#prompt: shackled feet

[dftea]

In the desert, desertion

@badthingshappenbingo: Shackled Feet

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - Julian Bashir/Elim Garak

When Julian arrived on Cardassia, he was expecting hardship and hard work. He was not expecting to be abandoned in the desert.

[read on ao3]

[crescenthistory]

May I request C6 with Regulus? I’m in some desperate need of Reggie comforting reader 😭😭😭

there are sosososo many different ways to interpret this prompt, and somehow i chose? perhaps the darkest one? so sorry, you are really going to need that comforting now... thanks for requesting lmao xx

Prompt: C.6 "I don't know, it just happened"

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, blood racism, internalised blood racism, hate crime/minor assault, emotional breakdown, mutual self-hatred, regulus has not left the black family, alluded black brothers drama, undecided side regulus, perhaps a bit cliche/romanticising, established relationship, your dad is dead (long ago, mentioned), heavy hurt/comfort, happy ending

Notes: lol i am not okay

It was a rare occurrence that Regulus Black felt light these days, in any meaning of the word. 

His feet felt shackled as he trekked through the Hogwarts halls he felt were increasingly unwelcoming to him. His consciousness weighed him down like a thousand bricks as he knew he had to either take a stance against his parents or become complacent in a hope of survival. He knew he had to do the former; he had no idea how to stop himself from the latter. Trapped, cornered, cowardly – heavy.

Yet, when walking the final few metres to your dormitory that he knew housed your soft self now that you were done with tutoring first years, he felt undeservingly light. A sensation only you could inspire in him these days.

While conversations were growing tenser and tenser between you the more Regulus struggled with freeing himself from his family, your love for him had yet to falter. He knew he was only biding his time, but until then he could not help revelling in it, albeit guilt ridden. 

He does not knock before entering, just carefully pushes the ajar door further open. You had told him off for knocking so primly every time – “you’re always welcome here, Reggie” – and he wanted nothing more than to please you.

“Amour?” he called out as he closed the door softly behind him, looking around the dorm for a trace of you, or at least one of your dorm mates.

None to be found.

He dropped his bookbag by the end of your bed, reaching up to scratch the back of his head as he looked around. Some of that heaviness began returning to his limbs at your absence, his hope of slipping away from the world with you for the next few hours dissolving.

Then, he heard the water running from the adjunct bathroom. A sigh of relief escaped him, though his body remained tense, and he made his way over. He could hear the water splashing from the sink and he carefully knocked on the door with one knuckle.

“Amour?” he tried again.

This time he technically got a response of sorts, though nowhere near the one he had been hoping for. All movement behind the door stilled. The water was still running in a steady stream, but whatever you had been doing with it, you had stopped. Regulus could almost picture you standing like a deer in headlights – his brows furrowed unhappily at the thought.

“Are you alright, love?” 

Finally, your voice answered, but the fragility of it rattled him. “Oh, um, hi Reggie, I– I’m alright, be with you in a minute, yeah?”

You seemed distressed. Regulus did not care for it at all.

“Could I come in, amour?” He spoke to the door as if it was not there, as if he was looking you in the eyes, willing you to let him in.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmured, but he just barely caught it through the wood.

Regulus seemed to have met a divulge where he had to make a choice – a relatively minor one, but it felt important nonetheless.

A large, painful part of his mind was screaming at him to leave you alone. She doesn’t want you, she’s finally seen you for what you are. Scum staining the story of her life. It is this voice that rules most of his actions, the voice keeping him and Sirius apart, the voice tying him to something he does not feel comfortable with. 

Then there is another, burning hot part that aches to reach for you. The part that knows you better than the first thinks he deserves, the part that can tell by the tone of your voice, by a jerk of your finger, exactly how you are feeling and, hopefully, what you need. This part is one Regulus takes a great deal of pride in, this part feels good. Though it scares him and the first part tries to quell it, he holds it near his heart.

And it is this part that opens his mouth and says, “Could I come in anyway?”

A minute. A hesitation. A sigh.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His hand is tentative as it grips the doorhandle to the bathroom, as if it has become a part of your body from him talking to it, deserving of that same care he attempts to show you. He twists it and pushes it open.

The bathroom is swept in darkness – a conscious choice on your part, seeing as you would have to magically blow out the candles that lined the walls. He could still see you, leaning against the counter with the sink, face turned slightly away from him.

“Hi, my love,” you greeted, trying to seem casual as if he had just walked into your dorm under usual circumstances. With your hand awkwardly angled so that he only saw the inside of your palm, you adjusted the faucet. “How was practise?”

Regulus ignored your small-talk, walking up to stand beside you, body angled fully towards you as you began scrubbing at your hands once more. With the light trickling in through the open door, he swore the water looked pinkish. His breath hitched, eyes flickering all over you and the room to make sense of whatever was happening.

“Amour, what’s wrong?” His voice was rawer than he was comfortable with.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” You were getting a hang of the bright and airy tone of voice you were going for, but it was too late for that. “Just a long day, you know? Do you want to go get the bed ready so we can relax?”

The voices were warring in Regulus’ head at the rejection of his presence, but once more the part he could only describe as lovesick took a step closer to you, so your bodies were just barely touching. “Y/N,” was all he said.

Your ministrations grew more desperate, scrubbing water up and down your hands and forearms, breath laboured. He lifted a hand to brush against your face – when you flinched, his heart broke. 

She’s scared of you.

No, she’s just scared.

He let his hand ever so slowly land on the cheek furthest away from him, cradling your jaw with the kind of light touch reserved for baby birds and broken children. He found the skin there soft and wet, and he swore he could cut himself on the shards of his broken heart.

He guided your head to turn towards him, his grip loose so that you could stop him if you wanted. Once your face was opposite his, Regulus fought every instinct in his body that told him to study you, search your face for the spawn of your pain. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours. Giving you space, privacy even, giving you the moment you clearly needed – but sparing you from doing it alone

Your hands slowed down in their scrubbing, and with his free hand reaching out blindly, he turned off the faucet. Your breath stuttered where it spilled over his lips.

“Do you reckon you want to sit down? Talk about it?” Regulus whispered, eyes still closed.

He felt you nod against his skin, grabbing a hand towel as you walked backwards the few steps needed before you could sit down on the toilet lid. Regulus followed you, eyes opening and attempting to adjust to this darker corner of the bathroom. He sat down on his knees between your legs, painful tiles be damned, and looked up at you intently. 

In front of him sat the light of his life, visibly sullied. Your face was red and he could make out the tear tracks and smudged mascara underneath your eyes. You clutched the towel, hands buried within it and out of sight.

“Amour,” he whispered dumbly, unsure of what else to say, as he carefully brought his hands up to wipe at your tears. 

You mumbled his name and it almost sounded like a sob. 

Your hands were writhing in your lap around the towel, and he reached down to take it and help you dry yourself when you jerked your hands closer to you, towel still in grasp. “No,” you whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you lied through your teeth. “I’ve just had a bad day and– and felt anxious. Couldn't help but cry over it. I don’t know, it just happened.” 

Regulus gave you a sad smile, squeezing the still-wet skin on your forearms. “Uh-huh. And you felt like taking it out on your hands?”

A sob finally tore through your body properly and you brought your hands up – still in the towel – to cover your face. You leaned forward and cried into it, and Regulus immediately opened his arms to hold your shaking frame. Your towel and face were smushed into the crook of his neck and he drew big circles on your back with one hand, the other securely holding the back of your head. 

He was broken, at a loss for words, trying to recall any and every memory he could find of witnessing others comforting, not trusting his own instincts. Through them all, out flashed a memory of Sirius humming to him when he had nightmares as a child, how the vibrations soothed through him until he could finally fall asleep again, in his big brother’s bed this time. Without any distinct melody or song in mind, Regulus began to hum as he swayed you just ever so slightly back and forth, hoping to bring you some semblance of safety.

Your gasps lessened until the bathroom was near-quiet again, but he did not stop his movements with you or the humming. Your heart blossomed from his efforts and broke at what you knew was to come.

You lowered your hands from your face, letting them fall into your lap with their towel. Your face was now in direct contact with the soft skin of his neck and you took the opportunity to press a soft kiss there.

“Can I please do something to help you?” he whispered into your hair.

“You are.”

He breathed in slowly. He is. “With your hands, I mean. Are you hurt?”

Tears slipped quietly down the expanse of Regulus’ neck, trailing down underneath his shirt. You tried to nuzzle deeper into him.

“I–” you stop, seemingly changing your mind. “I’m alright, I just need to… to remove magical ink from them and I can’t get it off.”

Regulus fought back the that’s all? that was creeping up his throat. He knows at least two spells that work for most permanent inks and can brew a potion for it within the hour if those don't work. 

Your head squeezed against his shoulder as he nodded his head, still stroking your back. “No problem, beautiful, I can fix that.”

“No,” you whispered once more, seeming to shrink in his grasp. “I have to.”

He helped ease you out from his neck so that you were face to face once more, his hands coming up to brush over the sides of your arms. The look in your eyes was one he struggled to decipher, apart from the shine of anxiety. 

“Why do you have to? Let me help you, amour.”

You took another shuddering breath, brazing yourself for impact. “You can’t see,” you whispered finally, fighting the quiver of your lips.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“You can’t see them, Reg, I’m sorry.”

“Did someone do something to you?” It was the only explanation he could conjure up for why any permanent ink would make you this distraught – and why you would hide from him like this.

You searched his face carefully, faintly nodding in a way that made him think it was a response to your own thoughts and not his question. Like you decided on something. 

“Someone wrote something. I just want it gone.”

Regulus’ stomach churned. He regretted the harsh tone of his voice as he demanded, “Who?”

“It’s not important.” 

“It is to me. Please. Who?”

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, gnawing at it as you realised he would find out. Someone would tell him, even if you refused to show him. He would know. You tasted blood in your mouth.

With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Regulus saw the faint red on your lips as well and immediately reached out to gently pull your lip free from its torment. His fingertips lingered on your lips until he replaced them with his own with a short, tentative kiss. If you were to have blood in your mouth, he would too.

Lips still against yours he whispered again, more pleadingly this time, “Who?”

You let your walls crumble. This sweet, caring boy was in your grasp for now and you could not help but let him care while he still wanted to. “Mulciber,” you whispered back.

Regulus pulled back enough to meet your gaze, confusion filling his. “Why Mulciber? What would he have to write on you?” 

Up until now he had half-thought that some of your first year tutees had pranked you in some ungraceful manner. He was certain he had never seen you and Mulciber even talk before, let alone have an altercation that could involve magical ink. He was one of the more brutal Slytherins, but he had never had any reason to talk to you, and he knew that you were someone Regulus cared for. What he had hoped would let him in on your pain only confused him further away from any answer.

“Regulus, please,” you begged, ignorant to his confusion. Tears were once more filling your eyes and he wished for nothing but to stop them.

“Okay, okay,” he whispered, hoping to convince your tears to stay where they are. “You– you don’t have to explain it, love. I can just remove it for you.”

“Could you teach me instead?” Your lip was back between your teeth, lightening in colour underneath the force it was exerted to.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to remove something from your hands yourself, you need them for the spell.” Regulus hoped his gaze seemed sympathetic.

You squeezed your eyes shut, moving your head slightly to your side. Regulus recognised your breathing pattern to follow a technique you had taught him to calm down the first time he had a panic attack around you. Afterwards, you didn't mention it, only giving him space to talk about what he was comfortable with, comfort at the ready.

His own breath was bated as he watched you make your decision. A definite tear slid down the cheek closest to him, in a hauntingly cinematic manner. At last, your eyes slowly fluttered open and you looked back into his eyes with the most devastating expression. Slipping a hand slowly out from your towel – out of Regulus’ line of sight – you brought it up to his cheek to bring his face closer to yours.

The kiss was searing, filled with a love and devotion he was not prepared for in a situation like this. He was enveloped by the smell of you, and though you still tasted of copper, your lips were painfully soft and he let himself fall deeper into you. When you pulled away, you pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his mouth.

“I love you,” you whispered. Regulus hated how it sounded like you were saying goodbye. 

His brows were furrowed as he looked at you, and he hoped it looked like confusion and nothing more sinister. “I love you too, amour. You know.”

“I’ll let you remove it, if you want.”

“Please.”

Your gaze fell to your lap and remained there as you let both hands out of the towel, placing them palm-down on your thighs. Regulus had begun reaching for his wand in a holster on his belt, ready to rid you of the source of your discontent, but he was frozen still when his own eyes finally took in your hands and the two bold, dark words written on each one.

MUD on the left. BLOOD on the right.

Mudblood. 

Regulus’ blood had run cold in his veins and he found himself having to adopt your breathing technique. His vision blurred as the two words seemed to grow larger, which seemed impossible considering they were written to take up as much space as possible. The handwriting was shaky, as if there had been a struggle when they were written. There were some light bruises already forming around your wrists and upper arms that further proved his fear. Mudblood. With red streaks over both works, likely from how hard you had been trying to wash them, all but scraping them off. Mudblood. The word was choking him. His hand that had remained still midair by his belt began to tremble.

He was knocked out of his trance as he saw a single tear splatter across the lettering on your right hand. 

Regulus moved his gaze back up to yours to find it was still trained on your hands, eyes glossy and unseeing.

“I–” he tried, but his voice broke off. “I don't understand. Y/N, I don’t understand.”

You seemed to flinch a little at the sound of your name, but other than that you made no sign that you heard him.

“Amour,” he rectified. “Why would… what is this?”

You moved your right hand over your left, starting to scratch at the word scribbled there, nails digging deep. Regulus’ hands flew up to stop your ministrations at the sight of the worsening redness, but your whole body physically flinched away from him in a way he was sure must hurt.

Regulus was lost.

“I don’t understand. Why would Mulciber write that? You’re not a–” He cut himself off, scared of what word would slip off his tongue. “You’re not muggleborn.”

Finally, you looked up and met his eyes. Your fearful, heartbroken expression seemed to soften at the sight of him and you gave him the saddest smile that did not reach your eyes. “I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper.

Realisation dawned on him. 

“Your father…?” 

His half-blood best friend turned lover, who he already had not dared tell his parents about, living with her muggle mother after her wizard father passed away. It was a convenient story in times of tension and division. Death is an easy excuse, hard to verify.

Although, clearly, someone had now, and the truth had come out.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered once more through a sob. Your shoulders were hunched and knees drawn close to your body. You looked like you wanted to disappear. 

It took him a greater amount of strength than he was proud of to push the shock and confusion from the forefront of his mind and pull back up the memories of how to comfort. To focus on those and not the million of questions running through his head.

What does this mean? Why didn't you tell him? Have you been hiding from everyone, or just him? How have you been carrying something so scary and he was none the wiser? Is there an award for shittest boyfriend at Hogwarts that he can be looking forward to?

Regulus reached out for you and pulled you slowly into another hug, arms circling securely around your back. Your body stilled in his grasp, apart from the small heaves for air in between your sobs.

“What are you doing?” Your whisper was muffled into his shirt. Your frail voice and tense limbs cut him deeper than any spell could.

“I'm comforting you, sweet girl,” he mumbled into your hair. “Or at least trying to.”

“Why?” you asked miserably. 

Regulus pulled back just far enough to see your face, making sure his arms were still holding you with love, drawing patterns across your back.

"Because I love you," he whispered intently. His eyes tried his hardest to lock on yours, but you still would not meet his gaze. "Because there is nothing to be sorry for."

Your expression grew incredulous, bordering on angry – if it was with him, yourself or the world he was uncertain. "I've lied to you. I've deceived you into a relationship you wouldn’t have agreed to had you known, I– I’ve put you in an impossible position–” You had to cut yourself off as another sob tore through your body. “I’m so sorry.”

Regulus shuffled impossibly closer to you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking slowly across your cheekbones. He felt his own eyes fill with tears at the sight in front of him, anxiety rising at his chest as he struggled to find the words he knew the situation called for.

This was all unknown territory for Regulus. The two of you had had as few conversations about blood status as possible, both weary about the growing tension at school and in the wider wizarding society. You had held him the one time he dared cry in front of you over a particularly harsh letter from his mother. You had whispered sweet nothings about you're not them and I will always love you, but he thought they were just that – nothings. In turn, you had mentioned your parents and cried over your father a handful of times, but never divulged too much. He had weaved his way through comments from other pureblood students at school regarding his relationship with a half-blood, but most pureblood families have lapses with a half-blood here or there that he could usually throw back in their faces to silence them. No one dared push it further than that. When Andromeda left the family for Ted, he almost had to confront it all, confront what he now knew to be lies that had been spewed to him all his life, but even then, he managed to avoid it as he instead received the beating of his life for not alerting the family about the signs he must have seen at school. He let himself simmer with that pain instead of looking inwards, instead of seeking help. He figured he didn’t have to, not just yet.

That time had evidently passed, as he now held a sobbing and defiled sun in his hands.

No, this was uncharted territory for him entirely – but he could not afford to let it stay like that.

“My love, Y/N,” he said with a surprisingly steady voice, never letting his gaze stray from you. “Please, please listen to me. Please hear me. You are everything; it is you, you are everything. You could be muggleborn, muggle, werewolf, siren or fae. It would not change anything.”

Your eyes met his, red rimmed and glossy, confused and bewildered. This time it was your turn to whisper, “I don’t understand.”

“It is difficult–” Regulus’ voice broke as the first few tears slipped down his face. “It is all so difficult right now, I feel lost and… scared and I don’t know what to do.” The words almost clogged in his throat, like barbed wire to admit, but he knew he had to. “I should have told you all of that already, I should have shared with you so you could feel safe to share with me. I haven’t known what to do, how to do it. The one thing I do know is that I love you and I need you to be safe and I need you to be here with me. I have not been deceived, for I would always choose you.”

Your eyes were wide, but you were not crying at the moment, gaze flitting all across his face, as if to ensure he wasn’t lying, hanging onto his every word. It was the motivation he needed to continue.

“You are not allowed to be sorry, amour, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” A small sob escaped him and his heart flipped when your right hand came forth to just barely touch his shoulder. “I should have been here for you, you shouldn’t have to hide. You should never have had to question my love for you, my loyalty. It will always lay with you, I swear it. Gods–” a heaved breath “– I’m terrible at this, you know I’m terrible, but I’ve been trying so hard for you and I will continue to. Just please let me. Let me and I will try.”

“Regulus…” you whispered, hand creeping from the brush against his shoulder to settle on the side of his neck. 

He looked at you, ready to take any reaction you would give him, to tell him off for his horrible apology, for making things about him, for not being enough. Your mouth opened and closed as if you couldn’t settle on the words. Instead you let out a small breath and pulled him back into you in a tight embrace.

It took him not even a second to hold you in return with passion, hands appraising as they swept up into your hair and around your waist. 

“Do you mean it?” you whimpered into him and he let his forehead fall to your shoulder as he cried.

“Of course, I mean it. Of course, of course.” He kept muttering it into you as he held you tighter and tighter.

His body was filled with an entirely new set of fear. A warm one that spread through his blood at the thought of what you had to face. Mulciber already knew and had taken action on that knowledge seemingly without hesitation. Regulus had heard what was being said amongst the Sacred 28, he knew to what degrees the hatred was building. His entire body was built on fear as he held what he now realised could be disturbingly fragile.

That is, until you whimpered another question into his hold and his body ached with a love so deep he had never thought it possible.

“Do you still love me?”

He had already said so, but he would happily say it again, over and over, damning himself for allowing you to wonder. “Yes, amour, always. Always.” 

Regulus took your face in one of his hands again, cradling you as he brought his forehead back to yours. Angling his face forward, he pressed what he hoped was a sweet kiss to your lips. It was wet, metallic and everything he needed. 

“I’m sorry for lying,” you whispered. He shook his head against yours.

“No, I’m sorry for stalling.”

A beat of silence. “Stalling what?” He thought you knew, but he tried to have no qualms about being explicit about it.

“Leaving.” He said it simply, hoping it would will it to be.

This time it was your turn to shake your head. “Can you leave, though? Safely? They’re becoming more and more fanatical, Reg, what if they hurt you? I’ve seen the letters.”

The fact that you have experienced what can only be classified as a hate crime, yet you have the goodness in your heart to worry about him in this way only makes him more certain of his choice.

“I have to, my love. I have to. It’s time.” He took a deep breath. “I will… I will ask Sirius for help.” 

You looked into his eyes, vision blurry from your proximity. “I’m scared for you, but I’m so proud of you at the same time.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Regulus tried to huff out a small laugh, but it just came out teary. “Will you please come with me?”

“To Sirius?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

His hand on your squeeze pressed further into you, reverent. “We can ask for help for us both. They practically wanted Ted dead when they disowned Andromeda, and she was not even the sole heir. I’m so sorry for putting you in that situation, I–”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you assured, voice more stable and beautifully soft. “You are everything to me too, you know.”

“I’m scared,” Regulus whimpered. It’s the first time he can remember saying that out loud to someone since he was 6.

“I’m scared, too. But less so, now that I know I still have you. I couldn’t handle losing you, Reg.” Your eyes teared up again and he leaned up to kiss the corners of your eyes sweetly, collecting the tears before they had a chance to spill.

“You have me, you have me,” he whispered almost feverishly against your skin. “And I’ve got you.”

You sighed, the closest to contently you think you can get at this moment. “Will you please help me?” you whispered as you looked down at your hands.

Regulus shook himself out of his mini spiral, shook off that first voice in his head that reared its head once more and over and over, shook off anything that was not you. He mumbled an of course against your cheek before he kissed it, taking your hands in one of his. 

Unsheathing his wand he never managed to retrieve the first time around, he took one last look at the ugly markings on your hands – the hate was precisely that, ugly, and it had no place on your skin. Starting with the left – MUD – he tried the first spell he knew, and it did nothing. The bile rose in his throat as he went to try the next, fearing the worst, but by the grace of a nonexistent god, the letters finally melted away. He repeated the process on the other one.

You tried to pull your hands out of his grasp at that, but his hold tightened. He healed the viscous red streaks and peeling skin from where you had scratched at them, a cold sensation soothing over your skin as he moved his wand. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the gentleness, but you found yourself beginning to become completely dehydrated.

Regulus brought your hands up to his lips while he put his wand away to grasp at them with both hands. He kissed the spots he had just cleared up. Long, lingering kisses in the middle of your hand, followed by soft butterfly kisses all over it. His fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing tightly, giving the flesh new sensations to remember instead.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, almost like a revelation. You had loved him and you had trusted him, you had just not trusted that it would be forever, that it would be more than any loyalty to his family. You were ashamed at the thought now, as you looked at the boy on his knees in front of you, crying from loving you, kissing away your pain. It filled you with something you had not believed this day would hold for you – hope.

“I’m not,” he whispered, letting your hands settle together in your lap. “But I hope to be. I want to be. I will be.”

You smiled wetly at him and leaned forward to kiss him once more. Originally intended as a peck, the kiss grew deeper, a slow passion as you held his lips between yours, feeling the love seep through the thin skin. He continued pressing kisses all over your face, much like your hands. Any teary or red skin had his lips faintly brushing over it, taking his time to dote on you. You let your breath calm down in the meantime, panic and tension slipping away from you to be replaced by a deep exhaustion as you leaned into him.

He noticed – he had to notice, swore he always would from now on.

“Are you ready to lay down in bed, amour. Face the light?” He smiled sheepishly at the poor attempt at a joke. You seemed surprised as you looked around, almost like you had forgotten you were in a shadowy dorm bathroom.

“Only if you will lay with me.” Your tone was nearing teasing, though not quite there. He was determined to achieve it within the hour.

“I promise,” he whispered, kissing you one last time before helping you up.

And he would go on to help you to bed and hold you tight for as long as you would let him. He would listen to you cry and laugh and worry without a second thought. He would take you with him to ask Sirius for help on escaping and keeping you safe and he would devote himself to being better. He would do anything for you – because you were, after all, everything.

[watercolorfreckles]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her. 

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip. 

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity. 

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active. 

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility…

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

 Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking. 

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across. 

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again. 

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…” 

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee. 

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing. 

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection. 

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.” 

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning. 

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper. 

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face. 

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better. 

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot. 

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist���wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it’s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces. 

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight. 

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

Part 2

[ki-yomii]

careful | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.2k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dom!jk, sub!reader, dirty talk, mild dom/sub dynamics, orgasm control/edging, slight brat kink, slight brat tamer!jk, pet names, degradation kink, praise kink, mild dacryphilia, finger fucking, sub drop, pussy smacking, wet & messy ➥ summary | you should always be careful what you ask for ➥ notes | what's that - posting a fic that isn't any of my wips/requests? more likely than you think 🥲

i started writing today with the intent to work on my vampire jk fic cuz spooky season. instead, i found myself here... i'm sorry 💀

also i’ve seen enough run episodes to know you don’t want jk’s hands smacking you anywhere 😬

🩷 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🩷

“Look at me, baby.”

The low warning cuts through your muffled whines, Jungkook’s weight pinning you to the wall. Thick fingers grind deep inside your cunt, digging into your g-spot mercilessly.

Pressure builds behind your hips, borderline painful as you shift around in a vain attempt to dislodge him.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, “You know better.”

Whenever Jungkook speaks, his voice scrapes down your spine, low and whiskey rough. His chest is a long line of heat, plastered to your front from stem to stern.

The rapid gallop of his heartbeat echoes your own rabbit-fast rhythm, the scent of his cologne clogging your nose and clouding your thoughts.

He bites out your name, the palm shackling your hands above your head squeezing your wrist. Blunt nails dig into the delicate skin of your pulse point.

A silent prompt you know better than to ignore. And yet, the temptation to do so is almost too much.

Keen awareness roots low in your belly, dripping down between your thighs like candle wax. Your thighs tense with the strain of controlling the involuntary drop of your hips; the urge to rock down into his touch choking the breath from your lungs.

“I…”

The instinct to comply is almost Pavlovian. After all, you’re Jungkook’s good girl, aren’t you? Loved and fucked and trained to his liking.

(But how can you be good when he looks at you like that? It’s just not fair.)

Being good all the time is boring.

No. Your mouth snaps shut, and any response you have turns to ash on your tongue. The words catch on the backs of your teeth like candy. Not this time.

“Why are you being like this, huh?” Jungkook’s brows shoot towards his hairline, his dark head ducking to try and catch your eye. “I know I taught you better.”

How could you ever forget the rules when he’s fucked them into you so thoroughly? Took you apart piece by piece only to stitch you back together in his image - his precious little darling made to take his cock and swallow his cum.

“You really don’t wanna play this game with me right now. Trust me.”

Breath lodging somewhere in the middle of your throat, and tasting suspiciously of regret, you shake your head and dig your heels in. Resist the urge to crumble at his feet, beg for forgiveness with your mouth, your hands.

It’s already too late to back out - it’ll just be worse for you if you do.

Jungkook might hide his less… savory traits better than most, but you’ve experienced his greedy kisses firsthand, felt the tug of his teeth and tasted the salt of his skin. Heard his ragged moans honey sweet in your ear, felt the harsh grind of his body along yours.

When he smiles, it’s wicked, "Last chance. Show me those pretty eyes of yours, baby.”

Anticipation hooks behind your navel, stomach swooping as heat curls up in the valley of your hips. Blood rushes in your ears, starting as a slow thrum that crescendos into a rapid drum. Your heart tattoos itself into your ribs.

Licking your lips, your refusal shudders from you in a throaty rush, “No.”

A low hum fills the following silence, noncommittal. The mounting tension threatens to strangle you, sets your teeth on edge. Sparse hairs at the nape of your neck prickle.

And then, before you have time to consider taking it all back, plush lips ghost over the hollow below your ear. Whisps of dark hair whisper over your skin, soft and ticklish. Shivers race down your spine, spread through your fingers and toes.

“Alright, have it your way,” Jungkook smothers his words in the tender slope of your neck, “but remember: you asked for it. Don’t come crying to me afterward.”

Readjusting, Jungkook’s broad shoulders curve forward and the slackened hand on your wrists renews its grip. The cold tip of his nose traces along your jaw, inhaling the perfume of your silken skin.

An exhale shudders from him in a vulgar husk of breath. When you clench around his fingers still buried inside you, he laughs low and mocking.

“Damn, baby, your pussy’s just sucking me in. You really wanna cum that bad?” Kisses pepper up the side of your face, skirting the side of your mouth. “Heh, yeah, I know you do - such a dirty little slut.”

“Oh!” You sigh, sparks sizzling through your limbs, as Jungkook flexes his fingertips playfully against your swollen g-spot. Your hips tilt into the touch. “Hah…”

“That feel good, huh?”

A low keen escapes when he draws your earlobe into the moist heat of his mouth, his lips clamping down while the sharp points of his canines roll the tender fat. Little kisses of pain burn, brighten the arousal blooming deep within you.

“Yeah, of course it does,” Jungkook breathes, his voice low and husky in your ear as he strokes at your fluttering walls. “Just look at you.”

Unable to swallow the broken gasp of his name when he hits your favourite spot at the right angle, you tremble against his chest from where you’re pinned and squeeze your eyes shut, “J-Jung--!”

Holding up your own weight on weak knees is an endurance sport - one you’re losing as they bow and shake, threaten to give out. At the same time, your arms feel like lead, going numb from having them suspended over your head for so long.

Head light and floaty, your nails bite into the backs of his hands as a sharp spike of pleasure slices through you. “I’m--”

“Gonna cum soon?” Jungkook asks, the devilish grin tugging at the corners of his sculpted mouth more a baring of teeth. “Don’t lie to me.”

At your frantic nod, he tugs his fingers free from the tight clutch of your body with a sloppy squelch. Slick oozes from your cunt in a sticky rush that wets your inner thighs, your gut clenching hard with hollow satisfaction as he rips the ebbing flow of your orgasm away without warning.

“Shit!” 

The noise you make at their loss is low and wounded, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. Your body locks up so hard your stomach aches, walls fluttering as a cramp knots up behind your hips.

Your swollen clit throbs with angry sparks of pain that make you whine and wince, orgasm thoroughly ruined.

“W-Why did you…” Voice cracking around a hiccupping sob, you pitch forward into his powerful chest. “Jungkook--”

“You know why.” His reply cuts you off, chilly and brusque, while he stares at you without remorse, “I gave you a chance to change your mind.”

“But I -”

“Stop.”

Sniffling, you peer at him from beneath damp lashes.

Breathless and feral, Jungkook stands before you a vengeful god, robed in shade and shadow. It’s criminally unfair how good he looks; jaw clenched, eyes twin black holes that threaten to pull you in.

Harsh, hooded, hungry as they trace over the tear tracks cutting lines down your cheeks, the quiver of your lips. In moments like this, he’s as beautiful as Belladonna and twice as deadly.

“I don’t know why you’re even trying to sweet talk your way out of this.” 

If his glare alone wasn’t enough to curb your tongue, then the shuttered expression carved into the planes of his regal face would.

Displeasure sits heavy on his brow, tucked into the corners of his mouth like an ill-fitting mask. Then his hand is slipping between your shaking thighs once more, the backs of his knuckles dragging over your abused, messy folds.

Jungkook hums when you sigh, jolt at the touch, and says, “Now, shut up and be a good girl for me.”

It’s deliciously painful, like blowing on numb fingertips in winter. Your legs spread wider to accommodate him on instinct alone.

Head rolling back to rest against the wall, the cool stone heaven on your sweaty neck.

And then a strike, viper quick, lands on your exposed pussy. Your reprieve ripped away and smashed at your feet as the wet, sloppy sound of an open palm making contact with tender flesh almost drowns out your wounded cry.

“A-Ah!”

You flinch away from the touch, flickers of pain pulsing through your sensitive clit. Nerve endings burn with sensation. Tiny cavities pepper your field of vision, the world a blurry kaleidoscope of color through pooling tears.

It’s hard to think, harder to breathe through the lingering throb and mounting shock.

Jungkook didn’t hit you too hard (he knows your limits), though he may as well have with how hypersensitive your pussy is. And still, amid prickles of pain, fresh arousal gushes from you to soak the length of his palm.

Cooing, he says your name, his lips cradling the syllables like a precious secret as his hand rubs circles over your mound. “Are you finally going to listen to me?”

Air hisses through your teeth as his fingers dip into your entrance, and it’s all suddenly too much. You drop too far, too fast. Lost and left adrift. Small. Fragile.

Heart lurching in your chest, the bitter ache throbbing in time with your pulse. Reminding you of how empty you are.

Sobs drip from your lips like dew drops, unintelligible words frantic as they break through the great, heaving gasps, “J-Jungkook, I can’t… Please, ‘m sorr- I can’t.”

“Oh, baby. You look so pretty when you’re such a fucking mess.”

Your breath hitches.

It feels like your skin’s too small, stretched tight over your bones until you’re bursting at the seams. The slightest touch will make you shatter to pieces, scattered across the floor like shards of fine china. 

Before you spiral too far beyond his reach, Jungkook guides you back, keeping his voice low and gentle in your ear while he shushes your warbling sniffles. Affection softens his smile, his eyes dark with perverse pride.

“Stop crying,” he chides tenderly, circling your clit with a ginger thumb. “You’re fine, promise. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Kisses wick away the last of your tears, sweep over the delicate skin of your undereye.

“You did this to yourself.” Jungkook searches your eyes for confirmation, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. “You know that, don’t you?”

You nod, albeit stiltedly.

There are always consequences when you try to give him a taste of his own medicine - some worse than others. This time, you took things a little too far.

Now your cunt’s going to suffer the consequences of your stubbornness, but maybe if you butter him up beforehand…

The bob of his Adam’s apple captures your attention, your eyes tracing over the slope of his jaw, the tick of muscle as he grits his teeth.

Gnawing on your lip, you weigh your options.

You both know you hoped this would happen when you started acting bratty. Jungkook knows your dirty thoughts and filthy fantasies, how soaked you get from the thought of being pinned down, helpless.

Forced to take everything he gives.

… It isn’t even a question worth asking.

“Didn’t catch that.” Jungkook’s lips twitch with amusement, his fingers biting into the soft fat of your hip. “Come on, you’ve gotta use your words.”

The despair gripping your throat in a vice loosens with his lighthearted tone. Wetting your lips, you take the first step towards sparring yourself a brutal punishment by apologizing.

“I know it’s my fault - and I,” you swallow the flood of saliva pooling under your tongue, “I’m sorry.” 

"Mm, apology accepted." Jungkook hums, tracing the seam of your puffy pussy. “I’m so lucky I’ve got such a good fucking girl all to myself.”

Heat sinks into the apples of your cheeks, your thighs clamping closed around his wrist. There’s no denying the needy twitch of your hips at his words. A pleased rumble vibrates through his chest and into yours.

“Yeah, you like when I call you a good girl, baby?”

You whine, your eyes rolling back and your lashes fluttering.

Heat pulses through your belly in rhythmic waves, the residual pleasure from your interrupted orgasm kindling to light with little effort. You’d been so close, your body still desperate for relief. Thoughts slow and syrupy, cunt soaked and sloppy.

“Jungkook, please - lemme cum.” You try to rock down on his fingers only for his hand to restrain your hips. ”Fuck! Promise I’ll be good this time - jus’ need to…”

He tsks, saying, “Shh, you can cum all you want.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank-”

“If,” his smile is knife sharp, his eyes full of mischief, his words honey sweet, “you keep your eyes open and on me the whole time.”

Oh.

Oh no.

You’ll be dumb and drooling, starry-eyed and stupid once he stuffs you full. The burning stretch of his fat cock buried balls deep in your gummy walls while the spongy head slams into your g-spot without mercy, your cunt milking his shaft with every gushing orgasm fucked out of you. His name a holy prayer on your tongue.

There’s no fucking way.

Jungkook knows you barely remember to breathe once he’s on top of you, let alone maintain eye contact. Your inevitable failure will taste all the sweeter when it fizzles, pops, bursts under the bite of his teeth.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“Good luck, baby.”

Panic grips you by the throat, your eyes wide and pleading. “Jungkook-”

“You’re gonna need it.”

Well, shit.

[dilvuc]

hi! Could I request Blade x male reader who is part of the stellaron hunters but has a similar personality to Jing yuan, like lazy as heck. Im think of a prompt where maybe the reader and blade are on a mission together and the reader has to get serious but ends up getting seriously injured and captured. And Blade rescues the reader and takes care of his injuries?(I’m sorry if this isnt a lot of detail im not good at explaining things ;; if you need more details let me know! Just call me Squishy Anon!! <3)

❝RECKLESSNESS❞

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: angst/fluff

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗: male

𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊: recklessness

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: blade x m!reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: short

you rest in on the beanbag, lazily sleep peacefully until someone rudely kicks your beanbag, knocking you off. you grunted, rubbing your head, “Why?!”

“We have a mission…” blade told you. you grunted and leaned off your beanbag, “At least be gentle next time…”

“If your ass isn't so lazy. Get serious.” the dark raven haired male ordered you. you huffed and put up your serious expression. surely the mission will end swiftly, right?

wrong…

✎

you got caught up in a trap, causing yourself to get injured. this was enough for the cloud knights to capture you before blade could bail you out. blade doesn't even know what he's gonna do with you, so it’s up to him to rescue you.

you are seated alone in a shackling prison, awaiting for blade to arrive. you just know that blade is worrying about you, but won't admit it.

“Took you long enough~” you smirked, ignoring the pain in your body. blade scoffed and removed the cuffs off your wrists, “Don't think I'm doing this for you.”

“If it isn't for me, then why did you come for me?” you teased as blade wrapped your arm around his shoulder and helped you on your feet.

“Do you want me to leave you?” the dark raven haired male growled.

✎

“...Why did I agree to this?” blade huffed while wrapping the bandage around your arm. kafka chuckled with her hand clasp over her lips, “You agreed to this, bladie. isn't he your boyfriend?”

“And we're partners, aren't we—ow.” you hissed when the male tightening the bandage around your arm. “Why?!”

“He's not my boyfriend nor are we partners. Just co-workers.” the dark raven haired male clarified, causing you to sulk. you booed at him, “Boo~ You're no fun.”

the woman giggled and walked toward the door to leave you two alone, “I'll leave you two to have fun.”

blade just scowls and continues to patch you up. he really doesn't like you, does he? blade always been so cruel and yet he's always partnering up with you without any complaints. you tried asking him if he wanted someone to take his place, but he denied and rudely agreed to stay as your partner. you decide to test the theory.

“...If you don't want to patch me up, then at least let Silver Wolf or Kafka do it—” blade cut you off and said, “I got it. You don't need anyone to patch you up.”

“Geez. You really want to take care of me so badly that you love me?” you teased, causing blade to flinch a little before focusing back on patching you up. you jumped when he tightened the bandage again. “Ow~”

blade glared, “Keep your mouth or I'll cut your lips open.”

“You're so mean…” you sweatdropped.

though you had not realized, the dark raven haired male was hiding his blush from your sight. he just wasn't prepared to let you know his feelings yet.

╰┈➤ author note: please note that this is a slow update. i will still accept your request, but it will take a while since i'll be working on my books on wattpad. if you wish to read those books, here's my wattpad account.

rules

honkai star rail

[c4ttheart]

okkotsu yuta x gn!reader, 1.7k wc.

based on prompt ; "you’re in love with me." "you just found out ?"

reader is kinda weird tbh, i would not fw them, yuta is so awkward and in love, i love him, weird dynamic idk, confession but not really. maki is ooc. written for @daosies !

it’s not often students at jujutsu tech get to have a day off. you think it’s abnormal, to overwork teenagers even if it is for the greater good. so when you do find yourself free from the shackles of the overwhelming school, you do not hesitate to leave and explore Tokyo. unfortunately for yuta, that means he has to come with you.

unfortunate is a bit of a stretch, but he likes to tell himself that his personality is not completely attached to yours and he doesn’t like following you wherever you go. it’s alright though, that’s what best friends are for. (at least, he thinks so- he doesn’t really know, it’s been a long time since he had a best friend.)

you don’t even have to ask for him to come with you. he just does. he knows you guys do not have anything tomorrow, so when you scroll aimlessly on your phone and say "oh hey, it’s sales season." he just smiles from his end of the common room couch and looks at the itinerary. "okay" he whispers back, and you smile too. you do not worry about anything, because yuta probably already has everything planned, except your budget. you’ll think about that later. you like to ponder on the possibilities only when they’re right in front of you.

one thing you hate about the school is how far it is from civilisation. the train is agonisingly long, and the nearest train station is so far away you fear you do not feel your feet anymore. it’s alright though, the excursion is worth it and yuta carries your bags because otherwise you’ll complain about how sore your arms feel. he thinks you’re lucky, he has collected an increasing amount of physical strength due to maki’s training. if your muscles are weak, although he does not mean it in a bad way, that means you have not gone through the torture he was put through.

he likes you, so so much. and his heart throbs whenever you smile and take pictures with him, because all of this feels like something he could get used to. it feels like he could live this way forever and forget about the truth of the world he lives in. you’re happy, he notes, because if you weren’t, then the negativity of the people around him would be noticeable. but it isn’t, because you have a way to make all bad things disappear. and if you’re happy, that means you’re enjoying yourself. with him. and that is enough to make him happy too.

"yuta, crepes." you mutter as you point to whatever has your attention. he does not respond, he just follows, with that giddy smile on his face as if he had just gotten engaged. and it doesn’t matter if, for whatever reason, he disliked banana before, because now as you savour your crepe and offer it to him so he can take a bite, he thinks that nothing has ever tasted more wonderful than this.

(it takes everything in him not to turn beet red at the fact the two of you just shared an indirect kiss.)

it’s late when you return to campus. you’re tired, and exhausted, and you don’t think your feet (and wallet) have ever hurt this much. you say goodbye to yuta with a small wave and he smiles, his cheeks still slightly dusted pink from the fact that your hand brushed his when you took your bags back.

maki is sprawled out on your bed when you arrive. she does that often, claiming the connection is better in your room than hers. you know she likes your presence though, not toge’s, not panda’s, not yuta’s (and definitely not gojo’s), yours. you don’t understand why, unless she appreciates the silence and indifference you give to her. she’s your friend, of course, but that is just the way you are with everyone. except for yuta. you do try and keep the conversation going with him a little more than usual, but that’s different, because he’s your best friend.

yuta is your best friend because he does not complain. you like that about him, how he understands you without much words. you like how he knows what you like and complies. you like how he does not prod, and how he speaks for you to the cashiers. maybe you sound like a dictator, according to maki, but yuta does not seem miserable, so you don’t say anything.

"how was your date with that slave of yours ?" she asks, shutting her phone off to look at you. you frown.

"get off my bed. i sleep there. your clothes are dirty." you reply, organising the stuff you brought. it cannot wait until later, because if it does, you will simply not do it.

she shrugs, although a ghost of a smile is present on her face. you did not push her off this time, and that much is enough.

"you seem less cranky than usual. oh, i know-"

"i’m not usually cranky." you speak as you glance to her again. she’s sitting criss crossed, and although she is still on your bed, the covers are pulled up. you supposed that’s alright.

"yes, yes you are." you roll your eyes at her statement. you will not deny her her delusions, everyone is allowed to dream. "did he finally confess his undying love to you ?" she half snorts, and you already know she is ready to text toge your answer, considering how she pulled her phone back out.

you shake your head slightly, indicating her that no, he did not do whatever she thought he would, because that’s absurd. because, "we’re best friends." you answer.

maki frowns. "but he likes you."

oh. you think, what ? okay. you hum, okay.

the green haired girl leaves your room with a smile on her face and when you touch your cheeks you realise that they are hot. oh.

and you notice that you cannot stop thinking about him now. and whenever you do, your chest tightens. oh.

maybe, you think, you do like yuta too.

oh.

the next few days are quiet. you do not speak. oh, oh, and oh’s are all that you let out. suddenly, you are hyper aware of everything. everything yuta does. everything yuta says. everything yuta wears. and oh, you do not like that. you liked caring about nothing other than yourself. maybe, if you let him go, then everything will go back to the way it was. that sounds good, right ? but then again, you do not want to let him go. what will happen to yuta if he also stops to care about you ?

that does not matter right now. you will face the consequences later. you always do. and so you become quieter, if that is even possible. but yuta has always been an exception. yuta will always be an exception, and that worries you because you find yourself humming and nodding to whatever he says instead of just saying ‘oh’.

even though you do not have a plan to follow, you know that this is not a part of it. so you stop smiling to him. and then you stop nodding. then, finally, you stop humming too. and somewhere in between you forget to say ‘oh’. you forget to answer at all.

"(name)," he says, one breezy afternoon. you turn to look at him, but you do not hum.

he sits down besides you, on the cool stone stairs leading to the field. he shivers slightly, and you look back ahead. he watches you with that type of longing. you are not looking at him. you are looking at the horizon. something bigger. something unattainable. he repeats your name slowly, until your gaze is fixated on him again. he feels safer this way. he feels seen. this is all yuta has ever wanted, so he smiles.

"what’s wrong ?" he asks, tentatively.

you stare at him some more. nothing beneath those colourful eyes of yours. you like it when he cares about you, so you have to suppress a smile. "you’ve been avoiding me." yuta adds. "oh." you answer.

he lets out an awkward laugh, and when his eyes scan your face again before meeting yours you understand he’s asking why. it’s odd, to know you can read him too without words. oh, you think. you blink.

"you’re in love with me." you state. he blinks too, although incredibly faster, and you swear you’ve never seen him this red, as he tries to hide his face between his hands.

someone snorts very loudly from behind, and you cradle your neck to be able to see who it is. "you just found out?" panda hollers, gasping for air in between laughs. you should have known yuta would have not come alone. he is too scared of confrontation to talk to you himself. he buries his face even deeper in between his palms, wishing for nothing more than to carve his eyes out because if he doesn’t he might start crying.

panda runs away, still wheezing, as he exclaims something along the lines of having to tell toge. you shrug. yuta sniffs.

"i-i’m sorry. i understand if you never want to see me again, i should’ve known that-" yuta’s rambling is cut short when you lower his hand back down to the cement to place your own over his. he sniffles some more.

your heart aches, and you think oh, you do not like to see yuta cry. specifically not because of you. and you know that you should not be doing this because it is not what was supposed to happen but it’s okay, because there was no plan to begin with. after all, you like to ponder on the possibilities only when they’re right in front of you.

you smile at him, tentatively, before entwining your pinky with his. "it’s alright. stay."

and this time, yuta is the one to think oh, because he understands what you mean. maybe he does not understand why, but he shall ask you (or not) another time. for now, he lets the wind dry his tears and your head lay stiff on his shoulder. he wants to laugh at your awkwardness, but he decides against it. it is not his place to laugh. so he intertwines your fingers with his, and smiles back.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Be my escape

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, January 2024 edition

Prompt: hole, 404 words

Rated: M

Tags: Fantasy AU, Magic AU, Guard!Steve, Thief!Eddie, Imprisonment, Claustrophobia, Eddie Munson whump, Referenced sex

Notes: Set in the same universe as this one.

People call it the Hole.

That's not its actual name, of course. Steve thinks it fits, though.

He still remembers his last visit. He was just a boy, but his father - newly appointed Captain of the Royal Guard - insisted he come.

The journey was long and tedious, giant waves battering at their boat. When they reached the steel platform far off the coast, he was freezing and nauseous. And then came the descent.

He recalls the warden's boasts as the cage slid into the depths. The magic crystals keeping the structure deep under the ocean from caving in on itself. The intricate enchantments sealing away the inmates’ magic.

What he recalls even better is the moisture and the despair hanging in the stale air. The mounting pressure inside his skull the further down they went.

Today, he's Captain of the Guard himself, but the dread crawling up his spine as he glides downwards is still the same.

The name fits perfectly. This place is a hole. A hole under the sea where families like the Harringtons and the Carvers throw their enemies to rot.

Enemies like Eddie Munson.

As he stalks down the corridors, he wonders what he's doing. He should be glad Eddie got caught. The man is a criminal. A thief. The insufferable bane of his existence.

Didn't find him so insufferable the other night, a voice at the back of his mind gloats. Nor the way his body fit against yours, or the way his mouth felt on your-

He tells it to shut up. He doesn’t have time for this.

The inside of the cell is dark. A figure stirs upright on the metal cot against the wall.

“Finally,” croaks a voice. “Are you the manager of this fine establishment? I have a complaint. The room service sucks and I think there's rats in-"

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Steve sets down his lantern and drops to his knees. “Shut up, will you?”

Silence.

Then …

“Stevie?”

A whisper, a plea.

“Told you not to call me that,” he huffs, already unlocking the shackles around too-skinny wrists. The second they fall away, there's hands in his hair, tracing the shape of his face.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “Why- Are you a dream?”

Steve snorts, pulls them both to their feet.

“Sure hope not. Imagine that'd make it difficult to bust you outta here. C'mon, we have no time to lose.”

⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️

Part 3

So I texted @house-of-the-moving-image if I should write more Phantom Thief for this prompt, and they were like "funny you should ask, I just had this idea about a magic high-security prison called The Hole". 🤣

We've got the next bit all figured out already, but this was all I could fit into 404 words.

[bladesakimbo]

Scream

During a mission, Y/N is kidnapped by Sabretooth, prompting Logan to go save her. What's the worst that could happen?

Warnings: Logan (a warning in itself), blood, cuts, screaming, fighting, kidnapping, kissing, cleaning of wounds, pet names, use of Y/N....errrr I think that's it, if I miss anything please let me know!

Sorry it’s not good! I’m still finding my feet, lol!

Please reblog, like and comment, it’s appreciated!

Hot, cold, sleepy, hungry, and scared, all these emotions swirled around Y/N's body as she desperately tugged at her wrists, trying to loosen her shackles. She didn't want the big, hairy oaf to see her cry, but she had tried everything. It seemed like the only thing left to do. Her heart felt heavy with despair as she realized there was no other option. So she let it out, her muffled sobs being the only sound in the room.

The door swung open with a heavy thud, and there stood the beast: Sabretooth, with his long, menacing white hair, razor-sharp nails, and bared, bloodthirsty teeth. "No use in cryin' pretty girl". His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, she covered what she could of her ears with her arms. "No one's comin' for ya".

Sabretooth furrowed his brows at the sound of the girl's chuckling. "What's so funny?" Y/N swallowed thickly before turning her eyes to him. "You are soooooo screwed when Logan gets here."

"Logan?". The confusion clouding her mind must has been written on her features. "What? Don't think I know my own brother's name?" Y/N's blood ran cold. "This is gonna be fun". With that, Sabretooth bolted towards her, backhanded her around the face and grasped her cheeks in his filthy hands. “Scream and I’ll kill ya” Y/N spat the blood pooling in her mouth in his face and laughed.

"You can't hurt me". The monster chuckled darkly as it reached for the belt of her suit. "Is that really what you think?"

Before he could react, the door burst open, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. Sabretooth vanished before she could blink, his already lifeless body lying a few feet away.

"Y/N?". Logan's calloused hands gently caressed her face as the man before her willed her to look at him. "Y/N, sweetheart? It's me". He let his claws free and cut through her restraints, picked her up and carried her to the plane. The ride home was a blur of fluffy clouds and darkness, consciousness slipping in and out. Her eyes fluttered closed a final time and when they finally pulled apart she was on a bed. Logans bed.

She felt a sting on her hip only to see Logan with rubbing alcohol and a cotton pad. "Hey, look who's awake". Y/N took a few deep breaths. "He's your brother". Logan sighed and faced her. "I know".

"No, Logan". She sat up and grabbed him by the arm. "He's your brother, you killed your brother-". Logan grasped her hand and interrupted her rambling. "Y/N, I know! Look what he did to you, at what he was going to do to you. I couldn't let him live after that. Not after you".

Everything felt overwhelmingly intense. She couldn't resist the urge to embrace him and confess her love, but instead, she eagerly leaned in and kissed him. His hands instinctively found her hair as he returned the kiss with even more passion.

"What did you do that for?" Their foreheads rested against each other while she searched for the words. "You tore through your only living relative for me. I didn't know what to say".

“Do it again”

[someloserjay]

“Star, I’m sorry..”

Spawn! Astarion x GN! Tav

Tw. Blood, nudity, vampiric feeding

I got this idea from a prompt @the-phantom-otaku posted

“When Astarion's siblings realize they won't be able to take him, they take Tav back with them instead. They present them to Cazador, and though he's pissed it isn't Astarion, he decides to turn Tav and use them as his replacement.

The party busts in before he's carved the ritual scars in their back but unfortunately not before he's bitten Tav.”

I hope you enjoy💛💛 this is my first time writing my pale elf

—————————

It's been two days since Astarion’s siblings attacked camp, they had disappeared without a word. Tav had assumed that would be all from them until they made their attack at the Szarr Palace. They assured Astarion he didn’t want to believe it but he trusted his beloved. They’ve been right so far. Right?

“Astarion! Karlach! Shadowheart! ” The sounds of his lover screaming for their party to save them broke his deep meditation. He and the rest of the camp all bolt up just in time to see Leon disappearing with Tav using a quickly cast Misty Step. Nothing but a note and crickets remaining, Astarion stared at the small sheet of paper, terrified to even see the handwriting of his former master. Gale grabs the note and reads it aloud for the party.

“If I can't finish my ritual with Astarion, I’ll take the pet he's found for me. -Cazador Szarr” Gales voice wavers as he reads it. Astarion let’s out an angry, guttural scream.

“We’re going. Now.” Astarion says as he quickly makes his way to his tent to pull his armor over his head. The others quickly follow suit. The party gets stopped at the gate to enter the city, adding a very long 2 days to get around the bridge and into the city another way, and another day to reach the lower city.

Meanwhile in the palace Tav is covered in dark bruises and cuts from fighting, they fought being brought here, being stripped nude, being tied, and being forced to kneel. They were tied with their hands behind their back as they kneel at the feet of Cazador, the very monster that hurt their sweet Star for centuries.

“Here’s what’s going to happen and I’ll be honest with you. I’m going to turn you and let you starve. You’ll starve until you lose control, you’ll lose all humanity, and then I’ll let you have a single mouse. That’s just punishment for protecting that filth Astarion, then I’ll very slowly crave my ritual into your pretty back.” He says running a sharp nail down Tav’s back.

“Like hell’s yo- '' Cazador cuts Tav off with sharp fangs digging into their neck similar to how Astarion often does. But rougher, painful, messy he isn’t doing this out of hunger. He plays with Tav like they’re a mouse caught by a cat. Tav fights to stay conscious through the pain and blood loss. They try to fight, eventually there’s not enough blood left in their body and they fall limp.

Astarion, Karlach, Shadowheart, and Halsin quickly make their way through the lower city of Baldur’s Gate. Once they approach the palace Shadowheart casts Disguise on the party, matching the look of the other spawn of Szarr to easily pass by the guards. The spell dissipates once they enter the palace and begin searching. Astarion is trying to sense the heartbeat of his love, unable to find it; he begins to fear the worst. They make their way downstairs into a room he knew all too well. A torture chamber and in the back of the dark damp room there His Tav was. Shackled to the wall, nude and covered in dried blood from their neck down their collar bone and chest. Cazador was always messy with how he fed, unlike Astarion who refused to waste a single drop. Astarion ran to his love wasting no time in looking them over for injuries. Seeing the deep bite, the dark bruises, the cuts covering his love his eyes start to well with tears. Astarion is quick to pick the lock holding his loved one's hands. He pulls Tav close to his chest, reaching for a blanket out of his pack, using it to cover Tav.

“Star?” Tav weakly says looking up

“I’m here, we’re her-“ his voice drops as he sees two all too familiar fangs in Tav's mouth that weren’t there days before. He looks over Tav’s face recognizing the face of hunger, pure painful hunger.

“Please Star. Please tie me up. I don’t want to hurt them.” Tav says tears falling from their eyes. As much as it pains him he knows it is what’s best. He reaches deep into his pack, pulling the length of rope he had picked up along their travels. It hurts him tying ropes over red marks he knows caused Tav so much pain. He picks up his love as they lay limp in his arms. He aches for his love as they quietly make their way out of the Palace.

Getting to camp Astarion sets Tav down on a cot in his tent.

“Star, I'm so hungry..” Tav begs, looking at Halsin.

“Halsin can you, I don’t know, go catch them a boar, a stupid goblin, a deer, anything?” Astarion snaps at the built elf.

“Are you sure a consenting creature wouldn’t be better?” Halsin asks

“I’d be willing to feed them, they’ve done so much to help us.” Shadowheart chimes in.

“No! You don’t understand! Whatever creature Tav’s fangs hit, will not live. As much as they believe they have enough control to stop, I promise they don’t! So please get them something to eat!” Astarion yells. Halsin casts wild shape. A bear now runs off into the night.

“ALIVE HASLIN, BRING IT ALIVE!” Astarion yells behind the bear. Shadowheart brings over a warm washcloth. As she steps closer Tav reaches up trying to bite at her arm, their eyes have turned a bright crimson red. Shadowheart jerks her hand away as Astarion grabs the cloth. His hand goes towards Tav’s shoulders to start wiping the blood and they attempt to bite Astarion, getting part of his forearm in their mouth.

“Tsk, if you drink you’ll get sick.” He says as his other hand wipes some blood off his lover's shoulder. Tav takes a single mouthful of blood before pulling away, spitting it back out onto the ground, gagging as they try to keep from throwing up.

“You taste foul.” Tav hisses at him as he wipes them clean.

Halsin returns in Elvin form, an injured deer fighting against his shoulders. Astarion urges everyone far away from the tent as Gale casts hold beast on the creature before making his way away from Astarions tent. Astarion slowly starts untying his love.

“Try to drink slow my love, its better for you.” The moment the rope is off their wrist Tav bolts towards the deer, sinking their fangs deep into the creature. Blood again covers them, this time from their mouth. Their own doing. By the time Tav is finished with the creature it’s cold and ridged. Tav looks at Astarion

“I'm sorry. Cazador was right, I lost myself to hunger.” Tav collapses in front of their beloved.

“Please forgive me for biting you.” They yawn, their body exushased. Astarion barely has time to catch them as their body succumbs to rest.

“You're always forgiven My Tav, for eternity. I understand better than anyone.” He says gently rubbing their hair. He reaches over and cleans off his love again with the cloth, gently getting them dressed in his own clothes. He makes sure they’re comfortable on his cot before grabbing a chair to sit with them until they wake.

[imagineredwood]

"Enjoying the fruit?"

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel Galindo x female reader

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: Triggering content possibly; read with caution. Dark Miguel, could be seen as kidnapping if you squint, more like false imprisonment really.

A/N: This idea came from booktok and also prompts from this prompt list

You hummed as you swallowed the sweet fruit, your finger coming up to wipe away the dribble of juice that ran down your chin. The fruit Miguel got you was always sweet. The sweetest actually. He made sure of it. All of your food was always tried and tested before it made it to your plate to ensure you only ever got the absolute best of the best. Miguel was just like that when it came to you. With most things actually. 

You always had the sweetest fruit, the freshest veggies, the purest juices, the prettiest dresses.

Miguel loved you in dresses. 

He loved the way the style of the dress could change your energy. How the soft flowly dresses made you want to sit by the window and bask in the sunlight, maybe open the sliding door to feel the wind blow the fabric against your skin. 

How tighter dresses that were so short you could barely sit in them made you sometimes blush and rub your thighs together. Sometimes they were just nightgowns, plain but soft and cozy, making you feel ethereal and docile. 

You only ever wore dresses for that reason. Because that's what Miguel liked; so that's what he bought you. That's what your wardrobe consisted of. 

Your dress today was lilac, soft, and light against your skin. It was warm and ran a little past your knees, leaving your feet and ankles exposed. You shook your foot, the chain jingling against the shackle and frowned at the noise. 

Sometimes you forgot about it. It wasn't too heavy, light enough for you to be able to move around the house, but heavy enough that you had felt like a boulder was tied to you when he had first put it on. Now with the months that had passed, you were used to the feeling, sometimes the sight being what reminded you when the hem of your dress was shorter.

That and when you forgot and tried to venture out of the room. He allowed you a good bit of freedom. He let you go wherever in the house you wanted really; you just had to be secured. Metal hooks were bolted into random hidden areas of the house. You were currently stuck to the one fastened to the underside of the granite coffee table. 

It hadn't always been like this. Once upon a time, you had been able to walk around the entire house on your own, from room to room, inside to outside, then back again. You had been his little perfect girl, always on his arm to events or dinners. It had been going so well. 

That was until you had tried to leave him. 

It had been a small fight. Simple really. 

He had canceled on you and your pre-planned dinner date plans to have a business meeting for the third time that month and you had been angry. So you grabbed your purse and keys and left. 

You hadn't actually been leaving the relationship. You were simply taking a break. A night to yourself to drive around and blow off some steam. You hadn't told him that though and when three in the morning had rolled around with no sight of you, his guards patrolling the streets for hours looking for you with no such luck, he had been sure that you were leaving him for good. Gone like a thief in the night. No call, no text, no note. Just gone. 

And boy had it made him angry. 

After all he had done for you? The gifts? The wine? The vacations? The love? The adoration? The worship?

Oh, angry was an understatement, and the disarray in the living room had been a testament to that. Flipped tables and scattered shards of glass.  

You had returned early the next morning, of course, never having planned to truly leave. All you had needed was some time to cry and cool down. You had gotten that and now had calmed down considerably, ready to return to your husband and home. 

And that was how you had ended up with the shackle. 

Placed onto your ankle while you slept.

Your departure had been the straw that broke the camel's back and Miguel had become unhinged then, and swore he would never let you leave and put yourself into harm's way again. Only he could truly love and protect you. No one else. And he had to make you see that. 

The sound of his voice from behind you broke you out of your reverie and you turned to face him.  

His eyes were warm and full of love as he looked at you, crossing the way over until he stood in front of you. He smiled down at you, his eyes trailing to your mouth where the juice from the dragon fruit had stained a bit. He reached up and rubbed at your chin lightly, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

"Enjoying the fruit?"

You nodded and offered a smile of your own, but it didn't quite reach your eyes and Miguel noticed immediately. 

"What's the matter?"

You hesitated and then shrugged as if to make it seem like it weren't a big deal. Looking down, you shook your foot, the chain jingling loudly in the silence of the room.

Miguel looked down and sighed before reaching up to cradle your cheek in his hand.

"It's for your own good, mi amor. You ran away. You could've gotten taken. Hurt. Killed. Or worse. There are plenty of men out there who are evil and would love nothing more than you pick you up and steal you away from me. I can't let that happen, you know that. I'll let you go when you understand this is where you belong." 

You nodded, easing into his touch. You'd asked before a handful of times and had gotten the same schpeal. It had been months now though. Surely you had earned his trust back by now? 

"I just hate this thing. I don't need it anymore. I'm yours, I know that. I always knew that. I just...I want to walk around free again." 

Turning back slightly to look out of the sliding doors longingly. 

"I miss swimming."

Miguel sighed at your longing look and tone before nodding gently. He softly took your chin into his grasp, turning you to face him again. His touch was gentle, but the gravel in his voice as he leaned his forehead against yours was anything but. 

"I'll take it off. But remember, I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. No matter where you run, I'll catch you."

You nodded, knowing all of his words were true. You offered him a smile and just like that, his voice was silk again as he reached into his suit jacket and retrieved the little key. Sitting down, he patted his knee and you lifted your leg, placing your bare foot down onto his slacks. He slid the key in and looked up at you before turning it. 

"This is your last chance."

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[mj-iza-writer]

Hi, so, can you do a piece where Whumpee and Caretaker hang out, and Whumpee gets wasted and finally tells Caretaker everything that Whumpee has done to them, only for Whumper to show up, take Whumpee back, and implement ‘damage control’ (however that is interpreted)?

No pressure if not, but I’ve noticed you are fantastic with oddly specific prompts and so I am excited to see what you cook up with this

Have a nice day/night/time!

@3-2-whump

I can absolutely write that. I do hope you forgive me, though. I've never drank, so I could only write what I think being wasted would be like.

Subject warning: Tongue Removal. Drunk character. Throwing up.

I hope you enjoy the story.

Whumper had noticed Whumpee walking with what seemed to be a new friend.

"OH, their you are", Whumper frowned, "I haven't seen you for a check in lately."

Whumpee walked by. Both they and the friend carried cases of alcohol.

"You know you shouldn't be drinking" Whumper whispered.

Whumper hurried to follow them.

They ended up at a campground.

Caretaker handed another beer to Whumpee. They needed Whumpee to tell them more about their past so they could help. Caretaker knew there were some parts Whumpee wasn't talking about and acted very strange when asked.

Caretaker figured getting them drunk may help them loosen them up enough to talk.

Whumpee happily drank from the third bottle. They bobbed their head to the music and smiled at Caretaker.

"This is so nice", Whumpee giggled, "so much better then... uhm."

Caretaker leaned up, "yes Whumpee.. go ahead."

"Whumper always told me not to drink. They said I'd risk telling people about our deep secrets if I was drunk", Whumpee frowned and looked at the bottle, "this.. this is nice though."

"What secrets, Whumpee?", Caretaker tried to urge.

No one saw a shadow hiding amongst the bushes nearby.

"Whumpee you better not", Whumper whispered a warning that no one could hear.

That night, Caretaker didn't hear a visitor come into their tent and steal Whumpee away.

Whumper carried Whumpee down the steps to the basement.

They lowered the half asleep, loopy Whumpee to the floor beside the wall.

They pulled Whumpee's arms behind their back and shackled them. Lastly, they pulled a chain down from the wall and securely locked it to the shackles.

Whumpee curled into themself and made happy drunk noises. Completely unaware of the danger that was knelt beside them.

"No point in hurting you right now. You're too drunk", Whumper stood, "I guess you get to enjoy the night."

Whumpee woke up and tried to stretch out. They slowly realized that their arms were shackled around them.

"No, no, no", Whumpee looked around the room quickly. The affects of the alcohol making them woosy.

They hunched over and threw up.

In the midst of this, they hadn't heard the door open or the heavy feet coming down the stairs.

Whumpee looked up from the pile of vomit. Their eyes trailed all of the way up until they met their captor's eyes.

"Well if it isn't my favorite toy. I've missed you. You never came back for your check-in with me. I got worried."

Whumpee gulped, "I-I tried to Master, they wouldn't let me out of their sight."

"I'm sure you tried to, and that you're not lying", Whumper knelt down, "you were pretty drunk last night. You know you're a pretty happy drunk. You seem to like spilling guts. You told your guardian. You told me everything. You even spilled your guts here on the floor. What do you think we should do about this, hmm?"

"I should clean it up for you", Whumpee frowned as they moved their arms, "may I clean it for you, please?"

"Hmm, maybe later. I was interested when you told me last night that you never planned to go back to Whumper. You said that to your guardian too. You also told them everything I've done to you. Also, about checking in with me. You know that isn't supposed to be talked about."

"I-I didn't mean to, i-it slipped out. I didn't mean the part about not checking in either. Please believe me, I tried...", Whumpee blubbered.

"Shhshsh", Whumper hushed, "you apparently held some truth if that was so close to the tip of your tongue to just slip out. You wanted to say it, and just needed a little something to help", Whumper grinned, "why are you lying to me? What are my rules for you?"

Whumpee sniffled, "Don't lie. Don't tell, and do not ever talk about what happens here. I must check in with Master once a month to continue being free."

"Oh good, so you do remember, so why haven't you checked in the last two months?", Whumper sighed, "I was nervous something bad had happened to you. Then I see you walking around with some new person", Whumper started raising their voice, "two months Whumpee. Everyone has checked in with me, but you. Damage control is necessary for you to remain free."

Whumpee cowarded away as Whumper slammed their hand on the wall above them.

"I-I'm sorry, Caretaker has kept a close eye on me. I think they knew something was up", Whumpee kept their eyes low, "I tried to... honest."

Whumper sighed, "dishonest tongues should be destroyed. I think we should take that tongue away from you. I'm also taking away your freedom."

"Please Master", Whumpee fell forward into the puke, "please."

"All of you know the repercussions of misusing my kindness. Yes I'll take your tongue and your freedom", Whumper grinned, "you won't be able to talk very well. Tasting would be hard as well. Yes that is a fitting punishment."

"M-master please, I beg of you", Whumpee pleaded, "I-I don't want.... please take something else from me... please not my tongue."

"Fine I'll go get that Caretaker person who kept you away from me", Whumper stood and started to walk, "that way I'll take away your connection to the real world."

"Mast... Master please.... my tongue.... take that. Please don't hurt them", Whumpee pleaded.

"Oh, so now I can have it?", Whumper smirked, "are you giving your Master permission."

"N-no Master, just hoping you will show me mercy", Whumpee looked at them longingly, "please."

"I'm taking your tongue after breakfast", Whumper frowned.

Whumper strapped Whumpee down to their examination table. They placed a gag in Whumpee's mouth to hold it open.

"Now, removing a tongue is not easy. You run the risk of letting the person bleed out if it's not done right or the tongue could roll back and gag yhe perosn. So I recommend holding still", Whumper sighed, "and no, you don't get any pain relief."

Whumpee made a concerned look, "wh..?"

Whumper chuckled, "exactly."

Whumper used a tool to pull out the tongue and another to clamp and hold the piece that would still be attached.

Whumpee screamed and gagged as Whumper went deep into their mouth to cut out their tongue.

Whumper held Whumpee's head still, "if you move anymore, I will screw up. Stop moving."

Whumpee glared with tears in their eyes.

Whumpee was shackled to the wall again after the removal.

"It was successful", Whumper stood, "everything was done correctly. I'm glad I learned how to do that."

Whumpee only looked up for a second before looking at the floor.

"You are really swell...", Whumper heard someone breaking into the house.

Whumpee lowered themself to the floor. The swelling was causing them not to hear anything at the moment. They were too tired to care.

Whumper ran up the stairs and was instantly taken by police.

Caretaker ran past as they were being arrested. Several officers followed them down the steps.

"Whumpee", Caretaker ran to the body. They hoped it wasn't too late.

They turned Whumpee over and saw the swelling and bruising around their face.

"Whumpee", Caretaker gently shook them.

Medics came down and started to work.

"They look like they're in shock, any signs of blood loss", one of the medics looked into Whumpee's eyes.

An officer came running in, "there is a tongue in here. Is it there's?"

The medic opened Whumpee's mouth and gasped.

"It's been removed", the medic tried to hide a gag.

Whumpee winced and looked longingly at Caretaker.

"We need to get them to the hospital", the medics started to get them onto a gurney and strapped in.

Caretaker lovingly squeezed Whumpee's hand, "I'm sorry I couldn't get you to safety quicker. I will be up to the hospital soon to see you. I need to help here first. They will get you help."

Whumpee weakly nodded and saw the tears in Caretaker's eyes.

Caretaker watched as Whumpee was removed. Another carried out the removed tongue in a cooler.

With Whumpee and Whumper removed the police and Caretaker went through the house. They took records on Whumpee and others that seemed to be allowed to come and go as long as they checked in periodically.

"We need to station someone here to ketch these that come here and get them to safety", Caretaker looked over the names, "these poor people."

Caretaker had received Whumpee's location and made their way through the hospital.

The doctor caught them before they went into the room.

"I wanted to let you know a few things before you went in", the doctor led them to a nurses station. Their tongue is gone. It looks like it was removed accurately, so I'm not concerned. There is no way of reattaching it, though. They lost a lot of blood and are in a lot of pain. So, of course, pain meds and blood have been given. Please let them rest as much as you can."

Caretaker agreed.

Caretaker sat quietly in the room and watched as Whumpee slept. They took in every grimace and wince Whumpee made.

Caretaker was well aware that they should have been watching Whumpee closer. This was their fault for sleeping on the job.

Whumpee finally squinted their eyes opened, and looked around.

"Hey", Caretaker whispered when Whumpee finally looked their way.

Whumpee made a small smile.

"I'm so sorry. I woke up to see you missing. I looked around for a few minutes in hopes you were in the bathroom. After I didn't find you, I called in my team to get you. I had a tracking device hidden on you; I believed something was up and I thought that would be a good idea", Caretaker sighed in frustration.

Whumpee looked at them in confusion.

"Oh right... I'm a detective. I was tasked to befriend you after you went to the police station a few weeks ago", Caretaker frowned, "there was something off about you. In all honesty though I didn't know I was going to get as close to you as I did."

Whumpee weakly smiled.

"Let's do this", Caretaker reached for Whumpee's hand, "Whumper has been arrested, and we are working to track down the others like you. Let's get you out of that tiny apartment", Caretaker squeezed Whumpee's hand gently, "no matter what happens, I can help you. I promise we will work through all of this."

Whumpee frowned, 'this will be too much for you to deal with', they thought to themself.

"I know you're worried about the details. Don't worry about any of that, I have many strings that I can pull", Caretaker smiled, "just rest. Are you okay if I become your advocate for a little while?"

Whumpee looked deeply into Caretaker's eyes. They nodded and let a tear fall.

Caretaker gently squeezed their hand again.

"Alright, I will begin getting things together for when you are released", Caretaker smiled, "now please get some rest before the doctor comes in and yells at us."

Whumpee held Caretaker's hand tightly.

Caretaker paused and looked at Whumpee with concern, "yes Whumpee?"

Whumpee slowly moved their hand to their mouth, and made a motion as though they were drinking.

"Yes you can have more alcohol, but we have to check with the doctor when you'll be allowed to", Caretaker grinned, "I'll by you as much as you want, and this time we won't have to worry about you getting kidnapped. Though I will definitely keep a closer eye on you."

Whumpee smiled and nodded.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

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@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

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@valravnthefrenchie

[newobsessionweekly]

You are home

Main masterlist | 9-1-1 masterlist

Eddie Diaz x fem!reader Fandom: 9-1-1

Summary: You are kidnapped and locked into a basement until Eddie comes to your rescue.

A/N: still a bit rusty, no hate please. remember, english is not my first language so please be kind 🫶🏻 also feel free to request anything for Eddie and Buck, happy to write. Requests are open for Buck / Eddie!

Warnings: Mention of being held captive, sexual abuse, injuries, swearing.

BTHB prompt: shackled feet

Requested: No Words: 2.4k Gif not mine, credits to the owner.

You can hear the rain harshly knocking on the ground, wind whistling through the thin walls and the fear sweating from your body with every breath, with every step, with every heartbeat. It was nothing down there but you, a table, a plate and a spoon.

Eddie constantly feels the need to punch something. No boxing bag was ever enough. He feels something is going on. He knows you wouldn’t leave him just like that, without a reason. Without a note. Without a goodbye. Eddie has been left before, he knows now how to recognise the signs leading to that. And this isn’t the case. You were happy together. You loved each other over the heels for God’s sake. You were about to move in with Eddie and Christopher, you didn’t had a reason to leave, right ?

“Ok, Eddie, you need to stop!” Buck pops right in the middle of his thoughts and scatters them all over the place. He stopped Eddie a little too late, his fists were already covered in what seemed to be blood diluted in sweat and a few traces of tears. “It’s not helping. Been there once, didn’t help better to speak with your mouth rather than your fists?”

“What do you wanna hear me say ? Y/n loved me. Y/n wouldn’t leave me. Y/n would’ve called or texted. Something happened to her. You’ve heard all of this already and you’ve told me I’m nuts.” Eddie sighs and let his body drop violently on the bench inside changing room.

“You tried calling her?” Chimney asks.

“What do you think?” Your boyfriend hisses under his breath. Eddie knows they’re all just trying to help, but he can’t help it.

He’s just trying to figure out what is going on, but it’s been like hell this past week without you. Next day, Eddie listens to Athena’s advice and declare you missing.

The air is heavy and wet due to the water that’s been infiltrating first intro the ceiling then trickling down into the walls. It is hard to breath and even harder to keep your sanity at peace, you’re losing it slowly.

You touched the walls desperately trying to find a way out. Over and over again you’ve been tracing the uneven surfaces hoping the walls would somehow turn into a door that will open up and reveal Eddie. You were convinced by know you’ll die in that filthy place without everyone knowing what has happened.

Your nails scratched the wall with anger and it crumbled at your feet. Noticed they were all soaked in water and it was easier to get through them, but not easy enough. Maybe the roof was weaker than the walls and it was easier that way.

Carefully, you move the table closer to the wall and jump up, scratching the ceiling little by little with the metal spoon. Bad move giving the kidnapped person a metal object.

The water is coming down your elbow hitting the not so white plate in an annoying rhythm. Hours flew by now as you’ve found yourself a purpose to fight for your life. Little by little, the whole in the wall contoured into a way to escape. By now, only your arm could pierce the concrete and hit the cold outside air. But you’re not giving up, not yet.

A 911 call from a concerned neighbour opens Athena’s way to a small, decent house and a very well dressed man appears in the doorway.

“Sergeant Grant, LAPD.” Athena presents herself, showing the man her badge. “We’ve been informed by one of your neighbours about a hand sticking out from the ground in your yard.” she presents the case and inspects every move the well dressed man does. “Mind if we take a look?”

The man’s face is still, no emotion showing up, only the thoughts loudly echoing through his head. “Not at all, Sargent. Do what you have to do.”

Athena searches the house, but found nothing that could make her question. As halloween approaches really fast, she thought maybe the elegant man was into it so much he decided to start prepping in time. She tries the door leading to the basement, facing the impossibility to get past that.

“You have the keys to that door?” Athena turns around to the man watching her every step.

“Do you have a warrant to search my house?” the man plays the card very well.

“I’m gonna take a look around the house.” she announces and the man standing before her eyes just nodded.

Athena’s eyes lands on a patch of grass that is missing not so far from the house. She inspects it closely seeing a hole go down in the ground, maybe a few inches.

She keeps her mouth shut, carefully making her way to the car. Athena is convinced now something’s going on. A man’s house so tidy without a single thing raising suspicions. Basement door locked. A hole in the ground.

“Thank you for your time. Have a nice day!” She greeted the man driving off the street as another case pops up through her station.

You rest your head on the wall, inhaling the fresh morning air coming through the little opening in the ceiling. Your body was shaking because of the cold that made its way into the tiny room and also because your clothes were not even covering much.

He’d come every morning and night into the room, feed you some delicious food, but not enough, just for you to survive.

You heard footsteps approaching the door and some keys ringing as the brown haired man walked empty handed. You tried moving as far away as possible, all you could do was drag your body just a few inches before collapsing on the ground.

The legcuffs were making hard for you to move around since the first day, but now it feels like you’re pinned to the ground.

The man’s eyes were already filled with anger, but as soon as he saw the picture before his eyes, his features darkened even more, rage railing down his veins.

“Bitch, what did you do?” he approaches you, loudly unbelting his trousers. “That’s how you show me respect? For feeding you, for pleasing you. That’s how you thank me?” his thick belt furiously touched your cheek. A painful burn made your skin instantly go red and ache run through your cheek, tears unintentionally flowing down.

“I’m so sorry! I’m really really sorry!” you cried. “I couldn’t breathe, I-I needed some air. Please, I’m not trying to do anything.” you pleaded as he grabbed you thighs, pulling you closer. Your head loudly smacked into the hard concrete floor, dizziness blocking your vision for a few seconds. Too little time and the show had just began.

You beg God to take you right in that moment, so all the pain, the suffering could go away with just a blink. But as usual, your luck was not on your side.

All you can see is the water sliding down as two hands spreads you legs and made their way up. One hand harshly rubs you entrance as the other one massages your breasts one at the time. Your only desire is for you to leave your body just right there and move away. You hoped his stupid show was over now and your tears were finally coming to an end.

You quickly learned it was easier if you didn’t fight back. But all he wants is a response from you, see you fight for your life, see your terrified eyes begging him to stop. He’s getting angrier second by second as you didn’t even flinch when he made his way inside you. You just stood there, eyes closed slowly consciousness leaving you.

Athena stays beside Bobby at firefighter’s table, looking between faces. Concerned, sad faces she’s way too familiar with. You vanishing like that from their lives messed up with everyone’s head. She shares with the rest of the group the strange call she received that morning, and the even strange images she’s seen.

“What’s the address?” Eddie asks. He’s got a little bit of hope now, he thinks he really got a lead. But that’s what he thought the whole week when he’d been seeing your face everywhere.

“Uh-huh! You not going there-” Athena says. Eddie already stood up ready to search every yard in LA and around. “All by yourself! I’m parked in the back.” She rolls her eyes as Eddie dressed up while walking to the car.

“I guess you done eating!” Athena turns to Buck still chewing on his food. She knows they are inseparable, especially now when it’s about you.

Eddie jumps out of the car as soon as Athena shows him the house. The red SUV was gone now along with the brown haired man. The fire truck stations just around the corner and behind it, Hen is parking the paramedic truck. Just in case.

“That’s the hole i’ve been telling you about.”

Eddie shoved his flashlight down to the hole seeing the concrete floor just beneath.

“Ok there’s clearly something down there. Maybe a room? The basement. Not sure if there’s anyone in there.” He informed.

“There’s a pretty big hole, the rain couldn’t do that. The ground looks stable, no signs of collapsing.” Buck thinks out loud.

A bright light blinds you for a moment, but before you had time to come into senses, it disappeared like it was never there. You can’t move, you barely can open your eyes properly, but you hear voices so damn familiar.

It’s all in my head. It’s all a dream. Am I dead ? No, i’m still here. I wish I was dead.

You feel pain from head to toe, your body starts shaking violently because of the ice cold wind that’s coming from the hole.

The hole. I have to do something.

You try to stand up, ignoring the painful ache vibrating through your chest, but slipping down again on the blood that keeps flowing out of you. At the contact with the hard floor, you hear a loud crack as a scream left your mouth unintentionally. Blood is pouring down your arm and you feel dizzy again, the dark room in spinning.

Mumbling are hearing from above you, voices becoming clearer as the footsteps approaches.

“Is anyone down there ?” one of the voices shouts before the light coming down the hole floods the room.

“Help!” that’s all you can say, not sure if the voices heard you.

“Guys, there’s someone down there! They don’t sound very much alive. Hey, are you hurt?” it is speaking to you as some footsteps hurried away.

“Yes. There… much blood.” you try to speak as loud as you can, but in this moment it was even hard to breath.

“Can you move?” you look back at the spot on the ceiling where grass and pieces of concrete falls down on the floor.

“Not sure.”

Your eyes closes, you feel tired. Maybe it was your time. It was just a dream anyway, no one’s coming for you.

Annoying beeping wake you up from a sweet dream. You dreamed of some kind of hero save you from that filthy place.

As you open your eyes, slowly coming to senses, a white and bright light burned your eyes. The pain you’ve felt before is gone and you feel like you’re staying on top of the comfiest cloud. You can effortlessly breath now as you inspect the room. It was white and smell funny. A brown hair is standing next to the big window.

The man turns his head towards you when the machine’s beeping became alert. You close your eyes in fear as tears running down your face.

“Please don’t hurt me, i’ll be good, I promise. I’m not trying anything.” you cried when a big warm hand touched your arm.

“Y/n, it’s Eddie.” the voice you recognise spoke, but you can’t believe. “Please look at me.” his hand was still there, moving up and down your arm in a calming way. It feels familiar to you. The voice is familiar. Even the smell you recognise.

You slowly open your eyes showing up the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen, flooded with tears and pain. A small smile crack in the corner of his mouth.

“Babe, it’s me. You’re home now.” seeing Eddie in flesh and bones made your tears violently flow down you cheeks. You are dreaming again. “Please don’t cry, it’s not good for you. You’re safe now, you’re with me. Nothing bad will happen.”

You pull Eddie into a tight hug taking both of you by surprise. You trace the shape of his face with you trembling fingers as he inspected every feature. You are pale, weak, your body covered in scratches and bruises. Red and purple marks are painted all over you but he didn’t care. You’re next to him again and that all that matters.

He leans on and closes your lips with his in a soft, sweet kiss you only dreamed of the past few weeks. You missed his gentle touch, the way your lips merge together perfectly, the way his hand caressed yours or the way his soft red lips curved in a bright smile every time he kisses you.

“I’m home.” you cried. “You found me.”

“I found you babe, I will always find you. You’re never leaving my side again.” he jokes, but a little truth is hiding behind his words.

“Y/n!” a voice followed by small rushing footsteps echoed in the room, breaking your embrace. Christopher run to your bed and Eddie helpt him jump up next to you. “I missed you so much!”

“Hey buddy! I’m missed you too!” you caressed his head, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

���You promised me we’d do a sleepover!” Chris pleaded.

“We’ll do every night a sleepover until you’ll get tired of me! How that sounds?” you look over at Eddie that now is smiling at the picture showing before his eyes, two of the most beloved people in his life back right next to him.

[chaosgremlinmunson]

STWG 11-13-2023

Prompt: Paladin

Steve sat in the corner of the room waiting on the kids to (please) finally finish the stupid nerd game they were playing, he was looking intently at a notebook in his lap as he doodled, a knight-like figure coming together in a cutesy cartoon figure. He heard his name and glanced up seeing Dustin leaning over the table eyebrows furrowed at Mike.

“What do you mean he'd be a barbarian, clearly he'd be a paladin or a knight?! C'mon man, seriously your issues with Steve are getting ridiculous!” Dustin was shouting at Mike, his fingers pointing in his face while both of them steadily were turning redder and redder.

“Dude, no, seriously he's so dumb he'd be a barbarian, or maybe a tank. He knows how to hit, not how to strategize! Clearly he wouldn't be able to be someone in a military tank or who followed a religion. I'm surprised he knows how to tie his shoes.” Make snarked back smacking Dustin's hand out of the way.

Eddie was watching the interaction, his brows furrowed and looked over to Steve who was slowly slouching down in his seat, his eyes downcast. He promptly clapped his hands to get their attention.

“Mini Wheeler, your thief Fenizio is in the dark alley near the guards, you are trying to steal the goblet of Ariella, it's enchanted to heal anyone who drinks from it and you know it's being taken to the palace for King Lionos. Roll for stealth.” Eddie has a wicked gleam in his eyes and Mike looks slightly startled. Still, he picks up the die and rolls grimacing as it lands on a four, “and that's a miss!” Eddie crows, “the guard turns just as you reach into the pouch at his side, he grips your arm and throws you to the ground, his foot stepping onto your chest pinning you in place.”

“Shit.” Mike hisses, “I want to pull my dagger and slice into his ankle.”

“Roll initiative.”

Mike rolls the die again and it lands on a 6.

“Another miss. The guard leans down further placing you in shackles and raises you to your feet marching you straight to the palace and into the dungeon. The adventurers you're with are fading slowly from the poisons and now you've been captured. In the time it takes for you to escape the next day you come to find the entire party dead, you yourself walking into a trap. The adventure ends, and so does the journey for justice.” Eddie says leaning back on his throne.

“What the fuck Eddie?!” Mike yells, “why did you kill all of us, that's bullshit!”

Eddie rolls his head to look over at Mike with a pitying smile on his face, “Let this be a lesson, that man” he points in Steve's direction who's looking at the table shocked, “is a goddamn hero. You forget I was there when he did for you all?! You forget what he's done for everyone here?! He's a good man, and a damn good friend to all of you. Stop treating him like dirt, and until he tells me each and every one of you has apologized for treating him as abysmally as I've witnessed today, all of our sessions are over. I'll take the time to come up with new campaigns, but I won't play with any of you until this is fixed, and no, Steve will not be taking any of you anywhere. Birdie and I are gonna have a talk, and we'll both make sure we keep him occupied, constantly. Now shoo, and take the time to think about what you all did. Oh, and before I forget, Steve isn't taking any of you home today either, get in the van.” He turns his attention to Steve then, “Stevie, I need you to drive home for me, birdie and I will be there shortly. These kids are going home and the three of us are going to hang out, talk and have fun. Can you do that for me?”

Steve nods numbly, and stands leaving the room before any of the kids can say anything, he gets to his car and drives home. At least he knows someone cares for him, he'd never seen Eddie as angry as he just was.

[misty-doodles]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

The Pandora's Vault main cell when it's warm

'It's too warm,' had been among the thoughts crammed into Dream's skull as Sam dragged him back into the vault. He'd gotten greedy, let himself believe that he could be free from his cell. That Techno cared about him and didn't see him as simply a means to an end. It didn't matter now. 

Not when he'd been caught, dragged kicking and screaming back into his worst hell after so many blissful weeks of freedom, of recovery under the lying hands of Techno and Philza. For what must've been the first time in months, he didn't have a single open wound on his thin body, he'd eaten something other than those horrid potatoes, and he'd seen the sky. For everything he went through, for everything he knew awaited him inside those obsidian walls, Dream would have been happy to die beneath the stars. 

Instead, he bore the weight of their disgust as Sam led him in shackles into Pandora's vault once more, Techno and Philza nowhere in sight. How could they leave him like that? Let Sam take him away when they knew what would happen!

'It's too warm,' he thought again as his body hit the unforgiving obsidian floor, tears burning his eyes. The Arctic had been so cold, the chill biting his skin through the thick cloak Techno had given him, turning his cheeks a ruddy red. It's been comforting, the all consuming chill that he could chase away by the fire with the thick liquid chocolate Philza would always have at the ready. It was nothing like the hot, heavy air of the cell, the burning rock beneath his bare feet and hands. The blazing lava that trapped him here.

Had it truly all been a ruse? Was that always the plan? To give him a taste of freedom, to remind him of everything he'd ever loved before ripping it away from his weak hands? To trade the chill of his Arctic home for the blistering warmth of this vault? 

Or had Dream done this? Had they simply gotten fed up with constantly dealing with a damaged and broken man? Did the nightmares and screams that lasted all hours of the night push them over the edge? The panic attacks and flashbacks at even the tiniest trigger? Had they finally realized what Sir had known all along? 

That Dream was a monster to the bone. That the only place he deserved to call home was this very cell. This agonizing, painful cell.

'It's too warm,' he buried his face in his knees as the thought looped in his head, just so he didn't have to watch his Warden leave him all alone again, to watch the lava drip over the entrance once more and seal him inside his tomb.

[wynnyfryd]

at the bottom you’ll find all our friends

written for the July @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pool’ | wc: 442 | rated: M | CW: canonical MCD, ambiguous ending, angst, isolation, violent imagery, dark themes. Steve Harrington is having A Time (™) | title from ‘At the Bottom’ by Brand New

Steve’s at the bottom of the pool.

There is no water.

It is not empty.

Blood pours over the walls, oozes like black sludge, a slow molasses creep of sickly tar toward his feet, and it’s thick and it’s cold when it seeps into his shoes, slithers up the hem of his jeans. Frigid filth around his ankles; concrete shackles. Locked knees.

The wall ripples; splits.

Mucosal membrane, monstrous mother; the demogorgon shrieks as it shoves its way through, and from somewhere behind it, somewhere beyond, Eddie screams ‘run,’ but Eddie’s gone and Steve can’t move and the flower petal throat of the beast unfurls before him, roaring like the blood in his ears. Blood everywhere; blood on the walls, in his eyes.

He wakes up sweating.

🩸

In the morning, Steve peers over the edge of the diving board and sighs. Gate’s bigger. Always is.

🩸

Eddie died in March.

Steve knows because he carried his corpse back out of hell, beat his hands against its chest and broke three of its ribs before Nancy said ‘Steve! Enough! Do you want to die, too?’

Great question, Nance.

The trouble is, Eddie doesn’t stay dead. Takes to haunting Steve’s nightmares: water turned to pouring blood; screaming monsters; Eddie’s cries. A gate that doesn’t disappear when he wakes.

Months of this.

He should do something. End it.

Do you want to die, too?

But every night Eddie comes one step closer, feels a little more alive. He sings to Steve in daylight now, humming sweetly through the gate.

Steve loves him so much his gums ache.

Tonight he rips the monster’s throat out with his teeth, and Eddie steps over the carcass like he’s doing a little jig.

“You’re shaking,” he frowns, cupping Steve’s face.

“Just tired.”

“Of missin’ me?” A rugged smirk, scar splitting through his dimple. Eddie rubs their mouths together. “Just miss me that much?”

“Yes.”

When they kiss, it tastes like blood.

🩸

Steve starts sleeping in the yard, a chair pulled to the water’s edge. “Come home,” Eddie sings.

Please. “Show me how.”

🩸

“Steve…” Robin’s smile is too watery; reminds him of gates pulsing twelve feet below. “Steve, you look-”

“I’m fine.”

Brave face, big eyes. She can see the red all over him. “You’re fine.”

🩸

He’s on the diving board again, toes wiggling over the ledge. Weights around his ankles. The gate’s so big and bright it burns.

Steve closes his eyes against the shine, smiles to himself when he hears Eddie’s music, sweet and strong through the wound in the world. Come home, sweetheart, come home.

“I’m comin’, baby.”

He steps over the edge.

[arctrooper69]

Don't Forget

Crosshair x Inquisitor!Reader

For the @clonexreaderbingo prompt "Don't forget"

Warnings: Mentions of torture (both mental and physical). Generally dark theme.

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

"They left you. They betrayed you. They hurt you."

It wasn't just the constant mental barrage of half truths and words twisted ruthlessly until you could no longer decipher your own thoughts. You could still feel the physical pain long after it was over - the electric agony coursing, stinging, burning through your veins. The smell of your own scorched flesh still lingered everytime you took a breath.

"Do you hate me now? Don't forget how angry that makes you. Let it fill you. Let it consume you. Let it grow until all you can taste is vengeance."

And it did. You let the anger fester inside of your veins like the chemicals they pumped to muddle your mind and dull your senses.

There is only much pain the human body can take before you become numb to everything else. There is only so much anger you can hold inside before you explode. When you explode, there's nothing left of who you were before and no one to pick up the pieces save for the one who made you this way in the first place. All the atrocities in the galaxy can be committed guiltlessly if you believe they wronged you first.

Crosshair knew this better than anyone but it still made him angry. It made him angry to see what they did to you. It made him angry to see how they broke you and built you back up in their own image. Just like him.

Empire. Inquisitor. Good soldiers follow orders either way.

"Don't forget that they left you. Don't forget the pain they put you through."

Don't forget.

Don't forget.

Don't forget.

"Remember the pain, the suffering, the anguish. Don't you want it to end?"

Don't forget who you are.

Crosshair sat on the cold, durasteel floor outside of the ray shielded cell they'd put you in. Force-binding shackles encircled your hands and feet. His brothers hadn't known what else to do. Your red-rimmed eyes starred at him, face contorting with rage. Maybe someday you'd come back to him. Maybe someday you'd forgive him.

"Do you remember who I am?" he asked softly.

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