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mo0nfairy · 2 years ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.

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dark-fics-4-you · 1 year ago

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No Way Out ch. 2

Dark!Rafe Cameron x f!Reader

Warnings: noncon, smut, abusive relationship, domestic violence, verbal abuse, drugs, choking

Things escalate in your relationship with Rafe to a boiling point

Blinding rage was the only thing that Rafe could focus on in the small jail cell.

He paced around the cramped space like a caged animal, ready to pounce on anything that walked by the door.

The past day was all too fresh in his mind, replaying like a loop that only fed into his need to get out.

“I’m just worried about how much blow you’ve been doing, Rafe! It’s not good for you.. It just makes you so much more-”

“So much more what?” He snapped back at you and you bit your tongue.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“So much more angry,” you timidly replied. “You aren’t yourself when you’re using, baby.”

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, shaking his head with a scoff. “You don’t know what it’s like, Y/N! You don’t get how hard I have to work just for my dad to see what I am capable of. If you had any idea-”

“Oh, if I had any idea how hard it to have a rich dad?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm from cutting through your voice.

“Watch it,” Rafe growled, a dangerous tone in his voice. You didn’t notice how close he had gotten to you.

“I just don’t think your daddy issues give you an excuse to be doing coke all the fucking ti-” before you could even perceive his movement, you felt a sharp sting blossom across your cheek and you vaguely registered that he had slapped you. Your head whipped to the side, tears springing up immediately.

Completely taken by surprise, you had no time to react before he shoved you to the ground. You fell hard backwards, hitting your elbows and bottom on the floor beneath you. You cried out in pain, cowering away from your boyfriend as he leered above you.

“Talk to me like that one more time and see what fucking happens,” he seethed. He lurched forward and grabbed your wrists with both hands, clenching hard and you let out a sob.

“You should consider yourself lucky!” sneered the blond. “I pay for everything you have! You would be out walking the streets without me.”

His breathing was heavy, but he hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. You shrieked when he yanked you to your feet by your throat, shaking you hard.

Your arms flailed out at his hands, clawing at them and trying to pull him off but it was no use. You gasped for breath, crying out as his fingers dug into your throat.

“P-please-!” Precious air that was running out fueled your pleading. Rafe’s eye twitched, lip curling before he pushed you back to the ground.

Gulping for breath between sobs, you glanced up at the man towering above you in fear. His hand was clenched in a fist, eyebrows furrowed as he shook with rage.

You were terrified by how hard he had choked you, the utter lack of regret in his eyes.

In the early days, fights like these were rare, and on the off occasion that he had laid a hand on you, it was never as intense, and the apology that followed was always 100x longer than the brief fight. Nowadays, you rarely even got an apology.

With a scowl, he examined his arms where you had scratched him and his darkened eyes met yours.

You didn’t fully know why you did what you did next. Or how it unfolded.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe you were out of options, just so afraid that you did what any trapped animal would do.

You ran.

You pushed yourself off the floor in an instant, rushing out of the living room to the bathroom.

Rafe was bigger than you, stronger than you. Faster.

It was dumb luck that his reaction time was just a moment too slow.

You slammed the bathroom door, locking it behind you as fast as you could. Your heart thundered in your chest, thumping so hard you could hear the blood rushing in your ears.

The door behind you rattled as Rafe punched and kicked at it.

“Open the fucking door, Y/N!!” His fists pounded against the wood and you cowered as far from the door as you could.

Your mind was racing and only then you remembered the cell phone in your back pocket.

With shaky hands, you unlocked it, clicking the phone icon before dialing emergency services.

“Let me in! Open the fucking door bitch!!” He bellowed again. You winced every time the door shook, terrified he was going to knock it off it’s hinges. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Quietly, you begged with the operator to send someone, giving your address to the woman on the phone.

“Please! He- He’s trying to break the door down,” you sobbed. “I’m scared he’s going to hurt me o-or worse!”

“Y/N, I swear to god when I get in there, you’re going to be sorry!” Rafe roared from the other side of the door. He cursed when he hit it too hard, apparently injuring his hand.

You couldn’t do anything but hide in the corner, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to get in before the cops arrived.

Sitting there on the floor felt like hours, but it was probably only a few minutes before you heard a pounding on the front door and you nearly passed out with relief.

The activity outside of the bathroom door stopped suddenly as Rafe realized what was happening. He cursed, loud enough for you to hear, but not nearly at the same volume before.

You knew it was safe to step out of the bathroom when you heard him greet the people at the front door. You brushed the tears from your eyes, trying to compose yourself.

“Good evening officers, what can I do for you tonight?” He was trying to act nonchalant, but there was a tense edge to his voice you couldn’t mistake.

You could hear muffled responses growing louder as you approached the door and you knew the officers must have noticed you, because the speaking stopped and Rafe turned to look at you.

Anger that only you could see flashed across his eyes, but even he knew better than to display it in front of cops. The blond stepped to the side to allow you to stand beside him, and he grabbed your hand lovingly as if to say, ‘look officers, everything is okay here.’

“Are you having any problems tonight ma’am?” One of the officers asked you with a concerned look.

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, warning you not to say anything. A lump formed in your throat. Did you even have it in you to say something?

With a sniffle, you plastered on a small smile, “N-no. We haven’t had any issues here.”

The officers looked slightly surprised at that, glancing at each other and exchanging a brief, wordless conversation.

“Well, procedure says that we have to interview you both separately.” One of them explained.

“This is just stupid,” Rafe complained. “I think we’d rather talk to you together, isn’t that right baby?”

Hesitantly, you nodded with lowered eyes, “Yeah.”

“Unfortunately, procedure is procedure, and we have to do it this way.” The woman explained, and her male partner nodded in agreement.

“How about I interview you,” she looked at you. “And my partner will interview you,” she said with a pointed look towards Rafe.

“Fine,” he spat out through gritted teeth, flashing you a warning look before he was led away to talk to the other cop.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you were left alone, and the cop gave you another concerned look.

“What’s your name honey?”

You told her.

“What happened tonight, ma’am?” She asked you gently and you almost broke down right there. Tears sprung to your eyes and you took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“I-I was so scared,” you confessed. Her eyes wandered to your neck, able to make out the old bruises and the redness on your cheek that had only started to fade.

“He just gets so angry at me and-” a sob cut you off, voice breaking as you remembered the fight. “H-he was choking me, and.. I didn’t think he was going to stop.”

The tears were flowing more now as you recounted what had happened, and the cop gave you a sympathetic look. Your hands fell in your lap and her attention was drawn to your bare legs which were littered with tiny cuts from when Rafe had pushed you into glass the previous week.

She paused before speaking, “Listen, I don’t know how it’s going with my partner, Michael and your boyfriend, but I would feel comfortable taking your boyfriend down to the station based on what you’ve told me. How does that sound to you?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You didn’t really know what you had expected when you called. You were just so scared with what he might do, you did the only thing you could think.

And now you were faced with an impossible decision.

Agree with this and let them take Rafe, and he would be let out who knows when. But say no, and you would have to face the wrath of Rafe tonight, and you knew that he was more pissed off than you had ever seen him.

Without even knowing that you had made up your mind, you found your head nodding, tears coming to your eyes.

You would deal with Rafe later. But tonight, you were just happy with the idea of sleeping alone for the first time in months.

~~~~~~~

“And so you’re saying you two had an argument, but it never got physical?”

“No, I would never lay a hand on her! You heard her yourself, we haven’t had any problems tonight.” Rafe smiled, southern charm laid on thick. He had dealt with police many times before, and when they weren’t sticking their noses into shit that he was involved in, he respected them.

But he also knew how to manipulate them.

The cops eyed Rafe’s hand and the scratches on his arm.

“Get into a bar fight?” He questioned.

“Ah no, got into a little motorcycle accident. Nothing too bad, just fell over, you know how it is,” the blond chuckled.

“And you don’t know who made the call?” The officer raised an eyebrow as he questioned the blond.

“No clue. Maybe some kids in the neighborhood made a prank call or something,” he laughed casually, throwing a polite smile at the man across from him.

The officer chuckled, “yeah we do get a lot of those.” He clicked his pen, flipping his notebook shut. “Well, I think I’ve got all I needed from you. Thank you very much sir. And uh, tell your dad I said hi.”

“Will do,” Rafe grinned, extending a hand to shake the officer’s.

“You just sit tight here, I gotta talk with my partner real quick and then I’ll update you on what’s going on.”

He walked away from the taller man. Rafe leaned against a tree in the park at the middle of the sprawling apartment complexes watching him walk back.

Most of what they discussed, he couldn’t make out and the female cop turned to look at him several times.

The only thing he did hear was “Hey, do you know who this guy is? That’s Rafe Cameron. Yeah, that Cameron.”

Eventually they both walked over and Rafe stood up straight as they approached.

“So, are we all good here?” He asked, charming smile ever present.

“Well,” she said, looking over at her partner. “Not quite.”

~~~~~~

You locked the front door, the only door, dutiful to make sure all of the windows were locked as well.

You knew that Rafe was going to be in jail for a few nights at least, but you wanted to be careful anyways.

Last night had been the best you had slept in months. No fears of wandering hands, or unwanted advances that you had no emotional capacity for.

Slipping into your bed and being able to be safe while you slept was all you had dreamed about for so long.

You curled up in the blanket, unaware of the sound of the front door opening softly as you tried to drift off to sleep.

The click of your bedroom door opening had you jolting awake though. And you were shocked to see a familiar figure leering in the doorway.

“H-h-how the fuck did you get in here?” You whispered in a panic, sitting up and alert in bed.

“Oh sweetheart, you didn’t think I had a spare made?” His tone was ice cold and mocking. You could almost feel the rage radiating off of him.

Rafe took a step into the room, closing and locking the door behind him and your stomach dropped.

“How are you here? You got taken away, I- I saw it,” you didn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Ward pulled a few strings, can’t have a stain on the Cameron name,” he spat out bitterly. Rafe stalked further into the room, nearing your bed, a predatory look in his eyes that almost stopped your heart.

Your eyes whipped to the phone on your bedside table and you lurched toward it at the same time that he did.

“Nuh uh. Not this time, sweetheart.” He wrestled with you, hands grabbing at the phone that he wretched from your grasp.

To your horror, he threw your phone against the wall, and you watched it smash to pieces.

Your only lifeline was gone.

You fought back hard against him, but the victor was inevitable. You both knew it from the minute he stepped into the room.

He threw you onto the bed, roughly grabbing at your thin nightwear. He tore your blouse, hands ripping the material as you hit him, trying desperately to stop his assault.

“Stop- stop fucking fighting!” He roared as he kicked your legs open, fumbling with his shorts and your crying intensified.

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing hard as he forced himself into you. You let out a strained gasp at the feeling, head falling back against the pillow in shock. Rafe pinned you down against the bed by your throat, cock sliding in and out of you at a torturously fast pace.

“You thought you were gonna get rid of me that easy, Y/N?” Rafe jeered as he snapped his hips against yours. The pressure at your throat increased, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Are you really that stupid?”

You shook your head, tears falling past your lashes. Thoughts jumbled inside your head, the cloud of fear and arousal confused you.

“You got what you wanted. You called the cops, and they aren’t gonna help you,” his lip curled in sadistic pleasure as he belittled you.

His free hand found your wrist, pinning it to the bed as he twisted it painfully. You tried to turn your face away from him when he came close, but he grabbed your chin, holding you in place as his lips smothered yours. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, lips moving against yours against your will.

A sick feeling was growing in your stomach, the sinful combination of pain and pleasure mixing within you.

Every thrust of his cock had you gasping and moaning against his lips. Your legs shook as he took his anger out on you, plunging deeper and harder than ever before.

The grip at your throat was getting harder, constricting your breathing even more. You gasped when he finally pulled his face away.

“You could have ruined everything,” Rafe seethed. Your teary eyes meant nothing to him. Nauseatingly, you realized that this was a punishment because you had dared to try to leave. Dared to say anything.

“I love you so much, Y/N. You know I do. You know I do. And I’ll be dead in the ground before I let you walk out on me.” He was fucking you frantically now, every thrust a cruel promise of his threats.

When he hit that spot that made you see stars again and again, you came undone. You bit your lip, crying out as your orgasm washed over you. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, shame burning across your face, conflicted by your body’s reaction.

“Fuuck-” Rafe groaned loudly as you squeezed around his cock, and he came hard, pumping his hot load deep into your sore cunt, before he began to move his hips again.

And when his hungry, piercing eyes met yours again, you knew that the night was far from over.

#rafe cameron #outer banks #dark!rafe cameron #obx #dark rafe cameron #no way out #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron noncon #rafe cameron x reader

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cinnamonest · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere Profile - Baizhu

When I tell you I adore this man so much, he's so underappreciated and I intend to do my best to do him justice

ft. Changsheng the enabler and Qiqi the liability

WARNINGS: fem reader, dubcon/noncon, abduction, heavy drugging content, mentions of force feeding against a hunger strike, emotional manipulation of a child, homicide

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

If one had to describe his nature in a singular word, it would be careful.

Incredibly, meticulously careful. There is not one single step taken that has not been perfectly planned out ahead of time, multiple possibilities and issues thought through and accounted for. He would not rush into something of this nature unprepared, and more importantly, his cautiousness comes from another trait he has in abundance: determination. Dedication to seeing a goal through, the firm resolution that he will obtain what he desires, one way or another, with no regard to what measures need to be taken to do so, nor how long it will take.

Not to mention, from a moral perspective, one might be surprised at how indifferent he is to the notion of doing something... unethical. People tend to associate medical professionals with some sort of assumed overall moral good, that someone who dedicates their life to the pursuit of the health of others must be a morally sound person in all areas of life by default.

Well, that is true to an extent. He does want to stay within ethical bounds. He's a generally good and compassionate person, yes, and would never go out of his way to harm anyone for the sake of it. He doesn't bear any malice towards anyone. He will inconvenience or burden himself if it means doing the right thing, when the right thing does not pose any risk to him and his goals. And when it's things he doesn't care too much about, he will relinquish a goal if he realizes it would do harm. So overall, it would be correct to say that he is a morally sound person.

But if violating certain commonly agreed-upon ethical boundaries is necessary to obtain his most fervent desires... well.

He's perfectly well-aware. He's self-aware, for starters, acutely so. He knows exactly what he feels and why, knows it is of abnormal degree, and knows what it will inevitably lead to. He knows that both from a social and ethical standpoint, such things are wrong, that it violates society's conventions and standards (not to mention laws) of what is acceptable behavior by limiting another's freedoms and violating their autonomy. It's not even something he really needs to reflect on. He just notices and becomes aware of an intense emotion, recognizes that emotion and its degree of severity, and draws an immediate logical conclusion as to what will happen depending on how he chooses to handle that emotion and how each course of action is perceived by society. Very simple, really.

It's lamentable — he himself has reflected on this to himself multiple times, often speaking aloud to Changsheng about it behind closed doors.

How troublesome that even I am not immune to these sorts of desires...In the end, the nature and instinct of any given creature is immutable, I suppose.

She rarely has anything to offer other than vague warnings of not letting it spiral out of control, which he assures will not happen.

But oh well. Sure, it's inconvenient, but there is no point in fighting something as innate as one's own feelings in this area of things. Suppressing the emotions would be a waste, so it is much wiser and more efficient to simply accept them, then work through how he intends to handle them.

Cautious, intelligent, perceptive, patient, self-aware, willing to violate ethics, and of an indomitable resolve. This combination of traits is, as you might imagine, more or less one of the worst hands of fate that could be dealt to whoever is targeted by the individual possessing them.

He's an easy person to warm up to, though. Very likable and pleasant. He's not nervous around you or anything, and gives no hint of any ill intent, so you have no reason to suspect anything. Well, he might be just a bit overbearing towards you, just barely noticeably touchy or insistent, but it's nothing that strikes you as indicative of anything you should genuinely be concerned over.

Except for this... aura. While nothing he does really concerns you, there is almost some tangible feeling of something being "off" in a way you can't really articulate nor explain. Regardless, he's been helpful and kind to you, so you brush it off as nothing.

There's also distinct lack of the intense outward expression of emotion usually associated with obsessive lovers and abductors and the like. He's fairly... calm about it all. Perhaps it's an ability stemming from his meticulous and careful planning to eliminate risk, or perhaps it's that he has full and acute self-awareness and accurate perception and understanding of himself and why he feels what he does. Or perhaps it's just his nature. Maybe some combination of all of the above. But even at his worst moments, he has a fairly calm aura about him, nothing seems to bother or upset him too much. He always seems to have calculated for every potential misstep or complication.

He does make an attempt to grow closer to you, though. He's masterful with an ability to orchestrate encounters that genuinely seem to be coincidence, as well as creating inconveniences for you that will lead you to seek him out. If anything, you're usually apologizing for doing so, since he seems so busy... but he dismisses it with a wave of his hand, assures you that it's fine, that he's very happy to be of assistance to you.

This, too, isn't just because he enjoys your presence, but it's also a preparatory measure in and of itself. The more familiar you are with him, the closer you consider yourself to be with him, the easier of a time he'll have handling you when the time inevitably comes that he'll have to take certain courses of action that you may disapprove of, to say the least. He needs all the endearment to you he can get before that happens.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

He's a bit conflicted, can't really decide if he wants to or not. His reluctance isn't really based in morality nor fear; he's not particularly concerned with the former on this matter, and he's fully confident he can successfully pull it off, so no need for nervousness.

Rather, he has the sort of possessive, primal desire to take you all for himself, one that he recognizes as a rash instinct that he needs to carefully ponder, and yet, he realizes that the direct consequence of acting on those desires would cause him to fall out of favor with you. He does love your smiles you give him, how nice you've been to him, your kind words, and he knows that would disappear, only to be replaced with resentment and fear, the moment he takes you away from your life.

He often sighs and mumbles to himself about it. What to do, what to do.... such a frustrating predicament.

Human nature is fascinating, isn't it? He's so consciously aware that this is abnormal and unwell, that he should attempt to resolve it, yet he has no desire to resolve it, only craving to further indulge in it. Yet he wants to be certain that he doesn't take any rash action, that he knows what he's doing through and through.

So, he refrains, at least for some time. However, it's not an attempt to refrain permanently — he knows full well that eventually, he will act on his desires, that it's only a matter of time. But for now, he wants to savor every word, every interaction, every smile, until he knows he will eventually cave in, and those things will be gone. He also reasons that, as aforementioned, by knowing you and being acquainted with you longer under your normal life and circumstances, he can attempt to endear himself to you and grow closer to you in that time, which will, he hopes, ease the transition when you no longer have your freedoms, that you will be more inclined to forgive him and act with empathy for him rather than hostility.

However, should he happen upon a coincidence, the stars align and the pieces all fall into place so perfectly without him having to arrange it, well, he'll certainly take the opportunity that presents itself. You show up complaining of fever or headache or something of that nature, and in your discomfort, it doesn't quite occur to you how unusual and seemingly irrelevant the questions he's asking you are—

I assume you let someone know where you were headed when you left home? ...No? Oh, I see....

You don't by chance have anywhere you'll be expected to be in the next short while, would you?

—and it won't, until it's too late.

Otherwise, should the opportunity not arise on its own, he has to wait. The days pass. A few months in total. But the longing and the ache and the scalding feeling of intense jealousy when he sees you with others, it all becomes too much, and he's forced to put into motion a plan he has now had quite some time to prepare for. Invite you over for "something important" with perfect timing, memorizing your schedule to hopefully ensure that it will happen before you see anyone whom you might inform of where you're going. From there, once he has you inside, it's no effort at all from that point forward.

He has a remarkable ability to give off this calm, nonthreatening aura, combined with a gentle and charming voice that lulls you into a sense of safety, that keeps you from noticing anything strange about what he's doing, even if you do still have that faint sense of unease in the back of your mind. It feels sweet and endearing, really, that you trust him so.

So he goes through with it. Sets up the necessary steps, and executes the plan as predetermined.

And then he tells you about it.

Once it's already too late, of course. You already drank what you were given without any hint of suspicion or distrust, and the way your eyes suddenly widen and your body twitches and slumps forward indicates it's setting in.

That's a regular part of the effect, terribly sorry about that. Oh, don't worry, you're not in any danger. You see, it's just... ah, how should I put it...

Thus he starts to go on elaborating on exactly what he drugged you with, and more importantly, begins explaining exactly why. As in, he openly confesses to being deeply enamored, as he puts it, and that he, likewise in his own words, has—

—some sort of abnormal psychological development that has taken place, although I'm not entirely sure how to best articulate it... regardless, I'm sure you now see that these impulses are inducing problematic behavior, but I'm afraid I have already succumbed to them, unfortunately...

He speaks with this lighthearted tone and whimsical sighs if he's explaining some sort of mild, harmless inconvenience, something of little consequence, all while he's gently going about sitting you back upright, closing your mouth so you stop involuntarily drooling, fixing the cup you spilled over and cleaning up what spilled onto the table. As if it's just a regular, everyday occurrence that he's paying little attention to, and not something of great weight and severity.

What this ultimately means is that you won't actually be leaving anytime soon. While unreasonable on its own, I assume that makes sense in the context of what I've just explained to you.

He turns back towards you, loops his arms under your armpits and hoists you up. There's a slight strained grunt with the physical exertion, but he manages to pick you up without too much trouble. He's still talking while carrying you through the door to the hall, but you don't really hear much it as you begin to succumb to unconsciousness — you only really process one more sentence.

You're awfully trusting, you know. You really ought to be more careful, should someone could have malicious intent...

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

The physical restraints aren't so bad. He keeps a reverse lock on the outside of the front door, and for a little while, a singular chain to your ankle.

After a short while, and a verbal agreement that you will not try anything, he gives you a surprising degree of leniency, gives you the ability to roam to some extent. You can be present at the front where strangers show up to the desk, even. But he'll be watching. He has ways, as he puts it, of knowing what you're doing.

You're not sure what to do. It seems like such an opportunity, and yet, you know that someone as calculated as he is wouldn't give you that opportunity without having a plan he could easily enact if something goes wrong. You know he doesn't really place that much trust in your word through your verbal agreement alone. You want to do something to try and catch someone's attention or something, but there's this gut feeling you have that knows that doing that would be a mistake.

He almost certainly wouldn't harm anyone, you're pretty sure of that being true, but... can you say that with one-hundred percent certainty? If pushed to the point of it being a matter of securing you and your arrangement, preventing someone who saw more than they should from telling, can you really be certain he wouldn't take drastic measures...?

You just don't know. Sure, you're fairly certain of his overall goodness of character... but then again, that's also what you thought when you brushed off the occasional comment or expression from him that used to make you feel some faint sense of alarm or unease — that he was certainly a good person, just a bit eccentric at times. You told yourself back then that he was not the sort of person who would ever do anything bad to anyone. You overestimated his goodness once, and look where that got you. Can you really be sure that someone who would go so far as to do what he's already done, wouldn't hurt or kill someone too, if it came down to it...? And when you think even more about it, doesn't the fact that he's letting you roam so much imply that he is ready to take some other measures if you tried anything?

You just don't know. It's all so uncertain.

And he knows that. You can tell from the soft, content, knowing smile on his face. He knows exactly what thoughts are going through your mind. As long as that doubt is there, hopefully you won't force his hand to make him have to take unsavory measures to ensure your security.

Now if you were to actually successfully, temporarily get away and be caught and brought back again, this is where Baizhu actually has a rather unique reaction, both intriguing and odd compared to how other captors and obsessive lovers would react.

That is, he harbors no resentment or anger over your desires to be free. In fact, provided he caught you early, his reaction is fairly calm. If you managed to get out for a while, he's more visibly panicked when he finds you, but he still manages to calm himself down by the time he brings you back, and doesn't lash out or have any sort of angry outburst.

You still endure some form of punishment — can't just let you get away with it, of course, you'd just be more likely to do it again — but you very quickly notice he doesn't really seem all that angry or anything. At some point, you question him on it, and he's very transparent with his answer.

To tell you the truth, I can't really blame you. You're only following your instincts. It's endearing, in a way.

Being angry, he explains, would be nonsensical, silly, unreasonable. It is only natural for a human to desire autonomy and as few restrictions on themselves as possible. Yet, it is also human nature to want to control others, and to have the object of their desires all to themselves, kept away like a treasure. Both his actions and yours are perfectly natural and reasonable, and since he himself has followed his natural inclinations and instincts, he can't blame you for doing the same and following yours.

And then, he smiles.

But it seems you weren't quite capable of achieving your goal. I suppose you'll just have to hope you have better luck on your next attempt... And I, that there won't be one.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Needless to say, Baizhu is both intelligent and perceptive. Most of the time, he can easily catch you in a lie. More importantly, he knows that given the circumstances, it's obvious you'll be trying to lie to him fairly regularly, so he's on guard about it, making him that much more likely to notice.

But on the rare occasion you do manage to trick him in some way, unless it was something that put you, him, or your situation in genuine danger, he doesn't get too upset. It's just the philosophy he takes, he explains as he shrugs it off— Really, it was foolish of me to not anticipate something like that. Considering the circumstances, I should never have allowed myself to become so unguarded.

Much like with attempts at escape, it's only natural to lie to him to achieve what you want. Likewise, it's only natural for you to receive some form of punishment to deter you from repeating the attempt of deception. Simple. So while he doesn't have a particularly angry or emotional response to it, don't expect to just get away with it either.

He's also very well aware when you manipulate him, acknowledges it even, but similarly to lying, he doesn't seem to mind too much. If anything, as long as it's something mild in nature, he finds it amusing, will chuckle and smile.

Oh, my. I see what you're doing... well, how could I say no when you're being so sweet about it?

That applies only to that which is mild, though. If your request or attempted goal is something that would actually be a risk, he gets far more serious and firm in his approach.

Surely you don't expect me to fall for that, dear. As much as I'd like to fulfill any wish you have, I know better than to take that sort of risk.

It was worth a try. You win some, you lose some.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He knows that mental stimulation will be important to your ensuring that you remain of sound mind and health for the foreseeable future. There's limits, of course, he's not dumb enough to fall for requests for things that you could use to harm him or break out, but he'll get you what you want, within reason. Especially books, which, as he says, are important for keeping your mind sharp. Those he'll get you even without asking, often bringing you something at random because he thinks you might enjoy its contents.

And hey, he also might as well capitalize on the opportunity. To prevent boredom, you can also help him out. Lots of jars that need organizing and labeling, papers that need to be filled and documented, and so on. Of course, he'll double check to ensure there's no maliciously doing it wrong or anything, but he appreciates it if you're willing and compliant.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

He doesn't like to feel like he's being strict or harsh, but he does set specific guidelines. They're fairly short and simple.

One, you will not attempt to leave, or to rope anyone else into "helping" you.

Two, you will not attempt to cause any harm or damage to himself, his property, or any other residents or visitors you may come into contact with.

Third, you will not attempt to commit any action that intentionally causes, or has a potential to accidentally cause, any danger or harm to yourself.

Violate any of these conditions, and naturally, there will be consequences. All actions have cause and effect, this is just the law of the universe, so it is only fair to enforce a consequence.

He's still pretty forgiving, but if you push his limits, he'll begin enacting those consequences, getting progressively more intense according to the nature of your offense. Confining you to one room, putting you back into an ankle shackle, so on and so on. All done with this self-righteous attitude, telling you how it's for your own benefit that this is done.

But along the same previous lines of reasoning as to why he gives you things to keep you occupied, he knows how important stimulation is to one's psychological well-being, and can just as easily use this against you. If you've been very, very bad, repeated attempts at running away and total defiance, some more intense measures are needed. As with any other ailment, your poor behavior is something he has just the thing to treat with.

The dependency itself, you see, creates bonding. Being forced to rely on another for such basic needs is a process equally humiliating and endearing. The isolation, on the other hand, ensures that your brain associates only him with the positive chemicals and emotions induced by having stimuli to free you from boredom, as well as your needs being met and...

He continues to explain it out to you as he goes. You're still only restrained by one ankle binding, but he doesn't need much in that regard, because he doesn't really have to worry about you moving around in the first place. You can barely move a muscle anyway.

It is quite torturous, isn't it? He almost feels bad for you. You still have some control over your face, and he can see the obvious displeasure in your expression. Unable to move your arms, your legs, anything but the truly important muscular functions like being able to swallow and breathe and the like. Forced to sit there numbly while he brings cups of water and spoonfuls of broth to your mouth, when he wipes your body down in substitution for bathing. Yes, it's clear how much you dislike this, but that's the point, isn't it? This would not have to happen if you could just be a bit more compliant. That wouldn't truly be so hard, would it? He asks in such a patronizing voice. Should you keep your mouth shut and refuse to eat or drink, he'll sigh, give up for the moment and try again later. If this persists after a few days, though, he'll just have to force it, and is not above doing so.

After a few days of this, he'll allow it to wear off, provided you've proven your repentance and promise you're going to be good in the future. An unlikely promise, he realizes, but at least the sentiment counts.

Oh, and he does establish one other rule out of frustration after a certain incident: no taking his glasses and hiding them. Really, it was quite a childish act of spite on your part, and caused him a terrible deal of inconvenience. Best to address it and forbid that from reoccurring...

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Rivals are actually something you don't have to worry too much about, in terms of them getting hurt. Baizhu is calculated and reasonable, highly rational, and doesn't take any sort of rash action. And in his mind, as long as you're confined, other people are no longer an issue.

If he feels someone is becoming enough of a threat in the pre-captivity stage of his obsession, being aware of any affection another person has for you or vice versa will simply serve as a catalyst in your abduction, and almost certainly expedite that process, out of urgency to get you away from a perceived threat. Provided you are secured, though, he sees no reason to risk the potential consequences of taking any action against a rival, even if he does harbor resentment for them.

Do not, however, mistake that for instinctive reluctance. It doesn't mean he's the sort of person who would be to afraid to kill someone, or, as you might initially imagine he would be, a person who would feel an innate sense of guilt and wrongness, who is averse to doing anything truly wrong. No, he's more than confident in his ability to successfully pull off a homicide if he were to try, and honestly, he's really not that naturally guilty, that is, in the sense of the sort of person who would be haunted by their actions and feel guilty by instinct. Rather, he has to intentionally hold himself back, tell himself he can't do such a thing no matter how much he wants to, as a matter of dignity.

Homicide would, after all, be more or less entirely antithetical to his universal occupational creed. And while again, he doesn't have an instinct against it, he values his own self-image. He wouldn't feel guilty, but he'd feel disappointed in himself, ashamed to have failed to uphold the idea of sanctity of life and all that. And perhaps even more importantly, such an act is one of petulant spite, if you ask him, and he would be somewhat embarrassed to see himself committing such an act, as if it's an admittance of having let someone else's presence bother him so much. It's a matter, thus, of self-respect and dignity more than anything. Therefore, with you secured away, he'll simply leave them be... although he's not above perhaps a bit of pettiness if the opportunity presents itself, such as being able to mildly inconvenience them somehow without it being connected to him.

That being said, there is a limit to his inhibition for the sake of self-image.

There's one circumstance under which he would see it fit to kill: said rival is looking for you after your disappearance, and he gets the very strong sense that the individual in question knows something they shouldn't, or otherwise seems to have some correct suspicion of what has occurred. He feels their eyes linger on him, this narrow-eyed sort of glare. They ask some rather odd questions. Or perhaps they're foolishly upfront about it, asking if he wouldn't happen to have seen you on the day you were last heard from, an accusatory edge to their tone.

Baizhu is actually quite masterful at keeping calm and maintaining an innocent act in such situations. He doesn't get defensive or hostile, rather, he pretends he just doesn't perceive the subtle tone of accusation. No, I haven't. Terrible thing, that. I hope there's some good news to come out of that situation soon...

But to himself, this confirms that he can't afford to leave this individual undealt with. It's not his fault, really. They forced his hand. Not that he's overjoyed to finally have a reasonable self-justification to kill off the person that has secretly always bothered him more than he lets on, though, no, nothing like that.

His method is perfectly simple, although he may have to wait a while to be able to enact it. But no matter, he can bide his time. Everyone gets sick eventually. They'll come to him. And if it's too urgent, they clearly know far too much and he can't afford to wait, he simply makes an invitation, says he has something he heard or saw that may have some connection to you, and that he wishes to discuss it at once.

If it's the former, and he actually has the chance to drug them, he'll easily take that method, as it's the cleanest and the one he's most adept with. And if he invites them to speak with him, well, he'll still poison their tea and all, but he's not going to get his hopes up that it will actually be consumed, given they have every reason to suspect him. Unfortunately, this may mean he's forced to take more unpleasant means.

As much as he enjoys having them out of the way, it turns out the act of killing someone via means other than poison is actually quite unpleasant. He knows he's not healthy and strong enough at the moment to risk being overpowered if he attempted strangulation or drowning, so he just has to go full-on old fashioned and come up behind them and stab them to death. It's a very brutish act, really. Probably looks very awkward and ugly from an outside perspective. Ugh. Blood on his hands and face and the floor and the table... and now he has to wash this shirt, too... at least it will make a decent addition to the compost for herbs. Sigh.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Baizhu is largely defined by a sort of passive attitude, although it does have its limits. But for the most part, he's very tolerant and patient. Part of it is just a natural disposition, while it's also in part due to years of having dealt with a wide variety of people of varying, and often unpleasant, temperaments, in varying levels of discomfort, and thus not always pleasant to deal with.

This can be to your benefit, in terms of the fact that he's forgiving and somewhat lenient towards you. If you put on a sweet act or a pitiful apologetic act, in particular, after getting caught doing something you aren't supposed to be, it turns out to be a weak spot for him. He knows full well you're doing it intentionally, but in his own words, he just can't bring himself to be too upset when you have that look in your eyes.

While beneficial under most circumstances, his patience and slowness to anger can also be incredibly frustrating if you're the bitter type who tries to make him mad. He knows you're doing exactly that, and he knows that not giving you the reaction you want will infuriate you further, and to be honest, it's rather cute watching you get more and more upset. He can hold out for quite a while like that, as long as your behavior is not something harmful to anyone.

Be careful overusing or abusing his lenience, though, or pushing the boundaries. If you take it a step too far, do something one too many times, that patience meets its end. You can tell exactly when you've crossed that line by the look on his face, narrowed eyes and a stern, unamused expression. He speaks in a firmer tone than usual, and is far more blunt with his words.

That's enough, now. I've been very patient with you. Do not test me further.

The sudden shift and stark difference to his usual demeanor is enough to make you freeze up, and deters you on its own, far more than it would coming from someone who usually speaks in that sort of voice. Should you nonetheless, perhaps out of spite, continue your defiance, it goes a step further.

He's still not the sort of person to show anger very outwardly. Quite the opposite. You know you have truly, royally fucked up because he goes dead silent. Takes a deep breath in, heavy sigh out. Puts down the pen or closes a book or whatever else he's handling with a harsh sound, stands up without a word. You can feel a twisting in your stomach from the aura coming off of him, feel a sort of dreadful tension in the air. When he does finally speak, it's in that same cold, firm voice, as he latches a hand onto your arm and begins to pull you off into another room.

Alright, then. I see you don't intend to make this easy.

You can start to sputter out apologies at that point, but you're not going to get any further words out of him. After all, you've made it clear that words aren't enough to get through to you anyway.

How do they express affection, or attempt to endear themselves to you?

Baizhu is very fond of pet names. Dear. Darling. Love. Even if it embarrasses you, he doesn't really care. It takes a while to get used to, he throws those terms around so casually, it makes you flustered and feel all warm and you're not really sure how to react. But it just comes naturally to him, really, he wasn't initially intending for it to have any effect, although seeing that it does have an effect is quite amusing.

Otherwise, he likes to just spend time with you. The activity doesn't really matter, in fact, you don't even need to be doing the same thing together or anything. You can be doing your own thing while he does his, that's also fine. He just likes being in your vicinity.

Doing things together, though, is very nice. He's fond of doing mundane, routine things with you. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. Helping him restock by handing him jars while he puts them in their proper place, or vice versa. The little things, the things that don't require a great deal of thought or exchange of words, yet allow him to bask in your warmth and the bliss of simplicity in life with someone you love.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Baizhu is a fairly humble man. He's also objective, when it comes to such matters. Love you as he does, he still acknowledges your weaknesses and strengths.

Considering a person to be "greater" or "lesser" as a whole, he would argue, is in and of itself a concept that could only be born from a rather simple brain to begin with. Such a generalization fails to consider the complexity of the individual human existence. It is frankly impossible, or at least distasteful and lacking any respectable extent of intelligent thought, to take a single person — who has a unique skillset, physical and mental attributes, experiences, and a whole array of knowledge unique to that one individual — and condense all that complexity into one simple lump sum of "value", them do the same for another, and compare the two. The very notion itself is lacking intelligence, and only a person equally lacking intelligence and rationality, or perhaps simply a person of a neurotically grandiose nature, would try to claim one person is inherently of greater value.

But he can recognize those individual traits. If he's more intelligent than you are, he's very open to acknowledging it. If you're in better physical shape and health than he is, he'll readily admit it.

A person is what they are, they each have their strengths. If you ever get into the subject, he'll likely start philosophizing a bit about human nature — how tragic it is that so many humans obsess over those strengths that they are lacking, and in doing so allow the strengths they possess to go to waste. It is human nature to be discontent with oneself, perhaps—

Ah... am I boring you? Haha. No, no, it's quite alright.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He fully acknowledges before ever taking you to be with him, that doing so will be detrimental any hopes of mutual affection. That's part of the pros and cons he heavily weighs before going through with that. But alas, it's a necessary hurdle to face, part of the price of having you to himself.

For the short term, at least.

He's not unfamiliar with psychology to some extent, seeing as it and his own field are somewhat related. He's very well aware of the known effects that prolonged isolation and exclusion from the rest of society, as well as forced dependence, will have on a person.

So he's not too worried about it. Sure, you may be resentful now, but he can wait. As he always does. Patient, calculated. He knows eventually there will be a shift, and then a decline. First comes anger, then that will die down, then a period of quiet despond, and eventually, as the soundness of mind deteriorates, you will come back to him, feel the same fondness you did before. It's predictable, linear, like clockwork. The human mind and the human body are alike in that way, often following patterns that can be accurately predicted far before actually reaching that stage of progression. Just as he can heal various diseases and ailments by referencing existing knowledge of the body, so he can "fix" your mind and your sentiments by utilizing the knowledge of the mind.

If you start to become exceptionally discontent and disagreeable at any given time, he'll just go with the foolproof method that works every time — total isolation besides him, dark room, no stimulus, bound hand and foot or kept immobile by drugs. A few days of that and you usually crack. The cycle repeats, but he always knows just how to get you back to the way he prefers you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Firstly, as aforementioned, he's almost amusingly transparent. He explains a good deal of what he does to you and exactly why he's doing it, what affects it will have, etc. Most captors would probably keep quiet on exactly how they intend for their actions to induce a bond with you or force you into this or that, but not him.

You're smart, see. He knows you'll probably figure it out anyway. What's the point of withholding it then? Besides, he has a habit of thinking out loud sometimes, so it just comes natural to him to sort of mutter about what he's doing as he goes about his tasks. No point in refraining from that when there's no real reason to.

It's not as if you knowing what he's doing or what the intended effect is will make it any less effective. Maybe you'll develop a bit of spite and fight the effects, thus prolonging the procedure, but it will work all the same in the end anyway. If anything, seeing you resist is rather cute. But you'll succumb nonetheless, so, no need to be secretive.

Another obstacle he faces that others in a similar obsessive predicament do not is, well, himself. Baizhu is forced to take his own health and physical capacity into account to a degree most others never would have to give a passing thought to.

You'd think that his frailness might serve as an advantage to you — and you'd be right, sort of. It would serve as an advantage to you, were he to not account for it.

Unfortunately for you, he does account for it, and goes to great lengths — paranoid measures, even — to ensure you cannot take advantage of it. These chronic problems sometimes follow patterns and cycles, and usually have warning signs before becoming worse, so if he knows he's going to be in a weakened state, he gets much heavier on the restraints, and goes ahead with drugging you into immobility, even though you haven't done anything to deserve what is usually used as a punishment. It's also one of the few times he'll give you a very sincere apology. I know it's unpleasant, but I don't have much of a choice right now. You know it's serious from the lack of his usual warm whimsical voice of his, instead speaking in a very blunt voice laden with discomfort. You suppose you can summon a bit of pity, even if you're frustrated.

You also notice, though, that he's always insistent that he's fine and doesn't need help, even if that's blatantly untrue. The man will sound like he's coughing his lungs up for a minute straight and when you rush over with a concerned look on your face, he forces a chuckle and smiles and waves his hand dismissively. No, no, it's fine, really, that's a regular occurrence, it will die down in a minute or s— and breaks out coughing again.

He doesn't want you to see him in a state he feels looks pathetic. You figure that out eventually, given that he always stands up and goes into another room if the coughing fits get too bad, and how you can tell he's forcing himself to act as if he's not in discomfort or pain when he cares for you during his episodes of poorer condition.

It's something he's very stubborn about too. Usually he's so transparent, but even if you push him, tell him you're well aware he's not well or that you're fine and he should lay down, he continues to downplay it and insist it's not that bad. Just a bit of an ache, he says, or just a bit drowsy. He's relentless on this, no matter how much you push.

There's another unique factor to your captivity, but it doesn't have much to do with Baizhu himself.

See, there's plenty of captors or obsessed lovers you might end up with who have companions or accomplices you would meet, but no other quite so... slithery.

And few quite so cold, either. Changsheng, and the dynamic she takes in relation to the both of you, is a very odd experience.

Firstly, she is of no help to you. You weren't really sure what to expect from a literal talking snake, but you at least figured that if she possessed human thought capacity, she would perhaps possess a sense of empathy as well.

But she never brings up or even really acknowledges the circumstances of your situation. You tried once or twice, but she immediately shuts you down if the conversation is headed in that direction.

These sorts of interpersonal relationships are no business of mine. Know that I have no intention of interference.

While a bit disappointing, you did more or less know that even if she empathized, she wouldn't likely be of much help.

She still takes some getting used to. To be honest, she moves so quietly that for the first little while, she nearly gave you a heart attack on several occasions. You'll be going about some idle task, turn your gaze to look at or reach for something, only to come face-to-face with a snake in very close proximity.

AH! Oh, I, um...

What is the matter?

N-no, I just... uh...

You are at unease due to my presence?

No! No, I just didn't... see you there...

She has a bit of a sharp tongue and stern nature, and you initially do feel very uneasy, both out of not wanting to upset her as well as some primal instinct telling you that the creature that sits next to you is a dangerous one, even if your conscious mind knows better.

She does feel the need to comment on whatever you're doing, especially when trying to do tasks to help (or just to have something to do) by doing some work in the storerooms.

By what system of organization are you determining the order to place these jars in, hm?

You are not plotting anything nefarious back here by yourself, yes?

You there... these counters are slippery. I instruct you to place me on the surface over there.

At first, you feel bullied and bossed around... but over time you come to realize that despite the criticisms, she's intentionally seeking you out, whenever Baizhu is busy. In fact, whenever he goes off to a house call by himself or to take care of some task, it's usually only a matter of minutes before she shows up.

And truth be told, over time, you do bond. It's an unspoken sort of thing, something you think she might have started doing without consciously realizing she's doing it, but she begins... scaling you, climbing over and on you in the same way she does her contractual companion. The first time, you were reading over some piece of mail slid under the door when you felt a slight weight on your shoulder.

What is that? Oh, I see...

Gradually, it becomes an unspoken norm, a habit that neither of you really acknowledge out loud, but you understand it's a significant milestone in your relationship to each other, whatever that relationship may be defined as. You'll be standing around, working on whatever, when you feel the cold scales brush against your ankle... and now that cold sensation is spiraling up your leg, then your waist, and she positions herself around your shoulders just as she would Baizhu himself. Often commenting on or criticizing whatever you're doing, but sometimes just... relaxing there. She likes being on a person — humans are warm, and while she wouldn't admit it, she just sort of enjoys the company sometimes. If Baizhu is unavailable, you're the next best option. And sometimes, she's merely using you as a means of transportation, telling you to go somewhere else so she can get off, with you being able to get wherever it is faster, especially if it involves stairs.

Or sometimes, you'll be sitting down and she sees no reason to go around you to get where she's going, instead just slithering right over your lap without so much as a word, either to cross over you to get elsewhere, or to rest on you for a while. Then there was that time you were laying on the couch, trying your best to take a nap when you stiffened and nearly felt your heart stop for the umpteenth time when a cold sensation spread as she slithered her way underneath your shirt, curling up into a ball on your stomach.

It is cold outside and there is a draft. You will have to suffice for the moment.

And you also notice that, although it may feel harsh, oftentimes her criticisms and advice are genuinely helpful, either making a task significantly easier or preventing you from potentially hurting yourself in a specific process. You still can't quite let go of a bit of bitterness over her essentially being cooperative in your captivity, but you can't say you don't appreciate her.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

He's actually quite touchy from the start. It's one of the few things that sort of unsettles you and gives some sense of something being "off" even early on. You're pretty sure you don't know each other well enough for him to have just brushed his fingers over your arm, or to rest his hand on your shoulder, or to clasp your hand between his for a moment as he tells you he'll see to this or that that you've requested. The touches continue to grow more noticeable with time, and they're just so very perfectly lingering for a time that's long enough to be noticeable, but not long enough for you to feel like saying something is a warranted reaction. No, you'd be overreacting if you said anything, right? It's not that bad, it's only for a few seconds, so perfectly timed as if he's knowingly releasing his touch at the right second. Always right on the edge.

Even after that, once you're living with him, he's very casually touchy. He'll run his fingers back and forth over your side or back when you're sitting or lying next to each other, runs his fingers through your scalp, rest an arm over your side or shoulders.

His drive, on the other hand, depends entirely on his current physical condition. Whenever certain chronic problems are flaring up and his health takes a negative turn, as you can imagine, his sex drive also plummets, and he's in too much discomfort to do much movement anyway. Other times, with other problems flaring up, it's particularly frustrating because he does still have a sex drive, but is in too much discomfort to do much... there's some creative ways to work around that, but nonetheless, it's irksome.

He's not particularly reserved about sexuality at all, actually, under the right circumstances. Of course, if asked about his reasoning for this, he acknowledges and understands the cultural sensitivity to such things, and concurs with the topic being something you don't just randomly talk about; that is, he obviously has a firm grasp on what is and isn't appropriate in various settings and doesn't violate conventions of appropriateness. It's just that when it's alone with you, he can talk about the filthiest and most intimate of things without batting an eye or any sign of embarrassment. It's just a natural part of human life, isn't it? If anything, the act is one that should be viewed as beautiful. The poetic sort of people tend to describe it as an ultimate expression of affection between individuals, and if you ask him, that's something that should be treasured.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He views forcing that sort of thing as a behavior that's more or less beneath him. Barbaric, brutish, uncivilized... brute force, that is. Other measures, though, that's another matter. Things like drugs and coercion don't have quite the same vibe of brutality and inhumanity.

Regardless, though, the key factor is your experience. He's the type that can't really enjoy a sexual experience unless you're also clearly enjoying it... the catch being that you obtaining pleasures and enjoyment is not exactly the same thing as outright consent. As long as you cum, it counts as being mutually enjoyed.

He still doesn't really like the thought of having to be physically forceful though, that would make him feel brutish. He'll be sure to sedate you early on. If you're sluggish and barely moving, you can't really offer resistance in the first place... and you're more pliable to his hands, too.

And yes, he will use your pleasure against you, telling you that you clearly don't hate it all that much — just look at what you've done, he says, holding up the fingers coated in your own fluids, pressing them against your tongue, your jaw too weak to prevent him from sliding his fingers in. The mouth says one thing, the body another... but the mouth is capable of lying, the body really isn't, so it's better to trust that which he knows is being honest.

What is intimacy with them like? What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He can't go too hard and fast... well, he sometimes does anyway, his efforts aided by adrenaline, which quickly catches up to him as soon as it's over. He's not particularly rough though, nor does he cause you pain. That's not to say he's entirely without a sadistic side — he does find himself enjoying seeing you in a state of humiliation and anticipation, he just prefers to use pleasures and intense, but not painful, sensations to do so.

Drugging

That is, of course, the one you likely anticipated the most. He's not at all shy about it. Even if you by chance had something consensual going on before being kept captive, he's very open about the desire to experiment on your body by triggering reactions to various substances.

There's a variety of different options to try, lots of combinations and records of the effects different traditional medicines have on the body. This one heightens blood flow and skin sensitivity, this one induced lactation... ah, but his personal preference is this one that gives you a buzzing, euphoric high, accompanied by a voracious appetite for pleasure and orgasms for the next hour or so. He gives you the full history of how ancients in this area used to use it for fertility ceremonial purposes back in the day, explaining it calmly while he ties your hands to the headboard, as you pant and whimper and gasp for breath underneath him. Quite nice, isn't it?

And if you're being less than compliant and agreeable, he can also go the route of sedation. Not entirely, no, he doesn't want you to be fully unconscious, nor forget any of it later. No, what he forces into your mouth makes you more... relaxed. You, after the fact and in an accusatory tone, use the word 'paralyzed,' but he insists that that's an overdramatization. Firstly, it's not the same medication he uses when he actually leaves you fully unable to move, and secondly, you can still sort of move your fingers and toes and head, your muscles are just relaxed and at ease, preventing movement of actual limbs. Your words slur, you feel dizzy and tired, yet you feel every little touch. And see, your abdominal muscles twitched when he runs his fingers over your stomach, so you still have some muscular control... Not to mention, he can still feel your insides spasming and clenching when he curls his fingers inside of you, too.

Oh, and even in general, he makes sure you take a daily dose of tea made from some cocktail of bitter herbs he put together. You're told it's a blend that boosts your metabolism and brain activity and blood circulation, so on and so on, basically like a multi-purpose medicine for overall health. Which is true, it does do all of those things. It just so happens that all of those things also are known to increase sex drive, not to mention a few of them boost hormone production. But that's just a side effect, of course.

Orgasm control

Baizhu has a very specific long-term goal in mind to train you for: getting you to cum on command. It's a fantasy he's entertained in his head quite a few times. No reason to not try to make it a reality, now that he has you here with him. The concept itself is fascinating, the idea that a largely involuntary bodily reaction can be gradually, perfectly conditioned to align with someone else's words. It's such an ultimate power trip and absolute control, the thought is intoxicating.

And of course, being as patient and dedicated as this man has already proven himself to be, you know there's no getting out of it. Hours upon hours of edging, being told not to cum because you can't without his explicitly telling you to. If you do, he pulls his hand away, ruining the orgasm itself, leaving you to whimper and whine, that much more so if, after a few failed attempts, he ends up applying an additional corporeal punishment to try and further the negative association with cumming too soon. If you're good and endure, cum when he tells you to, you'll be likewise rewarded in some way.

Over and over. It goes on for weeks, months, that you have these training sessions, until it's perfected. You yourself are almost shocked by the progress, to realize just how much your body and your subconscious has submitted — it's on one of his better health days, he has the energy and lack of any aches to be able to take you on your hands and knees from behind, and it does feel good, but you're not that close — and yet, when he pulls your upper half up, forces your back into an arch, puts his hand on your throat and tilts his head down to speak directly in your ear and tells you to in the lowest, huskiest voice you've ever heard him speak in to cum for me — and you spasm, it hits you like a punch to the gut with the way the high rushes over your body. It leaves you sputtering and shivering as you collapse onto the bed, wide-eyed in shock. Even he seems a bit surprised too, chuckling as he sees the stunned expression on your face.

Oh, that worked better than even I anticipated...

He can also use orgasms as a form of withdrawal and coercion punishments. Primarily at the times that you're immobilized. You'll begin to grow needy after a time, and that makes you far more compliant. He keeps track of how long it's been since you last got to cum, and makes sure to remind you, just so you know how long you've been missing it, and so you'll be that much more quick to crack under the desperation of need.

Instruction/Obedience

Sometimes, once you've reached a state where he's assured you'll be fairly compliant with him, he gets surprisingly passive when he comes to you for intimacy.

Physically passive, at least. Motions you over with a finger gesture, starts giving you instructions. His voice is always so charming and gentle that it's hard to call it a command, per se, but it's telling you what to do nonetheless. To take this or that off, to straddle his waist, kiss him, put it in your mouth, ride him, touch yourself, on and on as he walks you through each little motion he craves to watch with his own eyes. It gets more specific and lewd with each instruction, starting off with just take your clothes off and eventually progressing to telling you exactly how to touch yourself, rub in circles, curl your fingers, lower yourself down and take him in, roll your hips, bounce on his cock, look him in the eye when you cum, every little thing.

...Eventually, you figure out that he does this on the days where he's not feeling well enough to do the moving himself, yet is still in good enough condition that he still has a sex drive. What a clever adaptation.

Exposure

It's not something he uses often, seeing as there are other people than just the two of you in his residence, but it can make a suitable punishment whenever you're confined to one room, or when everyone else is out. There's something just endearing about seeing you all embarrassed and flustered after being forced into nudity, the way you try desperately to cover yourself with your arms, the way you get all pouty in your humiliation and refuse to look him in the eye as you demand your clothes back.

But this is your choice, he reminds you. If only you would be a bit more cooperative, that wouldn't have to be the case, but that's entirely up to you. Until then, if you want to get out of bed for any reason, you'll just have to walk around as you are. And no, he's not going anywhere. Why would he leave when he has such a nice view? He smiles when you puff your cheeks out and curl your hands into fists out of embarrassed fury. Eventually, you do have to give in, get up and go do whatever it is you need to — and you feel his eyes on you the whole time as you do. When you glare in his direction, he just tilts his head. Oh? Is something the matter?

Such a shameless pervert, you think to yourself. What's worse, you know if you say something, he'll pull some cheesy line about 'examining' you or another. Ugh.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He'd be a bit worried about having any biological children. One one hand, there's a lot to be gained by having something tying you to him on such a deeply emotional level, that would likely cement you in place by making running away that much harder, and suppress your will to leave to begin with, or even accelerate your attachment to him.

At the same time, he has to be realistic. Is he really in any position to be caring for children, a task requiring great stamina? There's also the possibility you could turn children against him, or something like that. And if you were to encounter some sort of gestational health problem and require medical attention, there's no telling whether or not you'd be so stubborn as to to refuse to comply out of fear he'd drug you or something, which could pose very real risks to your well-being if he couldn't get you to work with him. So as nice as the notion seems when pictured in the ideal, there's just too many risks and complications that could take place.

But, there's a solution. One that will easily provide the same psychological attachment, and thereby allow a subtle degree of manipulation.

Once he can be sure you wouldn't try to harm her or anything, he deliberately ensures you and Qiqi spend time with each other. Initially, he tells you to watch over her while she goes about her tasks, help her out a bit. She can be forgetful, you know. Regardless of your sentiment, you can't bring yourself to be cold or rude to what is ultimately, despite the circumstances, still a relatively normal little girl.

Although he does, before leaving you two alone, make sure to give you a very firm warning. Well, the words themselves aren't a a threat, but there's an edge to his tone, when he responds to you raising your eyebrows and asking if he's really allowing this.

It's quite alright. I trust you surely wouldn't try to get a child involved in anything you shouldn't.

The words admittedly do have a bite to them. Would it really be a moral wrong, for you to try and enlist her for help...? It's not like he would ever harm her, but still, you question the sort of psychological damage you'd be risking. There's an inherent feeling of wrongness when you think about putting the kid under a situation that, if you succeeded in getting her to help you, would result in a great deal of distress and confusion and even long-term psychological damage from what would ensue. And when you think about it even further, you realize with a twisting feeling in your gut that if you escaped your captor and got him locked up... what would happen to her...? It's an unpleasant thought, even if you tell yourself you'd make sure she was cared for.

Nonetheless, eventually, on one of your worst and most bitter and resentful days, in a moment of desperation, you do finally crack. It will be fine, you tell yourself. You're doing something good overall. Someone like that shouldn't be responsible for a kid in the first place, right? So if you just get her to run by the law enforcement when she's out herb-gathering...

Listen, I, uh, I need you to do something for me, okay?

Mm...? Okay...

You wait patiently as the hours pass, hoping you look like less of a nervous wreck than you are, hoping you're not actually as jittery as you feel, a whole swarm of emotions of dread and hope and anticipation swirling in your gut. You practically pounce on the poor girl when she comes back through the doors.

Did... did they say anything? Are they coming?

You're met with a blank stare, a long pause.

Uh... who...? Was I supposed to... do something...?

You're pretty sure you gave up either the third or fourth time that happened. Can't really remember which. You start to realize that the reason he seemed so unbothered by the thought of leaving you alone with her wasn't so much his trust in you as much as it was complete assurance there was never any real risk anyway. Sigh.

But you don't hold it against her. You continue watching over her and taking care of her when you can. And the most frustrating part is that you know exactly what the intent is, and yet, you also know it's working.

You find yourself caring more and more about the girl. There was that time she stumbled and fell flat on her face and before you even really processed what you were doing, you'd already rushed over across the room to get her back up. Hey, hey, are you okay...? Or the time everyone else had stepped away for a moment due to some issue or another, leaving the front of the pharmacy unmanned for just a few moments — just enough time to find some big, disgruntled-looking guy looming over the child (who admittedly didn't seem intimidated or anything, just the usual blank stare), going on about some complaint he must have found no one else present to give to, and once more, without really thinking, you found yourself rushing over, picking her up and pulling her away, holding her to your side as if to shield her, finding yourself growing immediately defensive, glaring back. The hell is wrong with you? The owner will be back in just a minute, you'll have to wait. You find yourself a bit surprised at your own sharpness of tongue.

You feel this caring, protective swell in your chest regrading her. You're not so headstrong as to deny to yourself the truth, that you know you've developed emotional attachment towards and even some maternal instinct for the child. That admittedly, you wouldn't want to leave her, and that you'd worry how she'd fare by herself without you, even if you know she was doing fine before you. And most upsettingly, you know that that was exactly what the plan was.

Maybe if it had been one-sided, then, at least you could have shaken the feeling off, but that's not the case either. You make a habit of taking some time to yourself in a specific room every day, a time in the late afternoon when there's always a rush of people coming in, leaving Baizhu himself quite busy, so you get some time to sit and read or whatever task you set yourself to. A routine quickly develops — there's a set of pattering footsteps in the hall, she pokes her head around the door to check if you're there, and quietly shuffles in and sits next to you. Silent, but present. She doesn't say or do anything, she just sits.

Not that that's the only habit that develops. It's one of those situations that progresses subtly yet quickly, so you don't really remember when each starts. You just become aware one day that each little routine or habit has been going on for some time now. That when you walk around the back of the pharmacy going about your day, there's often a little hand clinging to your skirts or pant legs, quietly walking alongside you while latching on. That when you make yourself something to snack on, you get out two plates or bowls and make two helpings of whatever it is without really thinking about it.

She doesn't usually have a lot to say, but it's always pleasant, she's not quite like the stereotypical hyperactive kid, no, she lets you do whatever you're doing and doesn't interrupt much, just seems to want to be around you.

You allow it, of course. You don't have the heart not to, even though you know you shouldn't, that you shouldn't allow the closeness and should push her away because you know it will inevitably lead to exactly what he wants.

You can still pinpoint the exact moment, though, that you knew it was already too late. Sitting there doing some idle task or another in silence when you feel weight leaning over against your side, head resting on your arm, and that soft, monotone voice.

I like having you here.

Dammit. You could physically feel that tug on your heart. If that wasn't the final nail in the coffin, nothing else could top the emotion that gave you. You resign yourself to finally acknowledging that you've already fallen for the scheme.

...Not that she's just an advantageous tool. The flip side disadvantage is that she's also a bit of a liability. He's given her the 'if you tell anyone about her, she'll have to go away forever' talk several times over, and the poor girl always widens her tired eyes and seems very distressed at that notion, but her memory is not exactly known for being that great. There was that time some law enforcement came by to ask about you, saying something about how someone claimed to have seen a young woman in this courtyard area on the night of the disappearance. When your name is spoken, the girl's eyes widen, her lips part and she's just started to raise her arm up to point to the back room and say the words 'oh, I kn—' when she's interrupted by being picked up, hand clamped over her mouth and carried out of the room—

Ah, why don't you go run along—

And unceremoniously set in the hall, the door shut behind.

...Not good for a child to hear something fearful like a disappearance, that's all. Could give her nightmares or something. Surely they understand that...?

Thankfully, the present officials do, just nodding and continuing on, seemingly not taking that as reason to suspect anything. Poor Baizhu, it's one of the few moments he actually nearly lost composure, slumping back into a chair with a heavy sigh of relief as soon as they leave. That surely did not do his heart palpitation issue any favors...

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

One of the most unbearable things is the wait and the dread. It's never immediate. He always says something to the effect of ah, I need some time to think about how to handle this..., which you come to realize is just intentionally dragging out your fearful anticipation. To say he has somewhat of a sadistic side would be a fairly accurate statement, he doesn't really want to cause you physical pain, but he does find himself enjoying watching you squirm and shudder and stiffen, consumed with anticipation, dread and fear, as well as reactions of humiliation and embarrassment. He tries to refrain to some extent, but finds himself indulging in invoking those reactions from you more often than he'd like to admit for the sake of his own perception of his self-control.

It's not particularly painful, though, so you can be grateful for that... although there is a sort of dull ache after a while. Getting the drugs into your system is the only difficult part, as you squirm too much to safely inject you, but refuse to open your mouth, so compliance is a bit of a challenge, forcing him to find some means of holding you still. From there, your body sort of does the punishing for you. It's unlike anything you've ever felt — an unbearable sensation of heat, so intense it leaves sweat rolling down your skin, leaves you panting and shivering and gasping for breath, limbs twitching as they desperately pull against the binds keeping your ankles and wrists taut against the bedposts.

He wouldn't leave you to suffer that alone, of course. Well, maybe for a short while, half an hour or so, to heighten the desperation, but after that, he's right there to help you, affectionately running his hand over the top of your head and speaking to you in a soft voice, all far too gentle to be one and the same as the person responsible for your present state of misery.

What do you need? Tell me how to help you.

You're not compliant at first, of course. You shake your head and clench your jaw and refuse to just make this so much easier on you both. It takes a little while. A little more urging and comforting, running his fingers over your thighs and sides and all the parts of your flesh just sensitive enough to earn a shudder, before you start to melt into his touch, and eventually give in, tell him what you want.

There we go. That wasn't so difficult, was it?

Not that the torment ends there, of course. Just giving in to tell him isn't enough.

But you haven't been entirely... appreciative, have you? If I do this for you, it pains me to think it will only go unrecognized like everything else I do for you. If you ask with sincerity, maybe...

Once you've swallowed your pride entirely, then, you can get some semblance of relief. Although that itself becomes torturous with time. The intensity doesn't die down, the unbearable urge is still there, yet each successive orgasm begins to become painful, each erogenous spot on your body becomes sore and hypersensitive to the touch. You loathe to admit you end up in tears by the end of it. No worry, though, he's right there to comfort you through it... and ensure you this doesn't have to happen, but you continue to choose it time and time again.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Curvature. It's not really any one specific spot, per se, but he would say it counts. The degree of it doesn't really matter, whether it's slight or pronounced. He likes the way his hands feel running over curved areas like your hips and waist, thighs, shoulders. It's something he can appreciate even when his eyes are closed, late at night, just slowly running his hands over the spots and feeling the bends and dips. There's also, of course, the fact that it provides a nice sort of grip, a spot he can lock his arms or hands around and know you won't be able to pull away easily.

#qqi simultaneously being bzhu's greatest tool but also riskiest liability is amusing to me #yandere genshin impact #baizhu x reader

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whumble-beeee · 3 months ago

Text

Yur Gonna Get Murdalated, Rookie

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 15.5

Content: adult character perceived as a minor, kidnapping/captivity, noncon drugging, guns, recreational drug use, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The Law Enforcement Policy Handbook, Chapter X: Superhumans

[Officers of the law have the right to ask any civilian to show their upper right arm to verify whether or not the civilian bears the ‘General Super Brand’. If the civilian does possess such a marking, they are superhuman; the officer has the right to use whatever superhuman training they may possess.

If the brand indicates that the superhuman is also a ‘Latent Supervillain,’ ‘Supervillain,’ or Test Subject,’ the officer is also compelled to check the superhuman’s upper right shoulder blade for the ‘Hazardous Super Brand,’ colloquially known as ‘The Villain Brand.’ Depending on the contents of the brand, the officer may be required to arrest or otherwise subdue the superhuman. They are advised to use their best judgment to subdue the superhuman or hide and call for backup.]

* * * * * * * *

The night was peaceful. Boring, even. The type of night where you’d wanna just sit back and smoke a cigar in the amber-dusking twilight that spilled through the half-closed blinds of your office. It’s filled to bursting with old bookshelves sworn by the tests of time, a single chair for you to sit in as you work, and a sprawling, book-laden red oak wood desk, surrounded on all sides by stacks and stacks of notes, files, crucial evidence about your latest case. The scent of cigars burns your nose. You’re so close to a breakthrough, you could just about taste it on the tip of your tongue, You would find it, you always did, and you could feel it now, edging ever closer after a tirelessly rewarding and sleepless night.

And yet here Officer Kalis Brooks sat instead, bored out of her skull watching some dinky ass highway that was lucky if a car graced its beaten roads once every twenty minutes.

If only she were a film noir detective. Truly an unfair life she led.

It was a suspicious sort of fellow she finally spotted slowly making his way down the highway. A scoundrel who wore a bandana over the lower half of his face.

A person with something to hide.

Of course, she pulled him over. Simply her duty as an officer of the law.

She approached the truck and rapped lightly on the driver’s side window, and it rolled down with a gentle whirr. She shined her flashlight into the vehicle, and the view to greet her was almost something of a–

Holy shit.

The driver sat there, lazily gripping the steering wheel, looking like some sort of modernized pseudo-cowboy with a buncha scary lookin’ gadgets. A burn scar ran all the way up the side of his face, down his neck, and reappeared on his arm where his leather jacket rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were dilated, every movement markedly relaxed. Disjointed. Uncanny even.

He was definitely high. But at least he’d had the forethought to take off that bandana concealing his identity. That was a good thing, right?

Then her jaw nearly dropped when she registered the passenger. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze stiff and unseeing. Very obviously also high on some sort of drug, though Kalis reckoned this high was less than consensual. Not to mention the super-power suppression collar wrapped around his neck.

He was a super.

She wasn’t trained to handle cases like this. Was this a super kidnapping in progress?! Something more?

Shit, no time for film noir roleplay bullshit, this is serious.

This is a villain.

Her gaze snapped back to the driver, just as her hand unclipped the gun holstered at her hip.

“Sir, please step out of the car slowly with your hands up. You’re being detained under suspicion of committing an in-progress felony.”

The driver’s gaze immediately shot to his passenger. “Officer, there uh… seems to be a misunderstanding–”

“Step out of the car or I’ll have you arrested for disobeying an officer of the law.”

That got his attention. The driver blew his bangs out of his face with a slow, deep sigh, and equally slowly reached down to open the door. The metallic creak of the door swinging open was almost deafening in the moonlit night.

“I should mention I have a gun holstered on my belt,” he drawled inattentively, boots crunching the sparse gravel scattered across the shoulder of the highway. His arms stayed firmly raised, thankfully. “A revolver. Left side.”

“Thank you for informing me,” Officer Brooks said quickly. This man seemed to be an easy-going fella, thankfully, but air around him stank of danger, like the haze of the walking dead. She slipped the ornately decorated gun out of its holster and slapped all the bullets to the roadway with 6 distinctly clean clinks. Then triple-checked that the safety was on. Then a fourth time. The matching knife too, for good measure.

“I’d like to ask you some questions,” she stated, barely halting her transatlantic accent from slipping through. Stop it with the film noir. “Show me your upper right arm, please.”

He sighed, then nodded, then struggled to push up the leather sleeves of his jacket enough to show her the clear absence of a super brand.

Good, one less thing to worry about. Not a supervillain.

“Alright then, what’s going on with that boy in the truck, friend?”

“Nothin’ much. That’s Stan. He’s my ward.”

“Your ward?”

“Yuh. I have custody over him. He’s a test subject.”

“Really?” She said, voice full of faux intrigue.

“Really.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

“Handler, of sorts. A bounty hunter. I work with the police sometimes, actually, we have an arrangement.”

“Oh? An arrangement?” she asked, as if daring him to tell her all the illegal dealings he held in his hidden hand of cards.

He just shrugged.

Ugh, she hated these types.

“Fine. You have any proof?”

“Think I left my bounty huntin’ papers in my other pants,” he quipped. “Check the kid's villain brand, call in my ID, talk to your boss. Should be proof enough.”

That was absolutely not how that worked. Though she did feel a slight vindication in her chest that she would actually probably arrest this man.

“You have your ID on you?”

“Mhm.”

He flicked out his ID between forefinger and middle to the officer, seemingly plucking it from thin air before she snatched it out of his hand, noting every piece of identifying information, checking for signs of a fake. Nothing seemed to be out of order… Had he really just handed her his real ID?

“And you said something about the boy having a villain brand?”

The man– Declan Cansano, so said the ID– nodded. Then rolled his damn eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I boring you?” She smiled sarcastically. “Need I make it obvious that you are suspected of kidnapping?”

“I just have somewhere to be. It’s late. If you’d call in to ask about–”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“No ma'am, I'm sayin’ you'd save yourself a lot–”

“Well stop ‘sayin'’ or I'll be ‘sayin’’ that you resisted arrest when I’m writing up your arrest report. This way.”

She had to keep from grabbing his arm and yanking him as she led him over to her cruiser and deposited him near the passenger side door. Only after ordering him to turn around so she could cuff him behind his back of course.

“Stay here until I come back,” she ordered. “And remember that running from a uniformed officer is a criminal offense.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lulled back, almost sing-songy while leaning nonchalantly against the car. “Keep an eye on the kid, he's the type you’d have to worry about.”

Because you kidnapped him? God, she couldn't wait to throw the book at that man.

Kalis pressed the talk button on the radio clipped to her shoulder. “Officer Brooks reporting, I have a man pulled over here named Declan Cansano, roughly 6 and a half feet tall, blond, possibly… Latino? I have him detained for suspected kidnapping of the boy he has with him, a white brown-haired male, very battered and bruised and likely drugged who looks to be about… sixteen-ish? The man claims the boy is a super with villain status, and that he has jurisdiction over him as a ‘handler’ or ‘bounty hunter’ or something. Can you look him up for me?”

There was a moment of silence, then the radio crackled to life. “Report received, I'll look into a ‘Declan Cansano’ for you real quick. Do you have a name for the white male I can look into as well?”

“Not yet, I’m going to check that out now and get back to you shortly.”

“Wait,” A third voice interupted, familiar in just the right way to make Kalis’ heart flutter in her chest. Officer Frida Galleta. Her mentor, her favorite person on the force, one of the people she trusted most in this world. And… well, it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes as well. “Brooks, did I hear you right? You said last name Cansano?”

Just as fast as it had soared, her heart dropped like a stone in a vacuum. She’d never heard that tone from Frida before. “I– I– Uh... yes. Why?”

“Oh god, I… Brooks, don’t engage with him– Look, I’m gonna call you on your personal cell–”

“Wait, Frida, what do you mean ‘don’t engage with him?’ I have him detained, I can’t not engage with him.”

“Officers, please keep small talk to a minimum over the radio,” Dispatch interrupted. “Officer Brooks, I couldn’t find anything on a ‘Declan Cansano’ anywhere, not the super or villain database, the criminal database, the employee database. But uh… to Officer Galleta’s point, if he said he’s a bounty hunter... Well, let’s just say you might wanna follow up with the chief about that before you make any decisions. They might have some sort of arrangement, so to speak.”

Arrangement…? Like a… Like…

Officer Brooks smelled the stinking injustice of a rat.

“Co–... Come again, dispatch?” she breathed into the radio.

“No!” Officer Galleta’s voice interrupted. “Dispatch, I’l’-I’lll handle this, no need to get the higher-ups involved. Please.”

Then her phone rang. Officer Galleta’s beautiful profile photo graced her periphery as she pulled out the phone and promptly sent the call straight to voicemail, eyes straight ahead and staring into the pitch-black night. At the car that a captive was waiting for her in.

“Kalis, please answer your phone,” Galleta pleaded.

Officer Brooks silenced her radio, that wretched squeal, and started toward crime scene in the making.

It was a pig-filled world out there. She wouldn’t stand idly by as they made the entire world their mud pit.

Her phone rang again.

A single deep breath to steel her razor-sharp wit, then slammed open the passenger side door, preparing for the occupant to do anything from attacking like a spit-fire to running for the hills to grasping onto her and holding her close as the first friendly face this boy had seen in years.

Somehow, she didn’t expect the boy inside to startle and struggle, legs scrambling and weakly kicking at her to put distance between them. He leaned precariously back on the console of the car, shaking as if he were in hell when it finally froze over, and only then did she realize his hands were restrained behind his back.

Now that she wasn’t looking at him over the angry presence of a kidnapper, she could see clearly now that her first impression of him was so very wrong; He was so much worse off than she could have imagined. Deep-set dark circles under his eyes, so many bruises lining his skin, specks of dried blood flakes dotting his body, cuts caked with disgusting oozing brown, eyes dilated and bloodshot, angry red welts peaking out from under the power-suppressing collar that only could have been from being yanked around or choked, and dried blood-stains that drip-drip-dripped down the front of his oversized white t-shirt.

Her face went ashen at the ghastly scene. What had that man done?

Her phone rang once more. She muted it. It still buzzed in her pocket.

“Hi,” she started slowly. Her voice cracked slightly. “My name is Officer Brooks, or Kalis. I'm here to help you. What's your name?”

He simply returned her a wide-eyed stare. Then glanced over to her cruiser. At the man leaning on it. Then at her badge. Then down to his lap, not a single word uttered.

The phone buzzed with another call.

“It's alright,” she soothed, like a mother beckoning a lost child home. “He can't hurt you right now. I'm here to help you, but I need you to talk to me or else I can't help you. I need to know your name. It’s Stan, right? Stan? That’s what I heard from him.”

He looked up, staring into her as if she wasn't even there again, eyes so wide, so dilated. No words. He frowned, considering for a moment. Then a vindictive determination spread across his features and he moved his gaze right back to his lap.

“Alright, that's uh… that's alright.” She felt like a kindergarten teacher with the way she was talking. Her phone buzzed with yet another call. “Can I… can I at least see the super brand on your back? Can you do that for me, Stan?”

He jolted back. “No.”

More phone buzzing. Adrenaline surged in her chest. “Stan, please. I can't get you back to your family if I can't find out who you are.”

“... fam–... family?...” His eyes widened, pupils somehow blown even wider, unfocused into the middle distance.

“Yes, Stan.” She very carefully reached for the collar of his shirt, ready to pull back at any time. The boy didn’t react. “I just want to get you back to your family.”

Kalis pulled the shirt down just enough to reveal that awful blue of the villain brand. The blue that signified a test subject.

Shit, the bounty hunter had been telling the truth.

The phone buzzed once more. Kalis snatched it out of her pocket. Turning around swiftly so Stan wouldn’t think what was about to happen next was directed at him.

“What do you want?” She hissed. “I’m trying to talk to a kidnapping victim.”

“Oh thank god, you’re alright,” Frida's tinny voice came through the speaker.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I– Look, Kalis, I know this sounds bad, but I need you to let the bounty hunter go. Now.”

Officer Brooks grit her teeth. This was exactly what she was afraid of. “Why.”

“He’s… look, alright, I’m surprised no one told you before, but the police have a sort of… deal… with certain criminals and organizations. Mr. Cansano is one of them–”

“So you’re a dirty cop, then?” Kalis interrupted, voice strained, chest tight. “And– and you’re trying to bring me down with you, now? Frida, I–... You should see what he’s done to this captive. I can't let him go.”

"I’m not a dirty cop! Not the way you’re thinking at least, I– just trust me, I can't even say over the phone but I'm on my way and I’ll tell you when I get there, I swear. Please don't do anything, for both our sakes.I know him, he's–”

“You know him?!”

“Yes, he’s–”

“How do you know him?!”

“Kalis. Listen to me.” Her voice turned deathly serious. “He's got ties everywhere. Hell, he does jobs for the police sometimes, they won't protect you if you get in trouble. He might try to kill you, and even if he doesn't and you get him arrested, now you have a target on your back from both the mob AND the corrupt police. If you try to arrest him, you're going to die. Please just leave him alone. Please."

She grit her teeth. “So that means he doesn't have any… official paperwork to prove he has authority over the super?”

“I– uh… probably not? They don't work within the law, that's why you need to let him go.”

Well then…

That’s all she needed to hear.

“I’m arresting him.”

“No! No, Khalis, I'm on my way, I'll-I’ll be two minutes, just wait–”

She slammed her phone down and turned back around to Stan, only then realizing that the poor boy probably heard everything she just said–

Nope, he was off in his own little world again.

“Stan?...”

No response.

She waved her hand in front of his face. “Stan!”

He startled back to himself, terrified, scrambling to get away from her just like the first time she'd walked up to him.

She didn't have time for this.

“Stan, honey, I'm going to arrest the man who hurt you alright? He won't hurt you anymore. I have to leave now, but one of my friends will be here very soon. She'll help you out, alright? Everything will be alright. Just please stay here. Hopefully I'll see you soon.”

Officer Brooks closed the door of the truck before she could catch a reaction, hoping that ditching Stan to be found by Officer Galleta was the best choice here.

It had to be, it was the only choice.

She steeled herself, resting her hand on her gun once more, and walked back over through the oppressive black night and into the spotlighting brights of her police car.

To face down the bounty hunter.

“Mr. Cansano, you're–...”

Then all of her built-up courage suddenly burst. What the hell was–...

She gaped.

Then scoffed.

Really?

“Are–… are you… smoking a blunt right now?”

The bounty hunter’s hand withdrew from his mouth, followed by a puff of dark white smoke. His gaze never once broke from the bright dot of red-yellow ash that oh-so-subtly lit his face. “Yup.”

She just stared at him for a moment. Then shook her head out. Whatever.

“Mr. Cansano, you're under arrest for suspected kidnapping of a super and illegal bounty hunting.” He didn’t so much as blink. “You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.” Crickets chirped somewhere in the forest sidelining them. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve spoken them to you?”

He didn’t move in the slightest through her whole spiel. He almost seemed to have paused time around him, actually, a frozen snapshot.

A pause as Kalis stood ready to arrest a few feet away, yet unable to move closer as the air turned sticky with his low chuckle.

A pause because, only then, did Kalis realize that when she last left the man, she'd left him in handcuffs.

The bounty hunter shoved the burning tip of the blunt into the metal siding of her cruiser, instantly extinguishing the bright ember. “You talked to your boss?”

She clutched her gun. “I've been made aware of the situation.”

“Brave one, you are.”

He pushed up out of his lean. She whipped out her gun and aimed it squarely at his chest. “Freeze.”

He stopped, staring at her gun hand, eyes narrowed, hands shooting up to show he wasn’t a threat.

Yeah right.

Police sirens in the distance. Couldn’t be anyone but Frida.

“Put your hands on the car. Slowly.”

He looked her up and down. It was funny, his eyes almost looked red, with the way the headlights shined off his eyes.

“Hands on the car.”

The hunter almost seemed to think about it for a moment. Then he laughed, pulled his bandana up over his face, and took a step forward.

Her vision tunneled, heart pounding in her ears. All she had to do was pull the trigger.

“Shame,” he drawled. Now he had… a string? A metal string, the type used to cut clay. Held taut between his hands. “I’ll try not to make this hurt, youu seem lie one of the good ones.”

Kalis’s gun hand shook. She should shoot him. She’d never shot anyone before. Shoot him. Shoot him. In the chest, in the leg, somewhere, shoot him, shoot him, you’re going to die shoot him shoot him do it fucking SHOOT HIM–

Her finger squeezed the trigger as he lunged forward, a flash of light, everything bright white and hot and blinding as a loud CRACK split through her eardrums, her very skull. Her gun arm knocked to the side, the gun flew from her hands. Her only chance at defending herself disappeared somewhere into the inky black night.

Suddenly she was staring right into his dark brown eyes that seemed to gleam red. His hands slammed just short on either side of her neck, the wire held gingerly between them pressing into the hard muscle of her larynx.

Just the two of them.

The crickets, the trees.

The stars, shining above so sweetly.

Her last witnesses.

She was going to die here.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered, a low grumble that reverberated her entire soul. She couldn’t look away from those blood-red eyes. Would her blood be added to that as well?

A deafening screech of tires.

His brow furrowed, gaze stuttering elsewhere. A new set of headlights spotlighted them like startled deer, two omens of death and justice heading straight for them, night turned into a shining white day.

Brighter, brighter.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter yelled. Low engine revs turned into deafening roars that wholly swallowed any screams that ripped from Kalis’ or Declan’s throats, right before a hand yanked off her feet, just barely heaved over the hood of the car and tumbling jarringonto the ground next to the man who had apparently saved them both as a giant mass of immoveable flashing red and blue and black and white metal screeched past them as it attempted to grind to a stuttering halt before flying into the ditch that sidelined the highway.

Kalis slammed into the ground.

The world spun around her.

Frida.

Ow, FUCK–

What’s–

It was Frida!

She was saved!

Or wait, was Frida trying to kill her now?

Why had the bounty hunter saved her, were they on the same side now?

What was happening?!

The door of the cop car flew open before the car even fully screeched to a halt, and there she stood in all of her gorgeous, life-saving, terrified and anger-filled glory, pointing her gun over the top of her cop car right at the man in the cowboy hat sprawled dazed on the ground next to her.

“DECLAN CANSANO, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

* * * * * * * *

Also linking this rq for anyone who didn't see bc I think I'm hilarious

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @lumpofsand

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees | @whumpwhittler | @thelazywitchphotographer

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

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whumpbump · 1 year ago

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Baby Pt 13 - The Final Car Ride

Cw: noncon drugging, abandonment

BiBi and ZaZa watched through the camera as the melatonin spiked applesauce took its toll and the Baby’s eyes slipped shut.

As a team, BiBi gathered warm layers, a blanket, and a baggie of snacks. ZaZa gathered up their soon-to-be nonproblem. Together, they pulled the fleece jacket on the Baby and tucked them into the car seat. Whumpee’s eyes twitched as the seatbelt clicked shut and to the captors, the world slowed down for a what felt like minutes before they could bring themselves to continue.

They drove multiple counties over, it took so long that Whumpee woke up, startling the two up front when they heard the slurred confusion in the back.

Pulling over onto an unused road, ZaZa jumped out of the car and administered eye drops. This time, they were less careful and Whumpee squealed at the unwelcome sensation of their eye being pulled open.

Crying loudly, Whumpee reached their arms out to ZaZa as they tried to shut the door. Glaring, BiBi shut the car off as they waited for Whumpee to fall into the stupor of the drugs while ZaZa comforted the spiraling adult.

“Nice job. We’ve lost time.”

“Shut up. It was only a few minutes.”

Looking at each other in regret, the partners in crime quietly apologized for their behavior towards each other. “-this has been our toughest upbringing. I mean, we aren’t even finishing the process. I feel like we need a break for a bit to go back to parenting classes.”

“I agree with that idea. We could also look into parenting counseling groups.”

As the captors made up, the captive was tortured inside their shattered mind. Flickers of memories flew by, like a terribly cut home video. Whumpee could see people and hear voices but, who were they? Where were they?

Stirring between the lake of inky blackness and full awareness of their surroundings, they felt jostling as the car pulled up to an empty park.

They felt a hat being pulled down over their ears and a blanket wrapping around them before feeling the transfer of their body. They tried to call for help, reach out even. All they managed was a halfhearted bleat as they weightlessly moved through the brisk air.

BiBi and ZaZa carried their Baby to the park bench where they would say their goodbyes.

“Oh my,” BiBi wiped their eyes. “This is a lot harder than I thought.

ZaZa hugged Whumpee so tightly they felt the air leave their lungs for a second. “Be good, kiddo.”

Being under the influence of the drops, Whumoee had no idea what was happening. All they could perceive was that they were somewhere they didn’t know. This should be fun, right? This looks like a park. But BiBi and ZaZa are crying. That’s bad.

They managed to reach up and pat BiBi’s cheeks and BiBi burst into tears.

The parents stood up and left abruptly, leaving a package of snacks with the newly freed Whumpee.

Looking from the safety of their car, BiBi started their own spiral of worry.

“That was enough food, right?”

“Yes.”

“And they’ll be warm enough, right?”

“Yes.”

“What if no one finds them?”

“They’ll be fine.”

“But-“

“Let’s go.”

BiBi sighed deeply and started the car. ZaZa looked out the window at their abandoned baby and a tear slipped out as Whumpee looked on in confusion as their known “support system” left with no intent to retrieve them.

A/N: two more chapters after this!

@eatyourdamnpears @whump-on-a-log

#whumpee #whumpblr #whump blog #whump ideas #whump #whump inspiration #whump tropes #whumper #multiple whumpers #noncon drugging #abandoned #abandonment

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zeroducks-2 · 2 years ago

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I am so pumped for your Arkham Knight fic lmao. Everything you mentioned about it is right up my alley.

I'm so happy to know that! Here, you can have a snippet! (beware of noncon nsfw under the cut, also Dick has a pussy but it's for plot reasons I promise)

Dick opens his eyes and makes a groggy sound, most likely roused by perceiving Jason’s tenseness. He breathes it out and nuzzles the older man’s forehead, shushing him by pressing him against his chest. And once Dick has been back asleep for a handful of minutes, Jason reaches up from behind him and plucks an injection pen full of tranquilizer from his left gauntlet. He makes sure to hold the other tight as he jabs him in the neck, Dick immediately jerking awake; he makes a startled sound and tries to pull back and away, but Jason just keeps him there, his loins tightening at how the other struggles like a moth between his arms.

«Jay…» He whimpers, his muscles quickly starting to grow lax.

«Shush, it’s alright. It’s already done.» He says, speaking to the crown of his head.

Dick replies with a distressed protest. He twitches and again tries to put distance but Jason easily holds him down, sneaking an arm between them to press knuckles below his chin and make him raise his head. His eyes are circled and glossy, pupils quickly dilating because of the drug.

«You know I had to.» Jason adds. He’s growing hard again and doesn’t really make an effort to avoid rubbing against Dick’s navel. «You’ll try to sabotage me in every way you can, and I really, truly don’t want to cripple you, Dick. I wasn’t lying.» He leans in and kisses his cheek, and Dick twitches once more, his head twisting to a side to escape the touch.

Jason frowns, trapping his chin between the fingers and readjusting his hold; his erection slips between the other’s thighs and he rolls his waist, rubbing it against Dick’s slit.

«S-top...» Dick mumbles despite how wet he is. Jason slips against him easily, aided by the copious amount of fluids, his spent from before and Dick’s own slick.

«You don’t get to say that to me.» He replies in a low voice, his hand moving back to wrap around his neck. He can’t really cut his airflow like that, but he still enjoys how Dick’s eyes grow even more shiny and his breathing breaks. «You’re going to give everything to me, every time I want you to.» He shifts and readjusts, lifting one of Dick’s legs. Jason feels himself growing harder as the other’s body yields to him, flexible enough to bend as he pleases. «You owe it to me.»

#I didn't know if you would have preferred a Jaydick or a Sladick snippet to I just cut a chunk off of what I was writing at the moment #I hope that's okay :)#also it's totally unedited cause I decided to be hardcore today #jaydick #tw: noncon #my fanfiction #my asks

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just-a-silly-little-whumper · 2 years ago

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Ministrations

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

It’s been a while, huh? Sorry bout that. I just got a new job, so updates are gonna be more sporadic from here on out. But anyway, here’s something new. This follows directly from Mind Control | Paralytic Drugs.

Contains: Explicit noncon, intimate whump, mentioned vampire whumper/bloodbag whumpee, gilded cage, drugging

Flames flickered in the sconces. They did little to warm the room, but the lighting, at least, was almost comforting. Goosebumps had spread across Elze’ith’s bare flesh, but he did not shiver, immobile as he was on his bed.

Somewhere beyond his vision, his door opened and closed. Moments later the bed shifted as Lord Denholm sat down. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, my light. I’ve brought everything.”

Elze’ith tried to see what Lord Denholm meant, but Lord Denholm had seemingly already put the items on the bedside table, out of Elze’ith’s range of vision. Even tilting his head to the side to look was beyond him at the moment. Anticipation made his heart pick up in his chest.

“Don’t worry, my light,” Lord Denholm said, cupping Elze’ith’s cheek. The smile he saw as Lord Denholm tilted his face up was comforting and sinister all at once. “I’m going to take care of you until the potion is out of your system.”

He didn’t want to be taken care of. Especially not like this; given the way Lord Denholm had pulled back to begin disrobing and his own state of undress, he could see what Lord Denholm had in mind. And that wasn’t something Elze’ith ever wanted to experience again. He just wanted to be left alone.

Maybe he could do something. Clearly moving was possible, given he had been able to do so under Lord Denholm’s command. If he mustered all his strength, perhaps he could ask Lord Denholm to stop, or push him away.

Even if he could, it likely wouldn’t do much good. But he had to try.

All of his limbs were dead weight, still alive with sensation and yet feeling almost foreign and disconnected when he tried to command them. He focused all of his effort on his mouth, trying to force the slack muscles to cooperate. His lips twitched— he was making progress, if he could just—

Lord Denholm, newly bare, settled fully onto the bed and leaned in. Elze’ith’s mouth was stolen by Lord Denholm’s. The taste of blood crashed over his tongue, and Elze’ith couldn’t hold back a whine. That was his blood, from Lord Denholm’s feeding earlier, still lingering. The will to fight drained out of him, replaced with apprehension and horror. He wanted to gag, but all the potion allowed him was a slight stutter of breath when Lord Denholm pulled away.

“I don’t think I will ever tire of doing that,” Lord Denholm said breathily. His pupils were blown wide, and he radiated delight and anticipation. Elze’ith wished the bed would swallow him. There was nothing he could do. Lord Denholm was going to have his way with him, and all he could do was lie back and take it.

The bed creaked as Lord Denholm shifted, his hands stroking down Elze’ith’s chest. One lingered on Elze’ith’s nipple, hard from the cold, and pinched. A jolt ran through Elze’ith’s body. The other drifted lower, between Elze’ith’s legs. “I’ve been doing some reading on anatomy, you see. And it seems that it is possible, through stimulation, for the penis to become erect even when the body is otherwise incapacitated. I would love to see for myself whether that is true.”

Cold fingers ran down the length of Elze’ith’s penis. At first, the touch was feather-light and barely perceptible. Then it grew firmer, more insistent. Maybe it should have felt good, but it didn’t. It was just sensation, raw and vile, that gradually brought him to rigidity.

Despite every desire he had to pull away, his limbs remained limp and motionless. Bitterness swept through Elze’ith at the unfairness of the situation. Why couldn’t his ability to perceive have been taken away with his ability to move? Why was this happening to him?

“Very good,” Lord Denholm said, voice low and satisfied. He leaned down, out of Elze’ith’s line of sight. A moment later Lord Denholm’s mouth, cold and wet, teased along his length. The movement of Lord Denholm’s tongue was slow, languid, almost delicate as it brushed across Elze’ith’s sensitive skin.

Heat began to pool in Elze’ith’s core. He recognized it, distantly, from the last time Lord Denholm had taken him to bed. Of course, back then he had the Courtesan’s Blossom to blame for the onset of his body’s sexual yearning. Why was he feeling it now? No part of him wanted this.

The pit of desire continued to grow under Lord Denholm’s attention. His breathing became labored, and he knew that if he had any control over his muscles, he would be shifting and squirming in response to the sensations. After a while, though, Lord Denholm pulled away, and a whine escaped unbidden from between Elze’ith’s lips. Lord Denholm chucked as Elze’ith felt himself flush with shame.

“Patience, light. I need a few moments to get myself ready.”

Lord Denholm shifted into the periphery of Elze’ith’s vision, reaching for whatever was on the bedside table. Elze’ith let his eyes slip closed. He just wanted this to be over. He just wanted his body back. Being unable to move of his own volition was miserable enough, but having his body crave these sensations that he abhorred was its own unique kind of torture. Especially now, where his current helpless state seemed to somehow heighten his perceptions.

But he had a moment of reprieve, and so he took a moment to breathe and try to center himself. He was aware of the sounds of Lord Denholm opening a bottle and shifting around him, but he paid the other man little mind. Just for a moment, he would bask in the peace he was given.

And then another touch to his penis jolted him back to reality. His eyes flew open just in time to see Lord Denholm sinking down onto him. A shuddering gasp wrenched itself from his lungs as Lord Denholm enveloped him. The sensation was overwhelming— intense and satisfying and wrong, so deeply wrong. He wanted so badly to flee, to be anywhere else, but his muscles were still lax in the grip of the potion, so all he could manage was a faint twitch.

Above him, Lord Denholm smiled beatifically. Elze’ith wanted to throw up. “There we go. Isn’t that just lovely?” He ran a finger down Elze’ith’s cheek tenderly, as though Elze’ith were something precious, as though they were lovers.

Then he began to move, rocking his hips rhythmically. The feeling of Lord Denholm around him was all-encompassing and went straight to the loathsome heat in Elze’ith’s core. It didn’t feel good, but he needed it, if only to make the feeling stop. Little whines and half-groans kept forcing their way out of his mouth, and he stopped knowing if they were from horror or forced-pleasure or both or something else entirely.

Having to look at Lord Denholm, eyes half-lidded with pleasure and satisfaction, made the experience infinitely worse.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he tumbled over the precipice. His breathing stuttered and warm liquid rushed out of him into Lord Denholm. Lord Denholm kept moving for several more moments, and the sensation was almost too much for him. Then he finally stopped, and leaned down to kiss Elze’ith. All Elze’ith could think was that he was glad Lord Denhold didn’t bite him this time. He felt wrung out, exhausted, as though thinking was like trying to move through molasses.

When Lord Denholm pulled away, he was radiating satisfaction. “See? I told you I would take care of you, my light.”

A thin sigh left Elze’ith’s lungs. Even if he had been physically able to speak, he didn’t think he would have the words for a coherent rebuttal. He was just tired.

Elze’ith had hoped that now he would be left alone. Instead, Lord Denholm’s strong, steady hands came down to grip his body and maneuver him onto his back. Dread and resignation ripped through him as a finger, slick and oily, pressed between his legs and began to work him open.

“Now it’s my turn.”

Lord Denholm pressed into him. Elze’ith, limp and pliant on the bed, closed his eyes and prayed for it to be over.

#flicker in the dark #silly writes #whump #whump writing #elze'ith sylrel oc #lord soren denholm oc #intimate whump #Drugging #captivity #nsfwhump

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hvrvcy · 2 years ago

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name: harvey campbell age: thirty-four pronouns: he/him birthday: december 9th zodiac: sagittarius sun, aries rising, scorpio moon sexuality: pansexual hometown: camden town, london status at haus: client time at haus: just arrived

+ traits: creative, passionate, strong-willed, decisive, humourous, energetic - traits: disorganised, easily influenced, stubborn, reckless, irresponsible likes: vinyl records, fleetwood mac, nights out, cheap wine, menthol cigarettes, scented candles, unbuttoned shirts, vintage horror films, thunderstorms, the smell of petrol. dislikes: being told no, country music, cats, flared jeans, the colour yellow, early mornings, strict deadlines, public affection, white noise, the concept of love.

kinks: body worship, smoking, light bdsm anti-kinks: bathroom play, noncon, humiliation, age play position: versatile

sex, drugs, rock and roll. that's the lifestyle that harvey campbell is used to. a singer-songwriter from camden town in london, he's a world-touring artist that's clocked appearances at glastonbury and coachella to name but a few. in the press he's perceived as a reckless mess and that's not far from the truth. what he lacks in brains and sensibility, he at least makes up for with his sultry voice and handsome looks.

harvey has just arrived at the haus as a client, at the request of his label who accepted the invitation on his behalf. they're hoping he'll be able to calm down enough to find inspiration for his long-awaited second album that so far, he's completely fucked.

#about.

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inerssol · 2 years ago

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𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 (genitive inertis, comparative inertior, superlative inertissimus); third-declension one-termination adjective 1. inert, worthless, stagnant 2. quiet, inactive, timid

𝐬𝐨𝐥 masculine (genitive sōlis); third-declension 1. the sun

𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐋 - independent roleplay blog for KAEYA ALBERICH of GENPACT. highly selective and NSFW. heavily headcanon based. mun & muse 21+.

this blog is highly selective and mutuals only. i am, however, oc, au, multiverse, and multimuse friendly. i also encourage and love duplicates, as i believe with kaeya especially there are many different interpretations available to his character.

basic rp etiquette applies. don't hound me for replies, don't god mod, don't be a dramamonger. i'm here for a good time. dni if you condone the standard list of all unsavory items (including but not limited to pedophilia, noncon, etc).

i stick to novella in replies for the most part. i have a tendency to let my words get away from me and know it can become a lot at times. i don't expect word-count for word-count matches, and quality over quantity is always appreciated. i also do format my posts, and use icons on occasion. by no means do i expect the same of my partners.

activity is extremely sporadic. this isn't my main blog (for now tbh), and i run too many others to be considered wise. unless i specifically post a hiatus notice, however, i promise i will return! feel free to poke me if you're craving a specific reply.

this blog will contain NSFW content, and likely rather regularly. kaeya is, at best, a morally grey character, and i don't shy away from dark themes. all NSFW content (smut, violence, drugs, etc), will be tagged or placed under a read more.

to that end - PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF YOU ARE A MINOR. do not perceive this blog. if you follow me and your rules do not list your age at the very least as being 18+, i will soft block you.

i love shipping. it's a fascinating character study and provides exceptional character development. this isn't exclusive to romantic ships, either. of course, i ship chemistry and plotting first and foremost, and by no means will i ever ship with minor muns/muses - nor will i force ships upon my partner. at present, my ship biases for kaeya are as follows: kaebedo, dainkae, kaether/kaelumi, chaeya, rosaeya. by no means is this list exhaustive.

any and all graphic resources will be credited here.

lastly - goose here! 29 yrs young / she/her or they/them / CST -- i play on both asia/NA so feel free to hit me up if you ever want to watch me find new and unique ways to kill my characters.

#PINNED POST.

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zawazawanightmares · 6 months ago

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Mirko & Cassie

You, Mirko (My Hero Academia), are connected to Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter) Your partner has a starter. Type /starter or tap here to see it.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): https://rule34.xxx/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=10288205

Your starter has been read

Mirko (My Hero Academia): /starter

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): https://imgchest.com/p/xny8z8opdyb Kinks: Aphrodisiacs, groping, outercourse, sweat, musk, very rough sex, thick cum, drugs, groping, large cocks, perverts, casual free use, dubious consent/coercion/seduction, anal, sloppy oral, breeding, impreg, tentacles, filming, age gaps, adultery, magic, mind control, and rimming! Limits: gore, vore, hyper, noncon, toilet stuff

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): (Hiya~! How are you?)

Mirko (My Hero Academia): (Hey. I'm fine, how are you?)

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): (I'm doing well, thank you! Love the ref~!)

Mirko (My Hero Academia): (Thanks. Yours is good too. Are you familiar with My Hero Academia?)

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): (I am!)

Mirko (My Hero Academia): (Do you want Cassie to be a hero, a villain or a civilian?)

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): (That depends, what kinda stuff are you into~?)

Mirko (My Hero Academia): (Kinks: Femdom, frenching, rimming and facesitting. Limits: bathroom stuff, vore, gore and urethral play.)

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): (I'm thinking a hero might suit better, just at a glance!)

Mirko (My Hero Academia): (Alright. Do you want them to be partners (Reluctantly; Mirko prefers to work alone) or they just meet at a villain attack?)

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): (Probably they just met! Unless we want Cassie to be a student who's ghosting Mirko as part of a placement!)

Mirko (My Hero Academia): (That could work! Mirko is 27 so it'll make sense for Cassie to be shadowing her at her age.)

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): (I'm also happy to play a little younger to make the idea work out better too!)

Mirko (My Hero Academia): (It's fine. Do you want me to start?)

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): (If you'd be so kind!)

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Hey, newbie! Look alive!" Standing on the edge of a rooftop, Mirko kept her hands gripped on her hips as she had her back to Cassie, turning her head to the side to glance back at her. Her tight hero uniform was riding up nicely, accentuating her cheeks while emphasizing her muscles. "We're not going to be knocking heads today...I didn't need some rookie getting in my way anyway." Mirko grouched. "We're just taking down some chick connected to a group of villains. A fortune teller named Crystal...you got it?"

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie took a moment to admire Mirko's form, before quickly shaking off the perverted thoughts that started to creep in. "Yes ma'am! I'll try not to get in your way, don't worry!" She assured Mirko, with a smile. Her own outfit was a little bit less revealing that Mirko's, but still a rather tight fitting, black bodysuit, that covered most of her body. "Do we know what the fortune teller's Quirk is?" She asked, moving to stand in the building edge, next to her boss for the month.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "It's ridiculous...it barely works even as a support Quirk, let alone for recon." Mirko rolled her eyes. "Astral Sight: gives her the ability to perceive and see into something called the astral plane, letting her sense spectral energies and ghosts and stuff. So...she can just see ghosts. I don't know why she's in high demand as a consultant."

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie hummed thoughtfully, giving a small nod. "I see. Do you think it will be easy to take her in? Or will there be a fight?" She asked, as she took a seat on the edge of the building, looking up at Mirko again for a moment. "I wonder if it's because she's found a ghost who knows too much..?"

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "She's just some wannabe psychic who managed to fall ass-backwards into getting a rep. You won't even need to stretch for this one." Mirko crouched down, looking at a hut on the other side of the street. "Get ready because we're going to crash in right now..."

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie quickly hopped up to her feet again, moving into a position to get ready to move, squatting low. "Yes ma'am! I'll follow you!" She says, her eyes following your gaze, until she's looking at the hut as well.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Let's hop to it, newbie!" Mirko bounced off of the building, landing on a streetlamp before bouncing again through the door of the hut, startling a young dark-skinned woman inside dressed in gaudy fabrics with fake jewels bedazzled on them, seated behind a circular table with a crystal ball placed on top of it. "Ah, hell..." She swore as Mirko stood up with a glare.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie followed behind as Mirko leapt from the building, making sure to stay behind Mirko enough to not distract her! She stood back by the door, blocking it so no-one could leave without getting through her first, letting Mirko do the real work!

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Alright Crystal, time to pack your act in." Mirko pointed behind her with her thumb. "There's a warrant out for your arrest." "Ugh...I barely do anything and you guys come in here bugging me?" Crystal groaned. "I'm just an immigrant using your country's perception of my people to make a living. You don't have to knock the door of every single villain, do you?" "Wah wah, just come on so I can head home and check on my cat." Mirko ordered. "Sure your sidekick doesn't want to stay just for a bit?" Crystal took off her fake turban, revealing her beautiful tumble of curly dark hair. "Even when she's all pent up like that?"

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie blushed at the comment, glancing down for a moment, only to realise that she was visibly hard! Perhaps it was from following such a gorgeous heroine like Mirko, but she gritted her teeth. "Stop trying to change the subject! We're here to stop you!" Cassie argued, shifting sightly to try and cover herself up a little bit better, clearly embarrassed despite what she'd rather everyone think.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Don't bully the rookie. That's my job." Mirko glowered at Crystal. "Stop stalling. Either get going or I'll drag you out." "You know I don't just sense spooky stuff, right? I can also see auras." Crystal explained, standing up. "Like how yours is all purple and stuff...means you want to jump the bones of someone nearby?" "Huh? You're lying!" Mirko blushed brightly as she screamed. "Don't make me pound your face in!"

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie looked at Crystal, then at Mirko, her blush only deepening as she told Mirko that... "Stop stalling! Whatever you're saying, it's got nothing to do with why we're here!" Cassie said, her eyes going to Mirko's body once more, which only helped make her even more excited, before moving back to the fortune teller's. "Just give up, so you don't have to get hurt!"

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Here's my proposal: you guys either take me in, waste everyone's time or..." Crystal made an "O" shape with her hand, sticking out her tongue to simulate an obscene sex act while looking right at Cassie. "We both double-team your sidekick there and I get to close down shop forever, making sure no villain sees my services again." Mirko frowned back at Cassie, as if daring her to say anything...the blush still on her face.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie bit her lip, looking to Crystal, then back to Mirko. "That's not a deal we can accept, right?" She asked, feeling her cock throb under her bodysuit at the thought, her eyes going to Crystal's body, gaze lingering for perhaps a little longer than it should have. "But if she's planning on stopping doing what she's doing, is that good enough..?" Cassie asked softly, as if she was hoping that Mirko might consider the idea.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): Mirko growled, clearly annoyed by Cassie's answer...before sighing. "Close the door behind you....and take out your cock." She ordered, pulling at the top of her suit to expose her cleavage.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie did as she was told, closing the door behind her. She kicked the handle, breaking it so that the door was essentially locked, before she started to peel her bodysuit off, until her cock popped free! "Yes ma'am!" She said without hesitation, her length already throbbing with anticipation.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "So big!" Crystal perked up. "And it reeks..." Mirko licked her lips, moving over to kneel down in front of Cassie with the entranced Crystal. "Apparently, the rookie didn't think it was important to tell me how hot it was outside..." "I glad she didn't!" Crystal cheered, sticking out her tongue to swirl it around Cassie's tip with Mirko's.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie let out a soft gasp as her boss, and the small-time villain they were here to capture started working together, their tongues teasing Cassie's thick, throbbing tip. She reached down, one hand planted on each woman's head, pulling them slightly slower.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): They ran their tongues up and down her shaft, Mirko still frowning as she and Crystal looked up, clearly expectant for Cassie's building cream. Mirko took the tip in her mouth to suck on as Crystal moved to suckle on Cassie's balls, moaning slightly as the rabbit heroine took in more of the shaft.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie gripped Crystal's hair tightly, holding her down against her sweaty balls at she licked and sucked them clean, as her other hand started to guide Mirko further down her cock, pushing her head down inch after inch with each small bob of her head.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): It wasn't long before Mirko was deepthroating her, rubbing her own pussy through her costume. Crystal herself began to lap up and down Cassie's sack, savoring the sweat off of them directly.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie bit her lip, stifling a moan as Mirko started to throat her cock, her hips pushing forward against Mirko, as she hooked one leg over Crystal's shoulder, holding her face right where it was! "Haah~ Mirko~" She moaned out softly, her grip tightening slightly.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "I think your sidekick has a crush, Miss Mirko...and why wouldn't she, when you have an ass like that?" Crystal teased, causing Mirko to push back. "Shut up! I don't need to hear gross stuff from you!" Mirko barked, turning around to lift up her outfit, wedgieing herself while pushing her ass back to hot dog Cassie's cock. "Is this what you like, you damn perv? You've been looking at me all day to breed me?" "Ha! I bet she wanted to bend you over the desk the first time she saw you!" Crystal used her trapped position to give a long whiff of Cassie's sack, feeling herself get wet.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie watched with anticipation as Mirko turned around, her hand moving to grab her firm ass, her cock throbbing between those cheeks. As she pushed back, Cassie's other hand left Crystal's head, leaving the woman to her own initiative, as she slipped one hand between Mirko's legs, rubbing her entrance with two fingers.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Fucking hell...you giant perv..." Mirko bit her lip as she felt her gifted rear grope, Cassie's fingers rubbing her in the right damp spot. "No way she was going to go the whole day without trying to fuck this peach!" Crystal began to lick at one of Mirko's buns before chomping down on it. "So damn juicy!" "Hey! Watch the teeth!" Mirko ordered. "You're still a villain..."

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie couldn't help herself, rubbing Mirko through her uniform, and watching with a smirk as Crystal dragged her tongue along Mirko's butt, before biting down! She grabbed Crystal's hair, tugging her away from the bite mark roughly, in an attempt to try and help Mirko deal with the villain!

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Gonna teach you how we deal with slutty miscreants..." Mirko grabbed Crystal's chin before slamming her lips to hers, sliding her tongue in the reciprocating villain's mouth while taking Cassie's cock in between her thighs to stroke her off.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie tugged Mirko's outfit to the side, baring her drooling pussy as she fucked Mirko's thighs, the hero's excitement drooling over her cock~! She moaned out cutely as she thrust into Mirko, watching her make out with the 'defeated' villain!

Mirko (My Hero Academia): Mirko sucked on Crystal's tongue before forcibly turning her around, putting her on all fours and lifting her robes to bare her ass! "Hey Cassie...why don't you put that meat of yours in the tightest hole while I get a meal?" Mirko dared as she spread Crystal's cheeks, smiling evilly as she ran her tongue up and down a moaning Crystal's puckered rim.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie bit her lip, grabbing Crystal's ass with both hands. She wasn't nearly as fit as Mirko, but Cassie didn't mind a bit of squish! She dug her fingers into that ass, as she lined up with the bare hole, pushing her tip in to Crystal's ass slowly~

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Oh fuck..." Crystal moaned out as Mirko grinned at her tender asshole being stretched. Mirko reached back to grope Cassie's ass, encouraging her to give it her all. "Show her what a real hero is made of!" Mirko challenged.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie grinned, giving Mirko an affirmative nod, as she thrust her hips forward roughly, hilting inside Crystal's ass. "How often do you bend over and take it up the ass like this~? You're so tight~!" Cassie hummed, giving Crystal's ass a firm swat, watching it jiggle.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Are all heroes mean like this?" Crystal whined...only for Mirko to slap her other cheek, making her squeak. "Answer the question!" Mirko commanded. "I...not for the last few months, no..." Crystal timidly confirmed. "I've been busy..."

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie followed Mirko's advice, showing Crystal what a 'real hero' was made of as she slammed into that fat ass, again and again, one hand reaching out to grab a handful of her hair, tugging it back harshly with each thrust.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): Crystal began to cry out, finally cumming from the rough fucking as Mirko looked on in utter awe. She dripped onto the floor as she took Cassie's cock to the hilt.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie wasn't far behind, groaning as her own climax hit moments later~ She pulled out, thick ropes of cum shooting out onto Crystal's ass, and back, staining her robes~ One rope even went far enough to land on Mirko's chin, some hanging down to drool onto her chest.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): Crystal collapsed forward with her ass jutting up, spurting out cum as she panted on the ground. Mirko scooped up some of the spunk with two fingers, lied back and tore the bottom of her outfit. "Hey Cass...get over here and fucking give me some kits." She ordered, licking her lips.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie practically pounced Mirko, pushing her boss down onto her back as she lined up with Mirko's entrance, one hand kneading the older woman's tits, as she supported herself with the other. Without even a moment's hesitation, she slammed into Mirko, moaning out loudly from the sensation~

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "FUCK!" Mirko grinned as she took Cassie to the base, her nipples hardening from her tits being womanhandled. She wrapped her legs around Cassie, "trapping" her in her pussy as she was pounded.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Not that Cassie was going to pull out anyway, but the feeling of Mirko's strong legs wrapped around her didn't hurt~ She bucked into Mirko over and over, fingers sinking into her tit through her outfit. "Fuck~ Mirko, you feel so good~" She moaned out, leaning down to kiss her boss.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): Mirko reached out, dragging Cassie in by the back of her head to harshly french her. She smashed her tongue against hers, bit her lip and swallowed all the saliva she gave her as her pussy got wetter and wetter.

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie's tongue pressed back against Mirko's eagerly, her hips clapping against Mirko's again and again with each intense thrust, her moans muffled by Mirko's lips~

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "You're gonna fill me up, newbie?" Mirko dared, a spit trail connecting her mouth to Cassie's. "Because I'm already cumming!"

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie gave a single nod, before crashing her lips back against Mirko's, her own climax mere moments away, pushed over the edge as she feels Mirko's pussy clamp down on her. She hilts inside, moaning into Mirko's mouth again at she pumps Mirko's womb full of her thick, creamy cum. She pulls back from the kiss, licking her lips slowly as she rolls her hips against Mirko.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): "Fuck yeah..." Mirko groaned as she felt herself shudder from being filled. "Screw this solo stuff...I might have to keep you!"

Cassie (22 BBC Futa 6'3", Fit, kinks in starter): Cassie felt her cheeks flush, biting her lower lip as she looked down at Mirko. "Really~?" She asked, her eyes locked onto the older woman's, cock still buried inside her.

Mirko (My Hero Academia): Mirko rolled her eyes before kissing Cassie on her forehead. "I mean it...idiot."

Mirko (My Hero Academia): (Thanks!)

You left the chat

#mirko #boku no hero academia #srp

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juugas · 2 years ago

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general gorou of hoyoverse's genpact. independent &&. highly selective. mutuals only &&. multiverse / multiship. oc friendly. nsfw present - including mentions of ptsd and depression. minors do not interact. penned by goose ( 25 + - she/her). #𝐉𝐔𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐒

I. this blog is highly selective and mutuals only. i am, however, oc, au, multiverse, and multimuse friendly. i also encourage and love duplicates!

II. basic rp etiquette applies. don't hound me for replies, don't god mod, don't be a dramamonger. i'm here for a good time. dni if you condone the standard list of all unsavory items (including but not limited to pedophilia, noncon, etc).

III. i stick to novella in replies for the most part. i have a tendency to let my words get away from me and know it can become a lot at times. i don't expect word-count for word-count matches, and quality over quantity is always appreciated. i also do format my posts, and use icons on occasion. by no means do i expect the same of my partners.

IV. activity is extremely sporadic. this isn't my main blog (for now tbh), and i run too many others to be considered wise. unless i specifically post a hiatus notice, however, i promise i will return! feel free to poke me if you're craving a specific reply.

V. this blog will contain NSFW content, as i like to lean into gorou's more yokai-oriented characteristics. all NSFW content (smut, violence, drugs, etc), will be tagged or placed under a read more. this blog will contain mentions of mental health struggles and be tagged accordingly.

VI. to that end - PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF YOU ARE A MINOR. do not perceive this blog. if you follow me and your rules do not list your age at the very least as being 18+, i will soft block you.

VII. i love shipping. it's a fascinating character study and provides exceptional character development. this isn't exclusive to romantic ships, either. of course, i ship chemistry and plotting first and foremost, and by no means will i ever ship with minor muns/muses - nor will i force ships upon my partner.

lastly - goose here! 29 yrs young / she/her or they/them / CST -- i play on both asia/NA so feel free to hit me up if you ever want to watch me find new and unique ways to kill my characters.

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 2 years ago

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Out of Control

Hero bolted through the woods, leaving a glistening trail of ice behind them as they ran.

"Hero, stop!" Superhero called, "we're trying to help you!"

Hero didn't stop. They couldn't. Their powers were out of control, they had to get out of the city before they hurt someone. Hero stopped when they bumped into a chest. Hero felt a pair of hands wrap around their shoulders. They looked up into Villain's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Villain asked, worry etched into their features, "you're as cold as ice."

"My powers," Hero panted, their breath coming out in a white cloud, "they're out of control. Superhero and the league are after me, they-"

"It's okay," Villain said, "I'm gonna help you... They're over here!"

Hero's eyes widened. They tried to free themselves from Villain's grip, but Villain wrapped them in a tight embrace.

"Let me go!" Hero cried, icy tears streaming down their face, "you don't know what they'll do to me, they'll-"

"Shh, it's alright," Villain soothed, "you're not thinking straight. Superhero wants to help you."

A series of footsteps thundered over the forest floor. The league was getting closer. Hero heard a whirr through the air and a sharp pinch in their shoulder. Hero squirmed in Villain's hold, but they were already becoming drowsy.

"It's okay," Villain ran a hand up and down the back of Hero's head, "it's okay."

One final tear rolled down Hero's cheek as their eyes fluttered closed. Their knees buckled, now Villain was the only thing holding them up. They felt Villain plant a small kiss on their forehead, then they drifted off completely.

...

Villain held Hero close as Superhero and the rest of the league screeched to a halt.

"Villain," Superhero said, "how did you-"

"Don't try to arrest me, you know I'll escape," Villain said; they looked down at Hero, "...just help them."

Superhero nodded.

"Of course."

Two league members brought over a stretcher. Villain gently laid Hero down on it. They carried Hero back through the woods. Villain went to follow but Superhero put a hand on their chest.

"I know how you feel about them," Superhero said, "but let us take it from here."

"I'm not leaving them," Villain argued, "they're in pain, they need me."

"We'll contact you as soon as they're stable, I promise," Superhero said, "but for now, let us take care of our teammate."

Villain looked down and nodded.

"Thank you." Superhero said, then they turned and followed the rest of the league out of the woods, leaving Villain alone under the trees.

Part 2

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razzle-zazzle · 4 years ago

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Whumptober Day 22: Do these tacos taste funny to you?

Drugged (but magical) + a vague kind of Poison sort of?

668 Words; That Other Cult Thing

TW for heavily implied non-con body mods and drugging

Cole felt like he was floating.

He wasn’t sure when he’d woken up, or if he’d woken up—all he had was the vaguest sense of awareness, as though the world around him was somewhere far off.

Everything was fuzzy. Cole was distantly aware that this wasn’t the Bounty or the monastery, but it seemed so… distant. Unimportant.

The fog in Cole’s mind was slowly thinning, and Cole became vaguely aware that he was lying down on something, what felt like leather straps holding him down. And maybe vengestone? Cole couldn’t quite feel his powers, but maybe that was the drugs making him dizzy.

Someone was talking, but Cole couldn’t make out the words through the haze in his head.

Cole was sure it wasn’t important.

Maybe if his limbs weren’t so heavy, he could test the strength of whatever was holding him down.

“...closer to salvation.” Something brushed against Cole’s forehead. That was probably important.

Cole focused his eyes on the person standing over him. Wow, they were wearing a lot of white. Was it Zane?

Something was off about that, though.

“I never thought I’d see the day.” Maybe-Zane said, “The Vessel ready and waiting to realize their divinity.”

What?

Someone else said something Cole didn’t quite catch. Probably-Not-Zane nodded, then stepped back.

Someone else entered Cole’s field of view, holding up something Cole couldn’t quite make out.

Cole had the vague feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Something else was said. Cole pushed against the restraints to no avail.

Something pricked Cole’s arm.

Cole felt like there was supposed to be more than that.

Or maybe this wasn’t a bad thing? Maybe that really was Zane, and whatever had happened prior to this was why everything was so hazy?

But then why would Cole be strapped to an operating ta—

Cole gasped. It felt like his whole body was on fire. Burning, burning burning burning burning—

It was like the heat of his earth punch turned up way too much pooling in his hands and arms, and it burned like it was trying to get out but couldn’t. Cole’s chest tightened, his throat constricting, tears at the corners of his eyes.

The haze in his head disappeared as though burned away.

Everything suddenly hit him with such a clarity that Cole was momentarily overwhelmed. It was so bright in this room, what with all the white and gold. How had he not noticed that before? And that man in the corner was absolutely not Zane.

Cole was gasping, eyes darting around wildly trying to take in all of the things he hadn’t noticed before.

Oh god, it hurt. His chest was burning now, his breaths coming out in shuddered gasps.

Cole wanted it to stop.

And then it did.

Slowly, in bits and pieces, it faded away, leaving Cole feeling cold. Empty. Exhausted.

Not-Zane stepped over once Cole had calmed down, seeming very excited.

Cole was pretty sure he didn’t like this guy very much. He sputtered, trying to tell the guy to fuck off, or to let him free, or ask him what was going on—something. But before Cole could get a word in, the guy spoke.

“I know, I know, it’s not an easy process.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You must be very exhausted.”

Cole glared. “Yeah, no s—”

“Hush now.” The man said, tracing a glyph into the air. “You need your rest.” He touched Cole’s forehead gently.

Cole snarled, a rebuke on his tongue—

What was he going to say again? He’d just had it, where had it gone?

Actually, why was Cole even trying to talk? He was so exhausted; better to save his strength. And it’s not like what Cole was going to say mattered.

Really, Cole should just let go. Let his eyes slip closed and get some shuteye.

Everything was so hazy. Cole was so tired.

Someone was talking. Cole couldn’t discern the words.

They probably weren’t important anyway.

Slowly, Cole fell back into unconsciousness.

#whumptober2020 #no.22 #drugged #ninjago #lego ninjago #cole ninjago #zaz writes #tw noncon body modification #that other cult thing #basically this cult deifies cole #but then because they perceive him as a god with blue-and-orange morality #they treat him as such #except cole is human #so he's going to be very traumatized by the end of this #there's not enough cole whump in this sad sad world #i really am using this month to create content for aus & stuff i've not made content for before aren't i?#wonder what i'll do for tomorrow huh

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blzzrdstryr · 3 years ago

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hii if you write for yan dottore can i req male reader who was his old classmated getting fucked silly by him? thank you

Cw: drugging, noncon, sex toys, abduction

I usually don’t write for characters that weren’t featured in the game yet, but I also like Dottore, so I’ll just share my thoughts on this. Sorry for not writing solid hcs, because there’s not enough material at the moment.

Chased out from his hometown and shunned in Sumeru academia for his perverse ideas, Dottore never thought he would find any companionship, until he met you. You were nice to him - maybe you were unaware of his general reputation and ideas he proposed and you tried to befriend him, maybe you were just too polite to be rude to him. No matter the reason Dottore will remember this and later obsess over this kindness, perceiving it as flirting with him. He will be torn between acting creepy and the overwhelming shyness he feels in your present, so the remaining time he spends in the Sumeru Academia between trying to make the first step and pining from afar, all while obsessing and imagining all things he would do to you, once you reciprocate his feelings.

Now, this picture will crash once he’s thrown out of the Academia, pushing him to contact Fatui and become their Harbinger. He wants to have revenge on those who wronged him, but he also yearns for your adoration, so that’s what pushes him into spending countless nights tinkering over new weapons and gadgets for Tsaritsa. He will also use some of his Harbinger influence to have agents looking after you.

He will most likely snatch you once you’re out in the world, collecting materials for your thesis. He will approach you, re-introducing himself as your old classmate, offer his help and invite you to dinner. The food, of course, will be spiked and you will find yourself waking up strapped to the surgery table, absolutely naked, with Dottore looming over you.

Not Safe For Work BELOW

I think he will use some substances to get you in the mood, and maybe even toys of his own invention. He likes to see the way your face changes once he slowly inserts his toy inside you, inch by inch, or the way that you squirm, all hot and uncomfortable once he finishes administering the new dose of aphrodisiac. Dottore will actually get off more of seeing you getting fucked by some kind of machine, than actually participating in the process. He will stay nearby, one hand in pants, as you get railed by his experiment, and once you’re all fucked out of your kind he will probably use your mouth, cumming all over your face once he’s done.

I think he will also take several pictures of you.

#Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere Dottore #Male yandere #Yandere #Yandere x reader #Genshin impact #Dottore

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brutal-nemesis · 2 years ago

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Temperature Day 2022: One Fresh Hot Immortal, Coming Up!

Welcome back to Castys having a terrible time on SV-240 💕 I am going to shove him into a deep fryer (❁´◡`❁) once again thank you to @galaxywhump for letting me use her lovely characters and world!!

Castys Masterlist - SV-240 Masterlist

Ingredients: serious burns and minor gore associated with them, noncon stripping/nudity (unsexy), implied perceived threats of noncon, mention of implied noncon for a different whumpee, noncon bathing (Castys’s favorite!!), drugging/temporary paralysis, noncon touching (unsexy), dehumanization, creepy whumper

Being blindfolded? Fine. Being led outside? Fine. Being shoved and kicked until he was lying flat on his back? Fine.

Being doused with hot oil? Decidedly not fine.

Being not fine, Castys screamed, because, fuck it, Daniel wanted to hear him scream, so he was going to scream and hope he would be rewarded with a quick death, because the burns fucking hurt, enough that he probably would have been screaming regardless, sharp, throbbing pain gripping his entire body, even though he was pretty sure the actual burns were limited to his torso and right thigh, but he couldn’t really tell, everything just felt so hot, and all he could do was scream like a little bitch and squirm around uselessly on the ground, at least until a boot landed firmly on his hip, keeping him still and drawing out an incredibly pathetic wail. He clenched his teeth, trying to calm himself down, but more screams leaked out as Daniel peeled his oil-soaked shirt away from his burned skin, the smell so strong he could hardly breathe.

“Oh, these look just lovely,” Daniel said as he ran a hand over the burns on Castys’s chest, causing him to flinch and shudder violently, crying out softly between stuttering breaths. He wasn’t even really sure how much of him was seriously burned, or exactly where, really, he just knew he was suffocating under raging waves of heat, every breath in a sharp gasp, every breath out a pathetic whine, he couldn’t help it, and he was sure Daniel was just looking at him, savoring every little twitch and grimace, the shape of the burns, the shine of his raw skin, and fuck he was probably taking pictures of this, of him, and there wasn’t anything Castys could do about it except be grateful that the blindfold was absorbing his tears.

Daniel’s hand returned, on Castys’s face now, thumbing at the edge of the blindfold as he stroked his cheek, wiping up a tear that had leaked out. “I’ll be right back, little vermin, so stay put. And if these burns are gone when I return, I’ll replace them with far worse ones.” He patted Castys’s cheek once before going back into the house, from the sound of it. Castys relaxed only slightly, the pain still so intense he could hardly think, the knowledge that Daniel wasn’t going to get anything to make his situation better making it hard to take advantage of this small break.

“It’ll be alright, Castys, this’ll all be over soon,” Wren said quietly from somewhere to Castys’s right. Castys still couldn’t really breathe well enough to speak, so he just held out his hand, needing something to hold onto, even if it was just for a little bit. Wren quickly took his hand, and it was just as fucking sweaty as always, which was fine, that’s how Wren’s hands were, and Castys’s, too, especially right now. So they held hands, and it was horribly hot and sweaty and miserable, and Castys never wanted to let go.

Far too soon, Daniel returned, pulling at the ring on Castys’s collar, forcing him to sit up, and Castys couldn’t help but scream as his burns shifted. He didn’t bother struggling when Daniel pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed them, but when he grabbed his waist, slinging him over his shoulder, Castys writhed in pain, just making things worse as the fabric of Daniel’s shirt rubbed against his wounds even more. “There, there, I’ll hold onto you nice and tight, don’t worry,” Daniel soothed him as his other arm clamped over the backs of Castys’s knees, the one around his waist holding firm as Castys tried to squirm away. As always, his efforts were utterly pointless, and it was all he could do just to keep his whining down to a minimum as Daniel carried him back inside and…it felt like he was taking him upstairs? But the-the only thing up here as far as Castys knew was-was Daniel’s bedroom and that was-that was where he-no no no he-he wouldn’t, not with Castys-he had that delusion of a relationship with Wren but Castys was just a-he was a fucking pet to him so-

A wave of warm, humid air made Castys realize that that probably wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t exactly excited for what he guessed Daniel actually had in mind, especially since it would still involve-yup, there were the fingers tugging at his remaining clothes, hooked over the waistbands of his sweatpants and boxers. Some dumb sense of desperation drove him to try and kick Daniel in the stomach, and he was promptly rewarded with the fingers of Daniel’s other hand digging into the dumb burns on his dumb waist. Biting back a scream, he stilled and let Daniel strip him, leaving him wearing nothing but the blindfold and the fucking collar, and he was pretty certain both of those were staying put.

Daniel pulled Castys over his shoulder, shifting his grip until he was holding him against his chest, one arm under his back with the other under the backs of his knees. Castys was in too much pain to really be embarrassed, and it wasn’t like Daniel hadn’t seen him before, anyway. Far too quickly, Daniel began lowering him, and Castys knew what was coming, he could feel the heat, but there wasn’t anything he could do, struggling would only make him fall, straight down into-

Castys screamed as the hot water came into contact with his burns, thrashing despite himself, the awful throbbing pain multiplied tenfold by the scalding water. Daniel shoved him down until everything but his head was submerged, and he must have called for Wren at some point because another set of hands helped in pushing him down, forcing every bit of his burned skin to stay underwater, but it didn’t matter, he wouldn’t stop fighting, he couldn’t, it hurt too much for him to just lie still and take it, every instinct screaming for him to get out, get away, escape this awful, awful pain, and then there was just one set of hands holding him down again, firm but gentle, Wren, and he felt bad for continuing to struggle but he couldn’t help it and he knew things were only going to get worse they were there was a third hand on him now Daniel was back he was forcing Castys’s head to the side Wren’s hands were on his shoulders there was a pinch in his neck Daniel was drugging him it was getting harder and harder to move the hands were leaving him because he didn’t need to be held down anymore because he was powerless.

The heat of the bath was slightly more bearable now that he wasn’t thrashing around and irritating his wounds further, but it still felt so wrong to lie still, and he couldn’t even curl up to make himself less vulnerable. He felt the urge to flinch when a hand, he assumed Daniel’s, slid into his hair, smoothing it down. “There, there, settle down, now.” Daniel’s tone made Castys want to rip his stupid arm off, but seeing as he couldn’t do much of anything at the moment, he settled for not doing much of anything at the moment. Daniel sat him up further and removed the handcuffs, at least, so there was that. “Sweetheart, I think I can take it from here, so why don’t you try to get the oil out of the vermin’s clothes?”

“Ah, are you sure? I’m, um, happy to help with-”

“No, his clothes need to be cleaned as soon as possible, and I think I’d like to spend a little time alone with him while he’s all quiet.”

“I don’t-”

“Don’t make me ask again.” A tense silence followed, and Castys silently begged Daniel to change his mind and let Wren stay, but the sound of a sigh and the door clicking shut soon after dashed his pointless hopes. At the very least, Daniel’s hand moved lower and pulled off the blindfold, letting Castys see for the first time all evening. “So many tears,” Daniel mused, wiping some from the corner of Castys’s eye. He just glanced away, somehow wanting to curl up and die even more than before. He was in so much pain and completely fucking paralyzed and helpless and alone with Daniel and fuck he really didn’t like how Daniel was staring at him, l-like he actually wanted to-

“Don’t look at me like that, vermin. I’m just going to wash you.” Castys’s relief must’ve shown on his face somehow, because within seconds Daniel was laughing, not his usual sadistic laugh, but a genuine one of pure amusement. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, you can be adorable in your own way, vermin, but certainly not like that.” He ruffled Castys’s hair affectionately. “I only have eyes for my sweetheart, anyway.” And then Castys almost threw up! Like, he’d kind of suspected it, but still, having that all-but confirmed was…blegh. Mmhmm, not going to think about that anymore.

Ordinarily, in the few other occasions Daniel had forcibly washed Castys, he took great pleasure in drowning him time and time again, or getting painfully close to it. Now, he was being unnervingly gentle with him, petting him slowly, almost reverently, which was definitely worse. It could be that Daniel didn’t want to risk killing him and having his burns heal, and Castys supposed he never exactly gave Daniel a chance to be anything but rough with him, given how much he usually struggled. But now that he was paralyzed, Daniel could do whatever he wanted with him however he wanted to do it, and apparently that was…this.

After stroking his face a bit, Daniel’s hand forced Castys’s jaw open, his fingers running along the edges of his teeth. “You look like you want to bite me right now,” Daniel chuckled. “But you can’t. So harmless now, aren’t you?” His hand left Castys’s mouth, shifting to cup his cheek. “Really, I don’t even know if I can call you vermin anymore. You’re so docile, and I’m going to get you all nice and clean…you’re just my darling little pet, hmm?” Castys was absolutely certain Daniel could see the rage in his eyes, notice the deepening of his breath, and he wasn’t exactly surprised when it only made the man laugh, his smile broadening. “You’re just so well behaved now, I couldn’t resist.”

If sheer willpower could override the drug, Castys’s hands would have been around Daniel’s throat right then and there, but instead he was stuck sitting there in the burning water as Daniel fawned over him. “I should trim your hair again soon, pet. You look so cute with it shorter,” Daniel said as he ran a hand through it. “You really are adorable no matter what you’re doing, whether you’re being defiant or screaming in pain or tiredly resting your head against my leg. I’m so grateful Berkeley brought you to me.”

It wasn’t-Castys wanted to punch that stupid contented smile off of Daniel’s stupid face, to yell at him that this wasn’t Berkeley’s fucking fault, none of this was, it was all Daniel’s no matter what fucking way you looked at it. Sure, Berkeley might have brought Castys here, but they needed a way off of this damn planet after they crashed, and where else were they supposed to find a working communicator? Daniel deciding to fucking kill Castys, accidentally discovering his immortality, and then randomly deciding he wanted another slave and blackmailing Berkeley into leaving him here were all clearly Daniel-driven events, no fault of anyone else involved. And now he was stuck here, enslaved, collared, burned, paralyzed, and completely at the mercy of Daniel’s whims.

He could have dunked Castys’s head underwater to wet his hair, but he didn’t. He could have yanked at the knots in his hair as he washed it, but he didn’t. He could have tried to get soap in his eyes, in his mouth, poured water up his nose, wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed, but he didn’t, and every missed opportunity for pain unsettled Castys further. It felt so wrong for Daniel to treat him this way, so…lovingly, and it made Castys feel even worse for Wren, who had to endure this bullshit all the fucking time. Castys could hardly stand it when Daniel made him kneel by his side so he could pet his hair, but this was a whole other level of Absolutely The Fuck Not.

As Daniel’s hands moved downward, though, Castys got the pain he’d sort of been wishing for. Not that he wasn’t already in a ton of fucking pain from the burns, but more pain from Daniel meant less creepy bullshit from Daniel, and Castys would take pain over that any fucking day. Daniel’s hands ran over his burns, still slow and gentle, but leaving enough fresh agony in their wake that Castys no longer felt like he was being fawned over, and that was enough for him.

“While I’m sad I can’t give you any scars myself, I love the ones you do have.” Daniel rubbed the scar over Castys’s heart, almost obscured by his burns. “This one…was it what killed you the first time? It must be. And yet here you are…” He pressed down on it, causing the burns to flare up in pain, drawing a stifled whine out of Castys. “Maybe it was fate, that you came back to life. That you got sent here. That you ended up as mine.” His hand slid up, stroking the tag hanging from Castys’s collar. “You really are the perfect pet for me, you know? A feisty, adorable toy I never have to worry about breaking.”

Now Castys super-duper wanted to vomit! Wow! What the fuck, Daniel! What the fuck! He knew the guy was incredibly delusional, but that was just…the most sentences to have ever of all time. Mmhmm. Yup. Okay. Table that for never. Focus on the awful terrible burns. They really really fucking hurt. Daniel was focusing on them, too, now, keeping his creepfuck mouth shut, which Castys was incredibly grateful for. He scrubbed at them, saying something about avoiding infection and getting the oil off, but Castys was too busy being in so much damn agony that he really wasn’t listening.

He risked a glance down at himself and oh he immediately regretted it so, so much. Burns peel, especially when you rub at them with your stupid bitch hands, so there were, uh…there was some stuff floating on the surface of the water, and it wasn’t soap bubbles. Castys screwed his eyes shut once more, focusing on his slow, silent task of adding more water to the tub. Fuck, who was he kidding, he wasn’t silent at all, he was crying so fucking pathetically he was glad the screams and sobs were stuck in his throat. He was certain Daniel was having the time of his fucking life, but he was just going to have to let him have this one because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

Castys had just settled into the ratio of immense pain and minor discomfort when Daniel decided to move to the burns on his right thigh and man. That was an upgrade. Immense pain and immense discomfort, all at once! And he just had to fucking. Sit there. Daniel kept his promise of not getting any closer than that, but that didn’t mean that this wasn’t unbearably awful, and all Castys could really do was keep his eyes shut tight and do a shit job of imagining he was literally anywhere else.

Eight decades later, Daniel finally finished washing Castys, and, honestly, he’d never been happier to hear the sound of a tub draining in his life, which was saying a lot because he’d had a pretty long life and quite a few awful baths. Daniel carefully picked Castys up, wrapping him in a far softer towel than the ones he was normally given before setting him down again outside the tub and drying him off. Castys felt the burn of humiliation on his face now that he was out of the hot water as Daniel rubbed him down, gushing all the while about what a good, sweet, darling pet he was between laughs. Once he was done, Daniel picked him up in the towel again, holding him close to his chest as he carried him downstairs to the closet. Castys almost expected to be dumped on the floor, for the gentle treatment to end then and there now that they were out of the bathroom, but Daniel set him on the ground with as much care as he’d been treating him with since he drugged him.

“Well, I suppose this is it, pet,” Daniel said sadly as he locked the chain on the wall to Castys’s collar. He rolled him onto his side, pulling the towel out from under him, leaving him lying on the thin blanket that served as his only protection from the cold concrete. He slowly stroked the burns on Castys’s hip, fingernails scraping lightly at the raw skin. “It was nice to be able to take care of you, to get you all clean.” His hand moved to Castys’s hair now, which, you know what, fine, better than anywhere else. “It was a fun change of pace from our usual routine, and you must have enjoyed it since you were so well-behaved for me, hmm?” Sure, Danibitch, whatever you want to tell yourself. “Alright, goodnight, my sweet pet,” Daniel chuckled, ruffling his hair one last time before finally leaving Castys the fuck alone, the click of the door shutting letting him finally release the breath he’d been holding.

He was still in a fuck ton of pain, but it was fine. He still didn’t have any damn clothes on, but it was fine. He still couldn’t move, but it was fine. He was owned, collared, chained to the wall, locked in a closet, sleeping on cold concrete, defenseless against the sadistic whims of a man presumed dead, far from the world he knew, the best friend he’d made here light-years away, but it was fine. He was fine. Castys was always fine.

He was fine.

~~~

Wren stared nervously at the pile of Castys’s clothes in his hand, the stains all scrubbed out by him last night while Castys was…he was terrified to find out what had happened last night, if Daniel had actually…No, he needed to just go in there and see for himself, to give Castys his clothes back, to offer whatever comfort he could.

He knocked once before opening the door slowly, flinching at the sight of Castys’s still-burned skin, angry and blistered. Fuck, Daniel had just left him like that? He couldn’t say he was surprised, but…still. After staring for a moment, he realized Castys was awake, looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Did you bring me pants?”

“O-oh, um, yeah, here.” Wren sheepishly looked away, setting the clothes on the ground next to Castys. He debated offering to help Castys get dressed, but decided against it, instead just listening to his breaths sharpen as he pulled the clothes on over his wounds.

“Fuck it, I’m not doing any more than that,” Castys sighed, clad only in his boxers. “Clothes do not feel good.” He laid there quietly, his gaze empty as he stared at the wall. Wren couldn’t take it anymore, he had to ask, had to make sure that Castys hadn’t gone through what he did.

“Last night, Daniel, um, did he…?”

After staring at him for a moment, Castys shook his head, and Wren nearly collapsed in relief. “I think that would count as beastiality,” Castys muttered, and Wren couldn’t help but laugh, smiling despite himself.

Castys was still Castys, and he was going to be alright.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hearse-song @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen @galaxywhump @starnight-whump @his-unspoken-words @misspelledwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg @pumpkin-spice-whump @painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad @befuddled-calico-whump @whumpinggrounds

#i wrote something #temperature day #temperature day 2022 #castys #daniel rooney #wren rackham #immortal whumpee #burns #minor gore #noncon stripping #nonsexual nudity #noncon bathing #noncon mention #drugging #temporary paralysis #noncon touching #dehumanization #creepy whumper #i finished this a while ago so finally posting it is very surreal #it was inspired by my friends and i making potato croquettes and i was like #''I'LL BOIL THE CUSTOMER IN HOT OIL I'LL-heyyy castys do you wanna get burned :)''#and then i was like we all need more castys getting a bath in our lives #a little more daniel being so fucking creepy #i would sometimes pick up my computer and shake it to get the daniel out it never worked #really when this all started i told marti ''i will never write daniel he's too gross i could never''#and then #i did it :(#and i hated every second #but i like the way he fucks with castys too much he makes my boy so uncomfy im so here for it #daniel just thinks calling him 'pet' is funny he's not serious about it so we can deal we can enjoy it makes castys mad

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