel so much. Being in his orbit was enough to give her emotional whiplash. Why was he denying this? Them? She knew something had changed again in that library, something more growing in the space between them. Part of her wanted to rip it out and kill it before it grew, afraid he would only hurt her more. When he reaches for her hand she draws it back quickly. How dare he try to touch her after that? After ending things before they began, again.

“We, can’t?” She questions waspishly, staring straight ahead, denying him the ability to read her eyes and see the truth.. “I’m not the one going around kissing people, that was you, remember?”

From the corner of her eye she sees his grip tighten on the wheel, flesh hand going white at the knuckles from the pressure.

“You’re right. It’s on me. It won’t happen again.”

She thinks he believes what he says, but she knows better. The air between them still full of tension. Darcy digs her nails into her palms, counts in her head to ten, then fifty before slowly releasing a breath she had been holding and loosening her fists. She needs time to pull back and reassess. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake, and she was making it worse. Perhaps he was right, and they should be nothing more than client and bodyguard.

“I’ll email you my schedule this afternoon, so you know when I’ll need you. I probably won’t be going out much. Jane’s back today, so you’ll be rid of me for a few days.”

She keeps her tone as impersonal as possible, but a small sliver of bitterness underlays it.

“I don’t mind taking you wherever you want to go Darcy.”

“Miss Lewis.”

It slips out, hard and absolute. She glances at him long enough to watch his jaw tighten and the flash of hurt in his eyes. If he wants this to be nothing more than a business relationship he can treat all of it as such.

“Yes Miss Lewis.”

She doesn’t flinch when her name leaves his lips, coated in rime and cutting the air between them like diamond. She wants to throw up, the sickening feeling of loss she’s brought on herself a leaden weight of doom in her gut.

Nothing else is or needs to be said. When they get back, they go their separate ways. He opens the car door for her, standing at attention as she alights and brushes past him, her legs feeling like jelly even as she forces herself to walk confidently into the lobby and into the elevator. The damned elevator with its mirrors and memories reflected in them to infinity. She spots him briefly at the security desk before the doors close, his face a grim mask, his eyes hard. They flick up for one agonising moment to meet her own and her lips tighten in pain. She wants to lash out, to scream. This is his fault, he’s the one that started it, kissing her after saying he couldn’t, can he blame her for feeling angry, for giving him what he wanted? The doors close and all she’s left with is her own face, pale of colour, even her lips bleeding white are the edges. She feels like she’s fighting a losing battle, her body and heart and mind all wanting something different. She needs help.

Darcy gets back to her apartment to find Jane in her kitchen, coffee on and a bright box of pastries on the counter. The look of concern on Jane’s face when she sees her has the bubbling sob Darcy had been holding in bursting out before the door can close behind her. She throws herself into Jane’s arms and clings.

“Oh Darcy, Honey, it’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you. Tell me everything.”

The soft words are exactly what she needed, the whole story falling out between angry tears and gut-wrenching sobs. She is so glad her friend is back. Jane will help her, Jane will be her rock. The two women had relied on each other for so long that Darcy formed the sort of strong connection with Jane she thought she would feel if she’d had a sister.

They spend the rest of the day on the couch, work forgotten as they pick thought the events, trying to figure out what it meant. Jane always the voice of reason, grounds her, gives her hope. She holds onto it carefully. There was more going on, Jane thought so to. Now she just had to figure out what.

Tagging: @eurynome827 @omnomsauruswrites @thesaltyduchess @spacemansam @book-dragon-13 @loricameback @jobean12-blog @sallycanwait68 @lookwhatyoumademequeue @letstalkaboutsebbaby @thatgirlkei @marvelousmeggi @grimeysociety @msruchita @southerncross47

@libbymouse @randomlittleimp @slytherinstarkravingmad

if anyone wants tagged for the next chapters let me know,

#Wintershock #Bucky/darcy #darcy/bucky #bucky barnes #darcy lewis #smut #thank you for your service

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thisisamadhouse · 7 years ago

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Embrace your beast

A/N: As usual I am very late for this, but then deadlines and I have never really gotten along. This is a submission for several prompts for the @spookyoq week, namely Blood, Bones, Cemetery, Full Moon & Monster. Set in the Missing Year, pre ship but with lots of tension. Trigger warning for some gruesome visuals. Let me know what you think! Big thanks to my darling Manon @onhowtobecrazy for the beta work. FF link

There was no warning, but then there rarely was anymore. Zelena's beasts swooped in unexpectedly while Robin and Little John were watching Roland play with a few other children in the courtyard. They barely had time to react, and it was clear that the monkeys were targeting the youths. Their only two options were to either grab their weapons, or attempt to save the children. Robin didn't stop to think, he ran towards his son, who was desperately calling for him, his little legs unable to outrun the flying monstrosities heading straight towards him and the girl he was dragging along.

Robin reached them right before a sharp claw could close around their thin arms. He enfolded them in his embrace, turning around, and the talon teared through the leather of his quiver instead of soft flesh. John had managed to get to a couple others kids, but the oldest of the group, a boy of thirteen years, had tripped and fallen, and was skidding backwards to escape.

A scream, the like of which Robin had never heard before, erupted from what seemed to be the castle itself. The beasts froze in the air, looking around to locate the source, and it was their ultimate mistake. A plume of purple smoke appeared suddenly, and Regina emerged from it. Only she didn't look at all like the aloof and distant Queen she liked to use as a facade, nor the softer, sadder woman, she let so very few see. No, for the first time Robin recognized the Evil Queen herself, the warrior sorceress who had led armies to battle, and he could understand the terror she had induced in the heart of the bravest men in the land.

It was dusk, they had let the children play, hoping that they would tire themselves enough to not object to bedtime, and Regina had obviously been about to turn in herself, but in spite of her flimsy attire -the black, satiny nightgown had featured in many of Robin's fantasies-, her appearance was no less terrifying. An unnatural wind was causing her long, ebony curls to wildly fly around her head, her eyes were wide, pupils blown and shimmering with a purple glow, her hands were clawed and filled with fire.

She grabbed the monkey that had been about to hurt the boy, and it let out a wail of agony as her hands scorched its skin to the bone. She threw it towards the others with a roar, smoke surrounding them as she gave the same treatment to the remaining beasts. Their pathetic yowls resounded and then died away, the smoke settling around Regina.

Robin pressed the children tighter against him to spare them the gruesome sight: Regina was drenched in blood, pieces of fur and intestines filling her hands, the monkeys' bones at her feet. She caught his eyes and his horrified expression, her own eyes widened and she disappeared, leaving no trace of what had just happened behind.

"Regina, no!" He called her back, and sighed when he realised it was in vain.

It took him a while to settle the children, and even longer to find Regina afterwards. Night had fallen, the incandescent sun leaving way to a bright, full moon, and he felt like he had exhausted all his options. He had looked everywhere he could think of, but it seemed that the Queen had vanished from the castle's grounds. He was doing one last round, just in case, when he found a path, partially obscured by thick bushes, that he had never noticed before. He followed it cautiously, and soon found himself on the south side of the grounds, on a small hill, in what he guessed was the Palace's cemetery.

A huge, ivy covered mausoleum dominated it -the Royal crypt no doubt- and smaller tombs were scattered around, but they were unkempt, the grass had grown to the point of hiding some of them. Everything was still, no sound apart from the distant howling of wolves, no one had been there in years. Robin was about to leave when a slight movement attracted his attention. Here she was, at the edge of the cemetery, and, as he approached, Robin suddenly felt nauseous when he realised she was standing on a pile of bones, not all, but some, of them humans.

Looking more closely, he could see Regina was shaking, breathing heavily, and staring down at her hands with a vacant gaze. He had no way to understand that she hadn't experienced such a fit of blind rage in years, before she casted the Curse. He couldn't possibly know that she had destroyed whole armies of various creatures, almost single handedly, in such a state, and that it took hours to calm herself down, and even begin to remember what she had done, but her distress was palpable, and he needed to find a way to bring her back.

"What is this place?" He asked softly, the first thing on his mind rolling off his tongue and out of his mouth, before he could determine if it was a good idea.

His presence must have registered somehow because she didn't startle. She turned her head towards him slowly, her dark, clouded eyes clearing a little.

"Snow's ancestors weren't all benevolent rulers. They liked to bring back trophies from their campaigns, make a public spectacle of bringing enemies to their knees, and then they would throw them away without a decent burial. Rumple brought me here when he started teaching me, he wanted me to know what the King would do if he ever found out what I really was. He didn't understand that there were moments when I would have preferred that fate," she concluded on a murmur but he still heard her loud and clear.

"Ancestors?" He let out, and then cursed himself for being unable to control his treacherous trap. The look she gave him was an awful mix of hurt and betrayal that caused his stomach to twist painfully.

"You thought this was my ossuary?" She hissed, straightening to her full height when he took a step closer to her, hands raised and shaking his head. "Maybe you should think twice before coming near such a monster."

"Ever since I met you, I have never thought you to be a monster, Milady, nor am I afraid of you," he said boldly, staring straight in her eyes.

She gave a short, humourless laugh. "Oh, but you really, really should be. Haven't you seen what I have just done?"

Robin shrugged. "You mean, did I see you save those children from enraged beasts? Yes, I did, and I want to thank you for once more saving my son's life. It is a great debt I owe you."

Regina seemed shocked by his reply. "You don't care about how I did it? You would still let your son be around me after this?"

"I have been to war, Your Majesty," he used her full title for once, hoping to drive his point home more convincingly. "I have maimed and killed, and tried to convince myself that it was for the greater good. Even if those winged animals are controlled by the Wicked Witch, they still could have injured or killed the little ones had you not intervened, it doesn't matter how you stopped them."

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Not everyone think like you. I am already blamed for the Witch's attacks, and now I am traumatizing innocent children."

"Pardon my language, but screw them," he said passionately. "They would blame you if you hadn't been able to stop the beasts, they would have called you weak if you had done it differently. Ever since you all came back, they've only been too happy to scapegoat you for any and every thing that is wrong in their lives. Their opinions don't matter, the fact that the Green Witch's army is three monkeys short, and that several children are sleeping safely in their beds tonight, is what matters."

Rarely did anyone defend her actions so strongly, especially not as she stood on a mound of remains, dried blood on her usually smooth and pristine skin, torn fur still visible under her nails. Regina wondered, and not for the first time, who this man really was, what he had seen and done that gave him such a rare perspective on life. It was refreshing, though she would probably never tell him that. For once, someone understood that their world was far from being black and white. To her, it had always appeared to be a greyish fog, with a few rays of sun filtering through here and there; it tasted of ash, and reeked an acrid smell, with a rare presence only able to clear it long enough to give the illusion that it could get better. It never lasted though, and Robin seemed to get that.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, pulling her out of her contemplation, gently wiping off a stain from her cheek with his handkerchief, after waiting for her nod of consent. "You're going to get sick standing in this draft."

She gave him a strange look. "After what you've seen you really think a bit of breeze would worry me. Us monsters are tougher than that," she sounded haughty but he could hear the self-deprecation quite clearly.

"As I said, I don't believe you are one, but if you insist, let me tell you that you are the most stunning monster I have ever seen," he smirked at her quirked eyebrow.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she stated flatly, unsure how to feel about such a declaration.

He shrugged. "It's not flattery, only the truth. Will you let me accompany you back to the castle?"

She wavered for a moment, thinking about the kind of welcome she would receive if anyone saw her like this. Her fit had depleted her energy so much she feared that even using magic to clean herself up would do her in, and she looked down at her feet, skulls and skeletons mingling together beneath her in a rather ghastly sight that few had the stomach to handle, but this was something she was only too familiar with, she felt safer here than she did amongst Snow's loyal subjects.

"You should get back to Roland. I will be fine," she told him, not revealing why she was hesitating.

Robin seemed to know exactly what her dilemma was anyway. "You might be surprised, Regina," his gentle tone, the way he pronounced her name almost reverently would usually annoy her, but not this time.

She let him drap his cape on her shoulders and lead her back. She gripped his arm, nails sinking in his biceps, when a small group of women approached them as soon as they entered the hall. She was two seconds away from taking the risk to disappear when she noticed Granny carrying a tray full of food. Another woman, older and bolder than the others it seemed, for she was able to meet Regina's inquiring gaze, settled a heavy, soft blanket around her.

"Thank you, Your Majesty, for saving our children," the woman's eyes were brimming with tears, and her hands were twitching as if she was stopping herself from reaching out and hug her.

Regina found the notion both ridiculous, and strangely endearing. She could acknowledge how brave those women were for waiting for her return though. If it had been her, if something like that had happened to Henry, Regina wouldn't have been able to take her eyes off her son for more than the time it took to blink. Actually, she remembered quite well what happened when Henry was in a similar situation and she looked away for too long.

Regina nodded to the other woman, not knowing what she could possibly say, and it seemed to be enough. The others relaxed and gave her cautious smiles, gathering around her and steering her towards her rooms, with promises of a warm bath, clean clothes, and food. She threw one last look towards Robin over her shoulder, a mix of confusion and gratefulness which he found utterly charming, not that he would ever tell her that.

She may see a monster when she looked in the mirror, but he would always see a fierce she-wolf, claws out, ready to protect the cubs, and really what was wrong with that?

#spooky oq #outlaw queen #regina mills #robin hood #tw: blood #missing year #roland #oq ff #marie writes oq

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vampykitty-kun · 8 years ago

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Bloodlust - Ch 4

Previous Chapters: - 1 - 2 - 3 -

Rating: M

Characters/Pairing: Jason/Tim. Vicki Vale, Tam Fox, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Damian Wayne.

Notes: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-reboot canon compliant, Vampires, Mildly Dubious Consent, Blood and Injury, Blood Drinking, Stalking, References to Illness, Fear of Discovery. Original prompt requested by ss-penguin in Ch 1.

Word Count: 1511

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The so called fits of pit rage? A theory. One Bruce had been so very, very wrong about… the man hadn’t even been close.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Things did not blow over- not that Tim had expected them to. After the first twelve hours of phone calls and text messages, and fighting the urge to smash the phone to pieces, he simply turned it off and threw it in the drawer beside the bed.

Sure enough Wayne Enterprises was flustered, the secretaries running around like headless chickens, and as he had expected no one seemed to want to just let things go and blow over. No, of course not. They preferred to lecture him. To try and assign him a guard. To try and persuade him to see a therapist- as though he could actually tell the truth about anything that had occurred over the last several years. They would give him the next available padded cell at Arkham if he tried, doctor-patient confidentially his ass... Of course too many of the employees had noticed how worn down he had looked the past several months. How he spaced out during meeting and phone calls. Him secluding himself away from almost anyone at work that didn't have the last name 'Fox', and how even then Tam avoided him when possible.

And of course he couldn't just deny having a stalker- no, because Vale had publicly used it as his excuse for the assault.

Dick had clearly filled Bruce in on things as well, as he never once heard from the man.

Continued radio silence it was then...

Not that he should really be surprised.

How many times in the past had Bruce cut people out of his life? Plenty. Perhaps it hurt more knowing how close they had been compared to those other people.

He ate a half-assed dinner in silence.

He could barely taste it.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He hid inside for the next two days. He was far from being in the mood to deal with people. He perhaps should have been worried about so many days of patrol missed, but with two Batmen, a Robin, a Batgirl, and a Catwoman running around he was sure that he wasn't actually needed. After all, Red Robin had done his job. Bruce was back.

Unless something truly out of the ordinary popped up he highly doubted that anyone would be requesting his assistance.

But it really went to show just how spaced out he was, because while he felt no shame for abandoning his post to others of the Bat-clan, he hadn't for a moment stopped to think of how Jason would take things, and really that should have been a priority.

Staying home in bed solved zero problems.

It in fact had the potential to create them.

Something he only realized when he woke with a start to find one Red Hood looming over his bed with a glock pointed at his face.

The world would have to forgive him for the high pitched squeak that left his lips, but he was sure it was judging him for falling backwards off the bed, nearly braining himself on the nightstand.

To prove his point even Jason let out a snort of disbelief.

Tim could only look up at him gaping, rubbing the shoulder he had slammed into the edge of the table, waiting for something to give. He flinched when Jason took a step forward, and again he found himself really cursing that damn helmet because everything was made all the worse by being unable to see the man's face. Jason cocked his head and stepped forward- faster than he could register.

Much to Tim's horror he found his chin being tilted upward by the head of the pistol. His throat worked anxiously, as if swallowing down his nerves and fear, hands splayed across the carpet frozen. He stared up at the reflected eyes of the helm and felt a burning flash of shame at how utterly done he looked. It was one thing to go out into public slathered in makeup to cover up how pale he was, the dark rings under his eyes that stuck around even after far too much sleep to compensate, with enough caffeine buzzing through his system to mask his bone deep exhaustion, and an entirely different situation all together to see him in the privacy of his own home after days of seclusion. Now he was bare- and he looked like shit. That helmet only continued to mock him.

“If you're here to knock me unconscious again I should probably let you know that I've already spent the past three days in bed, so really, I've spent more time out of it than reasonable already...” He muttered.

“Clearly. You look half dead.” The man huffed. “I would know.”

Tim sighed.

“Lovely.”

Despite the banter there was no letting his guard down. The gun was still pointed at him, he was at a severe disadvantage, and Jason was being cryptically silent.

Not a good sign.

Jason enjoyed being chatty.

The staring match seemed to go on forever.

“You really didn't tell.” The Hood broke the silence without warning, and despite himself Tim jumped a little.

“I already told you that!” He snipped, and in the moment he could care less how pissy his face looked. “It wasn't in anyone's best interest.”

“Because you have oh so many reasons to tell me the truth, right?”

Tim could practically hear the eye-roll.

“You certainly haven't given me any, that's for sure. It's not as though I even have much to tell. I have no idea what's going on, just theories, and no facts.” He sighed, wondering if it would be wise to chance pulling himself back up on the bed, or if it would be that break in focus to get him lunged at. “I guess the number one question at the moment though is, why do you believe me now?”

Jason huffed, and to Tim's surprise he reached up with his free hand, and began pulling the gleaming red helm off. He found some comfort in the man's eyes being their usual shade and not the dark abyss they had been the night this had all started. He was not however willing to make bets on whether the look on Jason's face meant murder or amusement however. He supposed with him it really could be both.

“I had a heart to heart with Bruce today...” He grinned, and Tim supposed Jason enjoyed the fact that someone knew- that someone was properly afraid now, because it was all teeth. “At the docks. Blew a warehouse to pieces. Really, he should thank me. I have no idea how much coke was mingled in with the pallets of sand bags, but the GCPD are either in cahoots or idiots. In all honestly probably both. Very few people worth a damn at the department and they're all Gordon's best. The rest are useless. Kept an obscene amount from hitting the streets tonight. Some casualties. Mass property damage. Judgmental bat-glares all around. But the point is, if Bruce had known he never would have acted like everything was just as fucked up as usual. He would have done everything in his power to try and bring me in. He would have monologued, suddenly convinced that everything was beyond my control, that I could suddenly be saved. But he was just his usual unbearable self.” The older man spat, curling his lip with a snarl.

Tim sucked in a deep breath ans slowly pulled himself up to perch back up on the mattress. He looked up to see Jason following him with his eyes and barely suppressed the shudder.

“Good. I told the truth. Mind leaving?” he growled, despite the potential seriousness of the the situation.

The man snorted.

Well, it had been worth a try he supposed...

“I wouldn't have come for you in a broadly lit street let alone one so crowded you know. Punching the man was a bit of a an overreaction on your part. Lucky no one's suing...” He paused, seemingly only amused by the glare on the younger man's face. “If I had wanted you dead I would have slipped in while you were sleeping. No witnesses. No collateral damage. Of course, I'd let you wake up first- pointless if you died without knowing it was me... that saved Bruce once, but that's getting off topic. If I wanted you dead there wouldn't be any stopping me. So don't give me a reason. You're of more use to me alive than you are six feet under...”

“And that's supposed to reassure me?”

“Just telling you how it is, Tim.” He smirked, and suddenly a clawed finger was under his chin forcing him to meet the man's eyes. “This could be just what we needed...”

And with the Jason was snapping the helmet back over his head, and before Tim could react- not that he would have prolonged his visit any further regardless, Jason had vanished out a previously closed window.

“...we?”

One thing was for sure...

He was going to electrify his entryways.

#Jaytim #vampire!Jason #vampire au #canon compliant #Vampy's Fics #Earth V13

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ezmisery · 8 years ago

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The White Dog of McClean Maternity Ward

It was impossible to work on the ward without hearing about The White Dog. The rumor traveled as if it were an animal itself, walking from person to person with a sullen limp. Rumblings would start from the patients, then move to the orderlies, and finally the medical staff. And once the patients were off the maternity ward they brought news of the dog to the general population. It was unruly. Embarrassing, really. But we had no control of it.

I had been working at McClean for over five years. It was a job I thoroughly enjoyed. As a psychiatrist, I knew I wanted to work with the patients most in need. And I couldn’t think of anywhere more in need than McClean Mental Hospital.

We housed a diverse group of the mentally ill. From the light-end of the spectrum, where patients only visited once a month, to the deranged and violent inmates we housed 24/7. I began my career in the eating disorder ward. At first I was slightly unnerved by the ribs protruding like tree branches. The patients were walking skeletons. One slipped on a wet floor and broke nearly all her bones as if she were an elderly woman. I spent two years there, working non-stop on food plans and boosting self-esteem.

It lost its appeal pretty quickly. I got bored of doing and saying the same things over and over. I stopped feeling like I was making a difference. Sure, my patients needed me. But their problems were so benign.

Eventually I moved to Ward 6. This was the ward for the ‘worst’ of society. These were the patients who were admitted without their consent, most likely due to a violent outburst or self-harm incident. I balanced a caseload of forty three people. During my time in this ward I was bit, punched, tackled, and vomited on. But I loved it. Being able to reach out to those who could barely function…it was thrilling. My heart beat faster every time we had an incident.

But even with these dangerous patients I lost interest. It became monotonous to try and help them only to see no progress. These people were beyond help. I felt like I was wasting my time with them.

I’m not sure exactly why I transferred to the maternity ward in particular. Well, if I’m being honest, it was because I thought it might be more exciting. The patients I worked with were messed up, sure, but adding a baby to all that crazy would make things even more stimulating. I’ve always had a bad habit of wanting as much drama in my life as possible. Plus the extra pay didn’t deter me either.

But this isn’t the point. I am trying to write about the White Dog. My first run-in with the legend came from a woman in Ward 6. Marlene. I met with her weekly for treatment just like the other patients. She was completely unresponsive to any form of questioning. The hour would be spent asking questions that received silent answers. I figured she was too medicated so I lowered her dose of anti-psychotics. The next session she remained quiet, but more afraid than before.

“How is the new dose feeling?” I asked her.

She didn’t respond. I resisted sighing in frustration.

“I thought today we could go over some things in your file. You’ve been with us almost three years. And I see before Ward 6 you were on the maternity ward-”

“Don’t put me back there,” Marlene cried out suddenly. “He’ll come for me. He’ll come back. He follows. He takes.”

My curiosity spiked, I lay down my notebook. “It is good to hear your voice.”

“Please, no. He is so cold. Cold.” She drew her knees up to her chest and began to rock back and forth.

“Who are you speaking of, Marlene?” I leaned a little closer.

Tears sprouted from her squinted eyes. The color left her skin. “The White Dog,” she whispered. Suddenly she slapped herself in the face and then pulled her earlobe so hard it split. I was used to violent outbursts so I called an orderly and we dealt with the situation quickly.

I wrote the incident off as a symptom of her psychosis. Making up stories can help patients cope with stress or trauma. Marlene had lost the child she was carrying when she was in the maternity ward, so it made sense for her to imagine some sort of monster to explain the loss. I mentioned it briefly to another psychiatrist, Doug, during a meeting and he laughed. The reaction was so strange I pressed him on it.

“You’ve never heard of the ‘White Dog of McClean’?” He grinned. “It’s our own personal urban legend.” Doug split his time between maternity and Ward 6, so I listened closely.

“I figured it was just something she made up.”

“No, the patients have created an entire monster story for this thing.” He chuckled. Doug was an easy going guy; perhaps too much so. He didn’t take his job very seriously. “Supposedly there is a white dog that haunts the maternity ward. It prowls from room to room, ripping babies out of the patients and then swallowing them. And if he isn’t satisfied with the infants, he’ll go after the women too. They say he’s almost as tall as a man with fur so white it looks cold to touch.” He locked eyes with me for a moment before breaking away in laughter. “It’s all bullshit. Just a story the patients tell themselves. Don’t worry about it.”

But I did worry about it. I didn’t think it was real, obviously. But the effects of a common psychosis were fascinating. If what Doug said was true, multiple women had the same delusion. It was passed back and forth like a virus. Now that I’m writing this down and thinking on it, maybe the Dog was the reason I transferred wards after all.

Whatever brought me there, even on my first day I could see the effects of the legend. Patients begged to be moved to a different ward. They never wanted to be alone. At night the women would scream with fear at any noise. Most had to be restrained to avoid serious injury to themselves. My first few days on the job were shrouded in chaos. Orderlies ran after women with giant stomachs. The nurses were jaded, handing out medicine with barely a look. Doug was the only other psychiatrist on the ward so we did most of the heavy lifting.

I had seventeen women on my caseload. It nothing compared to my previous work. I saw the patients for some light therapy and med changes. A lot of them had to be taken off the heavy stuff due to the baby. Weirdly enough, all of the women came from Ward 6, where I had worked previously. One patients stood out to me – Lou.

Lou was barely eighteen. She was thin as a rail but could do a lot of damage to herself. She had lived at McClean for almost her entire life. In recent years, she had made immense progress. Her habit of cutting was almost completely cured. She spoke positivity about getting a job and living on her own. We were all quite proud of her.

I sat down with her and saw a completely different person. Not only had she resorted back to self-harm (as evidenced by her fresh scars) but she was also making no sense.

“Lou,” I said softly, “You need to slow down and tell me what’s going on.”

“He wants the baby so bad he’s going to take it before it’s ready chew the head like a lollipop pop pop pop chew spit pop.” She stared deep into my eyes as she spouted this nonsense.

“Who? Who wants the baby?”

“The Dog. Pop pop split bleed bite the tiny skull until it breaks breaks breaks breaks breaks.” I could tell she was trying to tell me something important.

“Lou, I don’t understand you. Can you go slower?”

“Slow is death slow gets you caught against a wall hurt up up rip sh sh sh you’ll wake the baby.” Her hands were twitching.

I moved closer to her. “No one will hurt you, Lou. You are safe here.”

She leaned in, her voice a bit quieter. “The Dog hunts when the swans are asleep and the people pretend he is one of them.” She spit violently onto my cheek. “She’ll die she’ll die she’ll die she’ll die!”

“Who?” I wiped her saliva off my face.

For the first time she stopped and said something coherent. “My baby. He’s going to kill her tonight.”

I was scared Lou would try and abort her child, so I put in the order to have her restrained until the morning. I went about the rest of my duties and left for the night. The next morning Lou was dead. Her child’s heart had stopped beating. Her stomach was severely bruised and one of her hands was sliced open. There was no explanation as to how any of this happened.

I was thrilled. Not because she died, obviously. But because it was such a mystery. The psychosis was so strong she broke out of her restraints and literally ended her life. I vowed that I would spend the next night in the ward to see if anything like this could be replicated. And prevented, of course.

I made space in the day to see every one of my patients. None of them seemed surprised about Lou. “It was her turn,” Jade told me in her deep, depressive voice. “The Dog was hungry.”

“Whose turn is it tonight?” I could barely contain my excitement.

“Oh doctor. It’s mine.” She rubbed her hands over her belly. “Can’t you see how ripe I am? How delicious I’ll taste? I’ve been asking to get out of this ward since the damn thing was put in me. But I’ve accepted it. I am his now. At least I won’t be afraid anymore.”

I made sure Jade would be restrained and decided I would monitor her room that night. She was the only patient who said the Dog would hurt her. I left her door open and sat in the doorway, her file in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

The night began as usual. Some of the women screamed to be let go. Jade fell asleep without incident. As the darkness stretched on I revisited her file. She had murdered her husband because she believed he was inhabited by the devil. Sent to Ward 6 when she was 28. She was there for two years before transferring to the maternity ward.

I had to reread that twice. Two years in Ward 6 before being transferred…so she had to have gotten pregnant in the hospital. But the patients were segregated by gender. She never should have come in contact with a male patient at all.

That’s when things began to crumble. All of the women here were from Ward 6. All of them had to have gotten pregnant inside the facility. But how? I ran back to my office and scoured the records. Lou had lived her entire life in gender segregation. How could she have gotten pregnant? How could any of these women?

Slowly I walked back to Jade’s room in complete confusion. The hall was cold. Everyone had gone completely quiet. Jade’s open door swung in the non-existent wind. “Hello,” I called out, the hairs on my neck standing up.

A howl sounded from inside her room. Believing it was Jade, I ran through the entryway only to stop suddenly in my tracks. Standing in her room was a huge white dog. It was almost six foot tall. Its fur was ice white. It had two wounds on either side of its body. Hanging from the wounds were unborn dog fetuses. Streaks of red bloodied its teeth. It looked at me with dead, yellow eyes.

I slowly backed up but the thing growled at me. It wanted me to watch. Carefully it stood on its back two legs and hovered over Jade’s body. It bit down on her stomach. The bones made a sickening pop. Jade awoke and began to scream. The Dog ripped at her throat, leaving her voiceless and gurgling. It then turned to me. I was breathing heavily. The room seemed to be spinning. It slowly approached me. I swear I heard it laughing. It lunged at me and I fell backward, hitting my head and passing out.

…

I don’t work at McClean anymore. After that night I couldn’t bring myself to go visit that cursed building. My logical brain tells me that what I saw wasn’t real. Doug said maybe I had too much coffee. But whatever I saw still lives in my brain. I don’t know how many women died on that ward. I try not to think about it. I was an over-eager idiot who thought I could cure something real. It was real. Logic be damned it was real.

All I know is that if I stayed in that job, I would have ended up just as crazy as my patients.

#horror #scary stories #ezmisery #mental hospital #urban legend

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readbookywooks · 8 years ago

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Tyrion

Through the door came the soft sound of the high harp, mingled with a trilling of pipes. The singer's voice was muffled by the thick walls, yet Tyrion knew the verse. I loved a maid as fair as summer, he remembered, with sunlight in her hair . . .

Ser Meryn Trant guarded the queen's door this night. His muttered "My lord" struck Tyrion as a tad grudging, but he opened the door nonetheless. The song broke off abruptly as he strode into his sister's bedchamber.

Cersei was reclining on a pile of cushions. Her feet were bare, her golden hair artfully tousled, her robe a green-and-gold samite that caught the light of the candles and shimmered as she looked up. "Sweet sister," Tyrion said, "how beautiful you look tonight." He turned to the singer. "And you as well, cousin. I had no notion you had such a lovely voice."

The compliment made Ser Lancel sulky; perhaps he thought he was being mocked. It seemed to Tyrion that the lad had grown three inches since being knighted. Lancel had thick sandy hair, green Lannister eyes, and a line of soft blond fuzz on his upper lip. At sixteen, he was cursed with all the certainty of youth, unleavened by any trace of humor or self-doubt, and wed to the arrogance that came so naturally to those born blond and strong and handsome. His recent elevation had only made him worse. "Did Her Grace send for you?" the boy demanded.

"Not that I recall," Tyrion admitted. "It grieves me to disturb your revels, Lancel, but as it happens, I have matters of import to discuss with my sister."

Cersei regarded him suspiciously. "If you are here about those begging brothers, Tyrion, spare me your reproaches. I won't have them spreading their filthy treasons in the streets. They can preach to each other in the dungeons."

"And count themselves lucky that they have such a gentle queen," added Lancel. "I would have had their tongues out."

"One even dared to say that the gods were punishing us because Jaime murdered the rightful king," Cersei declared. "It will not be borne, Tyrion. I gave you ample opportunity to deal with these lice, but you and your Ser Jacelyn did nothing, so I commanded Vylarr to attend to the matter."

"And so he did." Tyrion had been annoyed when the red cloaks had dragged a half dozen of the scabrous prophets down to the dungeons without consulting him, but they were not important enough to battle over. "No doubt we will all be better off for a little quiet in the streets. That is not why I came. I have tidings I know you will be anxious to hear, sweet sister, but they are best spoken of privily."

"Very well." The harpist and the piper bowed and hurried out, while Cersei kissed her cousin chastely on the cheek. "Leave us, Lancel. My brother's harmless when he's alone. If he'd brought his pets, we'd smell them."

The young knight gave his cousin a baleful glance and pulled the door shut forcefully behind him. "I'll have you know I make Shagga bathe once a fortnight," Tyrion said when he was gone.

"You're very pleased with yourself, aren't you? Why?"

"Why not?" Tyrion said. Every day, every night, hammers rang along the Street of Steel, and the great chain grew longer. He hopped up onto the great canopied bed. "Is this the bed where Robert died? I'm surprised you kept it."

"It gives me sweet dreams," she said. "Now spit out your business and waddle away, Imp."

Tyrion smiled. "Lord Stannis has sailed from Dragonstone."

Cersei bolted to her feet. "And yet you sit there grinning like a harvest-day pumpkin? Has Bywater called out the City Watch? We must send a bird to Harrenhal at once." He was laughing by then. She seized him by the shoulders and shook him. "Stop it. Are you mad, or drunk? Stop it!"

It was all he could do to get out the words. "I can't," he gasped. "It's too . . . gods, too funny . . . Stannis . . . "

"What?"

"He hasn't sailed against us," Tyrion managed. "He's laid siege to Storm's End. Renly is riding to meet him."

His sister's nails dug painfully into his arms. For a moment she stared incredulous, as if he had begun to gibber in an unknown tongue. "Stannis and Renly are fighting each other?" When he nodded, Cersei began to chuckle. "Gods be good," she gasped, "I'm starting to believe that Robert was the clever one."

Tyrion threw back his head and roared. They laughed together. Cersei pulled him off the bed and whirled him around and even hugged him, for a moment as giddy as a girl. By the time she let go of him, Tyrion was breathless and dizzy. He staggered to her sideboard and put out a hand to steady himself.

"Do you think it will truly come to battle between them? If they should come to some accord—"

"They won't," Tyrion said. "They are too different and yet too much alike, and neither could ever stomach the other."

"And Stannis has always felt he was cheated of Storm's End," Cersei said thoughtfully. "The ancestral seat of House Baratheon, his by rights . . . if you knew how many times he came to Robert singing that same dull song in that gloomy aggrieved tone he has. When Robert gave the place to Renly, Stannis clenched his jaw so tight I thought his teeth would shatter."

"He took it as a slight."

"It was meant as a slight," Cersei said.

"Shall we raise a cup to brotherly love?"

"Yes," she answered, breathless. "Oh, gods, yes."

His back was to her as he filled two cups with sweet Arbor red. It was the easiest thing in the world to sprinkle a pinch of fine powder into hers. "To Stannis!" he said as he handed her the wine. Harmless when I'm alone, am I?

"To Renly!" she replied, laughing. "May they battle long and hard, and the Others take them both!"

Is this the Cersei that Jaime sees? When she smiled, you saw how beautiful she was, truly. I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair. He almost felt sorry for poisoning her.

It was the next morning as he broke his fast that her messenger arrived. The queen was indisposed and would not be able to leave her chambers. Not able to leave her privy, more like. Tyrion made the proper sympathetic noises and sent word to Cersei to rest easy, he would treat with Ser Cleos as they'd planned.

The Iron Throne of Aegon the Conqueror was a tangle of nasty barbs and jagged metal teeth waiting for any fool who tried to sit too comfortably, and the steps made his stunted legs cramp as he climbed up to it, all too aware of what an absurd spectacle he must be. Yet there was one thing to be said for it. It was high.

Lannister guardsmen stood silent in their crimson cloaks and lioncrested halfhelms. Ser Jacelyn's gold cloaks faced them across the hall. The steps to the throne were flanked by Bronn and Ser Preston of the Kingsguard. Courtiers filled the gallery while supplicants clustered near the towering oak-and-bronze doors. Sansa Stark looked especially lovely this morning, though her face was as pale as milk. Lord Gyles stood coughing, while poor cousin Tyrek wore his bridegroom's mantle of miniver and velvet. Since his marriage to little Lady Ermesande three days past, the other squires had taken to calling him "Wet Nurse" and asking him what sort of swaddling clothes his bride wore on their wedding night.

Tyrion looked down on them all, and found he liked it. "Call forth Ser Cleos Frey." His voice rang off the stone walls and down the length of the hall. He liked that too. A pity Shae could not be here to see this, he reflected. She'd asked to come, but it was impossible.

Ser Cleos made the long walk between the gold cloaks and the crimson, looking neither right nor left. As he knelt, Tyrion observed that his cousin was losing his hair.

"Ser Cleos," Littlefinger said from the council table, "you have our thanks for bringing us this peace offer from Lord Stark."

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat. "The Queen Regent, the King's Hand, and the small council have considered the terms offered by this self-styled King in the North. Sad to say, they will not do, and you must tell these northmen so, ser."

"Here are our terms," said Tyrion. "Robb Stark must lay down his sword, swear fealty, and return to Winterfell. He must free my brother unharmed, and place his host under Jaime's command, to march against the rebels Renly and Stannis Baratheon. Each of Stark's bannermen must send us a son as hostage. A daughter will suffice where there is no son. They shall be treated gently and given high places here at court, so long as their fathers commit no new treasons."

Cleos Frey looked ill. "My lord Hand," he said, "Lord Stark will never consent to these terms."

We never expected he would, Cleos. "Tell him that we have raised another great host at Casterly Rock, that soon it will march on him from the west while my lord father advances from the east. Tell him that he stands alone, without hope of allies. Stannis and Renly Baratheon war against each other, and the Prince of Dorne has consented to wed his son Trystane to the Princess Myrcella." Murmurs of delight and consternation alike arose from the gallery and the back of the hall.

"As to this of my cousins," Tyrion went on, "we offer Harrion Karstark and Ser Wylis Manderly for Willem Lannister, and Lord Cerwyn and Ser Donnel Locke for your brother Tion. Tell Stark that two Lannisters are worth four northmen in any season." He waited for the laughter to die. "His father's bones he shall have, as a gesture of Joffrey's good faith."

"Lord Stark asked for his sisters and his father's sword as well," Ser Cleos reminded him.

Ser Ilyn Payne stood mute, the hilt of Eddard Stark's greatsword rising over one shoulder. "Ice," said Tyrion. "He'll have that when he makes his peace with us, not before."

"As you say. And his sisters?"

Tyrion glanced toward Sansa, and felt a stab of pity as he said, "Until such time as he frees my brother Jaime, unharmed, they shall remain here as hostages. How well they are treated depends on him." And if the gods are good, Bywater will find Arya alive, before Robb learns she's gone missing.

"I shall bring him your message, my lord."

Tyrion plucked at one of the twisted blades that sprang from the arm of the throne. And now the thrust. "Vylarr," he called.

"My lord."

"The men Stark sent are sufficient to protect Lord Eddard's bones, but a Lannister should have a Lannister escort," Tyrion declared. "Ser Cleos is the queen's cousin, and mine. We shall sleep more easily if you would see him safely back to Riverrun."

"As you command. How many men should I take?"

"Why, all of them."

Vylarr stood like a man made of stone. It was Grand Maester Pycelle who rose, gasping, "My lord Hand, that cannot . . . your father, Lord Tywin himself, he sent these good men to our city to protect Queen Cersei and her children . . . "

"The Kingsguard and the City Watch protect them well enough. The gods speed you on your way, Vylarr."

At the council table Varys smiled knowingly, Littlefinger sat feigning boredom, and Pycelle gaped like a fish, pale and confused. A herald stepped forward. "If any man has other matters to set before the King's Hand, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence."

"I will be heard." A slender man all in black pushed his way between the Redwyne twins.

"Ser Alliser!" Tyrion exclaimed. "Why, I had no notion that you'd come to court. You should have sent me word."

"I have, as well you know." Thorne was as prickly as his name, a spare, sharp-featured man of fifty, hard-eyed and hard-handed, his black hair streaked with grey. "I have been shunned, ignored, and left to wait like some baseborn servant."

"Truly? Bronn, this was not well done. Ser Alliser and I are old friends. We walked the Wall together."

"Sweet Ser Alliser," murmured Varys, "you must not think too harshly of us. So many seek our Joffrey's grace, in these troubled and tumultuous times."

"More troubled than you know, eunuch."

"To his face we call him Lord Eunuch," quipped Littlefinger.

"How may we be of help to you, good brother?" Grand Maester Pycelle asked in soothing tones.

"The Lord Commander sent me to His Grace the king," Thorne answered. "The matter is too grave to be left to servants."

"The king is playing with his new crossbow," Tyrion said. Ridding himself of Joffrey had required only an ungainly Myrish crossbow that threw three quarrels at a time, and nothing would do but that he try it at once. "You can speak to servants or hold your silence."

"As you will," Ser Alliser said, displeasure in every word. "I am sent to tell you that we found two rangers, long missing. They were dead, yet when we brought the corpses back to the Wall they rose again in the night. One slew Ser Jaremy Rykker, while the second tried to murder the Lord Commander."

Distantly, Tyrion heard someone snigger. Does he mean to mock me with this folly? He shifted uneasily and glanced down at Varys, Littlefinger, and Pycelle, wondering if one of them had a role in this. A dwarf enjoyed at best a tenuous hold on dignity. Once the court and kingdom started to laugh at him, he was doomed. And yet . . . and yet . . .

Tyrion remembered a cold night under the stars when he'd stood beside the boy Jon Snow and a great white wolf atop the Wall at the end of the world, gazing out at the trackless dark beyond. He had felt—what?—something, to be sure, a dread that had cut like that frigid northern wind. A wolf had howled off in the night, and the sound had sent a shiver through him.

Don't be a fool, he told himself. A wolf, a wind, a dark forest, it meant nothing. And yet . . . He had come to have a liking for old Jeor Mormont during his time at Castle Black. "I trust that the Old Bear survived this attack?"

"He did."

"And that your brothers killed these, ah, dead men?"

"We did."

"You're certain that they are dead this time?" Tyrion asked mildly. When Bronn choked on a snort of laughter, he knew how he must proceed. "Truly truly dead?"

"They were dead the first time," Ser Alliser snapped. "Pale and cold, with black hands and feet. I brought Jared's hand, torn from his corpse by the bastard's wolf."

Littlefinger stirred. "And where is this charming token?"

Ser Alliser frowned uncomfortably. "It . . . rotted to pieces while I waited, unheard. There's naught left to show but bones."

Titters echoed through the hall. "Lord Baelish," Tyrion called down to Littlefinger, "buy our brave Ser Alliser a hundred spades to take back to the Wall with him."

"Spades?" Ser Alliser narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"If you bury your dead, they won't come walking," Tyrion told him, and the court laughed openly. "Spades will end your troubles, with some strong backs to wield them. Ser Jacelyn, see that the good brother has his pick of the city dungeons."

Ser Jacelyn Bywater said, "As you will, my lord, but the cells are near empty. Yoren took all the likely men."

"Arrest some more, then," Tyrion told him. "Or spread the word that there's bread and turnips on the Wall, and they'll go of their own accord." The city had too many mouths to feed, and the Night's Watch a perpetual need of men. At Tyrion's signal, the herald cried an end, and the hall began to empty.

Ser Alliser Thorne was not so easily dismissed. He was waiting at the foot of the iron Throne when Tyrion descended. "Do you think I sailed all the way from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to be mocked by the likes of you?" he fumed, blocking the way. "This is no jape. I saw it with my own eyes. I tell you, the dead walk."

"You should try to kill them more thoroughly." Tyrion pushed past. Ser Alliser made to grab his sleeve, but Preston Greenfield thrust him back. "No closer, ser."

Thorne knew better than to challenge a knight of the Kingsguard. "You are a fool, Imp," he shouted at Tyrion's back.

The dwarf turned to face him. "Me? Truly? Then why were they laughing at you, I wonder?" He smiled wanly. "You came for men, did you not?"

"The cold winds are rising. The Wall must be held."

"And to hold it you need men, which I've given you . . . as you might have noted, if your ears heard anything but insults. Take them, thank me, and begone before I'm forced to take a crab fork to you again. Give my warm regards to Lord Mormont . . . and to Jon Snow as well." Bronn seized Ser Alliser by the elbow and marched him forcefully from the hall.

Grand Maester Pycelle had already scuttled off, but Varys and Littlefinger had watched it all, start to finish. "I grow ever more admiring of you, my lord," confessed the eunuch. "You appease the Stark boy with his father's bones and strip your sister of her protectors in one swift stroke. You give that black brother the men he seeks, rid the city of some hungry mouths, yet make it all seem mockery so none may say that the dwarf fears snarks and grumkins. Oh, deftly done."

Littlefinger stroked his beard. "Do you truly mean to send away all your guards, Lannister?"

"No, I mean to send away all my sister's guards."

"The queen will never allow that."

"Oh, I think she may. I am her brother, and when you've known me longer, you'll learn that I mean everything I say."

"Even the lies?"

"Especially the lies. Lord Petyr, I sense that you are unhappy with me."

"I love you as much as I ever have, my lord. Though I do not relish being played for a fool. if Myrcella weds Trystane Martell, she can scarcely wed Robert Arryn, can she?"

"Not without causing a great scandal," he admitted. "I regret my little ruse, Lord Petyr, but when we spoke, I could not know the Dornishmen would accept my offer."

Littlefinger was not appeased. "I do not like being lied to, my lord. Leave me out of your next deception."

Only if you'll do the same for me, Tyrion thought, glancing at the dagger sheathed at Littlefinger's hip. "If I have given offense, I am deeply sorry. All men know how much we love you, my lord. And how much we need you."

"Try and remember that." With that Littlefinger left them.

"Walk with me, Varys," said Tyrion. They left through the king's door behind the throne, the eunuch's slippers whisking lightly over the stone.

"Lord Baelish has the truth of it, you know. The queen will never permit you to send away her guard."

"She will. You'll see to that."

A smile flickered across Varys's plump lips. "Will I?"

"Oh, for a certainty. You'll tell her it is part of my scheme to free Jaime."

Varys stroked a powdered cheek. "This would doubtless involve the four men your man Bronn searched for so diligently in all the low places of King's Landing. A thief, a poisoner, a mummer, and a murderer."

"Put them in crimson cloaks and lion helms, they'll look no different from any other guardsmen. I searched for some time for a ruse that might get them into Riverrun before I thought to hide them in plain sight. They'll ride in by the main gate, flying Lannister banners and escorting Lord Eddard's bones." He smiled crookedly. "Four men alone would be watched vigilantly. Four among a hundred can lose themselves. So I must send the true guardsmen as well as the false . . . as you'll tell my sister."

"And for the sake of her beloved brother, she will consent, despite her misgivings." They made their way down a deserted colonnade. "Still, the loss of her red cloaks will surely make her uneasy."

"I like her uneasy," said Tyrion.

Ser Cleos Frey left that very afternoon, escorted by Vylarr and a hundred red-cloaked Lannister guardsmen. The men Robb Stark had sent joined them at the King's Gate for the long ride west.

Tyrion found Timett dicing with his Burned Men in the barracks. "Come to my solar at midnight." Timett gave him a hard one-eyed stare, a curt nod. He was not one for long speeches.

That night he feasted with the Stone Crows and Moon Brothers in the Small Hall, though he shunned the wine for once. He wanted all his wits about him. "Shagga, what moon is this?"

Shagga's frown was a fierce thing. "Black, I think."

"In the west, they call that a traitor's moon. Try not to get too drunk tonight, and see that your axe is sharp."

"A Stone Crow's axe is always sharp, and Shagga's axes are sharpest of all. Once I cut off a man's head, but he did not know it until he tried to brush his hair. Then it fell off."

"Is that why you never brush yours?" The Stone Crows roared and stamped their feet, Shagga hooting loudest of all.

By midnight, the castle was silent and dark. Doubtless a few gold cloaks on the walls spied them leaving the Tower of the Hand, but no one raised a voice. He was the Hand of the King, and where he went was his own affair.

The thin wooden door split with a thunderous crack beneath the heel of Shagga's boot. Pieces went flying inward, and Tyrion heard a woman's gasp of fear. Shagga hacked the door apart with three great blows of his axe and kicked his way through the ruins. Timett followed, and then Tyrion, stepping gingerly over the splinters. The fire had burned down a few glowing embers, and shadows lay thick across the bedchamber. When Timett ripped the heavy curtains off the bed, the naked serving girl stared up with wide white eyes. "Please, my lords," she pleaded, "don't hurt me." She cringed away from Shagga, flushed and fearful, trying to cover her charms with her hands and coming up a hand short.

"Go," Tyrion told her. "It's not you we want."

"Shagga wants this woman."

"Shagga wants every whore in this city of whores," complained Timett son of Timett.

"Yes," Shagga said, unabashed. "Shagga would give her a strong child."

"If she wants a strong child, she'll know whom to seek," Tyrion said. "Timett, see her out . . . gently, if you would."

The Burned Man pulled the girl from the bed and half marched, half dragged her across the chamber. Shagga watched them go, mournful as a puppy. The girl stumbled over the shattered door and out into the hall, helped along by a firm shove from Timett. Above their heads, the ravens were screeching.

Tyrion dragged the soft blanket off the bed, uncovering Grand Maester Pycelle beneath. "Tell me, does the Citadel approve of you bedding the serving wenches, Maester?"

The old man was as naked as the girl, though he made a markedly less attractive sight. For once, his heavy-lidded eyes were open wide. "W-what is the meaning of this? I am an old man, your loyal servant . . . "

Tyrion hoisted himself onto the bed. "So loyal that you sent only one of my letters to Doran Martell. The other you gave to my sister."

"N-no," squealed Pycelle. "No, a falsehood, I swear it, it was not me. Varys, it was Varys, the Spider, I warned you—"

"Do all maesters lie so poorly? I told Varys that I was giving Prince Doran my nephew Tommen to foster. I told Littlefinger that I planned to wed Myrcella to Lord Robert of the Eyrie. I told no one that I had offered Myrcella to the Dornish . . . that truth was only in the letter I entrusted to you."

Pycelle clutched for a corner of the blanket. "Birds are lost, messages stolen or sold . . . it was Varys, there are things I might tell you of that eunuch that would chill your blood . . . "

"My lady prefers my blood hot."

"Make no mistake, for every secret the eunuch whispers in your ear, he holds seven back. And Littlefinger, that one . . . "

"I know all about Lord Petyr. He's almost as untrustworthy as you. Shagga, cut off his manhood and feed it to the goats."

Shagga hefted the huge double-bladed axe. "There are no goats, Halfman."

"Make do."

Roaring, Shagga leapt forward. Pycelle shrieked and wet the bed, urine spraying in all directions as he tried to scramble back out of reach. The wildling caught him by the end of his billowy white beard and hacked off three-quarters of it with a single slash of the axe.

"Timett, do you suppose our friend will be more forthcoming without those whiskers to hide behind?" Tyrion used a bit of the sheet to wipe the piss off his boots.

"He will tell the truth soon." Darkness pooled in the empty pit of Timett's burned eye. "I can smell the stink of his fear."

Shagga tossed a handful of hair down to the rushes, and seized what beard was left. "Hold still, Maester," urged Tyrion. "When Shagga gets angry, his hands shake."

"Shagga's hands never shake," the huge man said indignantly, pressing the great crescent blade under Pycelle's quivering chin and sawing through another tangle of beard.

"How long have you been spying for my sister?" Tyrion asked.

Pycelle's breathing was rapid and shallow. "All I did, I did for House Lannister." A sheen of sweat covered the broad dome of the old man's brow, and wisps of white hair clung to his wrinkled skin. "Always . . . for years . . . your lord father, ask him, I was ever his true servant . . . 'twas I who bid Aerys open his gates . . . "

That took Tyrion by surprise. He had been no more than an ugly boy at Casterly Rock when the city fell. "So the Sack of King's Landing was your work as well?"

"For the realm! Once Rhaegar died, the war was done. Aerys was mad, Viserys too young, Prince Aegon a babe at the breast, but the realm needed a king . . . I prayed it should be your good father, but Robert was too strong, and Lord Stark moved too swiftly . . . "

"How many have you betrayed, I wonder? Aerys, Eddard Stark, me . . . King Robert as well? Lord Arryn, Prince Rhaegar? Where does it begin, Pycelle?" He knew where it ended.

The axe scratched at the apple of Pycelle's throat and stroked the soft wobbly skin under his jaw, scraping away the last hairs. "You . . . were not here," he gasped when the blade moved upward to his cheeks. "Robert . . . his wounds . . . if you had seen them, smelled them, you would have no doubt . . . "

"Oh, I know the boar did your work for you . . . but if he'd left the job half done, doubtless you would have finished it."

"He was a wretched king . . . vain, drunken, lecherous . . . he would have set your sister aside, his own queen . . . please . . . Renly was plotting to bring the Highgarden maid to court, to entice his brother . . . it is the gods' own truth . . . "

"And what was Lord Arryn plotting?"

"He knew," Pycelle said. "About . . . about . . . "

"I know what he knew about," snapped Tyrion, who was not anxious for Shagga and Timett to know as well.

"He was sending his wife back to the Eyrie, and his son to be fostered on Dragonstone . . . he meant to act . . . "

"So you poisoned him first."

"No." Pycelle struggled feebly. Shagga growled and grabbed his head. The clansman's hand was so big he could have crushed the maester's skull like an eggshell had he squeezed.

Tyrion tsked at him. "I saw the tears of Lys among your potions. And you sent away Lord Arryn's own maester and tended him yourself, so you could make certain that he died."

"A falsehood!"

"Shave him closer," Tyrion suggested. "The throat again."

The axe swept back down, rasping over the skin. A thin film of spit bubbled on Pycelle's lips as his mouth trembled. "I tried to save Lord Arryn. I vow—"

"Careful now, Shagga, you've cut him."

Shagga growled. "Dolf fathered warriors, not barbers."

When he felt the blood trickling down his neck and onto his chest, the old man shuddered, and the last strength went out of him. He looked shrunken, both smaller and frailer than he had been when they burst in on him. "Yes," he wimpered, "yes, Colemon was purging, so I sent him away. The queen needed Lord Arryn dead, she did not say so, could not, Varys was listening, always listening, but when I looked at her I knew. It was not me who gave him the poison, though, I swear it." The old man wept. "Varys will tell you, it was the boy, his squire, Hugh he was called, he must surely have done it, ask your sister, ask her."

Tyrion was disgusted. "Bind him and take him away," he commanded. "Throw him down in one of the black cells."

They dragged him out the splintered door. "Lannister," he moaned, "all I've done has been for Lannister . . . "

When he was gone, Tyrion made a leisurely search of the quarters and collected a few more small jars from his shelves. The ravens muttered above his head as he worked, a strangely peaceful noise. He would need to find someone to tend the birds until the Citadel sent a man to replace Pycelle.

He was the one I'd hoped to trust. Varys and Littlefinger were no more loyal, he suspected . . . only more subtle, and thus more dangerous. Perhaps his father's way would have been best: summon Ilyn Payne, mount three heads above the gates, and have done. And wouldn't that be a pretty sight, he thought.

#ClashofKings

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