#the face of a man trying not to commit murder with his bare hands

[hogans-heroes]

Haussmann: Starts talking about Gale

Bucky:

when your wartime intelligence isn't all that intelligent

MASTERS OF THE AIR Part Two ★ Part Six

[muwapsturniolo]

Brutus 2 🦇 Chris sturniolo

"O-one hun-hundred and fif-fifteen times...." PT 1

NSFW AHEAD!!! mentions of murder, stabbing, assault (not detailed!!!), alcohol, blowjobs/face fucking, facials, cum eating, rough sex, biting, cream pies, choking, switch! Chris, Matt is a perv

The police still couldn’t figure out what happened on the final night of Halloween horror nights. It’s been a month and the gruesome murders were still unsolved and left everyone scratching their head. The police took the right measures, they taped off the crime scene for weeks on end, rewatched the CCTV footage, and questioned the crew and attendees.

But they came up empty-handed.

They couldn’t figure out who committed the crime or why they did it.

But she knew.

When she was questioned, the police showing up at her door with her discarded tweed purse, she lied and said she didn’t see anything. Claimed she barely remembers that night due to the alcohol she consumed on the premises.

She knew it was wrong to lie to authority, to take away the possibility of a grieving family to finally have peace and to know the killer is behind bars. She knew if anyone found out what she did they would call her insane and probably throw her six feet under a jail - She didn’t want that.

She was lying to cover her own ass and the nameless killers, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Especially if it meant they would continue watching her.

It was only a couple of days after that night when she felt as if she was being watched. She had just gotten out of the shower and walked into her bedroom to put on her pajamas when she noticed the clothes were on the floor.

That isn't where she left them.

She vividly remembered placing them neatly at the foot of her bed, folded and ready to throw on. Now they were thrown onto the floor in a mess, and her panties were missing.

Fear should have settled into her body, but instead, she proceeded to get dressed right in front of the open window.

With that being said, she went about her life as if nothing happened, as if she wasn't being stalked by two psychopaths.

Her routine never changed.

Weeks had gone by, minutes, hours - two months to be exact. She had given up the little bit of hope that those two would make an appearance. Honestly, she had forgotten about them until a Christmas party had gone wrong.

Her friends had forced her to attend, shoving her into a powder blue satin dress and a pair of silver heels to match. soon, she was at the party, standing in the corner with a frown on her face.

She wasn't having a good time. Her friends had ditched her as soon as they made it to the club, this guy who was completely wasted wouldn't leave her alone, and she was hot.

Deciding that she was over it and needed some air, she found her friends and told them she was leaving. She walked away, ignoring their drunken protests, and pulled out her phone, attempting to order an Uber.

It seemed like she didn't have any luck, the cellular device having no type of signal. With a huff she begins walking down the street, not noticing the two people following her.

"This is so stupid! This is the last time I let them drag me to a dumb party an-" A small scream escapes her mouth as she's pushed into an alley, her phone falling from her hands. Her body collides with a trash can, preventing her from falling into the muddy puddles of water from the melted snow.

She's soon shoved against the wall, the streetlamps casting a shadow over her attacker's face. She didn't need lights to know who the person was, the rancid smell of alcohol was enough.

It was the same man from the party, he had followed her out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Get off of me!" She shouts in annoyance, trying to push him off. It was odd, the way she was completely sober and had better coordination should have given her the strength to push him away. But to no avail, he proceeded to force himself upon her, slurring his words in the process.

Just as his hand goes up her dress, he's yanked away and tackled to the ground, her savior immediately throwing punches.

She stays frozen against the wall, too shocked to even register what's happening.

A glimmer of light snaps her back into reality.

She watches as her savior raises his arm, a knife in hand.

She watches as the blade is plunged into her attacker's chest, his screams slowly drowning out as he chokes on his own blood. She watches her savior continuously bring the knife down, not stopping until he's satisfied.

His actions begin to slow, his breathing heavy as he slumps back, staring at the lifeless body underneath him.

She takes a hesitant step forward, freezing when her savior turns to her.

She already knew, but the mask adorning his face confirmed it.

Her savior was the same man from that night, the same masked man who was ready to kill her before being scared away by his partner in crime.

His wild and deranged eyes soften as they connect with hers, his breathing calming down.

They say nothing, the only sound being heard is the flurries of snow rushing past them.

She slowly approaches, holding her hand out before speaking softly, "Come on, let's go."

He looks down at her hand before standing up, towering over her. He points towards her discarded phone, his silence-speaking words. She nods and rushes over to her phone, bending down to grab it. She huffs seeing the cracked screen, cursing out the dead man in her head. Just as she begins to wipe the phone off, she hears a loud bang.

She whips around and sees both the masked savior and the dead body gone, her brows slowly creasing.

Where did they go? How did they disappear so quick?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a hand landing on her shoulder. She jumps in surprise and turns around to see the masked savior in front of her.

"Jesus Christ, " she covers her chest as her heart begins to beat quickly. She swears she heard him snicker softly, but before she could question him, he wrapped his hand around her arm and dragged her down the street.

In reality, she knows she should be scared and questioning him, but she stays silent, allowing him to guide her to wherever they are going. They soon arrive in front of a beat-up pickup truck, parts of the car rusting as snow sits in the bed.

He opens the passenger door and looks at her expectantly. She peers inside the truck, noticing the mess inside. The cans of Pepsi discarded on the floor, the wrappers from candy, the smell of cigarettes, and most importantly,

The small bloodstains on the seats.

She looks back at him, noticing the soft look in his eyes.

"You want me to get in?"

He nods, still refusing to speak.

"Are you taking me home?"

He nods once more.

"Do you know where I live?"

He tenses, the grip he has on her arm tightening. It's almost as if he's scared, scared of being caught for stalking. Scared she's going to scream, run away, reject him.

She snickers softly seeing the fear in his eyes, it's a bit ironic.

She says nothing, simply climbing into the truck and buckling herself in.

"Come on, I miss my bed."

With that, he closes the door and climbs into the car himself, quickly starting the engine and driving off. She watches silently as he drives down familiar streets, having driven down them herself whenever she's on her way home.

The car ride was filled with silence, it wasn't tense if anything, it was calming, the both of them relaxed.

They soon arrive and he kills the engine, staring straight ahead out the window. She turns to him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face behind the mask.

"Thank you for helping me," she says softly. He gives a curt nod, his hands still placed on the wheel.

"Did you want to come in?" His head whips to her, his eyes holding confusion. She smirks, enjoying the hesitancy and confusion in his eyes.

" Come on, you've been inside anyway. Might as well come in with an invitation this time."

He huffs behind the mask but follows her actions in unbuckling the seat belt and climbing out of the car.

They walk inside the house, the girl kicking off the annoying heels and throwing her keys in the bowl on the stand. She walks to her bedroom, smiling to herself as she hears his sluggish footsteps behind her. She throws herself onto her bed, flipping onto her back and propping herself up with her elbows.

She looks him up and down curiously, attempting to familiarize herself with him again.

"How come you wear a mask?"

Like always, he says nothing, refusing to even glance in her direction. She pushes herself off the bed and approaches him, cornering him. No words are spoken between the two as she presses herself against him, his breathing speeding up. With a slow and steady hand, she trails it up his arm, her fingers soon fanning out against his chest.

She goes to touch the edge of the mask, but she's stopped by his hand firmly grasping her wrist.

He looks scared.

Despite the tight grip he has on her, she continues with her actions. Her fingers grip the edge of the mask, slowly pulling it off of his face.

He quickly turns his head, his hair falling in front of his face. She gently turns him back towards her, their eyes connecting as her fingers dance across the scar on his cheek.

"O-one hun-hundred and fif-fifteen times...."

A shocked expression makes its way onto her face. He spoke, he finally spoke, and the first thing he decided to say was a number.

"W-what?" She questions in confusion, raking her brain for what the number could mean.

"Th-the man....I sta-stabbed him one hun-dred and f-fifteen times."

She's shocked by the confession.

She didn't know a lot about murder, only having seen it and heard about it in movies and TV shows, but she knew it took a lot of energy and anger to stab someone that amount of times - He did it for her.

It was sick, it was twisted, and yet, it attracted her.

"Let me thank you," she mumbles, her hand leaving his face and trailing down his chest, soon finding its place over his crotch. She begins to palm him, watching his breathing grow harsh, their eyes still connected. A small whimper leaves his mouth, and she breaks out into a grin - his moans were so pretty, so soft,

Submissive.

She sinks to her knees, both of her hands working at his belt, soon throwing it to the floor. Her mouth waters as she pulls his pants down, his cock slapping his abdomen.

It was pretty, just like him.

It was long and thick, and had a bright red tip that matched his chapped lips. There was a vein running up the side that she knew would feel euphoric when sliding against her spongy walls.

He bucks his hips softly as she wraps her hand around his shaft, pulling it towards her mouth. She opens her mouth and allows a wad of spit to trickle out, landing directly on his tip. Her thumb swipes over the tip as she moves the spit around, starting to jerk him off.

His moans and whimpers are kitten-like, despite his horrific and brutal demeanor, he was like putty in her hands.

She enjoys the way his body relaxes against the door, his head thrown back and his mouth open as he pants softly. She kitten licks his tip before taking him fully in her mouth. His rough and calloused hands fly to her head, grabbing the strands of hair and forcing her to take him deeper.

She gags around him, tears forming in her eyes as she opens her mouth wider, but she keeps going. She bobs her head up and down, making sure to hum and fondle his balls in the process.

His moans and groans grow louder, and his actions become more dominant. It was like a switch was flipped in his head, his hips starting to slam against her face.

He shows no mercy as he fucks her face, his dick reaching so far down her throat and giving her no chance to breathe. Her actions of gratitude had quickly become sloppy, the mixture of spit and precum coating her chin and falling down to her chest.

There were even bubbles of the mixture forming, popping every time her nose hit his happy trail.

She manages to look up at him, her mascara tears and glossy eyes making her look so damaged yet innocent - It drives him over the edge.

He quickly pulls out of her mouth and releases all over her face, enjoying the way she gasps in shock.

It's like his body is on autopilot, nothing but excitement and adrenaline controlling his actions. His hand wraps around her throat, lifting her to her feet with ease. Their lips instantly mesh together, swapping spit as they hastily make out. She moans into the kiss as he tightens his grip on her throat, the wetness in her panties only growing. She could feel the sticky fluid in between her folds every time she clenched her thighs - She was aching for him to touch her.

He suddenly pulls away from the kiss and begins to lick his own semen off of her face, his eyes rolling back. She moaned at his erotic actions, the way his soft and spongy muscle glided over her cheek. She could smell the faint mixture of cigarettes on his breath, but she found herself not caring.

Suddenly, she's pushed away from him, her body colliding with the mattress. It all happens so quick, the way her powder blue dress is ripped into pieces, her soaked panties following.

He was like a rabid, feral dog, ready to take what he wanted and she was just as excited.

Her jaw drops and her back arches as he shoves his length inside of her, reaching to the deepest hilt. Much like his partner in crime, he stretched her out perfectly, her aching walls sucking him in and not letting him go. The bedframe bangs against the wall with each ferocious thrust, items falling off her nightstand due to the shaking.

He shoves his face into the crevice of her neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin. He proceeds with his actions, the marking of his teeth covering her whole chest along with her breasts - Blood is drawn in certain areas.

It's an overwhelming amount of pleasure, so overwhelming that she can't even keep her eyes open nor hold him. Her arms lay flat by her head, her eyes clenched shut as her mouth remains open.

Her eyes fly open when her head whips to the side, the same hand that slapped her wrapping around her throat, squeezing tightly.

He's heaving like a dog, his pants mixed with groans, making him sound like a beast.

She weakly grabbed at his wrist, trying to ease the pressure on her throat, but it was no use. She had become lightheaded from the pleasure and lack of air.

She was close to passing out, but she was also close to reaching her orgasm, it was just a matter of which one she would experience first.

"You're going to kill her, ease up on the choking."

Her blurry eyes dart to the bedroom door, a choked gurgle escaping her mouth when she sees him.

He was here, the one with the painted face. Except, his face wasn't painted, and he was watching her be fucked by his partner.

She gasped for air when he released her throat, her eyes still trained on the other one. She watches as he takes a seat at her vanity, leaning back on the chair and manspreading.

"Don't look at me, look at him. He's the one fucking you."

She does as told, her eyes connecting with the man on top of her. He had the same look in his eyes from that night when he chased after the girl trying to run away.

"Tell him how good he's making you feel, he loves the praise,"

"S-so good- Nghh. Fuck- " She could barely speak a full sentence, her speech slurred.

"That's all you can do? Come on dollface, he killed someone for you! Show him how grateful you are! He finally gets to feel you after watching me fuck you, give him the experience he deserves."

Her mind is reeling, incoherent babbles of praise falling from her lips. The more she praises him, the harder his thrust become, her sobs of pleasure getting louder.

It's not long before she felt that familiar coil in her stomach forming, ready to burst at any second - and all it took was one final thrust from the man on top of her to push her over the edge.

Her whole body shakes violently, her eyes rolling back as she feels the static rush through her body. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurry as she came down from her high.

She lays there shaking, her fingers twitching as she pants harshly. She was worn out, fucked, and tired.

Suddenly, he stands up from the vanity and slams his hand down on Chris's back, "Look at her....and I thought I wore her out." They both look down at her, trying to figure out what to do next.

Matt suddenly bends down and moves her hair out of her face, grabbing her chin softly.

"Wake up doll, your night has just started."

[matsookawa]

Title: Be Safe

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader

Summary: Mihawk being soft with his wife

Word count: 526

Based on: Person A giving Person B a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

Her husband rummaging through their ensuite bathroom is what wakes Y/N up. Although slightly bitter at first, the fog of sleep clears and she remembers the reason for the constant opening and closing of drawers and cabinets. She recalls a mission Mihawk mentioned a few nights ago during dinner. It’s a particularly dangerous one, however Y/N didn’t retain any of the details as she has full faith in her spouse to return safely.

She rolls over to face the bathroom doorway just as Mihawk is turning out the light. Seeing his lover awake, his face softens. “I was trying not to wake you. It’s still early.” Y/N knows he’s right. The sun hasn’t even come out yet and the only source of light is the moon streaming through their window and illuminating her figure on the bed. She releases a yawn and drapes her arm across the edge of the bed, as if reaching for him. “I would be more angry had I not been able to see you off.” The corner of Mihawk’s lip lifted. A movement so minute and yet Y/N is so in tune with him, it makes the corners of hers do the same.

The man kneels at her bedside and looks at her. Oh, how she wishes he could delay his leave and stay in bed with her for days. The way he takes her hand in his more calloused one makes her heart beat faster in her chest. It rams against her ribcage as if screaming for his own heart to stay with it. His fingers dance along her hand before they intertwine with hers and give one hard squeeze. “It’s too cold to get out of bed. I will send word to you as soon as I reach the island.” His wife appreciates the reassuring words, trusting them completely. “Please be safe. I’m not taking care of Perona and Zoro alone.” Mihawk sighs through his nose. “Truly a terrible fate.” Y/N giggles and Mihawk’s smile widens. “Go back to sleep, my heart. I’ll be back before you know it.” His wife’s eyes begin to grow heavy as she nods slowly. “Bring back some of those pastries I like or you’re not being let in.” Her voice is becoming mumbles and Mihawk knows it’s time to let her sleep.

He stands and waits for her to turn over before pulling the blankets up to her shoulders. He bends over her, supporting himself with one hand on the bed. “Duly noted.” Y/N, almost completely asleep, turns her head to peer up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Dracule?” she whispers. “Yes, my love.” Her breathing evens out and he almost thinks she’s asleep. “I love you.” The great warlord, a man who’s stricken fear into an immeasurable amount of people, who has committed countless murders, leans down and places the softest of kisses on her temple. He whispers against her skin and Y/N barely registers it before he gives her hand one last squeeze, picks up his bags, and silently walks out of their room towards the front door of their estate.

“And I, you.”

[marblehazel]

A Lesson

raider!Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel just wants you to listen to him for your sake, keep yourself out of trouble while he’s away for the day. But of course you have to slip up, putting yourself in danger. Now he’s going to teach you a lesson.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, pre-boston qz, established relationship but questionable dynamics, d/s undertones, dubious consent (!!!), punishment, degradation, face slapping, pussy slapping, fingering, orgasm denial

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: This piece contains descriptions of murders and dead bodies (brief), and physical abuse, mainly slapping. Joel also says cruel things in this, not directly calling you names, but there are derogatory lines. Please take care of yourself :)

You’re fucked.

Your life flashes before your eyes. The sins you’ve committed, the chances you didn’t take, all pounding at the door of your consciousness. You can feel death closing in, its cold embrace beckoning. If you had one chance to go back in time, you would give anything to go back to exactly thirty six minutes ago. Not an hour ago, not before the outbreak, just thirty six minutes prior to this second. When you still had the choice to be a good person, or a surviving one.

Joel’s been gone since the crack of dawn. He’s meeting up with some raiders—a trade, a few miles north—and scouting out a safer route for the two of you to head north. You can’t afford to stay in one place for long, not with the way things are going down here. The farmlands used to offer more, but they’re nothing now. You have to keep moving.

Joel would’ve taken you with him, but it’s not about easing his own mind. It’s about keeping you out of harm’s way. He doesn’t trust the people he’s meeting—not enough to risk you. Not with the way things are. You never know who’s looking for a fight, or what kind of deal they’re pushing. There’s no room for mistakes, not in this world. Not when every day is a damn gamble.

Before leaving, Joel orders you to stay low, keep your presence unknown inside the farmhouse you have been staying at for a week, and kill anyone who dares to approach the doorstep. You say yes, of course.

But, as usual, you always have to blow everything up.

It isn’t long before you see her. A girl, maybe nine or ten, walking toward the farmhouse. She looks exhausted, her steps sluggish. She doesn’t look like she’s infected, at least not yet. Her clothes are torn, and there are smudges of dirt on her face. You hesitate, instinctually reaching for your knife and the gun Joel had left you.

But as the girl comes closer to the porch, you get a good look at her eyes. There is something fragile about her. Maybe it’s the way she winces at the sun or the way her shoulders slump, as if the weight of the world is crushing her. The girl reminds you of yourself. Lost, vulnerable, a survivor in a world that doesn’t give a damn. You can’t help but feel the urge to help. To give her a chance.

You let her in. And that is your first mistake.

She appears to be mute, silent in the face of your questions. As you check her over for bite marks or concealed weapons, she does nothing but stare at you with wide, exhausted eyes, as if she might faint at any moment. You grab one of your clean shirts, handing it to her with a silent offer of warmth, trying to figure out how to communicate. You aren’t sure if she’s deaf too, but you ask anyway, in every way you can think of. Gestures, simple words. But she remains silent. Only stares.

You give her a few crackers, still pushing for answers. Who is she? What is she doing here? The questions hang in the air, unanswered as the seconds tick by, and the next thing you know, the door slams open.

A man and woman are upon you in an instant, knives drawn. Their words are sharp and demanding: supply, weapons, food. You barely have a moment to react before the girl shifts, hiding behind the woman, and she runs her fingers through the kid’s tangled hair. It dawns on you. The girl is only a bait.

So, you’re fucked.

Your instincts kick in first. As the man lunges for you, you grab the gun, hammer already cocked, your heart pounding as you aim. The gunshot rings out, the sound deafening in the tight space. It hits his shoulder, blood spurting in a quick spray as his scream fills the air.

Before you can get another shot off on the woman, her fist collides with your temple, sending you reeling. The world tilts, your vision blurs, and for a moment, you thought the darkness might swallow you whole. You’re a goner.

But then there is a crack, a gunshot that isn’t yours.

The woman drops to the ground, her body slumping lifelessly as Joel emerges from the shadows, his presence cutting through the chaos like a knife. His gun is steady in his hands, his eyes cold as he surveys the scene. The man, still clutching his shoulder, barely has time to react before another shot rings out, and he crumples.

The girl tries to run—tired, slow, desperate—but Joel is quicker. Another shot, and she falls on the porch, lifeless before she even has a chance to flee.

Joel’s eyes locked onto yours as he steps forward, his movements sharp, calculated. No words were needed between you. He has seen enough. There was nothing left to say.

.

The next hour is spent lining the bodies inside, checking their pockets and if they still have some friends around the farm waiting to strike. You find a bag with not much in it in the back of the house, some jerky and a half-empty bottle of water. They were desperate. 

You ask Joel if you should dig a grave for them, even a shallow one, at least for the little girl’s body, but he doesn’t answer. The farmhouse feels suffocating, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood that hasn’t yet had a chance to fade. The bodies lie there, still and turning cold, while the bloodstains seep into the floorboards. The room, once perhaps a place of quiet refuge for you and Joel, even for a brief period, now reeks of death. Every corner holds the memory of what happened. What you allowed to happen.

“We’ll stay in the barn tonight,” Joel mutters, his voice low, as he gathers your things. His hands move methodically, purposefully. His eyes don’t meet yours. “And we head north first thing in the mornin’.”

You follow him wordlessly, the weight of the day pressing down on your chest. As the barn door creaks shut behind you, the cold air rushes in, but it doesn’t seem to touch the heaviness in your chest. You don’t let Joel see the tears pooling in your eyes, but you can’t help the tightness in your throat as you turn away from the farmhouse.

The barn is cold and messy, layers of dust covering everything inside, but it’s a roof over your head and walls closed around you, and that’s enough. Joel rustles through the hay, forming a thin, uncomfortable bed. You’re about to lay down when his voice cuts through the silence.

“Who allows you to lie down?”

You freeze, a sharp chill sweeping through your body as his gaze locks onto yours. He steps forward, the space between you vanishing until his towering frame looms over your trembling form, casting a shadow you can’t escape.

“What did I tell you about stayin’ low?” His voice is sharp and low, an edge of fury curling beneath each word. “What did I say?”

The shove comes without warning, light but firm enough to send you sprawling to the floor, your body colliding with the ground before your mind can catch up. Before you even have a chance to process it, he grabs you by the collar, hauling you up like a ragdoll, his grip like iron.

“You think this is a game? That I’m just here to clean up after your mess every damn time?”

Then his palm connects with your cheek, a slap so hard it rings in your ears, leaving a sting that lingers, deep and raw.

He’s never slapped you before. In fact, he’s never laid a hand on you with the intention to hurt—until now. The sting of his palm shocks through you, and you can feel your breath catch in your chest, panic creeping up your throat. You start to hyperventilate, the air too thin, too tight, but before you can steady yourself, his hand crashes against the other side of your face, the back of it leaves a burn deeper than the first.

“What’s next? You gonna invite a horde of infected to this goddamn barn?”

Your heart pounds in your ears. Before you know it, tears are rolling down your cheeks, but from the slaps or the words, you can’t be sure.

“I was tryin’ to get us outta this bleak, shithole of a place, and you can’t even follow a simple order?” His words are harsh, each one a jab that sinks deeper into your gut. But he isn’t done yet. He forces your cheeks together with one hand, the pressure so brutal it feels like your jaws might snap. Your lips tremble, slick with tears, unable to escape his grip.

“Maybe I should leave you to die out here. Teach you a goddamn lesson.” You flinch at the venom in his tone, but it’s the next thing he says that truly breaks you. 

“You’re a goddamn liability.”

Joel still goes on, something about how he has to worry about you all the time, but you barely hear the words anymore. You don’t even feel the cracking twinge of your muscles when your body hits the floor again as Joel lets go of you. Seems like your legs stop working altogether.

He crouches next to your splayed body, and you instinctively defend yourself using your forearms in front of your face. “I’m sorry!” you choke on your own words. “Sorry, Joel, I’m sorry.”

“‘S a bit too late for that.” Joel scoffs, his hand pushing your forearms apart, revealing your teary eyes and quivering lips. “Quit this.”

Your trembling pupils find his eyes, and under the dim light of dusk filtering through the barn, for the first time since he arrived you see fresh little cuts on his face. Some bruises on his jaw and neck, hues of blue and purple. The trade didn’t go smoothly, it seems like, and when he came home he had to deal with your bullshit. Of course he’s mad.

He nudges your crotch where your pants are stained crimson of the woman’s blood. “Is this the only thing you’re good for? Pussy?”

The words stings. Far worse than the slaps, the shovings. You know it’s not true. You know Joel knows it’s not true. But he’s angry right now, so you swallow it.

“Take these off,” he tugs at the fabric. “Reeks of blood.”

You comply, quickly pulling your pants off, movement stuttering. Under them are your panties, and while they’re pretty much clean despite how much you want to wet yourself, Joel yanks them down your legs, too, the stitching rips from the force.

“This is the only thing valuable of you, huh?” he hurls the fabric to your face, the fiber absorbing your tears and sweat before you toss them to the ground, shaking.

“Is it?” he presses a palm to your chest, denying you of air. If you were a little bit more fragile he would’ve cracked your ribs. You shriek, nodding out of fear, just so he’d stop.

“Yeah? Fuckin’ say it then. Do I really have to do all the work around here?”

“Yes, Joel,” you cry, desperate.

“Yes what?”

“I’m— I,” the words are stuck in your throat. You don’t want to say it. You don’t know how to say it.

He lifts the hand from your chest and slaps you again, softer this time, like how you would wake a person. “You’re what?”

“I’m only good for my—“ you stutter, and even though you’re sure you’re already crying, you break down sobbing, and almost intangibly continue, “Pussy,”

“Sounds like right to me,” Joel nods, satisfied. “Cause surely there ain’t nothing up there.”

Another sound of hefty thwack fills up the room, but it doesn’t come from the skin of your cheek this time. Joel just struck your cunt with his open palm.

If it weren’t just you and Joel within a mile radius, the yelp you let out would’ve had raiders—or worse, infected—running. The sudden pain has you fight with all your might before you know it, hands swatting against Joel. But he’s so much stronger than you. Even when he isn’t pissed off.

“Keep squirmin’,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “See what happens.”

Another slap. His calloused fingers do nothing but worsen the pain. Your tear ducts flood your temple, the salty fluid collecting between the curves of your helixes.

“Do I always have to fuck your brain out to keep you outta trouble?” he taunts. “What do I look like, baby, do I look like I got a lot of time in my hands? Nothin’ else to do but babysittin’ ya all day?”

Another strike, each one seemingly more powerful than the last. He cups your cunt, the meat of your lips pulsing from the pain under his touch. You’re gasping, hands balled into fists next to your torso.

“Yeah, reckon it hurts, don’t it?” he points at your cunt with his chin. “Maybe you’ll get it this time, since you seem to do all your thinkin’ with your pussy and not your head.”

He strikes again, and this time you scream. It hurts. You can’t see yourself but you’re pretty damn sure the skin of your cunt should be blooming red by now. You reach for his arm, but he won’t budge. Instead, he pins both of arms, folded on top of your chest like you’re praying. Maybe you should be.

“What’s wrong? Can’t handle it, huh? That’s the problem, ain’t it? You’re used to gettin’ what you want, when you want it."

You shake your head. The last part is not even close to the truth. You’ve been fighting for every scrap of life for years now. You don’t get what you want, not by a long shot. You’ve killed. You’ve hurt and been hurt more times than you can count. You’ve clawed your way through an endless hell to get here. But refuting it, setting the record straight, is not your priority right now. You shake your head because you, in fact, can’t handle it.

“Joel,” you beg, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry. Please stop, please, I can’t take it. I’m sorry.”

He scoffs.

“From the day I spared your life, you’ve been nothin' but trouble. Hell, I don’t know what I was thinkin’, lettin’ you stay with me all this time.” he pulls his hand from your cunt to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply before continuing, “Lettin’ myself get attached to you.”

He sounds hurt, almost betrayed for a second, but he quickly composes himself and prepares to blow once again. Your knees are close to each other in an attempt to suppress the pain, and he pushes one away, opening you up, just to find that your reddened cunt is slick with arousal. 

He runs his middle finger through your slit, collecting the slippery glaze, and you arch your back because it’s unexpected, but also almost painful.

“You’re wet?” he questions, as if he doesn’t have the proof right on his fingertip.

You raise your head and shake it, mumbling things about how you’re taking this seriously and you are not titillated in any sense in fear of Joel getting angrier. Which is the truth. You didn’t know. You are feeling millions of different feelings, mainly scared, and you are pretty sure aroused is not one of them.

“You learn new things every day,” Joel shakes his head in disbelief. “Here I got a woman who gets off being slapped and screamed at.”

Maybe you are. You don’t know. You don’t have enough headspace to think, not when Joel slaps your cunt again, the blow sends your hips up to the air. You intertwine your fingers together, pressing them so hard your knuckles turn white.

“Poor thing,” he heaves. “Don’t know what to do with herself. Probably needs to come so bad, huh? After a long day of messin’ shit up and almost gettin’ herself dead, now she needs to come before bed? Greedy, greedy little cunt.”

He smears your own arousal all over your cunt, like he’s applying shea butter on sunburned skin. His finger grazes your clit, and you twitch under him, whimpering.

“Sensitive?” he asks, somehow softly this time. You say yes, and he nods in mock sympathies before finding your clit again and pinching it between his thumb and index finger.

You scream. A full-blown scream. You kick your legs, knowing damn well it gets you nowhere. You yell for Joel to stop, to spare you, that you’re sorry, again and again until it sounds like a jumbled cassette tape.

“Let’s get it over with, yeah?” He pats your cunt as your chest expands and shrinks as much as it could under the pressure of his other hand. “Say it. Beg me for my fingers inside you.”

“Please,” you squeak. “Please, Joel,”

He stays still, waiting for you to utter the whole thing. His gaze is relentless upon your mess of a face. You realize this, and begin to gather your words.

“Ple—ease fuck me with your fingers,” you stammer. “I need to come, need you to— to play with my pussy.”

The words might have been forced out of you, but when Joel pushes two digits inside your drenched, sensitive cunt, a little part of you is grateful. Joel isn’t gentle with it, he isn’t tender and loving like he used to be as he pumps his fingers into your walls, but fuck if that doesn’t cloud your brain with bliss-laced pain. Good kind of pain.

This continues for a couple of minutes until he realizes that you are starting to curl up beneath him, the muscles of your calves and stomach tensing up. Just before the swelling pleasure start to leak, Joel withdraws his fingers, earning a whimper in protest from you.

“Joel,” you whine. “I wanna come. Please.”

“Not yet,” Joel pants. The sight of you desperate and struggling seems to arouse him as well, although he doesn’t pay much attention to himself. “Not done with you.”

It’s killing you. But you nod anyway, playing along, relaxing your jaws when you realize you’ve been grinding your teeth forcefully the whole time it made your head hurt. You wiggle your hands, wrists all sweaty and almost bruised in Joel’s grip. Joel notices this and instead of letting go tightens his clutch even more.

His thumb hovers over your cunt, brushing against your sensitive bundle of pleasure intermittently, making you squirm each time it does. Every time you begin to enjoy yourself, he’ll throw a slap, eventually turning the pain into pleasure.

He fingers you again, still with two fingers, and stops exactly when you’re about to finish. The way he accurately reads your body language and knows the precise moment to deny you your release is scaring you. It is as if you’re nothing but an instrument to him. He follows your rhythm and cadence, knowing where and when to strum, but ultimately how to delay the final movement to his liking, building anticipation.

You’re nothing but a puddle of mess and desperation by the time he denies you for the fourth time.

“Enjoyin’ this?” Joel asks as he shifts his position. His legs are killing him.

You nod. You hate this, you want this to end, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t also enjoy this. Being so small under Joel’s boots, kissing the earth for his mercy. Nothing in your brain but him, how you let him treat you as he pleases.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I bet. Only this kind of thing can make you think, huh? The other things just pass by your brain or something.”

Your head inclines again. You both know it’s not entirely true. Sometimes you’re just too pure, too naive for your own good. Always optimistic, always seeing the good even in a pile of crap. Maybe that’s why Joel was drawn to you, too.

Joel is satisfied. He rubs your cunt and inserts two, before eventually working three fingers inside you. He simultaneously curls and pulls upwards, like he’s trying to dig his way up a mine with brute force. He doesn’t stop even after you come undone, writhing, your foot tapping the dirty floor like a rattlesnake.

You squeal, brain failing to conjure the words to ask Joel to stop, but even if you did, Joel wouldn’t have done it. He keeps moving, stirring your insides up, until he hears a familiar squelch building in your lower abdomen. He coerces it out of you, the release spraying onto his forearm, the rest leaking down his hand to the concrete flooring, trapping the layer of dust on it.

You don’t remember when he stops exactly, just when he wipes your tears with his sweaty hand that was used to hold you down.

“Sorry, baby,” he does look sorry, cupping your cheek as he bends to kiss you. “Gotta teach you a lesson every once in a while.”

[annwrites]

⸻ a call to arms. part nine. ⸻

· pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader · type: part of a series · summary: with the war at its end, rhaenyra summons you to the red keep to choose your reward for your part in it. · tw: ptsd, war flashbacks, murder, fire · word count: 2,448

The people are screaming and great plumes of smoke rise into the sky, blocking out the sun. There is only darkness here.

Flames lick at the sides of sunken ships with sailors still trapped inside.

You can’t save them.

There is only one who you can.

The rest of them can burn.

“Jacaerys!”

You scream his name until your voice is hoarse, even it’s difficult to even try. The air here is unclean.

Everything is. Including you and the beast you ride and commit unspeakable acts upon the back of.

It reeks of the stench of burning, boiling flesh upon this stretch of sea now.

Your fault.

That is your fault.

You’d seen Vermax fall from the sky and Jace with him. And then you had snapped.

You’d unleashed Silverwing upon the enemy without reservation. Had burned ship after ship which blocked the Gullet, screaming in your grief with bared teeth like a venomous serpent looking to swallow its prey whole.

Your lover, your prince, the young man who now holds your heart has disappeared from sight.

But you know his soul has not gone quiet yet; you can still feel him within you. Buried inside of you.

Such a familiar feeling it is to you now.

One you’ll never forget for as long as you live. You pray to the Gods for as much, at least.

You know they won’t forgive you for what you’ve done here, but you plead for them not to punish him for your transgressions.

“Jacaerys!”

A scorpion bolt launches in your direction and your dragon swoops low, easily dodging it.

And the fire in your belly only grows at them trying to take you down, too.

No one here is safe. Not anymore after harming him. After killing a part of him: his dragon.

“Dracarys!” You screech , and Silverwing opens her maw and a funnel of fire shoots forth, charring the scorpion, as well as those manning it.

She doesn’t stop until the entire ship is turned into a mass of charcoal.

Tears slip down your cheeks as you begin to fear that you’ve gone mad.

You’d had something else to live for, but in this moment… In this moment, all you can think of is him. Nothing else matters. Not anymore.

“Jacaerys!”

Suddenly, Silverwing dives and dives without your command, and you don’t try to stop her, because that same draw she’s following toward something unknown, you feel it, too. Trust it. Trust her.

And then you see him clinging to the side of a ship and you could cry and shout from the relief of the sight of him.

But something is wrong.

Something is pinning him to it.

One of those same bolts that your dragon had so easily dodged is lodged firmly in Jace’s left leg, which is turned in the wrong direction.

Bile rises in your throat at what they’ve done to your beloved.

“Jacaerys!”

His head slowly rises and curls full of ash fall over his glazed-over eyes as he stares up at you.

Your dragon dives lower, her feet hanging over dark water as she flaps her wings slowly—only fast enough to keep her afloat.

You strain, reaching out a hand toward him.

“Please!” You shout with tears brimming in your eyes.

He blinks up at you and you know he’s far away within his mind. Perhaps infection is already spreading through his blood.

You won’t let him die like this.

You won’t.

You can’t.

“My sweet boy, please! My love, take my hand!”

Silverwing roars and Jace begins to reach toward you.

“Mama.”

Your brows furrow as you stare at his lips.

The words leaving them are not in his voice.

This isn’t how it happened.

“Mama.”

No, this is all wrong. This isn’t—

“Mama, wake up!”

When your eyes open, you find yourself safe within your bed, but drenched in sweat as little Maisily leans over you with a concerned look upon her young face.

“Mama,” she says, pressing her palm to your damp cheek. “Another nightmare.”

You nod slowly and wrap your arms around her, before pulling her against your breast. “I’m sorry if I woke you, my love.”

She snuggles against you.

“You have to go to the castle today,” she says quietly.

You nod while cupping the back of her head and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know.”

“But I can’t come,” she says with a pout.

Your lip twitches. “Not today, I fear. I’m sorry, little one.”

There’s a soft knock on your bedroom door then and your eyes flit to it.

“Come in.”

The door slowly opens and your mother steps inside with a smile on her lips, if not a near-distant look in her eyes.

You understand her better now, you think.

Though, you’re admittedly not the same. She’s not a murderer. It’s not her own unspeakable acts which haunt her, but instead the death of the man she loved.

At least you do not share in that.

Alike in some ways you are, different in others.

You’re grateful that Maisily did not actually come from you, then. For you are a monster. And she is pure.

“Today is the big day,” she says softly. “Do you want to rehearse your list again?”

You sit up slowly while Maisily curls around your lap, burying her face in your stomach.

“A proper home, which I know is already being arranged anyway. Nevertheless, I will mention it. And the surety that you and Maisily will never go without again. That you’ll never want for anything,” you say, running your fingers through your little girl’s curls.

Your mother steps closer inside and wraps her shawl more tightly around herself.

“It would do you well to insist upon something for yourself,” she states, seating herself beside you.

You shake your head. “All I want is to know that both of you will be looked after for the rest of your days. That’s all I ever wanted since the beginning. And now I’m sure we’ll have that.”

She nods slowly. “I don’t imagine the queen telling you no in anything after saving the life of her son.”

Maisily sits up then and wraps her arms around your neck.

You smooth the wild curls at the back of her head.

You merely hum in agreement.

You stand silent and only your eyes roam about the room you now stand in.

All you can think about is the swords. There are so many of them.

You wonder how Aegon and his sisters were able to do it: kill thousands without remorse. With pride. With conviction.

Your body twitches and you fight the feeling to run screaming from this room in a panic down.

You need only get through this audience and then you can go home.

And then you hear it.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You remain facing forward, even if it takes all your strength not to turn and look. To watch him. Rather, see him.

The last time you did, he’d barely known who you were, he was so heavily under the influence of milk of the poppy to dull his pain as maesters tended to his ruined leg.

And then he passes you, his betrothed following closely behind.

You swallow down the lump in your throat at the sight of his polished wooden cane and the new limp to his gait.

If you had gotten to him sooner, then maybe…

You tell yourself that you did the best you could. That he may not be here at all, were it not for you.

You feel like a failure anyway.

Next is the young princes, following closely behind their brother: Joffrey, Viserys, and Aegon.

Poor Stormcloud died upon the steps of Dragonstone and Viserys’ dragon egg will forever be lost at sea. But he’s young enough that you’re sure he’ll be given another to replace it.

If Silverwing produces any clutches herself, you will offer one up to him—whichever egg he’d like.

And then the queen enters the room and all bow to her in reverence, including you.

She takes her throne and gestures that you all should rise.

Your eyes flit nervously to Jace and tears sting them at his refusal to so much as glance in your direction.

You need to accept it: that whatever it was that the two of you had—rather, what you thought you’d had—is as dead as his dragon.

As dead as your soul.

You’d been right about him from the beginning: he used you for his own purposes and has now chosen to dispose of you like waste.

You turn to the queen, knowing it matters not. You’re here for your family. And once you’ve claimed your reward for your part in the war, you’ll never see one another again.

He will go on to marry Baela and produce heirs and take the throne when the time comes. And you will long be forgotten to him.

You know not if you want for him to be to you one day.

The wounds of war you bear will never heal.

They will instead leave you twisted and broken, much like his damaged limb.

“I know little of where to start, Y/N,” the queen begins, adding a gentle, thankful smile. “Without your efforts—your part in this war—my son and heir would not be standing here with us today. Without you and my other dragonseeds, Spicetown would exist only in memory.”

You force a smile and wipe your sweaty palms against the skirt of your dress. “For the latter, we have you to thank as well, Your Grace.”

It’s true.

After you returned the injured Jacaerys to Dragonstone, Rhaenyra went near-mad with anger at the sight of her son so close to crossing the veil that shields you all from the realm of the Gods.

And so all mounted up, including her, to go and defend Spicetown.

She’d been a grand thing to behold on the back of Syrax as she served alongside you and Addam and Daemon and Hugh and more as you defended the town’s people.

Lives, homes, and shops were lost, but from what you understand, she has reallocated funds to aid in rebuilding.

The people praise her for it.

You think it is much deserved.

She bows her head slightly. “Thank you. Nevertheless, we are not here to discuss my good deeds, but instead yours, and the reward you would claim for them. For risking your life for us at the Gullet and at Spicetown. So, tell me, My Lady—for I intend to dub you as thee as well—what do you desire?”

You swallow thickly. You are to be titled now? Something you had certainly not expected… You feel yourself undeserving, but do not say this.

Her decision is made in that already.

You shift on your feet and glance quickly to Jace, who stares up at his mother, and then back to the woman in question.

“I know you assured me on Dragonstone, after the Gullet, that if we survived this war, you would provide my family and I with proper housing more substantial than what we now live in.”

She nods. “I did. I would offer you a place here, if it please you.”

Your eyes grow wide.

No.

You can’t have that.

Cannot be near, yet so far from him.

Cannot be near the reminders of this war.

“I…thank you for the offer, Your Grace. But my family and I… We wish for solitude. After…”

You glance down nervously, trying to gather yourself, ignoring the way your hands twitch and your stomach churns, making you feel nauseous. “I merely want peace. Quiet. To be left alone. I can’t…”

She interrupts, so as to lift the burden from you of trying to explain that which words have no use for. “I had anticipated you may decline. As such, there is housing just off of Rhaenys’ Hill I’ve had prepared for you. Just incase. It will be furnished and tended to however you like, to best suit you and your family. Any work you need done, I will have personally saw to.”

Your chin wobbles. “Thank—”

Your voice breaks and she merely nods her head that you needn’t say more.

“Is there nothing more I can do for you?” She presses.

You take a moment to gather yourself. “My mother. She… After my father passed, she has not been the same. To have servants to tend to and look after her—”

“Consider it done. She will want for naught and will have whatever care she requires. That burden is no longer yours to bear from this day forward.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and begin to weep, but know you must press forward for one last thing. “Maisily. My little sister. P-proper schooling. Perhaps a septa, so she might be raised correctly.”

Rhaenyra smiles. “And a septa she will have for all her lessons. And, as she grows older, if she takes other interests, say in music, or the arts, she will have tutors to guide her along in that as well.”

You bite your lower lip and nod.

Rhaenyra shifts and cradles her chin between her fingers. “Would you ask for nothing for yourself, then? Your family will be tended to for as long as my line reigns. Including your sister’s children and so forth. But what of you, My Lady?”

You shrug slightly. “That was all I wanted: to know they’ll be taken care of. And thanks to you, Your Grace, they will be.”

She gives you a warm smile of understanding. “For anything else you might need, I want you not to hesitate to request an audience with me, or to correspond by raven. You have my undying gratitude for your service to me and my cause during this war. The crown thanks you deeply.”

You bow your head. “Thank you, Your Grace, for everything. You have my family’s thanks as well.”

You lift your head and take one last look at Jace, and that is when your eyes finally meet.

It may last for only moment—you gazing into familiar orbs of brown while he looks back at you with a look of indifference, which officially shatters your heart for good—but it simultaneously feels like an eternity…and not long enough at all.

He looks away, as do you as you turn and leave the Keep for what you hope is the first and last time, never to see him again.

You wonder for the briefest of moments if you ever truly knew him at all.

You bury that grief inside of you of losing someone you love yet again, and go home to those you still have.

[twstfanblog]

*~Period Drama~* Romance Era- Heartslabyul

A/n: It took me a bit to think of how to like...structure this but by dorm, by boy, and bullet-pointed was the best way to get this out. Hehehe. You guys enjoy these cursed Headcanons!

(Should I add the Period Saga tag list to this???)

||Heartslabyul|| Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore + Ignihyde ||Diasomnia||

It started off as a normal afternoon. You and your boyfriend just laid down for an impromptu nap, cuddled close together and safe in each other's arms. So you can imagine their surprise when they wake up to find the bed spotted with blood. Pulling the blankets back, they see the blood coming from you...

FIRST REACTION

Riddle

Freaks out. Just, he's trying to call an ambulance, he's ready to rain hell fire, he will actually chop someone's head off. He is honestly hyperventilating, just TEARS. How could this HAPPEN!?

The freak out was so intense that it freaks you out too until you catch back up mentally and realize, 'Oh wait, it's just my period.'

You'll have to calm him down before you start explaining because he's ready to commit murder and combust all at once. Just hold him and cuddle for a minute, he needs it.

So many fucking questions. For both of your sakes, let's hope you have a deep medical understanding of your period because he will accept nothing less in your answers.

Trey

Freak Out pt 2

Much less than Riddle, but man is CONCERNED. What do you MEAN you're bleeding out of your pussy and it's NORMAL???

Asks questions but keeps interrupting to be like 'What???'. Is trying his best but it's very clear he's having some type of internal crisis that's barely contained.

Once you've explained, he'll be pretty normal about it. You will catch him sending your crotch worried glances, but he will ignore you pointing it out.

Cater

He was .2 seconds away from calling the police and an ambulance and the National Guard and starting a live stream to call his followers to do a manhunt-

Does NOT believe you saying a period was normal. It is so out of the REALM of normal, this is not a funny joke. Oh Seven, you're SERIOUS.

You telling him about periods is lowkey destroying his world. Every little fact you give he's kinda just pacing the room giving you YouTuber reaction faces. Keeps repeating his questions because he hopes so badly you're joking and he's trying to trip you up.

Once he's accepted that this is just a THING YOU DO??? he's so tired. Just takes a moment to sit with his head in his hands. Let him just stew for a bit. He'll pop back up and ask if you need anything or if you want him to even be there. He will leave if you tell him to but he will then spiral when he gets back to his room.

Ace

What the FUCK!?

Thinks you somehow fell and just started bleeding. Literally so scared and freaked out that it looped into him just calling you a fucking dumbass while he tries to take your pants off to help.

He thinks you're lying. You're either lying to protect whoever hurt you or you're lying to keep him from ripping you a new asshole for hurting yourself this badly somehow. Takes a few tries for him to finally accept that you're telling him the truth.

'What the fuck, that's so fucking weird.' Lowkey grossed out, asks you WHY YOU DO IT (Like you can control it, dumbass)

Deuce

You got a grace period of about 20 seconds to explain before he just goes out to beat the shit out of some random NRC NPC who's been eyeing you up. His brain will fill in the blanks and he will act accordingly to whatever horror story he comes up with.

If you manage to explain in time, he is just CONCERNED. Asks if you're in pain, can he hug you? Wait do you want to be hugged? Should he leave? Wait are you just bleeding right now???

You could be talking and trying to explain more or try to calm him down but his eyes keep drifting to your crotch in minor horror. His brain is his own greatest enemy at that moment.

Lowkey he is scared, but very willing to be helpful.

HOW HELPFUL ARE THEY?

Riddle

Once he's had a good cry and cuddle, he is like the most annoying nursemaid.

He will order you to go to bed and STAY THERE until you've stopped bleeding.

It's a hard learning curve on what you really need to make your period comfortable, but give him a loose idea of what you want and he will do his best to get it for you. Loves having a nice cup of tea with you at night to help with your cramps.

He will collect all your homework and ask Ace and Deuce to take very good notes for you because he better not see you out of bed during this.

Once he's done with classes, he comes straight to Ramshackle to do chores and sit with you. Helps you do homework in bed, hand feeds you tarts that he had Trey make.

All-in-all, once he's out of class, you've got him all to yourself as a little butler.

If you have PMS irritability, though, watch out he will debate back with you and you'll have a screaming match.

Was really concerned about the blood mainly the blood getting on him, but give him one good puppy dog look and he's in the bed with you to cuddle.

Trey

This man is catering you your whole period. You don't even need to look at the kitchen because Trey is already putting food in your mouth.

A worrier, so the second he sees you in pain he's gonna try to give you something to eat, be it sweets or a nice soup.

Is fine with you walking around but if you do get really bad cramps, he'll try to convince you to stay home.

This man is large and his hands are big. Ask him and he will massage your back for you. Kneads you like dough.

Starts carrying little pain potions for quick relief but doesn't want to give you too many of them over the course of the week.

Super good at handling you if you have PMS mood swings since he's used to keeping Riddle from killing Ace and Deuce. Could possibly backfire though because sometimes you just wanna be angry and he's ruining that by being so helpful and understanding.

He was more concerned about your comfort but once he knows you WANT to cuddle he will be right in the bed with you until you kick him out.

Cater

Help him. He's trying to be fun-loving Cay-Cay but then he'll see you in the distance and he cant even pretend to be ok.

Kinda hovers but doesn't say anything until you do.

You've thrown him out of his element, and he's not even sure how to approach you.

Starts to manage when he approaches it like when his sisters would fight each other. Only it's you just fighting with your own body.

Best cuddler. He gets the pillows, the blankets, the candles you like. Turns his phone off and just HOLDS YOU. The phone comes back when you've fallen asleep so he can watch videos.

God, PMS emotions are a whole new battlefield that he's barely surviving. If you get it please warn him. He has his methods but he's gotta KNOW he needs to prep them.

Ace

Are you still doing that bleeding thing?

Acts like your period is the most annoying thing you decided to do.

Fucking protective as fuck. Will bully the other first years if they crowd around you in worry.

Though he acts inconvenienced, he will do whatever you ask of him with minimal whining.

Pretends you're begging him to cuddle with you when he's just crawling into the bed with you. Lowkey very nice to cuddle with because he normally has very warm hands.

The cause of the PMS anger like 4/5 times...

Deuce

He will carry everything for you. Is that actually helping? Not really but he's doing what feels right.

Tell him you want anything and he will get it. He has taken food out of Ace’s hands and given it to you.

It's kinda hilarious because he'll be going about his day normally, but then you'll call him and everyone watches this man drop EVERYTHING to see what you need.

Buys whatever you asked for in bulk, even if he doesn't need to. He thinks he's being helpful by buying you 5 bags of party-sized chips and 10 2-liters of the drink you wanted when you only asked for one of each.

He has just given in to the fact his hoodies are yours now. Wonders if he'll get them back once the period is over...

AFTER THE FACT

Riddle

He's now got your period placed on a calendar. Down to the day.

He's very proud that he already has your next period marked down on his schedule, everything is set

What do you MEAN you're not on your period? What do you MEAN your period came early!? He had a perfectly balanced schedule, what do you MEAN IT'S NOT ALWAYS 28 DAYS APART!?

Very upset if your period ever dares to 'go off schedule'. Manages to properly track it after a few months. Normally tells you when you're alone that your period is coming up.

He will ask you if you're on your period if he sees it coming up and you're upset. Please don't hit him, he's honestly asking.

Trey

WOW, that was...something...and it's gonna happen again huh???

Man's kinda dreading the next period but he does spend his downtime thinking up new recipes to give you during it.

Actually really thinks about the fruit and sugar content and how it could affect you, which fruits are good for cramping. Can he make something chilled for the headaches?

Doesn't really track your period but he will be extra conscious on your mood changes and then backtrack the days in his head to see if what he thinks is happening is.

Asks if you're ok instead if he thinks you're on your period; like a fucking decent human being.

Cater

Jesus fucking Christ, 28 days? Yeah, he'll manage to think up an actual game plan to deal with this by then. He doesn't, he fumbles through your period for a good few more times before he becomes well-versed.

He has an alarm set for the next 28 days. Lowkey forgot about your period until it happens again or when his alarm goes off for it.

Starts carrying extra pairs of your underwear and keeps one of his hoodies on him during your period. For emergencies.

Once he KNOWS you're on your period he will show up with a gift basket he put together of all your favorite things.

Wants to ask so fucking bad if you're on your period when your mood is weird, but knows better and likes not getting the spit slapped out of his mouth.

Ace

Complained more than you did during the whole thing. Acts like he isn't making the most deeply engrained mental reminder of everything that happened.

Doesn't so much as track it as he's now more aware of your mood changes during the month.

He normally asks if 'You're doing that thing again...' when he sees you kinda just lounging around miserable.

Still a brat but if you're actually having a tough period he will cuddle up and be your hot water bottle until the real one heats up.

Surprisingly doesn't ask if you're on your period during arguments. He knows next to nothing about periods but knows he will get his neck snapped if he asked that while you were already mad at him.

Deuce

So seriously asks you if you have to do that again.

Doesn't want to potentially embarrass you so he helps in tracking it by putting a red dot in his calendar for his own peace of mind. Forgets what the fuck it means after seeing it come up three weeks later.

Weirdly becomes able to sense when you start your period. Like to the minute.

You'll be in Ramshackle and your period starts. Deuce just suddenly stops at track practice like 'Something just happened...'

HOW HELPFUL ARE THEY? ♡NSFW♡

Riddle

You want him to WHAT?

Getting Riddle to fuck is hard enough as it is. You want him to do it while you're BLEEDING???

It takes a lot of talking and actually telling him the orgasms help with the cramping for him to agree. But even then he's very embarrassed and you can only do it in the shower together.

He'll act scandalized for an hour afterward but he is happy he helped ease your pain a bit.

Trey

What?

Like you both have sex regularly, he didn't think you'd...want to...while...okay...

Kinda awkward with it starting out but slowly gets more used to the idea.

He's gotta be extra cautious with cleanup since the blood is everywhere, but if it means you gotta take one less pain potion he'll do his part.

Not really into period sex, but if you ask he will help you. He just starts investing in some thick towels because he likes doing it on the bed with you.

Cater

...Yeah, Okay

Lowkey so confused but if you say it'll help, he'll help.

Really likes to finger you. Fucking paints his nails red during your period so no one makes a single comment on why his fingertips look pinkish.

Will get his clones involved if you ask him to/let him. Makes it a fun game on what's most sensitive, your pussy or your nipples?

Ace

"Gross, sure."

Literally what he says while already undoing his pants.

Like he flip-flops through your period as either being very supportive or the literal reason you're about to knock his teeth out. You have not been fucking.

So him hearing that orgasms help during this??? He's saying yes every time you ask and even offering when he sees you cramping.

Does make a comment on the period blood making it super easy to slide in. Lowkey kinda looks forward to period sex now.

Deuce

Is that...Safe???

Takes a bit of talking since, as far as he's seen, everything is achy and sensitive and you are very not in the mood like that. Not really the right setting for sex...

But once he's assured, he goes at it like getting you to orgasm is his fucking job.

Be warned, he will get into it and do his best to give you back-to-back orgasms. Overstimulation be damned.

[moriitis]

Cool, now write an angst about his reaction be if their child died into early childhood years-

(Should probably name myself...🫐/🔮 Anon or something like that)

LEAVE THIS MAN ALONE.

Forgive me for the crimes I am about to commit.

MASTERLIST.

CONTEXT 1.

CONTEXT 2.

Content/Warnings; child loss, death of a child, descriptions of a corpse, depression, suicide, anxiety, mentions of vomit, murder, funerals, self inflicted harm, drownings.

It was a freak accident. He looked away for two seconds, no, no.. less than that. He wasn't sure, it seemed nothing more than a millisecond and as soon as the turned back - the child was gone. Toby understood games, hide and seek being the favourite game amongst him and his child.

"Where ya hidin'?" he called out, expecting a little giggle to emerge from behind the tree to his nearest left. But when all that followed was silence, a sinking feeling in his gut emerged. Shit, maybe the kid had just gotten better at hiding? So, settling the chunk of wood down and his hatchet beside the pile of fresh logs he had hammered down, he stepped toward the tree.

The brunette creeped at first, wanting to scare his child a little as he almost tiptoed between sticks and shrubbery below him. The idea of catching the kids face, the little yelp and giggle that followed after only exciting him more.

Only, when he turned the corner harshly, pouncing almost with a little 'boo!' that followed suite, confusion was plain across his features. The kid wasn't there and now, just ever so slowly, he could feel his pulse quicken.

"Alright.." Toby uttered, a little flabbergasted in total honesty at the skill his child had managed to acquired over night. "Where are ya?" he called out again, glancing around his shoulder and scanning the forest line ahead of him. Perhaps the kid wandered off, saw a butterfly or feather that interested them. With the silence, his anxiety only nipped further away at his being as he rubbed his chest with the palm of his hand - trying to soothe his heart that was rapidly picking up the pace.

It wasn't all quiet - no, for the rushing lake beside him bubbled and spluttered against each rock that peppered along the water itself. The water wasn't dangerous, per say; but for any child that didn't know how to swim, it's current was violent and unwelcoming.

And that's when Toby's anxiety really began to bubble and quickly he rushed around each tree in the area, calling out the child's name in a calm, collected manner - the undertones of his anxiety evident in each waver and strain on his voice box.

"This ain't funny!" Toby called out helplessly. "Look, kid - you win!" he threw his hands up, surrounding, but no child emerged and as time ticked on, that overwhelming urge to vomit only increased.

'The water isn't that deep, it's not- I can swim, it's only-'

Fuck! The kid was just fucking there! Sat behind him, playing with pebbles! He looked away, one fucking second!

Now he was scanning the water, eyes desperate and heart aching as reality began to slap him further and further into madness. Losing the kid, what would he say to you? How could he come home.. without the fucking kid?!

He couldn't care about his clothes as he dove straight into the water, feeling for anything child like under the murky water. Calling out the kids name, trying to find something that looked like a body - as much as he didn't want to.

But minutes ticked on to hours and there was no sign of the kid. Toby too distraught to even consider walking back home to tell you, god forbid it, no - then that would be him admitting defeat. So he dropped to his knees for a moment to calm his thoughts, to try and think things through. Every parental thought and instinct within him screaming to get up and look for his damned child!

Toby just knew, a sick, twist in his gut that told him everything.

So, with his head down and chin tucked to his chest, he trudged home, childless. He could barely form the words to you, could barely console you as you collapsed onto the wooden flooring of the cabin, screaming. He knew you hated him and right now, he hated himself more than anything because how could he let this happen?

A search was conducted within seconds, Slender heard the screams from a mile away and sensed something was wrong. Everyone was on board to find the child, to check the water, any trees. Jack using the kids shirt as scent while he tracked along the river edge, the darkness being nothing unusual for him.

You could barely find yourself leaving the cabin to look but as far as you were concerned, you were still a mother. Perhaps the toddler just got lost, everything would be okay. It would be fine. With flashlight in hand, Toby on your shoulder and fighting tears, you both stepped along the stream. The both of you walked for so long that the ache in your legs were nothing compared to the pain you felt in your heart. You should be home, reading a bedtime story to the kid.

Then Jack stopped, hands dropping to his sides as a smell filled his lungs. A smell you wouldn't be able to smell yet.. but a smell a bloodthirsty demon could.

There, by the waters edge, was the child. Pale, lips blue, bobbing slightly against the beat of the water.

It wasn't real, it wasn't true, but the child had the same nose as you.. the same, beautiful eyes as Tobys' which were half lidded and staring off into the distance.

The days that followed was a blur. That night was a blur. All you could remember was holding a cold, stiff child to your chest and crying out into the star riddled night.

The funeral was small, fitting for such a small child. It took a lot of convincing for Toby to come out the bedroom to attend it. The death hitting him a lot harder than you. He trudged out looking.. deflated, lost, not even a spell of anger in his eyes as he couldn't bare to even look at you.

You buried the child behind the cabin, in a little meadow with butterflies and flowers. The meadow you sat in a lot with the child and Toby, making flower crowns in the summer, snowmen in the winter.

What a cruel, cruel world.

When Toby lost the kid, he lost a part of himself too. Which is ironic really because when the kid was born, a part of Toby came back and now, that part of him died with the child. He spent a lot of time sleeping, rotting away and barely able to dress himself. Some nights you awoke to him crying, other nights you awoke to him just staring at the ceiling. You felt the pain, the hurt, but that sadness radiated off him in waves that felt suffocating.

Encouraging him to go out was.. hopeless. Toby went through different fits of grief, rage, anger, sadness and guilt and it ate away at him every single day.

It ate away at him so much that he slit his wrists one night while you were asleep. It was another failed attempt and so when he got stitched up, he disappeared for months on end. A part of you fearing that maybe he went and succeeded elsewhere.

But no, he just directed a lot of his anger out on other people instead. So much so that Slender had to tell him to back off the killings a little.

The kids bedroom collected dust, untouched toys with stories that would never be spoken of again. As for Toby? He disappeared. Both of them being nothing but a painful, broken memory.

yikes srry i rushed this because i crave sleep.

anyway, big up toby for losing his child. father of the year award?

[grudgecollector]

God Help The Fool

Pairing: Bo Sinclair / Reader

Summary: Even as a long time residence of Ambrose, you could have barely prepared yourself for what would happen tonight. Your curiosity pulling you closer and closer to the front door, to your doom.

Words: 827

Tags/Warnings: Blood, attempted murder, light descriptions of gore, descriptions of stabbing, Bo's anger

A/N: Um hello... It's been quite a while since I've written any sort of fan fiction in like two years probably, so I apologize if this isn't very good LOL

I have recently been hit with inspiration to write again. I've realized I really miss it.

In the future some of my fics may be a little more centered around Creep and Josef, but I did rewatch House of Wax for the first time in a while last night and it just makes me AGH

I'm not entirely sure how active I will be, but I'm hoping to revitalize this blog and make it into a home for me and anyone who has similar interests once again.

Your ears ring, fingers tightening around the handle as you dig the knife deeper into the flesh of your sudden victim. Your eyes burn, tears threatening to drip down your bruised cheek. A cloudy puff of air comes from your parted lips, the cold winter wind biting into your skin. 

Dark green eyes were staring into your own with both rage and fear, his hands closing harder around your neck as he continued to try and strangle you. The air was being snuffed from your lungs, a fire building up in your chest as you struggled under his strength. 

It felt as if your neck would snap, the way the heel of his hand dug into your windpipe. 

You twisted the knife further into his torso, making him groan in pain. Whatever strength you had left you used, attempting to wiggle the knife around like a joystick on a jammed arcade machine. 

In this moment you felt like you could accept death. Whatever sins you have committed in your life have finally caught up in one foul game of cat and mouse. No matter how hard you tried to fight him off he stayed glued in his place, bloody spit coming to his lips before dripping onto your nose, down to your cheek. 

You heard a warped voice yell above you, it sounded so close yet so far away.

There was a sudden release of pressure around your throat, a harsh breath of cold air filling your burning lungs. You let out a wheezing cough, clutching your chest with a bloody hand as you attempt to suck in more air. 

The ringing in your ears never stopped, your head was spinning, you felt like you would throw up any second. 

Bright white dots blurred your vision, making it impossible to know which way you crawled.

In some way you believed you would be safe from the chaos that occasionally reigned through the quiet, empty town of Ambrose. No matter how much you have seen or heard during your time living here. 

It was tonight that your naivety finally caught up to you. A simple look out the front door ending in you almost dying. 

You should have listened to Bo when you told you to stay upstairs, you should have listened to Vincent when he told you not to move from the closet minutes later, and most of all you should have listened to Lester when he told you to not let curiosity get the best of you. 

There was a tingling sensation on the side of your face, numbness prickling your skin. 

Slowly, your eyes open to see Bo’s fiery ones, his forehead creasing in worry as he lightly caresses the skin around your throat. 

You knew he was angry with you, you could feel it radiating off of him as he stared down at you, chest heaving.

He grabbed your tired arms and hauled you to your feet, making you stumble forward into his chest, where you clutched onto his black button-up weakly. 

“I-” You attempted to choke out an apology, but your throat felt like sandpaper, forcing a cough from you once again. 

“Not now.” Was all he managed to say, his rage bubbling as he glanced over towards the now mangled corpse of the man. 

Bo could barely contain his blood lust in normal circumstances, but when he saw you on the ground like that? It was like something else entirely took him over. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the dominance inside him, watching as some stranger hurt what belonged to him, or if deep down it was the fear of losing something he loves. 

Either way, the younger man did not stand a chance against a seasoned killer such as Bo Sinclair. The wrench the older man wielded now lodged into the broken skull of your attacker, a now unusable body for Vincent’s evergrowing gallery of wax figures. 

Bo could not find it in him to care though, he knew a replacement would be lured in eventually. 

He slammed open the front door of the house, making his way to the kitchen towards his twin who had probably just come out from his studio. 

“Vincent! Take her, there’s still another out there somewhere.” Bo practically shoved you into his twin’s arms, “And do not let her out of your fucking sight.” His darkened eyes glared at you, something vulnerable swirling deep inside. 

You didn’t take his harsh tone to heart, having been with Bo for as long as you have, you have dealt with his outbursts before.

This felt different, though, while his anger was evident, the thing that stuck out to you more was the wetness in his eyes. 

His eyes did not linger on you for very long, his heavy boots stomping back towards the front door. The harsh closure of the door made the walls rattle, some small things falling from the shelves hung up on the walls. 

[caffieneaddictt18]

My Witcher

"Geralt of Rivia! The Witcher known as the White Wolf! After discussion, we, the people of Snorzinbrog, have sentenced you to death by decapitation for the charges that have been put against you: assault, murder, and desecration of our goddess' altar! What do you have to say to this?!" The leader of the town read from a scroll to Geralt. The entire town was behind Geralt, watching this all happen. They held torches and pitchforks, but not necessarily doing anything with them. They are just standing there.

Geralt rolls his eyes and grunts, "Please just get it over with."

"As you wish!" The leader waves his hand towards the executioner. The man forces Geralt to his knees and his head to rest against a piece of wood. Geralt wiggles around to get more stability.

The executioner raises his axe as the entire town watches in awe. Geralt starts praying, and the leader of Snorzinbrog looks at Geralt funny.

"You had your chance for final words, Witcher! In the name of the goddess, _____, kill him!" The executioner swings his axe at the command of the ealdorman. The silver in the polished glass glints in the light of sunset and twilight.

Right before the axe hits, it disappears and is instead changed into moths. They flod the executioner and ealdorman, who fail in trying to bat them away from their face. The moths disperse after a few seconds, allowing Geralt to sit back from leaning forward, legs tucked under him.

"WHO DARES TO HARM MY WITCHER?" A terrifying tall woman rises from the water beyond the cliffside where they executed and disposed of bodies. You have a halo of a storm that wasn't there a second ago. Ocean water clashes with stone and splashes everyone. You are surrounded by a holy light, a foreboding light. One that sends fear down your enemies' spines and anxiety crawling up their throats. You glare sends the men to their knees.

They may kill people they deem by their rules to have done wrong, but not this one. This one is yours.

"M-MY LADY!” The man shouts, falling to his knees. His wonderful goddess, the goddess he worships, is here before him. He has done everything right. So why have you called the White Wolf 'your Witcher'? Does this heathen also worship you? No. Geralt's in love with you and you have fallen just as hard.

“NO. YOU HAVE COMMITTED A TRANSGRESSION AGAINST ME. LEAVE, WHILE YOU CAN. TAKE CARE OF YOUR WOMEN AND CHILDREN. THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY, SHOULD YOU NOT CONTINUE TO ABIDE BY MY LAWS.” Your voice bellows, flowing from the cliffside to the village that resides just a mile away. A lightning strike hits next to the ealdorman, a warning.

“YES-YES, YOUR HOLINESS!”

As his head hits the soil as he bows to you, you turn into your human form. A beautiful woman with lovely (H/C) hair and gorgeous (E/C) eyes. The most stunning person Geralt has laid eyes on. Geralt stands as you walk to him, wind whipping your hair, looking as though you belong with the grey clouds that threaten to darken. The ocean bows to you as your worshippers do. The storm churns at your request, and Geralt now registers how close you are with your hand cradling his face. Your eyes look him over worriedly, finding no injuries but still concerned.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I met you.” Geralt caresses your face as you free him of his chains with a wave of your hands. They clatter to the ground, clinging against each other at the release of their tension. The blood in your face gets hot as you lean into his touch.

“Let’s go, my darling,” You whisper as you whisk him away to a place of safety and love. Your home.

Your home on a cliff overlooking the torrential ocean and churning clouds, just barely hidden by a layer of forestry. Geralt looks out on the scenery and holds you tightly.

“You won’t ever lose me. You are the words to my sword. What cannot be done by one can be done by the other.” He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against your own.

“I almost lost you. If you hadn’t prayed to me when you did… if they hadn’t made a sacrifice, I never would have put two and two together… I can’t lose you. The world would burn. I’m supposed to keep the peace.” A deep breath rolls through you, loosening your tense back muscles. The surrounding nature calms as you do and the storm dies down. You can faintly hear a crying of praise at your good will for blessing the masses with good weather. It’s as if the world was whispering its adoration and thanks just for your kindness. You know that if it wasn’t for Geralt, these people thanking you wouldn’t be thanking you. They would be cursing you for ruining their laundry.

“What has happened, has happened. What matters now is that everything is done. Let’s be home, love.” Geralt leads you into the cabin where you and your lover revel in each other all night long and possibly even into the morning.

Author’s Cup of Tea:

I apologize for the short chapter. I was busy, but still wanted to produce something. If it’s good, let me know! If it’s bad, also let me know! *Takes out a penny and casts Detect Thoughts* Penny for your thoughts? Au revoir!

Edit: I understand that I changed quite a and did plenty of editing, but I hope it is still good, and possibly better. Until next time, lovelies!

[duelacadatoolshed]

it's a bitch convincing people to like you {Evan/Reader/HABIT}

Part 3/4 // NSFW

{ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 }

Summary: In the wake of committing your first murder and high on adrenaline, HABIT tries a different approach to break you. The worst part is how hard you have to try to convince yourself that you aren't enjoying it just as much as he is.

Warnings: Violence, non-consent/reluctance/CNC, knife play, pain play, handcuffs, brief mention of necrophillia, HABIT typical behaviour & cruelty, fingering, no actual sex just the "foreplay".

A/N: if you have issues with NSFW emh content in 2024 when I am here and now reminding you that I am 100% writing about the fictionalised, adult characters, 1. maybe don't read this fic, and 2. go reconnect with nature. However, if you like this, let me know! Leave a like or a comment, or blend it up in a smoothie to give you a little extra boost for the day. If you hated it, as implied three sentences ago, touch grass, I refuse to pay rent if I live in your head just for you to be mad at. ALSO READ THE WARNINGS I BEG YOU.

The moment you register that the man is finally dead, you finally react to HABIT the way you'd been holding back from since you'd met him. Instinct kicks in and you spin around, burying the bloody blade in his shoulder, and he stumbles back, genuinely surprised. But delight blooms across his face while your head is spinning; you hadn't thought you'd even get this far. It's no surprise that he reacts quicker than you do, pulling out the knife and leveling it at you. Stumbling back, you see the maniacal look in his eyes as the fire is now consuming the house behind him. Stepping around your dead victim, you end up with your back to the cabinets.

"You fucking tricky little brat, I should leave you here for your fucking audacity!" But he's grinning, almost manic, before he slams you against the counter, one arm braced hard against your chest. In his other hand he held the bloody knife he'd just pulled from himself, ghosting the sharp tip of it along your jaw, "should keep you here and pick out your fucking brains to figure out where the fuck your nerve came from."

"I fucking wish you would," teeth bared, you try and shove forward against his arm, his weight pressing against you, but in this moment he's an immovable object. Your hands are braced on the counter; you could be attempting to fight back, but something stops you.

"God, I hate you," he hisses, eyes bright and intense as the two of you are nose to nose. You have absolutely no qualms about matching his energy. In the next moment, you've reached up, taking hold of his hand that rests the tip of the knife delicately beneath your chin. There's something almost wanting in his eyes now, something desperately excited.

"You're not special for that, HABIT," you sneered, giving a cruel little smile. You see the moment his intent changes, the second that switch is flipped to a twisted kind of desire, and your heartbeat is the only thing louder than the fire around you. The knife is gone in a flash, but you feel it at your back when he pulls you flush against him.

His mouth is on yours, all lips and teeth and tongue, and you have to pretend like you don't want him just to hurt him- like you don't just want him in this moment.

"The fuck is your problem?" You demand breathlessly, HABIT chuckles softly, biting at your bottom lip. You try to snarl another insult, but the minute you're leaning in to spit it at him, he kisses you again. Your body betrays you, instinct overriding you as you thigh pressed against his, sliding against his jeans, and he's suddenly grasping your thigh, hitching it up over his hip, a process her repeats until your legs are wrapped around him and he's pressed flush against you, warm, and secure, and hard.

"You fucking freak," you put a token effort in to struggle against him, only to feel how intensely hard he was through his jeans. He calls you a hypocrite, leaving hickeys and bite marks down your throat. Still, he picks you off the counter with ease, hands on your ass, and seems like he's about to drop you when suddenly there's a bed at your back and you find yourself in Evan's room with HABIT over you. Before you can even speak, there's the cold feeling of metal against your belly, and then the sudden sound of ripping clothes as HABIT cut your shirt open.

"Stop it! Get off of me, HABIT!" There's distress in your voice mostly because you think there should be. You protest because you know it's what someone in your situation is meant to do. The desperate desire burning low in your gut and bright in your mind sears with hypocrisy.

You've always thought Evan was gorgeous, your beautiful damn Adonis of a boyfriend, but there's something about the way HABIT makes him move that is deliciously feral. He's barely even touched you and you know you're wet with want in a way you've never been before. When you try to fight back, despite the blade pressed against your sternum, HABIT lights up. He threatens to tie you up, his free hand now pressing painfully against the inner thigh of the leg you'd just kicked him with, keeping it immobile and your legs now spread. You actually have to bite back the urge to beg him to follow through on it.

"You don't scare me, HABIT," the way your voice shakes as you attempt to sound defiant is as much for show as the tears in your eyes are. HABIT desperately wants to break you, and you want nothing more right now than for him to try. There's hunger in his eyes at your words.

"I'm coming to like that about you," he admits, though his tone is dangerous, setting your heartbeat on edge, "it still kind of infuriates me, I won't lie, but I'm sure I'll get there," and you feel a sting as the blade bites into your skin, though fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it - your adrenaline dulls the pain to something not only bearable, but shockingly pleasant. Or perhaps it's knowing how fucking powerful and sadistic HABIT could be, yet he was choosing to toy with you instead. You squeeze your eyes shut, nervous that he'll see something in them that will give you away.

"If I tell you I'm scared will you let me go?" You know he wont, but some sick part of you enjoys this game.

"If you're scared of me you're no better then all the other assholes on this planet; fuck no, I won't let you go, I'll kill ya', like you were anyone else," he says candidly, "and I'd still fuck ya', but I wouldn't enjoy myself," he sighed, as if disappointed by the very idea, "plus you'd be dead, so neither would you, it's really a lose-lose for everyone involved," he deliberated for a moment, finally moving the blade as he leaned down, chin resting on your chest as he looked at you with those eyes you so loved, "and I wouldn't be quick about killing you either, so it's a pretty shit escape tactic."

Finally, you open your eyes, unable to help the exasperation in them. HABIT grins broadly at that, and you try and push his face away, but he grabs your hand, suddenly over you, pinning you to the bed.

"Watch it, rabbit, I'm acting like a fucking Saint to you right now -"

"You're attempting to assault me, HABIT!"

"There's no attempting about it," a HABIT says far too easily, "but I was planning to only cut you a couple of times, and get you off at least twice," he smirks, "I've got all your boyfriend's memories, I think I can figure it out -"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snarled through your teeth, squirming, fighting back beneath him. Before your free hand even gets off the bed, HABIT presses his own against it. While thankfully he doesn't cut you with the knife he's holding, you shriek and arch in genuine pain as he applies pressure to your broken hand.

He's got a knee between your thighs now, pressing insistently against you through your jeans, grinding against you as he applies more pressure to your hand, wearing an eerily blissful smile as you scream and begin to cry. It's overwhelming to the point of almost making you sick, the pain, the guilt, the promise of pleasure you know more than anything that you shouldn't want as much as you do. Finally, however, he sits back, letting go of your hands, leaving you laying there, sobbing as you cradled your broken hand to your chest. There's no fight in you in this moment, so he makes quick work of undoing your fly and yanking down your jeans.

When you finally come back to yourself, you're left in your underwear, as is HABIT, who's through items you can't see in a drawer. Slowly, you sit up, sniffling. Trying to keep yourself quiet, you stand, even if you know in your heart that it's useless to try, despite the pain, you find yourself enjoying the rest of this game. You manage to get your hands on the doorknob before you feel an arm snake around your middle, and HABIT pressed warm and solid against you.

"Nice try, rabbit," he growled into your ear, before he spins you around to face him, still holding you tightly, "you think you can so much as breathe in this house without me knowing?" You press your lips together in a firm line, trying to still muster hatred inside of you. But you can feel how hard he is, pressed against your thigh.

"Why don't you just control me? Make sure I don't run away; you could make me do anything you want," your lip curls in disgust, but it's an act, and the way HABIT's grinning makes you think that he knows this too.

"Where's the fun in that?" He practically purrs, walking you both back towards the bed. When he sits, he pulls you with him, and to avoid falling you move on instinct, ending up straddling him as he keeps a firm grip on you, keeps you close, "besides," his face is so close now, gaze searching, his other hand on your ass, "I want you nice and complicit," and he kisses you hard. You try to remain still, fight of your urges, but he squeezes your ass and your hips move automatically, grinding against his hardness as you gasp softly. HABIT takes it as an opening to deepen the kiss, and you give in, kissing him back despite knowing better. You don't even need HABIT's encouragement, rocking in his lap in a gentle rhythm, though he hums appreciatively, and you feel shame burn through you.

Before you can even register what's happening, HABIT's reaching behind himself to the bed, and suddenly snapping a cold, metal handcuff around your wrist.

"What the fuck -?"

But he's shifted, pushing you back against the bed, hovering over you so he can slip the other handcuff around one of the bars of the ornate headboard, yanking your other wrist up, handcuffing that one too. Immobilising you. The fight in you returns, and you start kicking, start yanking on the handcuffs, but the headboard is too sturdy to even budge.

"Hey! Stop that! You fucking brat, quit it!" HABIT orders as he fights to pin your legs. You still manage to kick him in the face before he gets you under control, but he's grinning, "you're sending real mixed messages here, rabbit," his voice betrays his genuine irritation, and his nails dig into your thighs.

"The message is that I fucking hate you," you spit back, breathing ragged, but one of HABIT's hands moves up your thigh, between your legs, pushing your lacy panties to the side.

"Then what's the second message?" He gives a shark-like smile as he leans closer to you, easily slipping two fingers into your already drenched cunt, "because it feels like you're pretty fucking desperate for me, rabbit." He curls his fingers inside of you perfectly, and again, and again, and despite refusing to look at him, your hips grind against his hands. When he presses his thumb against your clit, an involuntary moan escapes you, and HABIT laughs, triumphant. You both know he's won.

Both messages are absolutely true.

[stobinesque]

@steddie-week day 2: fluff | 1.8k words | teen and up

The door to the apartment slammed shut, followed by the jingle-clang of keys landing in the ceramic bowl Robin had made for Steve two years ago.  

"Babe?" Steve looked up from the magazine he'd been flipping through and frowned at the stormy expression on Eddie's face. 

Eddie barely acknowledged him, just swept past with stomping feet, dropping an absentminded kiss to the top of Steve's head as he made his way into the bedroom. A few moments later Steve heard the telltale thunk and flop of Eddie's bag hitting the ground and the man himself hitting their bed.

Ah, so one of those days.

Steve set down his magazine, folded his reading glasses neatly atop it, and pushed himself up from the couch to make for the bathroom.

~*~*~*~

Eddie wanted to die. Nope, no, he wanted to commit a homicide. 

Actually, scratch that, being wanted for murder sucked.

What he wanted was for the world not to be full of a bunch of entitled little shitsacks who had never been taught how to talk to another human being who didn't have a white collar around their neck.

At least his bed was there to support him. The mattress was a little lumpy, sure, but nothing could outmatch the satisfaction of dramatically flinging oneself onto a flat surface after a shity day at work. 

The sound of running bath water filtered into Eddie's awareness. 

Okay, maybe one thing.

Steve usually allowed him a few minutes to sulk and brood when he got home feeling like shit. Sometimes interacting with any human (even someone he would literally—and nearly did—die for) was just too much. 

"Eds?"

"Mmph." Eddie spit some of the hair that had landed in his mouth out, but didn't bother to raise his head more than half an inch off the bed to do so.

Steve chuckled. "Okay, five more minutes—otherwise the water will get too cold. I'm gonna go make us some tea."

Eddie raised an arm and waved vaguely in the direction of Steve's voice in acknowledgement.

He let himself drift for his five minutes to the sound of Steve puttering around the kitchen—grabbing mugs, teabags, the sugar jar—before peeling himself up off the bed when the shrill whistle of the kettle pierced through the relative silence of the apartment. If he wasn't in the bath by the time Steve made it there he'd be in trouble. Which could be fun, but it wasn't what he was in the mood for today. 

Eddie stripped off his—itchy, sweaty, suffocating—uniform as he padded over to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he went.

~*~*~*~

Steve waltzed back into the bathroom with two steaming mugs in his hand to find Eddie already situated in the tub, knees pulled up under his chin, hair piled up in a messy bun, and one hand dragging lazily across the surface of the water. 

Steve set both mugs down on the ground next to the bath. "Hey, baby," he murmured, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple.

"Hi." Eddie's voice was low and subdued.

“Bad day?” Steve asked as he pulled his shirt up and over his head.

Eddie shrugged. “You could say that.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Steve shucked off his jeans.

Eddie shook his head. “Not much to talk about.”

“Okay.” Steve folded his clothes, set them in a neat stack atop the closed toilet lid, and carefully lowered himself into the bath behind Eddie.

The water was just a touch too hot for his own comfort, but Eddie ran cold and preferred his baths on the scalding warmer side. (Shared showers were a trial. Eddie insisted that Steve was trying to murder him with frostbite. Steve maintained that Eddie was trying to boil the both of them alive.)

Some of the tension had already bled out just from being in the bath. Eddie’s shoulders were no longer curled up around his ears—instead, he was slouched forward into the water. 

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and pressed a kiss to the patchy birthmark high up on his back, smiling when Eddie responded with a humming little sigh. “Wash my hair?” he asked.

“Sure thing, Eds.”

Steve reached over to grab the shampoo and tiny bucket they left in the shower just for this. “Wanna drink some of your tea before I douse you?”

Eddie didn’t say anything, but reached out blindly to grab one of the steaming mugs next to the tub. Steve didn’t bother holding back a snort that he’d managed to grab the “Don’t Bother Me, I’m Crabby” mug they’d nicked from Wayne. 

Eddie took a slow sip of the tea, and the second he’d set it back down and straightened back up, Steve dumped a bucket of warm water over his head.

Eddie spluttered. “Babe, what the fuck!”

Steve snickered from behind him. “Just wanted to make sure you were here on earth with me, bedhead.”

Eddie shook his head like a rain-soaked dog. “You could have at least taken out the ponytail first!”

“I suppose I could have,” Steve said, lips twitching up into a smile as he reached up to start pulling Eddie’s dark curls from where they’d gotten tangled in the hair tie. “I got you talking again in something other than a monotone, though.”

“Maybe I was enjoying playing the dark, broody hero.”

Steve pinched Eddie’s side, which resulted in a high-pitched squeak, and a wild flail that had water splashing up around them. "Behave," Steve chastised—though the warning was undercut by the laugh of unconcealed delight he barked out as Eddie’s arms swung around him. 

"You're the one assaulting me in my time of suffering!"

"Suck it up, buttercup,” Steve shot back, combing his fingers through wet curls and gently detangling each and every knot he ran into. He couldn't help but rub the silky-soft strands between his fingers as he went. Steve's own day had been slow and uneventful, but a quiet sort of unease had been hovering at the edges for hours. Drawing Eddie a bath and settling in behind him to wash his hair helped settle Steve back into his body just as much as it did for Eddie. 

Steve began working shampoo into Eddie's roots, massaging his fingers into his scalp, and Eddie's head tipped back as he let out a pleased hum that sounded almost like a purr. "Love your fingers in my hair, Stevie," he mumbled, sounding a bit hazy.

"Yeah? Is that the only place you like my fingers?" Steve asked, right into Eddie's ear. 

Eddie scrambled back upright and turned to face Steve with an alarmed expression on his face. "No! Why would you think that? Did I say something to make you think that? Please, I’m so sorry, baby. Please know that I love your fingers anywhere on me. Or in me. What if they went somewhere else right now?" 

Steve laughed, grabbing Eddie's shoulder to turn him back around with one hand, and dipping the bucket back into the water to rinse the suds out of Eddie's hair with the other. When Steve was sure he'd thoroughly rinsed Eddie's hair he leaned past him to grab the conditioner and whisper in his ear, "You can get them somewhere else a little later if you're good for me, baby," before leaning back and clicking the bottle open.

"I'll be so good for you, Stevie. Just tell me what I gotta do."

"Keep still and don't sass me for the next five minutes."

Eddie's mouth opened and then immediately snapped back shut as he clearly decided that whatever his response to that was gonna be probably qualified as "sass."

"Good boy," Steve said simply, dropping another kiss to Eddie's back. 

"I can be good when I wanna be," Eddie grumbled. 

"Careful," Steve shot back, gently chiding. He methodically worked the conditioner through Eddie's hair in sections, tugging gently as he did, just for the soft satisfaction that ran through him every time Eddie let out a soft gasp in response to it. 

"Always careful, Stevie," Eddie mumbled back, eyes fluttering shut. 

Steve reached down to brush one hand over the scars running down Eddie's side. "Not always," he whispered, just a little sadly, as he pressed a firm kiss to the mostly-faded ring of scars at his throat. 

"Mm, don't be sad, baby."

"Not sad. Just glad you're alive."

Eddie was quiet for a stretch, and Steve chuckled. 

"What? What were you gonna say, asshole?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, love," Eddie replied, all faux innocence.

"You were gonna say something sassy just then, that's why you went all quiet. So, out with it, come on. How were you gonna sass me in response to me saying I'm glad you're alive?"

"Promise you won't hold it against me?"

"Yeah, baby." Steve leaned over to press a kiss to Eddie’s nose. "This one's a freebie."

Eddie looked over his shoulder with a wide grin, and a twinkle in his eye. "I was gonna call you a sap."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, fuck me for being happy my boyfriend's alive I guess."

"I was actually hoping that you would fuck me," Eddie replied. 

"You're pushing your luck, Eds," Steve warned, yanking lightly at his hair. 

"Sorry, baby."

Steve ran his hands up and down the sides of Eddie's arms. "All forgiven, Eds." 

Steve let his hands drift as he waited for the conditioner to rest—digging his fingers into the dense coils of muscle in Eddie's neck, smoothing his palms down the ridges of Eddie's spine, ghosting his hands up Eddie's sides. When time was up, he grabbed the bucket, turned on the tap to fill it with clean, warm water, and spilled it over Eddie’s head. Steve combed his fingers through the chestnut locks again, making sure he’d thoroughly rinsed them once more. The two of them fell still and silent, like two little stones in the river bed. 

Steve loved this. The quiet trance they fell into, as Eddie relaxed into the water, and Steve pressed kisses into his lover’s skin, and they both forgot the mugs of tea that Steve made. 

Steve separated Eddie’s hair into even sections, savoring the feeling of freshly cleaned locks passing through his fingers as he wove the strands together—over-under, over-under, over-under—and plaited Eddie’s hair down the length of his back. When he was done, he flipped the end of the braid back over Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie leaned further into him, pressing the length of his back against Steve’s chest.

Steve let his hands start wandering, and Eddie let out a soft gasp of surprise when the pads of Steve's thumbs brushed over both nipples. "Steve."

"Shh, I got you baby," Steve murmured, and let one hand drop down to where Eddie was stiffening up beneath the water.

"I know you do, Stevie," Eddie whispered back on a sigh and a gasp. "I know you do."

[meyousing]

ℭ𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬, ℌ𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔏𝔬𝔰𝔰

𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱: chrollo x pregnant!kurta reader + prompts 12. “haven’t you realized your situation? your life is completely in my hands now.” and 16. "i'll destroy anyone that gets in my way, anyone that tries to get in between us."

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰:  a one-night stand between you and chrollo ends up becoming much more, something that you never would have thought could cost you the cozy life you had made in your village alongside your clan.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: yandere chrollo x reader, manipulation/deception, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of nsfw, kidnapping, blood/murder (aka the kurta massacre). this story is a little more morbid than my other work, you have been warned. i will add a cut for when things become more intense :)

You didn't even know it yourself. It was another clan member’s nen ability that informed you of the life growing inside of you–just as theirs ended. The feeling of their bruising grip on your hand letting up ever so slowly as their soul faded away, their last words being something so heavy and bearing so much that you had no choice but to believe them. You knew that you had made a mistake. 

Hiding your face in an attempt to cover up your ever-deepening blush, you turned away from the dark-haired man on his back beside you and sat up, reaching down to pull your cloak off of the floor and begin dressing back up. You felt so embarrassed even after the act was done, this having been your first time–not to mention doing it with a man so charming and seemingly infatuated with you, it was something that you didn’t think you could ever get over. Perhaps you were in a state of shock, did this really just happen? Based on the pleasant but sore sensation between your legs, you didn’t have to pretend. 

It happened on a whim, you had been sent into town by the Clan Elder to buy some extra food from the markets, as this gardening season was off to a slow start and there weren’t enough vegetables to sustain everyone. While at the market you were scanning over various fruits, trying to gauge which ones were new and which were beginning to rot so you could pick the right ones to last you all longer. 

He approached quietly, sneaking up from behind and asking for your opinion on the produce he had selected since you looked like you knew what you were doing. With a smile and an apology (since his sudden voice by your ear had caught you off guard, making you physically jump which then startled him), you were more than happy to help. Somehow, in a whirlwind, one thing led to another and you were following him back to his apartment rather quickly after your meeting, groceries long forgotten. 

“When will I be seeing you again?” he asked, voice husky as he sat up behind you and reached for your hand. He peppered soft kisses along your knuckles, raising chills upon your skin when his lips worked all the way up your arm and to your bare shoulder. You shivered, leaning into him as he pressed against your neck. 

“I don’t know…” your sentence tapered off, a bit too overwhelmed by his warm affections and the clarity of your actions now that they were finished and you had time to reminisce with a clearer mind.

You had somewhat of a lover back in the village, someone you would exchange coy glances with and speak a handful of sweet conversations when the timing was appropriate, away from peeking eyes that would immediately declare your marriage if they caught a glimpse of anything. You knew that you wanted to save yourself for him, but there was just something so irresistible about this stranger, it almost felt like you didn’t have any control of your body when you consented to his advances. You couldn’t even give a definite yes or no to coming back and seeing him again, you were just so confused. Had you just committed adultery? And enjoyed it? Were you going to come back?!

The idea of that put a bitter taste in your mouth. How sickening, how morally unacceptable. With a wince you stood up from beneath the sheets and pulled your clothes back on quickly, ignoring the sticky sensation starting to drip down your thighs even as you pulled your panties back on, moving the substance back up your leg once more. 

“What’s the rush?” he asked, leaning back on his hands and watching you casually, even though you were sure that your urgency was obvious, and there was clearly nothing to be so casual about. You turned to look at him and noticed that the sheet covering his lower half had lowered even further since you stood, making you whip your head right back around with a more crimson complexion than the one you had moments ago.

“I… have to go take care of something at home. They’ll be worried about me, I said I wouldn’t take long in the city” pushing the last button through your shirt and pulling your cloak on once and for all, you brushed yourself off and rushed to the door. 

“Just a minute,” he requested, sitting up a little taller and readjusting the sheet to cover a little more of himself. Thank god. You stopped and spun around with hesitance, waiting for whatever he was about to say with shaky hands that were just itching to pry the door open so you could run out of there. 

“If you’re willing to take a longer route, there’s a path that runs on the edge of the city right by the stall where we met. It’s likely to lead you back home, and there’s a beautiful view there that you cannot miss out on. It should be on the left, you’ll know it when you see it.” 

Your lips twitched upward and he mirrored it, the anticipation of seeing something peaceful in the near future relieved your nerves a little bit. You thanked him, and without another moment to spare you dashed away from that room and out of the apartment building as fast as your legs could carry you. 

What had you just done?! You and that boy from the village were not yet tied together by marriage, but you had a definite emotional connection that would have certainly made it feel like cheating if you were to flirt with another man, let alone sleep with one. Your skin felt itchy and dirty, and the way that your underwear was keeping physical evidence of your copulation filled you with pure guilt. You tried to calm yourself down, walking fast so you could get home as soon as possible and wash your body until your skin was rubbed raw. And how would you explain the lack of groceries you were bringing back?!

One thing after another, it continued to get worse. You were now an adulterer who couldn’t even do one thing right and actually bring home the food you were assigned to get. You couldn’t fulfill the only purpose of this trip because you had to act upon a selfish impulse that came over you out of nowhere. One that was sudden and out of your control, but felt that if you did not act upon it you would simply explode, and how perfect that such an attractive stranger was there to care for your needs.

You shook your head when that thought crept in, shaming yourself and looking up to the landscape before you for a distraction. Your eyes scanned around eagerly, and after a brief few seconds of strenuous searching, you noticed a small, rocky path near the fruit stall. The one that the man had mentioned to you.

The anticipation of seeing something peaceful in the near future relieved your nerves a little bit.

Ah, perfect. That would be sure to calm you down if he was being honest about the view, and wasn’t just saying that to mess with you in an attempt to delay your trip so you would spend more time with him. You knew your way back home very well since you travelled to the city a lot, you knew that even if this path did not lead back to the village you could easily find your way back so long as you continued walking north. Your mind was set.

Trekking down the road, you began to take deep breaths as all of the unease bubbling up inside of you was becoming unbearable, alongside another nervous feeling that you couldn’t place. You felt entirely unnerved, not quite like you were being watched, but like something very bad was about to happen and take the cake for being the worst part of this already awful day. Perhaps it was just caused by the unfamiliar route home. At the very least, this route may have been longer but was definitely more scenic and a lot quieter than your regular one. You had faith that it would pleasantly surprise you too if there was a hidden and scenic view as that man said. 

That man. You had to try harder to get him out of your head. You tried shaking it, rubbing your eyes and temples as if you could physically wash him away if not will him away. You didn’t know how much more anxiety you could take before your heart simply gave up.

You stopped walking, eyelids closing and hands balling into tight fists. Your heart was pattering harshly within your ribcage, pushing achingly against it, so fast. 

Calm down.

Allowing your eyes to open again, you inhaled deeply and observed the spot where you chose to halt. Blinking, you followed the back-and-forth blowing of elegant green leaves and swirly plants with their sturdy vines. You happened to look over your left shoulder, and to your surprise, a beautiful display of the sky was visible through a patch in the trees, as if its branches had been carved out for it to be seen. As ethereal as the twinkling stars looked against the deepening blue yonder, you had a hard time enjoying it because of that angsty feeling that was clawing at you.

If you wanted to feel better, you had to stop wasting time and get home. Perhaps finally being back to some familiarity would provide comfort, allow you to reset your mind, and pretend that nothing peculiar even happened today. Soaking in the view one final time, you committed it to memory to act as a soother while you continued on. You started to speedwalk, and the more you did continue on, the more the environment around you changed. 

The first thing you noticed was how it was oddly quiet. You knew that you were nearing home because the number of swirly plants had increased, and typically by this point you could hear the distant bustling and soft chatter of your elders. But there was no bustling. There was only pure and utter silence aside from the clop of your shoes against the stones under your feet, and the crunching of the fallen leaves trapped between them. 

Something wasn’t right, now you knew that for certain.

Your walk became a run, you didn’t stop and didn’t care about how many bushes or plants you ripped out of the way until you were back to your territory. 

You nearly tripped from how quickly you had to stop yourself from continuing on at lightning speed, lest you get too close to the scene before you.

It was all red. 

Your eyes started to turn the same colour once they took in and fully analyzed what exactly they were looking at, your limbs became numb, your breath hitched, and bile rose to your throat as you saw the multitude of corpses littered all over your village grounds. 

The deceased bodies of the villagers, of your clan members.

“I tried to delay your arrival…what a shame, I really didn’t want you to see this.” 

This voice was familiar. You had just heard it not long ago.

Having never moved this fast before, you nearly gave yourself whiplash spinning around to see who was behind you. Any uneducated onlooker would notice your scarlet eyes and assume that they must have been burning, or at the very least were starting to burn, considering just how intense your gaze was and how much that deep red glowed. You were expressionless but your teeth were grit and your jaw was tightly clenched. Who dared to speak to you this way after you had just been witness to such a lachrymose sight?!

“I–you…” you sputtered, eyes widening impossibly and muscles seizing in shock when you realized just who dared. 

“Me.” It was spoken softly and quietly, yet it was so loud to you even as the only sound in your ears was the intense thumping of your heart–which felt like it was in your throat.  

The man you had just met with. And a silhouette further behind him, a diversely sized clump that was certainly a hidden group of people. A short trail of blood followed their location, starting thick and narrowing off into smaller drips the closer it got to them.

Why was he here, and who were those people?! You had no doubt that they were the cause of this, what was his connection to them? What else did he know if he had “tried to delay your arrival?”

“Y/N…” a frail voice came from your side, far and low and your head lashed down immediately to see the Clan Elder reaching a trembling hand in your direction. 

He was still alive. 

You wasted no time in scurrying to his side, dropping to your knees, and holding his hand with both of yours. The bloodied, empty sockets where his eyes once were made your blood run cold, and the sight of him shaking his head from side to side as if trying to look for you despite being blinded made you want to cry. 

You couldn’t help but think if you had been home sooner… could you have stopped this from happening? Or would you have fallen victim to the massacre as well?

The Elder’s grip on your arm intensified suddenly, making you gasp and wince in pain as he must have been exerting every last bit of life he had into that grasp. A shimmering white aura surrounded his body, flowing through to his hands and lighting up your skin where he was touching. You began to shake from the strength of it all, watching how suddenly he leaned closer to place his mouth by your ear so he could whisper;

“You’re pregnant.” 

Then he was gone. You could feel and see it all; the way his nails lifted back out of your skin, fingers unravelling from around your wrist as his limbs slid back down to his sides, lifeless. That surrounding glow was gone too, dimming out slowly until there was nothing left.

It didn’t feel real. 

You found yourself leaping away from the sudden hand on your back, scowling at the man from a newly created distance, watching him stand up straight after kneeling down to be at your previous level. Seeing him in such close proximity to your deceased clan made your gut churn, you felt sick. He couldn’t just let you mourn, was he not planning to just rip the bandaid off and admit that he was planning this, that he did this?! 

“Haven’t you realized your situation?” He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze was trained intently on the Clan Elder as his hands reached for his pockets. You watched him sharply, none of his movements going unnoticed as you were overwhelmed with the urge to protect everyone around you despite being too late. 

“Watch what you say to me next,” you warned. You did not have any formal combat experience, and any threat of violence was empty, but you didn’t doubt what could be granted to you by adrenaline. Your words must have intrigued the man though, he looked over at you with a grin and rotated his body so he was facing you completely.

“Y/N…” he whispered, using your name for the first time since your meeting which made your skin crawl, and he lifted his hands with upward-facing palms as he began to approach.

Backing away from him was instinctive, but you weren’t careful about your steps and lost your footing, falling backward. Landing on your back, the instant cushioning of your fall made you choke because that fall should have hurt and been solid–you should have landed on a cement path, you knew where you had been standing despite the heavy carmine liquid that was soaking into and staining the rock. 

You were stuck in your landing place for a moment, the sound of your racing pulse booming through your ears once more as you swallowed dryly and looked to your side, head twitching at a turtle’s pace. You didn’t want to see more of it, you already knew what you landed on and what you would be met with if you looked, but it was too late.

The eyeless, deeply frowning face of your husband-to-be. Dead.

Releasing a shrill cry, you could now feel your entire world crashing down. Despair replaced what was once burning anger inside of you. You couldn’t even fight the man off as he walked over and crouched down, lifting you up to a seated position, embracing you, and twisting your head into his chest to shield your eyes. He shushed you, caressed your hair, and rubbed your back, telling you that it was okay, that you were okay. 

He was so, so wrong, he certainly knew it too. The sweetness in his voice sounded false, much too tender in such a horrible situation that it may as well have just been full-on laughter at you. 

You heaved and gasped for air, your entire body shaking as you felt so helpless, trapped in the arms of your clan’s definite killer and embracing him atop the mound of dead bodies, bodies that belonged to those who were like family to you. It was blasphemous, but nobody else was here to help you now.

Everyone was gone. 

But did you deserve help anyway? You allowed this man to seduce you, to have you in his bed, and take you away from that family for so much time; enough for him to plan a killing spree of them all. This was your fault.

You felt his mouth on your cheek, giving a slow and tender kiss, and his hand came up as he pulled away to drag his thumb along where his lips once were. His voice was by your ear shortly after, and he whispered his next words for only you to hear. 

“Your life is completely in my hands now. I’ll destroy anyone that gets in my way, anyone that tries to get in between us. What a powerful family we’ll make together, I’m absolutely thrilled to meet our child."

Another kiss. And another. And one more, on your jaw this time. He was showering you in affection, effectively distracting you as he continued on with kissing, caressing, and embracing you while he stood and held you firmly against him, turning you both back to the path you arrived here on. He was essentially dragging you along like a body bag, you had been paralyzed moments ago once the sight of your deceased lover engrained itself into your memory forever–staying there, looking right at you every time you dared to blink. Your feet picked up remnants of blood as he hauled you along, creating clean lines in the excessive puddles of it where your shoes once were. 

What more could you have done? If you had never obeyed your Elder’s wishes and gone to the market, you would not have met this man whose name you still did not know. Your meeting seemed fated; as if he spared you on purpose, and this slaughter was already planned with the intention of leaving you out of it. But why? Would you ever know? 

All you could do was accept your fate, any future with the clan was finished, because they were not with you anymore. Your life would have no path without them, so you didn’t mind allowing your clan’s killer to be the dictator of your new life. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he was the father of your child after all, and you were a Kurta. Not all hope was lost.

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[giorno-plays-piano]

House of Chains

Part VI

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: noncon, yandere, obsession, canon-typical violence, chase scenes, death of minor characters.

Words: 1.4k

Summary: In return for help to come back to your home world, you have been faithfully supporting the Greens to put Aegon on the throne. But when your promise is fulfilled, neither Otto nor Aemond are keen on letting you go.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

P.S. Finally, the long-awaited twist!

_________

At first, Daemon's face betrays nothing as if he hadn't heard you. You think he might consider it a joke as anyone else probably would: you don't look like a lunatic, asking to be burnt by a dragon. Hell, you went as far as travel to Dragonstone, to the lair of your worst enemy, for this, somehow evading soldiers and Rhaenyra's supporters on your way. Daemon surely thinks there is some catch.

"So dramatic," he muses, making an imperative sign with his hand to make Caraxes quiet, the dragon restless behind his back, eager to have you between its teeth. "There are enough dragons in the Red Keep. Why mine?"

You feel yourself trembling, droplets of sweat sliding down your back from fear and pressure. No, no, you can't. You must stay firm, or it'll all go to Hell. Daemon should believe your lies.

"I am pregnant with Aemond's child," you declare, loud, the sound multiplying and echoing deep in the cavern, and Daemon's face finally changes, eyebrows raising. "He forced himself on me. His payment for all I've done for him and his brother, I suppose. And I better die in flames than work for him again."

Luce whimpers softly against you, a bit of blood staining his grey collar.

Before Daemon can ask you questions and ruin your story, you continue, "Why should you care? Because you don't want me alive. You know I'm not truly a Hightower, don't you?"

There's a recognition in his eyes, and Daemon bows his head mockingly as you draw a deep breath, griping the blade harder so it won't escape your sweaty palms.

"I am behind the murder of the White Worm and most of her spies," you smile, baring your teeth at him like an animal. "I killed Ser Harrold Westerling when I found out he supported Rhaenyra's claim, and many others who thought they could fake their promises to King Aegon II. I've been spying, torturing, and killing your wife's friends in the Red Keep for more than 2 years. But Hightower betrayed me, and I'd rather die than give birth to Aemond's child."

The more you talk, the more Daemon's face twists in cold fury, his hand clenching a torch like it was a sword. Does he believe you? It is, perhaps, difficult to trust a word of a woman who looked too young and too feeble to do any of those things, but you have arrived to the Dragonstone undetected and even took Lucerys hostage despite the castle being full of guards, lords, and servants. It isn't a coincidence, and Daemon has always been too suspicious of you, a girl appearing out of nowhere and serving the Queen with too much vigor.

The anger and a thousand of other emotions in his eyes give you some hope.

"Burn me, Daemon Targaryen." You exclaim loudly, trying to make him act, your hand trembling. "Send my charred remains to Aemond as a gift. I'm sure it is a fair price for the sins I've committed."

"Why going such a long way?" The man suddenly asks, and you freeze, afraid you won't answer his question. "You could have jumped from the balcony and killed yourself instantly."

You lick your lips nervously. "I could, and Aemond would grieve me. But when he knows I prefer to go to his greatest enemy and have my body burnt rather than marry him, he'll be enraged."

Finally, you see a ghost of a smile on the Rouge Prince's lips. Yes, this is violent, resentful enough, a good reason for him to believe you. Mysaria's murderer wouldn't want to die like a faint lady-in-waiting. She'd want revenge. She'd want her betrayer to hate, not mourn her.

Daemon makes a move with his hand, and Caraxes crawls closer. There isn't much for him to lose.

"Let the boy go, and I'll burn you," he simply says, and you are ready to burst from the surge of adrenaline, your heart beating wildly.

He said yes. Daemon said yes, and you'll be going home.

"But please, burn me for long!" You almost cried out, too excited to keep calm and almost releasing your grip on the boy. "Burn me till there are only bones left."

Lucerys weeps in your grasp, but you don't hear him. You don't even feel the handle of the dagger in your own hand, eyes on Daemon as he smirks, recognizing a fellow monster he thinks you are, a daring creature dressed in white cloaks's robes and armor that don't even fit you. It is impossible to not recognize a woman in men's clothes, and yet no one asked questions when you boarded the ship. No one saw anything suspicious when you landed. No one demanded an explanation why a woman was marching in the Dragonstone castle among the Kingsguard. No one saw you kidnapping Rhaenyra's son.

Perhaps it is true you murdered Misariya and her spies. He knew somebody did. You are sure he thought of Larys, the slippery bastard, but tracking down so many spies in such a short time seemed very unlikely for him without someone's intervention.

Someone who could point at the right people as if by magic.

Truly, you are a creature he would never understand, but Daemon is not a fool. Leaving a dark horse like you alive is too much of a luxury when you are conveniently asking for death right in front of him.

The man nods, and you gigle like a madwoman.

"I'll let Lucerys go on the count of three," you announce, and Caraxes steps closer, his monstrous, clawed feet leaving giant imprints on the ground, and you feel the earth tremble a little. "Shoot the flames then."

It's a horrifying feeling, but you are electrified, every part of your body filled with magic you saved for the last incantation. You are going home. You will be back to the Tower, free to join your teacher and family. No more gloomy stone castles with their ice-cold chambers and pesky kings. No more swords, heavy armor, pretentious dresses, and silly jewels. No more spying and murder.

No more Hightowers and Targaryens.

"I'm sorry, kid," you whisper to the boy before you start counting. "One. Two."

Luce stills against you, color drained from his face.

"Three."

You drop your dagger, and he dashes to the side, holding his neck as if it bleeds profusely, but you don't look at him. Your eyes are on Caraxes and how it unclenches its massive jaw, fire building up inside its throat like in a forge of a blacksmith. It should be enough. Caraxes is not a young dragon, and his strength might rival Vhagar's. It will be enough.

When it unleashes its flames, the words of the incantation are ready on your tongue, and you feel the glow filling you up like hot air fills a giant balloon. It's working. Caraxes' fire is enough.

You chant, and you chant, and you chant until the world starts spinning around you, and the cave, the dragon, and the men finally blend into the great nothing.

________

Subtle wind plays with your hair.

You stand in the midst of the dead gardens of Babylon, surrounded by hollow grey trees that had dried up a thousand years before you were born. Their crooked forms don't scare you: you are far too familiar with the view, wandering here after each of your trips to the other worlds. On the contrary, if anything, it is comforting.

You have arrived safely back to the world of the Tower. You can even see it from here, its tall, proud form making you tranquil and nostalgic.

Unbelievable. You are home.

You have to wipe away the tears with your dirty hands before you can take a step towards it. You've made it. Soon, you'll be sitting on the red and yellow pillows in the great hall, listening to your teacher berating you for such a dangerous journey, eating barley soop and garlic bread, and wearing a long embroidered tunic and your many necklaces and rings. You will never see Westeros again. You won't even step out of the Tower before you feel whole again, pulling your old self back piece by piece before you remember nothing of the stupid, cruel world you have been a prisoner for two long years.

You are free to do as you like.

But when you make a step towards the Tower, you hear someone's sigh behind your back. And when you turn your head, you see a man dressed in black leather who sits on the trunk of a fallen tree.

__________

Aemond Targaryen stares back at you, a crooked smile spread over his face.

Part VII

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

[seb-reads31]

Tw's - Cursing (I'm still awkward with cursing in my fics), a lot of murder talk 😭, angry vex, mean Vex and Vax dad, threats, corrupted religion talk sort of, crying (?)

Type - fic

Genre - Hurt/comfort

Comments - PART 2‼️ This is gonna be set in the Fey realm when you meet the twin's father 😋 AND OMG I'M SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK 😭😭😭 This deadass took me like, 3 days to write after trying to ignore it to the best of my ability cause I didn't know how to go about it, but here it is finally 😭 (up next is probably gonna be Vax. Him or Kiki)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (coming soon)

Demon worshiper, or redemption seeker?

It was about 9 in the evening as you creeped outside of a humble hut in a village, canvassing the area for any guards or restless souls that could see the crime you were about to commit.

It was easy, sneaking into the house, there was no form of lock on any of the windows or doors. “Careless, naive, damn near idiotic” clouded your thoughts while crawling through the window into the hut. It was supposed to be a simple in and out mission, like the ones before this. Sneak in, locate the target, kill him, then leave in the cover of night and collect the other half of your reward.

First part done, now you just need to find him. You shuffled through the hallways, quiet as a mouse, until you heard heavy footsteps. Bingo.

The footsteps fade away slightly, signaling that he was going the opposite way of your position. Time for step 3, kill him. Sneaking up behind him, you barely noticed his long, elven ear to twitch before he swung around and caught your hand before you sunk your blade down into his back.

Panic immediately sprung through your brain, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you tried to push the blade down with all your might. During the struggle, you managed to push him against a wall and knock into a table in the hallway, the corner of it pressing against his side, the pain splitting his focus from pushing away your blade causing him to lose some distance, and losing more as you finally got more leverage.

As you pushed the man further back into the wall, you saw a glint of something reflecting from the moonlight on the table in his side. It was.. a photo. The man, a woman, and two.. children. Oh gods, he was a father. You were paid to take away a husband and a father. You stopped pushing the blade down in your realization, the man following your gaze.

You slowly pulled away, kneeling down in front of the man. Tears start to pour down your cheeks as you take your hood off as you pull your mask down, revealing your scarred face. “Please, forgive me sir. I deeply apologize for trying to take you away from your family, and owe you so much for nearly doing so.” You look up at him, tears welded up and cascading down fiercely. He thinks for a moment, then crouches down to your level. “I won’t report you to any authorities if you do two things for me, understood?” You nodded quickly, silently begging him to tell you.

“Number 1. Leave your cult, and start anew. I don’t know of your past, nor do I care. The life of a Bhaal worshiper is disgusting, and unforgivable. You’re lucky I’m even considering letting you go. Number 2, you owe me a favor in the future, assuming we ever meet again. You are to do it no matter what it is. And I’ll be reasonable and not ask you to kill someone for me, I have no doubt you’ll refuse to do so after this. Now, leave. And let’s hope we never meet again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many years have passed since that day, and you’re so grateful for it. You got to make new friends, go on so many adventures, and meet your beautiful girlfriend, Vex’ahlia.

Your most recent adventure has become more so of protecting a big ass kingdom from coin and power hungry dragons, which led you with over half of your party in the fey realm. You all have had a very large roller coaster of emotions throughout this journey, a few of which have brought you and Vex together into a loving relationship. As much as you love her, you can’t bring yourself to tell her of your past due to the fear of losing her, leaving you riddled with guilt.

And that guilt was soon replaced with dread when you met her father.. The man you were paid to kill all those years ago. That’s why she and her brother looked familiar, they were his children, they were in the photo. And you knew it would only be a matter of time before he recognized you too. Your only way of hoping he didn’t recognize you was staying quiet.

Which didn’t last long, unfortunately.

You were standing between the chairs Percy and Vex were sitting in, who were discussing the twin’s father giving them safe passage through his newly transported lands in the Fey Realm until they left the walls, when he started to insult them and the journey you all have set out upon.

“You needn’t spin false tales of their exploits,” he held up his smoking pipe and examined it scrutinizingly as he spoke his next harsh words. “The very idea of Vax’ildan and Vex’ahlia standing up for the greater good is… well, rich.” And you had it, you impulsively raised your voice and spoke your thoughts. “I can’t believe you would say that about your own children, how heartless do you have to be to not see the good they’re trying to do for the entire country so YOU can go back home and not worry about being attacked by fucking dragons??” You glared at the man, a very familiar glare.. oh no, you drew attention to yourself, not to mention that you INSULTED the man you owed a favor to! You could see the recognition glint in his eyes, but he said nothing… Yet. He let out a small sigh, standing up from his chair, as he continued despite your outburst, “This is a trying time for all of us. Have you any idea the burden your sudden arrival has caused my family?”

Vax finally decided to speak up, walking closer to the man he was somehow related to. “We didn’t come for a reunion.” He stood just under his gaze but didn’t back down while he was below the gaze of the cold man, “And yet, here you are. Throwing around my name whenever it suits you-” “I despise your name.” Vex intervened as she saw the tension rising. “No, it’s fine.” She spoke carefully, pulling her brother away from their shared father. “No harm intended.” You tried speaking up again, not wanting her to just take the harsh words from her father, “but, he just said-” “It’s… fine.” She interrupted you, softly glaring at you to tell you silently to keep your mouth shut. However, you have a tendency not to listen..

“No, it’s not! I am not about to let your father disrespect you!” You didn’t really care about bringing her father’s attention to you at this point, but you were about to regret it.

“Oh? And what room do you have to talk, murderer?” The room went quiet, a shudder ran down your back as you suddenly remembered the favor he has yet to cash in, and you have a feeling on what it’s going to be..

“What? Love, what does he mean?” Vex is confused, and now her father is due to the nickname.. Welp, this is about to be a shit show. “Love? You really call this.. Disgusting creature love? Will you still love them if they were to tell you about their past?” You froze, your heart beating in your ears. He was grinning, for the first time since you arrived, you knew what that grin meant, shit.

“Go ahead, show her that horrendous mark on your body. Consider this me cashing in my favor from all those years ago.” Vex looked between you two, wondering what the hell was going on. Vax was about to ask what their father meant until you revealed the mark that was once hidden on your body, and the room falls silent again… Percival is the first to speak. “Is that.. the mark of Bhaal, the god of murder.?” He spoke carefully, covering his mouth as his eyes grew wide, matching Keyleth who was next to him, gripping her staff tightly.

“What.. in the loving FUCK do you mean god of murder Percival?!” Vex glares at him, then.. you. “Don’t tell me you.. Killed people to worship some hellish god! And what does he mean by ‘cashing in my favor’, tell me!” She grabbed you by your collar, pulling you close to her. Tears pricked your eyes as you finally told her the last thing you never wanted her to learn about your past.

“I-I.. I used to worship Bhaal.. And I accepted a commission from someone in a different section of the cult to kill your father when I was younger, the same age as you. I didn’t because I saw a family photo of you, him, your mother, and Vax. I finally realized that I was paid to end the life of a man with a family, Vex. He is the man who spared me from imprisonment and gave me the push I needed to leave the cult. Please, forgive me for not telling you.. I wanted to tell you, I swear! I was just afraid you would hate me, or leave me if I told you. Please just understand that-” “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT.” Vex yelled in your face, the tears that welded up in your eyes finally falling down your face as you saw the absolute anger and betrayal across her face as she lets go of your collar and storms out of the room muttering curses. You don’t follow her, knowing she needs time to calm down and process the absolute bomb you dropped on her, and your friends.

“You.. kept that from all of us, because you were scared?” Vax spoke in a low tone, almost daring you to answer, but you tried anyway, knowing you deserved it from keeping something so big from them. But before you did, Percy answered for you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Yes, they did and for a good reason. They changed, and left that cult, and chose a path of redemption because they felt so bad about the lives they took. And yes, while being part of that cult is normally a very large issue, none of us know how they came to be a part of the cult in the first place. You need to understand that.”

Vax huffed, his glare softening just the tiniest bit. “That doesn’t excuse the fact that you hid this from my sister the entire time you’ve been together with her. Not to mention from all of us during our travels together,” he walked towards you, just like he did with his father, and pressed a finger to your chest. “And you better tell them when we find them again, or I will, and it won’t be pleasant for anyone.”

Vax left, assumingly to comfort his sister. Keyleth and Percy looked at each other, then pulled you in close to them. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Vex will come around.” Keyleth tried to comfort you, maybe give you some hope, but you couldn’t help but feel guilt and anger bubble up inside of you. Guilt for not telling Vex sooner, and that she had to find out this way. And anger for how she found this out, that she wouldn’t give you a second to genuinely explain yourself.

After.. that, you all met outside in an incredibly awkward atmosphere. You receive the scroll that gives you safe passage through the elven town, until you leave the walls. But as you received the scroll, another argument ensued, and on accident the twins taught their newly found out sister the words “fuck you.”

Anywayssss, you finally meet up with.. What’s his name again?? Uh.. Starts with a G.. GARMELIE, we both totally knew what his name was. You all found him writing outside of the town waiting for you. While he was talking with part of the group Vex walked off, sitting on an abnormally large mushroom, restringing her bow. You thought for a moment, but it only took a mere second of looking at her sad face for you to gather enough courage to go over there and genuinely talk to her without her yelling.. hopefully.

You sat a fair bit away from her, wanting to give her physical space incase she wanted you to leave. She looked up at you with a small glare, but all you could see was the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wanted to, I thought about it every night I went to bed, anytime you said you loved me, when someone told a story from their past. I just.. didn’t want you to hate me, or to leave me.”

Silence engulfed the both of you, as she worked on stringing her bow a bit slower, showing that she was listening to you. With that in mind, you continued. “I was.. born into the cult, my parents being extremely loyal to Bhaal, and only teaching me how to kill quickly and silently while I was growing up, then teaching me how to read and write. I went on my first ‘religious quest’ when I was about.. 8. Then I kept going till I was 14, when I met your father for the first time. You don’t have to forgive me for this, or forget it, just know that I love you and never wanted to hurt you during all of this.”

She stayed silent, speeding up slightly when you finished telling your story. You let out a sigh and decide that this is your que to leave, until she stops you. “I’m upset, yes, but I don’t hate you. Yes, you should’ve told me sooner and not have me find out from my own father, but, you told me nonetheless. How it came about is obviously shitty, but you kept your word to him, and normally people wouldn’t admit to it over a favor from years ago. You kept your word, even though you knew the damage it would cause, and I thank you for that.”

She finishes her bow, then looks over at you and smiles. Vex reaches a hand out and places it on your cheek, stroking it softly. “I still love you, that won’t change for a very long time. Thank you for telling me your story, love.”

[stnkiconverse]

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.3 - The Execution

⇠ Previous

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: none.

WC: 2k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse and strong language.

Yes this has to do with Greepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

Reader discretion is advised.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

quick a/n: i’ve never committed a murder before..? so pls don’t judge how well or how bad, or how believable i wrote this 🙏😭😔

You moved both of your hands towards Frank, the urge to immediately kill him being immense, but no. You were going to make him suffer, even if it was just for a bit. As the memories of what he put your mother through rushed back, your resolve solidified even more. This man deserved every bit of pain you were about to inflict on him.

With a sudden, forceful shove, you pushed Frank to the ground. He barely had time to react before you pounced on him, your gloved hand clamping down over his mouth to stifle any screams. The glass knife in your other hand gleamed momentarily before plunging into his flesh. Blood gushed from his wounds as you stabbed him over and over, purposely missing the throat and heart. You wanted him to feel every bit of this.

Frank's eyes widen in shock and pain, his hands flailing as he tries to fight back. But you have the advantage of surprise and the sheer ferocity of your attack. His initial reaction is one of disbelief, unable to comprehend what is happening. As the knife continues its brutal descent into his body, his movements become more frantic, but you hold firm, your grip unyielding.

Blood spatters everywhere, the warm liquid coating your gloves and clothes. The crimson splashes against your face, warm and sticky.

Frank's face becomes unrecognizable, a mess of wounds and blood. You stab him in the chest, the stomach, the arms, and the legs, making sure he feels every ounce of pain. His mouth opens and closes, trying to form words, but only gurgling noises come out as blood fills his mouth. The sight of his pleading eyes only fuels your resolve. This is justice, long overdue.

You feel a surge of adrenaline and satisfaction with each thrust of the knife. This is for your mother, for every bruise, every tear she shed because of this man. The thought of avenging her fuels your actions, driving you to inflict as much pain as possible. You feel no hesitation, no regret, only a grim sense of justice.

Each plunge of the knife is a release, years of pent-up rage and sorrow channeling into your strikes.

Frank's final moments are a chaotic blend of agony and desperation. His eyes plead for mercy, but you have none to give. His gurgling noises and futile attempts to fight back only intensify your determination. With one final, powerful stab, you plunge the knife into his heart. The gurgling noises cease, and his body goes limp. Silence fills the room, save for your heavy breathing and the dripping of blood.

Blood splatters on your face, and a huge, sadistic smile creeps up, blood even landing in your mouth. The metallic taste is sharp and tangy, mingling with the thrill of what you've done. You savor it, the sensation of triumph and vengeance fulfilled.

You sat back, breathing heavily, staring at the lifeless body beneath you. For a moment, you simply observed your handiwork, the crimson-soaked scene that was once your stepfather. Satisfaction coursed through you, a sense of closure beginning to settle in. But you knew this was only the beginning.

Standing up, you picked up the axe you had brought with you. The weight of it felt reassuring in your hands. You weren't done yet. With a grim determination, you began dismembering Frank's body. The axe came down with a sickening thud, severing limbs and reducing his corpse to unrecognizable parts. Each swing was methodical, precise, driven by the need to erase every trace of him.

The sound of the axe hitting bone and flesh was nauseating, but you pushed through. You had prepared yourself for this, and now there was no turning back.

You worked quickly but carefully, placing the dismembered parts into the trash bags you had prepared. Blood pooled around you, but you didn't let it distract you. Once his body was completely dismembered, you stepped back, surveying the scene. It was a grotesque tableau, but one that marked the end of Frank's tyranny.

Next, you grabbed as many paper towels as you could find and began cleaning up the blood. When the paper towels ran out, you used clothes from Frank's closet, anything that could absorb the mess. It was a tedious task, but necessary. You couldn't leave any evidence behind.

Each swipe of the towel was methodical, scrubbing away the physical remnants of your act of vengeance.

Once the visible blood was cleaned up, you moved the trash bags containing Frank's remains out of the way and grabbed the bleach. You scrubbed the floor, the walls, and any other surfaces that had been touched by blood. The leather couch, thankfully, was easier to clean. You scrubbed and scrubbed until the scent of bleach filled the room, erasing any hint of the violence that had occurred. Every inch of the space that had been tainted by Frank's presence was now wiped clean, a symbolic purification of the house.

With the house clean, you took a moment to gather your thoughts.

You walked into the kitchen, your gloved hands still stained with blood, and poured yourself a glass of water.

The cool liquid soothed your dry throat. When you were done, you placed the glass in the sink, leaving it bloody. It was the last trace of Frank anyone would ever know about.

You moved swiftly, taking the trash bags with bloody tissues and clothes out the back door. You set them down, then returned inside for Frank's remains.

Dragging the heavy bags through the house, you finally made your way out the back door again. The night sky had darkened, providing the cover you needed.

Before leaving, you set two flower petals on the couch - a black rose petal and a bird's foot trefoil petal. It was a small, personal touch, a tribute to your mother. With that done, you gathered your strength and began the arduous task of dragging the bags deep into the forest behind Frank's house.

The forest was dense and silent, the perfect place to hide what you had done. You moved through the trees, the weight of the bags making each step a struggle. The darkness enveloped you, but you knew the way.

You had memorized this path days before, preparing for this very moment. The forest, with its thick canopy and undergrowth, seemed to swallow you whole, providing the concealment you needed.

When you found a suitable spot, you set the bags down and unstrapped the shovel from your pack. You began to dig, the effort consuming you as you created a deep, wide hole. Each shovel full of dirt brought you closer to completion, and after what felt like an eternity, the hole was ready. The physical exertion was exhausting, but it also served as a way to channel the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins.

You opened the bags, dumping Frank's body parts into the hole. You hesitated slightly as you reached his hands, considering taking his fingertips as a macabre trophy. But you decided against it.

Instead, you dipped each fingertip into bleach and set them on fire, erasing any traces of his identity. Once his hands were dealt with, you tossed them into the hole as well and began covering everything with dirt. The smell of burning flesh was acrid and cloying, but it was a necessary step to ensure there would be no evidence left behind.

Next, you took Frank's head and set it ablaze, watching as the fire consumed it, reducing it to a charred, unrecognizable state. When the fire burned out, you buried the remains deep in the forest. With the heavy work done, you gathered the trash bag full of bloody clothes and tissues and walked further into the forest.

You found another spot and dug a smaller, deeper hole. You shoved Frank's head into the hole and covered it with dirt. With that done, you focused on the final task. You stripped off your gloves, wig, shoes, and the oversized clothes you had worn, stuffing them into the bag. You took out the remaining bottle of bleach and poured it over the contents, then set the bag on fire.

You watched carefully as the flames consumed everything, ensuring the fire didn't spread. The flames danced in the darkness, casting eerie shadows that seemed to mirror the turmoil within you.

The realization of what you had done hit you as you watched the fire burn.

You had killed Frank. You had taken a life. The weight of it settled on your shoulders, but it felt lighter than you expected. This was justice. This was for your mother.

You checked the time on your phone

- 12:52 AM. This had taken longer than expected, but it didn't matter.

Once the fire had reduced everything to ashes, you reached into your duffel bag and pulled out the clothes you had prepared for your alibi. A cute concert dress, a denim jacket, and stylish boots. You stripped off your bloody disguise, tossing it into the fire along with the bag. The change was swift, but it made you feel like a different person, as if you were shedding your old skin. The concert clothes felt strangely comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos you had just endured.

As you changed in the forest, the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl were the only sounds that accompanied you. The quiet of the forest contrasted sharply with the chaos you had just unleashed.

Once dressed, you carefully folded your old clothes and placed them in the bag with the remains of your disguise. The final step was to pour the remaining bleach over the bag and set it on fire, ensuring that every piece of evidence was destroyed.

With the fire burning brightly, you took a moment to reflect on what you had done. The weight of your actions was immense, but the sense of justice you felt for your mother was even greater. This was for her, and you knew she would understand.

As the fire consumed the last remnants of your disguise, you knew it was time to leave. You picked up your duffel bag, now significantly lighter, and began the walk back to your apartment. The path through the forest was familiar, and you

navigated it with ease. The adrenaline that had fueled you throughout the night began to wane, and exhaustion set in.

As you neared the edge of the forest, you clutched your duffel bag, it still held the axe, shovel and knife. You heard rustling and movement around you. Your heart raced, but you saw no one. It was unnerving, the feeling of being watched, but you kept moving, determined to get home. Unbeknownst to you, someone was indeed watching – someone intrigued by your actions.

You took a path you knew was rarely used, hurrying through the silent streets until you reached your apartment. Once inside, you closed the door behind you and sank to the floor, the reality of your actions washing over you. The sense of accomplishment was mixed with the heavy weight of what you had done. But this was for your mother, and that thought alone brought you some peace.

Finally, you took out your phone and snapped a picture of yourself in your concert outfit. You posted it on social media with the caption: "Had so much fun tonight! Even though I spent like 30 mins looking for my phone after I dropped it!" The comments and likes began rolling in almost immediately, reinforcing your carefully crafted alibi.

As you lay in bed, the events of the night played over and over in your mind. You had done it. Frank was gone. But the sense of being watched lingered, a reminder that this was far from over. Exhaustion finally overtook you, and you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In the haze between waking and sleeping, a sudden thought jolted you upright. The shovel and axe. They were still in your duffel bag. Panic surged briefly, but you took a deep breath. You would get rid of them tomorrow. You had already taken so many precautions, and the darkness of the forest was a cloak that could hide anything for a little while longer.

With a resolve to dispose of the remaining tools the next day, you allowed yourself to drift back into the comforting arms of sleep.

banners by: @drizztdohurtin

Taglist is open, ask to be added.

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet

[pureblisswrites]

A guide to being kidnapped and escaping 101

Prologue

Chapter 1

"I know you tried to move. Otherwise there would've been no marks." He looked at you accusingly as if you were the one who commited a crime or were covered in blood.

Pairing: afab! Psychologist! Reader x Bang Chan

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre: Crime, mafia au, eventual romance, slow burn, comedy (an attempt was made)

Warnings: kidnapping (not with malicious intent), use of injection(s), mentions of blood although nothing graphic, criminal activities of course.

Summary: You are a fairly renowned psychologist and therapist but definitely not renowned enough to be getting kidnapped in the middle of the night. Is it one of your past patients with a criminal record? You don't know what the kidnapper wants but you have a feeling you are about to find out.

This story takes place in the same universe as "A guide to accidental murder and cover up 101" but with a different reader. I suggest you can read that too if these kind of stories are your type. But both can be read as standalones too.

Completing Mrs Kim's therapy sessions, check. Because God knows that woman would rather chew glass than talk about her mommy issues and inferiority complex. Being promoted to senior therapist, check. Getting another new pet, check. Being kidnapped from your home, check. Okay so being kidnapped was definitely not on your this year's bingo card.

It's not everyday a bunch of well built men approach your apartment in the middle of the night, inject a needle into your veins, and take you in an expensive looking car with tinted windows. You feel yourself going limp and your mind filling with cloudy haze. Yeah you'd much rather have another therapy session with Mrs Kim than feeling like this, you think to yourself before loosing consciousness completely.

You wake up after God knows how many hours or possibly days? That thought scares you, you hadn't even submitted a leave of absence. What if they fired you? No they wouldn't fire you right? You were one of the top therapists in the country. There was no way they would fire you just after promoting you. And more importantly, what about your pets?

You look around you, observing your surroundings. The room looks like a 5 star suite room. You look down to see silk bed sheets wrapped around you. When you attempt to move you find that your movements are restricted. Your hands are free though, so you remove the sheets from around your legs. Only to find that your feet are cuffed from the bedpost. Great. Just fucking great. You jerk your legs in an attempt to unlock them but it's of no use whatsoever except making some noise.

Should you scream? What if the people who kidnapped you are psychopaths or sociopaths and it sets them off? It certainly won't be your first time dealing with psychopaths or sociopaths. But you needed to be very careful if you wanted some answers and didn't want to die.

"Hello?" You say. Your voice barely above a whisper because your throat feels so fucking hoarse. Just how dehydrated were you? You cough a bit to try to regain your voice. "Hello?" You repeat again. A little louder this time. "Is anyone there?" You almost scream now. Still no answer. You'll have to say something that they couldn't ignore now. You just hoped someone would be on the other side of the giant door. "I'm sorry but I really really need to go to the washroom. I'm not kidding." What the fuck? Did they just brought you here to leave you in a bed and go on with their days? You wished they would talk to you at least once so you could grasp what kind of people they were and what to say and not say to them. "EXCUSE ME?" You shout with all the voice you're left with now and then cough violently afterwards.

Suddenly the door opens by a man dressed in all black with a mask on his face, but his eyes are directed downwards and he isn't coming in. You see the reason mere seconds later. When a man with really well built body enters. His eyes as cold as the cuffs on your feet. He's wearing a white shirt with black harness belts over it. Who wears stuff like this? But that's definitely not the most concerning thing about him. It's the way his white shirt is splashed with blood. And not just one kind of blood. Different shades of blood. So are his black gloves and wrists.

You have worked with people who have been diagnosed with violent behavioural disorders and have seen your fair share of blood in your years long career as a psychologist. But never in this much quantity. And definitely never in this situation where you're tied to a goddamm bed. This was pretty fucking scary.

"Oh hello." He said like he was surprised that you were here, as if he wasn't the one who kidnapped you in the first place. "Did you need something?" He asked politely as if he was some underpaid staff at the local convenience store.

Deciding to not test the waters right now you just uttered one word. "Washroom."

"Oh right." He held out a hand towards the man who had opened the door in the first place and the man placed a a tiny key in his hand. He then walked towards you and opened the lock of the cuffs in one swift motion. It took you longer than this to open the lock of your door. That means he is pretty skilled at what he does. Which is scary because you suppose he murders people. Or animals? What if he is just a butcher? No but he kidnapped someone, the someone being you, he is definitely involved in criminal activities. He frowned when he noticed the red marks on your ankles. As if! Did he not know this would happen? He also seemed fairly experienced in whatever it was that he did considering the number of men working for him, you assumed. "You shouldn't have done that." He stated.

"Huh?" You questioned, too busy analysing his every move. Who knew for how much time they would leave you here again.

"I know you tried to move. Otherwise there would've been no marks." He looked at you accusingly as if you were the one who commited a crime or were covered in blood. This man needed to get his priorities straight.

"Can I go now?" You asked. It felt so weird after asking for permission to go to the fucking washroom after telling people what to do for years as a therapist.

"Uh yeah. It's that black door on your left." He gestured to said door. You stumbled to walk and heard him talking to the other man near the door. "Why did you fucking cuff her?" He sounded a bit angry.

"Because you told us to Boss!" The other man exclaimed while looking pretty shaken up.

"Yeah well I didn't-" he cut himself off and looked at you watching them while standing near the door. Fuck. You rushed inside quickly, afraid of what will happen now that he heard you eavesdropping on their conversation. Even though technically they were talking right in front of you.

You used the washroom not knowing when will be the next time you'll get to get out of the bed you were chained to. You go out and see the man who was not the "boss" standing next to the bed. Trying really hard to unlock the cuffs from the bedpost.

"I- uh sorry I'm kind of an intern here so-" he was clearly struggling to get the key out of keyhole now. Did he get it stuck there? "So- um I wanted to apologise for the inconvenience caused to you on my behalf. Boss ordere- uh asked me to apologize. Did that sound too formal? Sorry I used to work in retail before this if you couldn't already tell." You could.

"Let me see this." You go up to the lock as the man makes way for you. "I think you pretty much broke one of the latches in the locking pad." You observed. You had some experience with broken locks from that time you had your first internship in an asylum.

"Well then I'll go prepare for my funeral. In the meantime you can wait here. Someone will be here soon enough with some food for you." He sighed in despair and walked away. Not even bothering to close the door. Yeah he definitely was an intern.

Well then you might as well observe this place right? Right. You approach the giant door with slow and light steps. Not knowing what you could see on the other side. You look out to see dark hallways on all three sides with multiple doors in them. They are dimly lit from the sunlight that's passing through the huge windows on each end of the walls. You can see greenery. Maybe there's a garden somewhere.

Now... you were a psychologist but no psych vol. 6 book ever had notes about how to escape from a supposed mansion after being kidnapped by God knows who and for what. So you decided to throw caution out of the window and run out. Future you will just have to deal with whatever happens.

Confused between whether to go right, left or center, you decide to follow your instincts and go center. You run as fast as you can, which isn't actually fast because you had long ago decided that you would never have to run. Your job was to sit in a room with someone and talk to them. Why would you need to run? Yeah right. You hear footsteps following you behind so you look behind you just to find... no one? Running while looking in the opposite direction was definitely not a good idea. Because you just know you ran into someone you weren't supposed to run into.

You look up from the well built and hard chest your face had collided into, only to see the "boss" looking at you with an expression you couldn't identify. He was unusually cold yet held a soft look in his eyes. Very contradicting. Thankfully he had changed his blood stained shirt for a plain black one, although he still had those bloody gloves on. You can feel him staining your t-shirt as his big hands grip onto your shoulders from when you had lost your balance while faceplanting into his chest. And you really wish he hadn't held you and let you go so the ground could swallow you whole.

"Going somewhere doc?"

A/N: I wanted to make this longer as well as show their first proper conversation but I've been running low on motivation lately so I thought I should just post this first. Please let me know your thoughts on this, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!