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flowerandblood · 9 months ago

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The Lost Haven (16/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece •female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, dirty talk, smut, the angst, murder, character death, miscarriage and the trauma associated with it, panic attack, mafia stuff, brutal violence, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn’t let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father’s mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra’s husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin’s brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She was pregnant.

Although, according to all moral and social norms, she should have been crying in despair, she was happy: touching her belly with her hand, she felt nothing but love for this little being that was slowly growing inside her.

The fruit of their warm, deep, sincere affection.

The knowledge that she was not alone helped her when it was time for her to meet the staff for whom she was to be responsible from now on. Aemond insisted on being with her, fearing for some reason for her and the baby, she, however, knew that this was something she had to do alone.

Their stares when she walked into the VIP room in which she had ordered the meeting told her everything – grown men and women who looked as if they had seen far too much in their lives watched her in disbelief.

She knew they thought with disapproval that she was just a little girl, a whore who had been given this place as a gift by their boss that she wouldn't know what to do with, pestering them with her stupid bullshit.

She sat down in one of the empty armchairs, a few people lit cigarettes and grunted, other than that, complete silence all around her.

"I know what you're thinking and you're right. The fact that I have taken over these premises is a form of security for me. In true, not only for me, but also for you. Aemond will stop the flow of drugs through these and two other places that used to belong to my father. I have no intention of changing managers or leadership, quite the contrary – I want to talk to you about what you need. I want this to be a clean, legitimate business that is profitable. No drastic changes." She said, looking at them expectantly, feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

A few people twisted in their seats, others looked at each other.

Silence.

Obviously they didn't trust her.

"Think whatever you want about me. It doesn't matter. Know, however, that my stepfather no longer threatens you, and Aemond will still protect this place. All I ask for is loyalty. If there is a problem with something, come to me with it, not to my uncle, or he will be furious. Now get back to work, I want to stay with the manager." She said calmly.

All but one man who could easily be her father got up from their seats and walked out, leaving them alone.

"This is not a toy you can just pick up and have." He said finally, firing up the lighter, leaning over the flame with his cigarette.

"I don't see it as a toy. We can all gain something if we accept each other. Would you rather keep wallowing in this shit and selling ecstasy to young kids? Don't you have children of your own?" She asked coolly, and the man snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

"I do. Three. Two sons and a daughter. Each of them works here. The sons as security guards and the daughter behind the bar." He said dryly and she swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on her back.

Fuck.

Had she just insulted him?

"You let your own kids do drugs? Do you want them to be arrested with you if the police come by here, as part of family integration?" She asked, and he sighed heavily, taking a loud drag on his cigarette.

"I didn't say that." He replied, letting the smoke out through his mouth.

"And I don't want that either. Help me protect you." She insisted, and he looked at her finally, as if he had made up his mind.

"You're just like your father."

She exhaled loudly, in an involuntary reflex she'd been holding back for the last few hours touching her lower abdomen as soon as the car door closed behind her.

"And how was it? Everything okay?" Her uncle asked, immediately grasping her hand in his, looking at her expectantly, tense.

"They are difficult people. Difficult, but tired. They don't want problems. They get used to it." She said quietly, exhausted and sleepy.

She looked at him, a worry in his eyes but also a tenderness from which she felt warm in her heart.

"Take me home."

The road to the sea was getting terribly long, perhaps because once in a while she felt an unpleasant twinge in her stomach, indicative of what was about to happen.

"– no – no, stop the car, stop the car –" She muttered, and he immediately pulled over to the side of the road – she only managed to open the door before she vomited on the grass, panting heavily.

"– oh, baby – why don't you lie down in the back seat? – you'll be more comfortable –" She heard his voice, his broad hand stroking her back.

Ever since they'd found out they were going to be parents he'd been so tender, so good, so sweet.

Exactly like he had been back then.

"– okay –" She mumbled and swallowed hard, wiping her mouth with her handkerchief. She unbuckled her seatbelt, climbed out and opened the door in the back, laying down on both passenger seats, closing her eyes.

"– sleep, little one – I'll drive slowly – we're not in any hurry –" He said, looking at her in the rear view mirror, and she nodded.

She flinched when she felt the car finally stop – she heard someone open the door, the fresh air and his familiar hands enveloped her, lifting her up, and she clung to him like a small child. He carried her into the house, to a room that belonged to him, where they had set up their makeshift bedroom for the time of renovation.

She felt him lay her gently on the bed, taking his place beside her a moment later, embracing her from behind.

"– you're tiring your mummy terribly –" He whispered, stroking her belly with lazy, calm motions of his hand. "– you need to let her rest –"

She smiled, allowing herself to fall asleep again, this time in his embrace. Her uncle often addressed their child as if the baby could already understand him – he was making a connection this way, realising that he was really going to become a father.

He was involved in everything about preparing for the arrival of their child into the world – they decided to dedicate the room she slept in that summer holiday to their future offspring and repainted it together, sticking cute glow-in-the-dark stickers on the walls in the shape of various planets and stars.

With some things, they had to wait because they didn't know if the baby was going to be a boy or a girl.

"It cost me a lot of money, but I made it. I have written permission from the Archbishop. Rhaenys, we can marry." He said to her one morning, holding a piece of paper in front of him that was to change their lives.

A dispensation for a church wedding.

"We need witnesses." She muttered, gripping his hand in hers. Her uncle nodded, as if he knew she'd said it.

"I know, Helaena agreed. I didn't want to decide about another person for you." He said, and she smiled, feeling grateful.

He became more open, more affectionate, always thinking of her and her needs too.

She knew who she wanted by her side.

"I know I'm asking a lot and that I'm not entitled to it. I know your father will be furious if you say yes, but… you have always been close to my heart. You didn't judge me. I wish I had you with me on this day." She mouthed in a breaking voice, standing alone in the bathroom with her phone pressed to her ear, wiping her face wet with tears.

She heard Baela swallow hard, shocked by her words.

For a long moment, they were both silent.

"– I – God – I've always felt you were in pain – only now I know why and I'm sorry you've been alone with this for so long – I don't want you to not have your bridesmaid on your wedding day – just tell me when and where –" She muttered and she burst out into a quiet sob, feeling relieved.

"– forgive me – forgive me for being such a disgusting person –" She choked out, whooping, feeling that she had finally described herself truly.

She had fucked her own uncle and was going to have a baby with him.

She was sick.

Baela drew in a loud breath.

"– stop – if he was your own birth brother, it would be much, much worse – on the positive side, he's actually only half your uncle –" She said, and for some reason she burst out laughing.

God.

"– right – it's a good thing I didn't choose Jace –" She mumbled, and Baela snorted.

"– exactly – let's stick to that –" She said.

"– it would be funny if the police burst into the church and arrested us –" She sneered, fiddling with the soft towel hanging on the rack, imagining commandos with guns ordering them to fall to the ground.

"– for what? – for drug dealing or for incest? –" Baela scoffed, and she giggled under her breath.

"– for everything – the list of crimes is long –" She said with a smile, for some reason feeling lighter.

It was the first time she had ever talked to someone about it completely honestly.

She shuddered when she heard a loud knock on the door.

"Rhaenys? Are you all right?" She heard his concerned voice.

Ever since he had found her in the bath then, he had been afraid if she stayed in the bathroom too long.

"Yes. I'm talking to Baela. She agreed." She called out to him.

"That's great." He said with sincere relief, as if he was afraid she would suffer another disappointment and rejection from her family.

They hadn't planned to invite any guests to the event, have a dinner together or anything of the sort – they knew that most of their family felt there was nothing to celebrate, and for them, as it wasn't a state wedding, it only had symbolic significance.

Helaena helped her choose the right dress – she wanted to look special that day, because even though their nuptials were going to be bittersweet, she was, in the eyes of God, going to be his wife.

"– oh – look – this one is lovely –" Helaena hummed, taking from the rack a long, white gown with a cut-out back and lace at the neckline and the ends of the delicate, long sleeves.

"– you're right – it would match the flowers in my hair –" She said, in her perfect image of herself that day wishing she had daisies woven into her curls.

Helaena dropped her off in the car at a shop near their house and they said their goodbyes – she needed nothing so much as a walk and some fresh air, however, she wanted to cook them dinner too, knowing that her fiancé would be back late.

Since he had started telling her about his affairs, what he needed to do and where he needed to go, she felt calmer and his absence no longer frightened her so much.

Besides, he wasn't leaving her alone anymore, she thought, touching her stomach happily, looking curiously at the shelves full of different kinds of pasta, searching for the perfect one for spaghetti.

She shuddered, having the feeling that someone had rubbed against her by accident, but then she felt that person holding something against her back.

"Be quiet and leave the shop slowly." She heard a cold, unfamiliar voice behind her and froze, feeling her heart leap up into her throat, a cold sweat on her back.

She looked to the side, wondering if she should scream, if anyone would help her, not knowing if this man held a gun or a knife against her body.

"Don't try anything or I'll butcher you like a pig." He said, as if he was reading her mind, and she swallowed hard, feeling burning tears of terror under her eyelids, her body involuntarily began to tremble.

She simply moved towards the exit, and the man she was afraid to look at put his arm around her like he was her boyfriend, clamping his hand firmly on her waist to make sure she didn't try to escape.

As soon as they left she sprang up to throw herself into a run, but the man grabbed her waist and clamped his hand over her mouth – she bit him with a loud squeal, but he only hissed, not letting her go, hiding behind the wall of the shop, two other men got out of the car.

One of them, a blond man with a beard and blue eyes had a scars on his left cheek.

"– come on, what the fuck are you waiting for – faster –" Tyland Lannister growled, and the man who was clearly his bodyguard forced her to bow her head and forcibly shoved her into the back seat, closing the door behind her.

She burst out crying, curling up as Tyland sat down next to her and the two men took their seats in front, driving away with a squeal of tyres.

"– shut the fuck up – be a good girl and no harm will come to you – I need to clear up a few things with your uncle –" He said lightly – only when she looked at him did she notice that he held in his hand a gun pointed towards her.

She pressed her body against the car door, looking at him with big eyes and shook her head.

"– please – please let me out, I'm pregnant – I –" She mumbled out and squealed, leaning forward, feeling a sudden, penetrating pain in her lower abdomen, and then another and another.

She began to pant loudly in terror, and wailed as Tyland slapped the back of her head with an open palm.

"– stop pretending – I told you to fucking calm down, I won't do anything to you – I won't –" He muttered and fell silent, looking with her at the drop of blood that ran down her thigh from under her dress.

She covered her mouth with her hands and screamed loudly, falling into sheer hysteria, the man in front cursed, telling her to shut up, and Tyland just stared at her, his mouth wide open.

"– stop –" He muttered. "– fuck, God, stop, stop, stop –"

"– here? – boss, we're in the middle of a country road –"

"– STOP, I SAID –"

The car stopped at the side of the road with a screech of tyres in a way that made her hit her head on the seat in front of her – Tyland opened the door, grabbed her ankle and dragged her out of the car like an animal, leaving her on the grass, then got back inside.

The car drove off.

She just breathed, whooping with tears, looking at the grass around her and the tree trunks, feeling a horrible warm stickiness between her thighs, twitching all over, not having the strength or the will to get up.

After a while some other car stopped beside her, the people inside screamed in terror and got out, a woman who could have been her mother ran up to her and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Good God, I think they raped her."

No, she thought.

They took something much more precious from me.

She heard his loud, frightened breath as she lay in the hospital bed, the policemen standing beside her grunted at the sight of him.

"Are you her family?" Asked one of them.

"Y-yes, I'm her uncle. Good God, what happened?" He mumbled in a breaking voice.

"Your niece was found by a woman on a country road, thrown out of some car. She immediately informed us, suspecting that a rape had taken place, however, the cause of the bleeding was a sudden stress-induced miscarriage. The victim does not speak and does not want to say who did this to her. Could you please…"

The man did not finish as she heard him burst into a loud, mournful sob, felt the touch of his hands on her body, his face pressed into her hair, his broken, heavy breath.

Her eyebrows arched in pain, a single, lonely tear ran down her face.

Daemon had warned her.

The hours, the voices, the smells merged into one for her – she heard her uncle's voice, her mother's voice, she smelled their scent and touch, she heard their weeping and despair, but she herself felt like she was dreaming awake, feeling and experiencing nothing.

She felt herself awake when she heard another familiar voice.

"Did she say something?"

"No. She's silent. There's no contact with her. She's in shock." Her mother muttered, and Daemon embraced her, looking her straight in the eyes.

She felt something – she felt her heart hit harder in her chest, her eyebrows arched in misery, her breath caught in her throat.

"– baby – baby, please, say something to me –" She heard her uncle's whisper and only after a moment did she realise that he had been lying next to her on the bed all this time, that he had been stroking her head, that he had been looking at her, that he had been crying like a little baby.

"– get out for a while – leave us alone –" Daemon said – her uncle opened his mouth, furious, but she spoke up before he could say anything.

"– I want to talk to my dad –"

Everyone around her fell silent – Rhaenyra walked over to her brother and took his hand, explaining to him in a whisper that they would be back soon, that she was no longer in danger, that everything would be all right.

She felt herself quivering all over when Daemon took the chair and sat down beside her bed exactly as he had done then, after she had tried to take her own life.

She looked at him, into his bright, piercing eyes, and thought that this was what he was trying to protect her from.

"I wanted this child, dad. Very, very much." She muttered and closed her eyes, feeling the blissful emptiness she had surrounded herself with begin to crack, the pain that pierced her body, her heart so strong that she sobbed.

"I know." He replied.

"Is the baby…is the baby still inside me?" She choked out with difficulty, whooping with her own tears, feeling like she couldn't catch her breath.

"No. I'm very sorry, but no. It was too early, the baby was not yet formed. Nothing could be done." He said and she clamped her hands on her lower abdomen, thinking she felt like ripping out her uterus and other entrails because they were useless.

She was full and suddenly empty again.

She felt her father's hand on her arm, his fingers strong, his embrace giving her a sense of security.

"I have abandoned you. I chose my own pride. I knew he would want to take revenge on him. If I had given you my protection, it would never have happened. Forgive me." He said, and she closed her eyes, thinking that she wanted to become nothingness and disappear.

Despite Daemon continuing to speak to her, she fell into a state of half-sleep again, unable to think about it – her mind was repressing everything that had happened and waiting, although she didn't know what for.

What was she actually waiting for?

For her baby, she thought.

Little girl or little boy will be born in a few months.

No, she realised.

Not any more.

Tears ran down her face, but no sound came out of her mouth.

She saw him – her uncle stood in the doorway of her hospital room drenched in tears, trembling like a small child, just like she had been when she came into his room then, terrified of the darkness.

Darkness surrounded him, and he was frightened.

She didn't want him to be afraid.

He cried out loudly when she reached out her hand to him – she realised it was already dark around him when his body snuggled against hers, when he embraced her and kissed her cheek, when his face snuggled into her skin.

They lay, just breathing, holding hands – there was something comforting about that – in his silence. The fact that he knew there were no words of comfort, of justification, of absolution for them.

What did exist, however, were their bodies, warm and familiar, clinging to each other to find shelter.

She fell asleep, wrapped in his scent.

"I know you think this is my fault. That you will never forgive me." She heard his voice as if from a distance – she blinked, surprised to see that it was already daylight all around her, that her uncle was sitting beside her in a chair, looking at his hands.

Days flew by between her fingers.

How long had it been since that incident?

Since when had she been empty?

She pressed her lips together, feeling nothing but rage.

"I want Tyland Lannister." She hissed in a cold, shaking voice, and he looked at her in shock.

They stared at each other for a moment – his lower lip twitched when he suddenly realised what had happened, something in his gaze that had always frightened her, but now pleased her.

Aemond

Emptiness.

It seemed to him that he had simply gone through all the phases of grief – from despair, through denial, to a state of complete indifference.

His child, whom he had so desperately wanted, was no longer there.

He thought it would help to give the baby a funeral, even though they had nothing to bury – that's why they put the glowing stickers they had stuck on the walls of the room that was to belong to their child in a small box and buried it under a tree in the garden of their house.

She wanted the thing that would remind her of their loss to be close by, so that she could look at it every morning from her window.

It was an ordeal they lived through together, and although they suffered, they found relief in each other's arms.

She let him take her for the first time two weeks after it happened.

Lying in front of him in his embrace, she took his hand in hers and slowly guided it down under the material of her panties – she surprised him with this, because he was convinced that the vision of him touching her like this would be something disgusting to her – she, however, was wet.

He couldn't hide how much he missed her, and after a moment they were both naked from the waist down, fucking each other like animals with loud smacks of their hips, wanting nothing more than to feel fulfilled and relieved – the release he felt when he finally came inside her was like a revelation, her body hot and sweaty in his embrace, her little cunt pulsing on his erection, sucking his seed.

I'll give you another baby, he thought tenderly, kissing her long neck, not saying it out loud though, not wanting her to think he had already reconciled himself to their loss.

I will give you another baby, and then another and another.

We will be a big, happy family.

If he could say that anything good had come out of this awfully sad situation, it was that their families had begun to talk to each other again – Otto and Daemon couldn't forgive the murder of their grandchild, and Alicent, Rhaenyra, Jace and Baela had watched over his niece in his absence, looking after her.

Even Aegon asked him for a meeting, which was strange and downright comical. His brother put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him in a way from which he felt a squeeze in his throat.

"We're going to catch that son of a bitch."

The only person who was afraid to meet them was Helaena, blaming herself for what had happened despite the fact that neither he nor his Rhaenys resented her.

"She said she wanted to go shopping. Your house and the beach was across the street. I-I had the security guards go and take her dress to your house. She wanted to take a walk, she insisted. I…"

"Stop. You are not the one who did this to her. No one is blaming you." He said calmly, staring dully ahead, sitting in his car, feeling that his heart, his skin, his body, his breath were cold.

I want Tyland Lannister.

He licked his lower lip when he spotted his silhouette in the distance, coming out of one of the clubs surrounded by a few of his thugs, surely for protection.

Jason helped his brother move to another city, hoping they would never find him.

But he was wrong.

"I have to go." He said and hung up, starting the engine, dialing another number.

He never thought that he'd talk to him of his own free will.

And yet.

"He just left."

He followed him for a few streets, driving a few cars behind him, feeling strangely calm and patient – he had the impression that there were no more tears he could cry or screams he could shout.

His persona had come full circle, becoming again exactly who he had been before she had called him that evening for the first time in eight years.

He smiled, seeing that they had realised that someone was following them, trying to change direction suddenly – as he had predicted, they had fallen straight into their trap, and hundreds of loud gunshots rang out around the corner.

He pulled over to the side of the road and stepped out of the car, watching as Daemon's men slaughtered Tyland's men one by one, surprised by the manhunt from both sides, unprepared for such a sudden, merciless attack.

"– please –" Tyland mumbled, crawling on the ground at Daemon's feet – his sister's husband held a baseball bat in his hand, all dirty from his blood.

He thought with amusement that Lannister's face looked like a squashed tomato.

Together with Daemon, he dragged him, moaning and crying, to the boot of his car, locking him in there, and together they set off without exchanging a word.

By the time they reached the house by the sea there was only an hour left until dawn – Tyland had passed out in the boot from a lack of oxygen, and a strong kick to the liver revived him, making him draw in air loudly and cough, spitting up blood.

"– no – no, no, no, no, please, no –" He whined as they began dragging him along the ground towards the door, leaving a trail of his blood on the ground behind them.

When they walked into the house they threw him to his knees in front of her – his Rhaenys looked at his hunched, pathetic figure sitting in front of him on the couch in a white dress he was seeing for the first time, a knife in her hand.

Was this supposed to be her wedding gown?

I have taken away your purity and innocence, he thought with pain, looking at her with adoration.

Kora was no longer there.

Only Persephone was left.

His Queen of the Hades.

He longed to lie down at her feet and simply abide.

"– I lost someting because of you –" She said and raised herself up, touching her lower abdomen. "– my baby didn't even manage to take their first breath –"

He closed his eyes, feeling the squeeze in his throat, the pain he felt in his heart unbearable.

"– I didn't know – I didn't know, I'm sorry, I didn't know –" Tyland mumbled, because of how swollen his face was his words were indistinct and difficult to understand.

Standing over him, in her white dress, with a knife in her hand and with her beautiful hair loose, she looked like a ghost.

Like Death.

"– you threw me out of the car like an animal – you left me to die and drove away –" She whispered, tears one after another rolling down her beautiful, tired, pale face.

She had waited so long for this.

For relief.

For justice.

But no more.

"– please – please –" He begged, and she took a step towards him and knelt before him, looking straight into his eyes.

"– let me, Rhaenys –" He muttered, not wanting her to burden herself with this, to dream nightmares like him, to suffer like him because of what she had done.

"– no – I want to feel the life drain out of him – as it did out of me, then –" She said, and the knife she held in her hand stabbed into his side like butter.

Tyland wailed, grabbing the hilt, but Daemon held him down, preventing him from moving – he saw her slide the blade out, a huge bloodstain spilling down his shirt, dripping down his leg straight onto the foil-lined floor.

"That's enough. I'll take care of the rest. Take a bath and burn everything." Daemon instructed, laying Tyland's barely alive body on the ground, his breathing shallow until his eyes went blank.

His soul had left his body.

"Come." He said to her, taking the knife from her palm, placing it on the floor. He nodded at Daemon and grabbed her hand, leading her upstairs to the bathroom where the bathtub was.

Her entire dress and hands were in blood.

"Come here, little one. Come, let's wash it all off. It's okay, honey." He whispered, hugging her close, sinking his hands into her soft, smooth curls, and she reciprocated the embrace, sighing, closing her eyes as if relieved.

"Thank you."

Again she lay in the bath red with blood, again she was pale, however this time he felt that the life was not escaping from her, but returning to her – with each passing minute her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide as if her mind had returned to reality.

"Is he dead?" She muttered, and he swallowed hard, washing away with his hands any trace of what they had done from her beautiful, innocent body.

"He's no longer here. He's disappeared. He was just a monster from the wardrobe, nothing more, my love." He said quietly and she sighed, her hand touching his face.

"Do you still love me?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he looked at her, shocked.

"You are the love of my life. You need to rest. You are very tired. You haven't slept well in a long time. You're daydreaming." He replied, taking an unruly strand of hair from her face, her gaze warm and tender, meant only for him.

"Are you not disgusted with me? I've done something monstrous. I think I killed someone." She whispered, her eyes full of tears.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, pressing his forehead against hers, stroking her hair as if she were a small child. "– I forbid you to say such things – it will be our secret – mine, yours and your dad's – only we will know about it –"

"– about the monster from the wardrobe? –" She mumbled, and he nodded.

"– yes –"

Rhaenys

"– I'm scared, mummy – can I have my little lamp lit today too? –" Aemma muttered, but before she could answer her anything, she heard a voice from the bed above them, belonging to Visenya.

"– no, I can't sleep then –" Her older sister hissed, looking down at them, the bright curls she had inherited from her father in disarray.

"– I'm afraid of the monster from the television – the one from the horror movie that Aegon was watching –" Her daugther said in a breaking voice, and she furrowed her brow, shaking her head.

"– I told you this is not a film for small children –" She said sternly, and Aemma lowered her gaze on the verge of crying.

Vinseya groaned in frustration and climbed down the ladder, lying down under the duvet next to her little sister.

"– move along, coward – I'll kill any monster that disturbs my sleep –" Her daughter muttered, and she smiled and stood up, turning off the lamp.

"– good night –" She hummed and left, closing the door behind her.

She sighed, seeing the light on in his office, and moved lazily in that direction, finding him bent over documents. He glanced at her, then at the silhouette of her naked body hidden only beneath a soft silk bathrobe, and licked his lower lip with his tongue.

"– I'll come soon – give me a moment longer –"

"– talk to Aegon tomorrow – he mustn't let Aemma watch horror movies with himself because she is afraid afterwards – she's too little –" She said.

He shook his head, signing a few things.

"– I'll try, but you know him – he'll find a thousand excuses and explanations –" He grunted, and she laughed under her breath.

"– he resembles your brother –" She said amused, leaning her hip against the doorframe, and he snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth lifted upwards.

"– indeed –" He said and looked up at her, his gaze again escaping down to her breasts and then even lower.

"Come here. Sit on the desk." He said, leaning back in his chair, and she obeyed his command with a smile, walking closer with a lazy step.

He stood up as soon as her buttocks touched the tabletop, spreading her thighs apart, making her have to reach back with her hand to catch her balance.

"– ah –" She gasped as his fingertips sank into her fleshy, warm womanhood, collecting her sticky wetness.

"– since when are you in this state? – hm? –" He hummed, pushing her closer to him with an impatient tug of his hand on her ass, the other digging warningly into her delicate skin, trailing it around her swollen clit.

"– since this morning – since I saw you come out wet and naked from the bathroom in our bedroom – I've needed you, and you haven't touched me –" She mewled regretfully, feeling her walls clench greedily around nothing, craving him inside her.

What he heard was enough for all his foreplay, and with her help he quickly undid the belt of his trousers, his breath heavy and hitched.

"– after all, I fucked you last night – I had to drive Aegon and Visenya to training – you could have joined me in the shower –" He exhaled, impatiently releasing his long, hard erection from his boxers.

She sighed and tilted her head back as, without even waiting for her response, he directed the head of his cock against her slit, opening her wide on his fat length, filling her with himself with one, lazy thrust.

"– uncle – o-oh, fuck, uncle, yes, yes, yes –" She cried out, resting her hands behind her back, letting the material of her bathrobe slide off her shoulders, revealing her breasts full of milk, bouncing each time his hips pounded against her buttocks.

"– God, be quiet – shhh, be good or I won't let you come – is that what you want? –" He breathed out and she bit her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up at him pleadingly, something in her gaze from which he began to slam into her like mad, himself struggling to restrain himself not to moan.

"– that's what I thought – you come to me – ah – begging with those big eyes for my cock – and then you can't even fucking behave –" He growled and sighed, feeling her struggling to stifle a sob of pleasure when another thrust against that same sweet spot made her fall apart in front of him, panting heavily along with him, the next few loud, sticky slaps of their bodies were enough for him to cum with a sigh of relief.

They knew each other's bodies all too well by now and, with amusement, found more and more that they had trouble holding back from coming too early.

It was just too pleasant.

"– I'm pregnant –" She whispered, and he blinked and looked at her, as if he needed a moment to start thinking soberly after such intense fulfilment.

"– what? – but –" He exhaled.

"– I'm sure – I went to the doctor today –"

"– you lied to me –" He said with irritation in his voice.

"– Criston drove me there – I told you I would go shopping with him and we did after the appointment – no lies –" She said with a smile, touching her belly affectionately.

Her husband sighed, placing his hand on hers, the expression on his face calm and gentle again.

"– it's the sixth – what a big family indeed –" He hummed, and she laughed, nodding her head.

"– yes, my love – another child to drive to training –" She said amused, and he kissed her forehead with tenderness, from which a pleasant warmth spread over her heart.

"�� don't sit here too long –" She sighed, jumping off his desk as soon as he slid out of her.

"– I won't –"

On her way to their bedroom, she walked into their youngest child's room and smiled, covering her little son more tightly with the duvet. Aemon's leg immediately pushed the bedclothes off him with his mutter of displeasure, so she gave up and left him alone.

She froze, spotting a silhouette in the corner of the room, thinking it was a man, with bright eyes, blonde hair and a beard, but was relieved when, after a moment, she noticed that it was the only shadow cast by the wardrobe standing nearby.

When she walked into their bedroom, she immediately turned on the lamp by their bed and waited patiently for him to return.

She knew she wouldn't fall asleep anyway.

When she was alone in bed, she saw his face and her hands sticky with blood.

When she heard her uncle's footsteps, when his warm body finally lay down beside her and his lips placed a soft, sticky kiss on her neck, she turned off the light, his whisper next to her ear like the calm hum of the wind.

"– now I will let you moan as much as you wish –"

"– Aegon – don't let her swim out into the deep water – Daeron, Visenya keep an eye on her, after all you can see she can't swim well yet –" He shouted to their children the next day, lying in front of her on a towel on the beach, little Aemon, sitting next to them, was building a sandcastle, the hot sun burning their skin.

"– okay, Dad! –" She heard Daeron voice behind her, lying on her stomach in her black one-piece bathing suit with her back cut out, reading a book, her husband's doctoral thesis on an excavation he had run with her in one of the cities the year before.

"– what do you think? – it's the last time for corrections – I've read it hundreds of times and it already makes me want to vomit when I look at it –" He said disapprovingly, turning his gaze towards the sea again.

"– it's the best doctoral thesis I've ever read – really –" She said softly, turning the page, amazed at how effortlessly her husband wrote.

"– look, mummy – it's a fortress, and here's the moat – and there's a dragon on top –" Mumbled Aemon, forcing the Mighty Vhagar figurine that had once belonged to his father onto the top of the tower.

"– beautiful, darling – it looks like the real thing –" She said with warm approval, and Aemon smiled broadly, satisfied, busying himself with creating a bridge over the moat from sticks.

"– Aemma, don't swim so far away – how many times do I have to tell you? –" Her uncle called out, raising himself angrily on his elbow, and she sighed heavily, throwing him a look full of pity.

"– she has swimming sleeves that are full of air that will float her even if she stops moving her arms and legs – she won't drown –" She said, and her husband sighed heavily, looking anxiously towards their children playing in the water.

"– I prefer to be sure –" He muttered.

She looked at him tenderly for a moment, feeling nothing but warmth in her heart.

He was such a good father.

Such a good husband.

She knew that one day they would have to explain to their children why they only had a church wedding and were not married before the state.

But not yet.

"So let's make sure. We should swim with them." She said, extending her hand to him, and he looked at her, apparently recalling their conversation in his car then, many years ago, when he had described his fantasy to her.

He licked his lips with his tongue and grinned in a way she loved.

"Come."

______

Author's note: The child that Rhaenys lost was Viserys: I decided that this story, because it is so dark, could not end differently, and the decisions of the characters had to lead to tragedy sooner or later. Something dies in Rhaenys, but thanks to this she can finally fully join her husband in their Hades, crossing the border of innocence and naivety, maturing in a kind of cruel way. However, the rest of their children, who appeared in the original series, are born. After losing Viserys (in this version they did not know that it would be a boy), they decided that they wanted to have as many children as God would give them, since he took one away from them (in their eyes one too many). Visenya and Aegon will definitely become mafia bosses in the future, just like their father, lol. Their children have the same characters and looks like in the original series, which you can see here.

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jkg2197 · 4 months ago

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Do you ever wonder how low level villain and thieves and goons or just general population of Gotham felt when they saw #3robin pulling batman away from them than calm the victim while still lecturing batman about the fuck he is doing traumatizing other or shit!!!! Like just last month so many thieves/pickpocketer were left in urgent care(which Tim was paying for) and then suddenly this new robin comes and he is pulling batman getting in his way before he gets too far and then helping the victim as well as villain in the process. All of Gotham would have collectively took a breath of relief and thank the god for the kid who saved them. Like just imagine after learning that robin beat the shit out of Joker that one time, and just knew that this one will be safe as he can be. I just imagine that Gotham would love 3rd robin so much for keeping them safe and their protector from breaking after the aftermath of previous robin.

I imagine when robin was alone fighting someone like crane or something the goons would be like 'yeah we don't want to fight him man' 'he saved us from permanent injuries' 'do you want to step in his way he is really good with that bo staff and if he doesn't have that than he verbally demolishes us man, last time someone got a hit on him he made him question his whole life. And don't you remember jake he read his whole life to him while beating him it was brutal.' 'hey!!! If anything happens to him we don't know what we will be facing with. It could be anyone from a civilian to batman to villains(I saw him eating chilli dogs with red hood so many times/ he was helping Harley with her thing once/ saw him with Ivy she was telling him about something I did not understand but sounded really educational/ oh cat Catwoman loves that kid so much you should see when they meet up(one time I heard him call her mom) and we don't want to see what happens man one time was enough. Last time Nightwing almost killed Joker and Superman had to stop Batman from kill him and then this Robin I don't think anyone will stop them this time and I don't want to know.'/ even Riddler likes him man!!'

Like Robin (Tim) is the perfect robin for not just batman but for Gotham as well. this is the Robin that Gotham needed at its darkest moment and he stepped up for that role. Tim already knew what was needed to be Robin he was there from the very beginning, from the fall of flying Grayson's to the death of Robin. He saw what robin as a figure did for people of Gotham he saw how Jason's robin helped the people in Gotham he saw what kind of fear Dick's robin put in the villain's of Gotham. He saw all of it. He was there for everything that Robin brought to Gotham. And he knew the streets of Gotham like the back of his hand. He saw the people when he was stalking batman and robin. He saw what the people needed as well. He was out there on the streets of Gotham from a very young age. No one can say that he wouldn't help the street kids with foods or cold, he had the means and the heart for it. Tim would have always become something that the city needed even if in someway it wasn't robin he would have done still be something to help other. That's who he really is someone who wanted to help most like Bruce but still very different. Where Bruce didn't want what happened to him to happen to anyone. Tim just did what he thinks is right and what he should do and just does it. If Bruce's parents weren't murdered he could have been what Tim is. He is the hope for Gotham.

Gotham would love the Red Robin too. When they see him come back after a year gap from being Robin to Red Robin. They would have been so worried about him when they saw a new robin but didn't see any new heros name for a whole year and then he is back..... Like it would possibly be like -

Goon1- hey! Hey! Hey! I saw a new hero.

Other goons all groans

Goon2- agh!! Another one. Man I hate this!!!

Goon3- great 🙄😒

Goon4- aaawwwwww man!!

Goon1- no no no. This is good news.

Goon3- how can this be good news this is a disaster!!! Now we need to see what this one can do.

Goon2- seriously. So many heroes. Why can't we do crimes in peace???

Goon4- you know what I think that job offer for WE sounds so good right now.

Goon1- no no listen. This one has a bo staff!!!!✨✨✨✨

Goons- WHAT!!!!!!!!!

Goons- ROBIN'S BACK !!!!!!!!!!!! *They jumped with hands in the air*

Goon1- YES!!!!!! He bruised my ribs while he took down the scarecrow. It was beautiful. 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩

Goon4- oh man I refuse to go today and he comes back.

Goon3- man I was fighting with the new robin.

Goon2- oh man I missed all the fun. Nightwing knocked me out before anything even happened.

Goon3- tell us more what's his new name. His costume and was he ok!!!!!!!🫣

Goon1- he came out of nowhere. Scared the scarecrow into tripping over himself before scarecrow even had time to react and knocked him out. No one was ready for it I didn't even realise this was the previous robin until the other start attacking him. He invaded all of our attacks and when he took out his bo staff I froze and he kicked me out. But other didn't really have that much time either half of us were down because we froze other that were new one still tried to attach got knocked unconscious. He told us to get out because police was just 3 minutes away and then he disappeared just like he did before. So we just ran but we couldn't take the one who were unconscious but the rest of us ran away.

I don't know his name but he is in red costume now.

Goons hanging one goon1's words like they were stars.

Goon4- I'll ask around about the name and spread the news the 3rd Robin is back with new name and everything. Everyone would be so relieved.

Goon3- yeah he had us worried man what the hell. Last year was a different kind of disaster.

Goon2- yeah there was this tension in the air but I couldn't put a finger on it. But it's good to know the kid's ok. Hey isn't this the first time we saw Nightwing after such a long time. Wonder if they had gone together somewhere again like the space or something.

Goon1- yeah I was also surprised when I heard them saying Nightwing before 3rd Robin got the drop on us. I thought I heard it wrong.

Goon4- did he make a bad pun while he knocked you out.

Goon2- yeah!! Man he is cringe. Like com'on man. He has been doing this for years now one would this he'll run out of ideas.

Goon3- at least his laugh has changed from his Robin days. *Shudders*

Other goons shudders as well.

#tim drake #batman #gotham #dc robin #red robin #nightwing #batfam

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orangebl0ssoms · 2 months ago

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𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐋𝐘𝐃𝐄: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 1)

wc: 1k

cw: abuse, alcohol usage, blood, cursing, weapons, mentions of murder, etc.

synopsis: trapped in an abusive cycle, you finally snap after a brutal beating, killing the man who held you captive. Desperate and shaken, you drive to a remote lake to dispose of the body—only to cross paths with Lee Know, a man just as bloodstained and haunted as you are. Your fates collide in a single moment of fear, violence, and desperation, forcing the both of you into a deadly alliance neither can escape.

♫: ESCAPE (Bangchan & Hyunjin) - Stray kids

( ❤︎ )

ᴛʜᴇ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ; part 1

There was a time when you thought love was supposed to feel like warmth. Like lazy Sundays under the sheets, laughter echoing between walls, fingers tracing over soft skin. That’s how it had started—with sweet words, late-night phone calls, and the promise that someone out there had finally seen you, really seen you. You were nineteen when you met him. He had walked into the café you worked at, all confidence and easy charm, flashing a grin that had once made your heart flutter. At first, it was like something out of a movie. He’d wait for you after shifts, bring you flowers, stroke your cheek with the back of his hand like you were something precious. He told you he loved you before you even had time to process what love really was.

Then, slowly, things started to change.

He would get upset if you took too long to reply to his texts. He would show up unannounced at work, asking why your male coworkers were talking to you. You brushed it off as love—because love was supposed to be possessive, right? If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t act like this. The first time he grabbed your wrist too hard, leaving faint bruises, he apologized for an hour straight, kissed the marks, told you he couldn’t live without you.

By the time you turned twenty-two, you had stopped working altogether.

By the time you turned twenty-three, you had stopped seeing your friends.

By the time you turned twenty-four, you had stopped being you.

You weren’t sure when the bruises turned to slaps. When the yelling turned to punches. When your home became a prison. He never let you leave unless it was for groceries or errands—only when he was with you, of course. He needed dinner ready when he came home, needed his shirts ironed, his whiskey poured. You were his.

And you had no where else to go…

The day started like any other night.

The smell of stale beer filled the house before he even stepped through the door. You were already in the kitchen, fingers gripping the wooden spoon as you stirred the pot of soup, willing your heartbeat to slow. The front door slammed. Heavy footsteps followed.

“Where the hell are you?”

You exhaled slowly, plastering on the same tired smile you had perfected over the years. Small, obedient, quiet. “In here,” you called tiredly. You’re “lover” had appeared in the doorway, his dark eyes glassy, his shirt wrinkled like he had spent the entire day hunched over a bar counter. He smelled like whiskey and something sour, something rotten. His gaze landed on the soup. “That’s it?”

You swallowed. “It’s all we had left—”

The bowl was on the floor before you even saw his hand move. It shattered, soup splattering across your ankles, burning your skin. You flinched, but you didn’t move. “You useless bitch,” he hissed. The slap was sudden, ringing across the walls. Your head snapped to the side.

Then came the second hit.

And then the third.

You hit the floor, gasping as pain bloomed across your cheek. His boot connected with your ribs. The air was sucked from your lungs as you curled in on yourself. “I should’ve left you to rot,” he muttered, yanking you up by your hair, forcing you to look at him. “You’d be nothing without me.” He let you go. You collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving.

Then he left.

And the house was quiet again.

You lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Meanwhile, something inside you had shifted…

The house was eerily quiet that evening. Not peaceful—never peaceful, but heavy, like the air itself was bracing for what it knew was coming. The clock ticked steadily in the kitchen, the only sound in the suffocating silence. You stood in front of the stovetop, stirring a pot of half-burnt stew, your fingers trembling just slightly as you’d set down the spoon. Your eyes drifted toward the front door, to the hallway, to the living room where he had passed out on the couch hours ago with an empty bottle still clutched in his fist. You knew tonight was the night. You felt it in your bones. The weight of your bruises—the ones still purple from last week, the ones that bloomed along your ribs—pressed down like a warning, but you didn’t flinch. You were tired. Tired of crawling through each day pretending you weren’t breaking.

Tonight, you would provoke him. Not because you wanted the pain—but because you needed a reason. Something to justify what had been building inside you like a silent scream for months. You picked up the remote from the couch and muted the TV. That alone would be enough. You called his name softly. He groaned, but you pressed harder. “I threw out the rest of your vodka.” The stillness that followed was worse than the shouting. He sat up slowly, his head tilted at an unnatural angle as he blinked at you, the bottle slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the carpet. His voice slurred but sharp, “You did what?”

You said nothing.

“The hell did you just say to me?”

Your hands clenched at your sides. “You heard me. You don’t need it. You haven’t needed it in years. You’re not some sad kid anymore. You’re just cruel.”

And that was it.

He lunged off the couch, the rage blooming across his face like a mask. The slap was quick, jarring, and left a metallic taste in your mouth. Your head snapped sideways, but you didn’t stumble. You simply stayed standing. You didn’t cry. You couldn’t. “You bitch,” he growled, spittle flying from his lips. “You think you can talk to me like that in my house?”You laughed bitterly, your lip split and bleeding. “Your house? It’s mine. My name’s on the lease. I do everything here. You don’t even work.”

His hand curled into a fist. That one landed harder, right into your stomach. The wind rushed out of your lungs as you collapsed to your knees, gasping. He kicked your side—once, twice. You cried out as pain bloomed across your ribs. But still, you crawled toward the kitchen. He followed, boots stomping behind you like thunder. “Trying to run again? Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

You reached the edge of the counter, pulling yourself up by the handle of a drawer. Your body shook, skin flushed with heat and adrenaline. The moment he grabbed your hair to yank you back, you opened the drawer. Your fingers wrapped around the handle of the long, silver kitchen knife. Cold. Heavy. Real. He was shouting now, pulling at your arm, jerking you backward by the hair, but you twisted around—your body moved faster than your mind—and the blade slid into his abdomen before you could even realize what you were doing.

Silence.

He froze, eyes wide, mouth open in a grotesque shape of disbelief. His hands instinctively went to his stomach, feeling the warm, wet blood seep between his fingers. Your hands were shaking violently, the knife still in your grip. He stumbled backward, crashing into the cabinets. “You—” he choked. He came forward again, and this time it wasn’t just rage in you—it was terror. You screamed as he reached for you, and stabbed again. Again. Again.

You lost count.

The knife was slick with blood. Your hands coated in it, arms shaking from the force. He grunted, then slumped to his knees before falling onto his side. There was blood pooling beneath him, a dark, thick river that began to crawl along the tile. You had stood there for a long time, your chest heaving, the blade still clenched within your palm. You stared down at him—the man who had ruled your life with fear and fists—and felt nothing at first.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then came the cold. Then the ringing in your ears. Your fingers went limp, and the knife clattered onto the floor beside his body. Your knees gave out, and you sank down next to the mess you made, staring at it all in disbelief.

You should have cried. Screamed. Run.

But you just sat there, back pressed to the cabinets, your head resting on your blood-streaked knees. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body shook from exhaustion, from pain, from relief.

“I killed him,” You whispered, over and over again, voice hoarse. “I killed him.”

You stared at the blood pooling around him, breath hitching. Your hands trembled violently. You had done it. The first time in years—you finally weren’t afraid.

And now, you had to get rid of him.

The neighborhood was quiet, the world still sleeping.

Hours passed, or maybe it was minutes; time had lost its meaning. You opened the trunk of your car. It was a beat-up sedan, nothing special. The kind of car that didn’t draw attention. You pulled the body close, sweat dripping down your temples, and with one final push, you heaved him inside.

You looked like a murderer.

And then you realized—you were.

You climbed into the car and started the engine. Pulling out of the driveway, leaving behind the house that had been both a sanctuary and a prison. You drove with no clear destination in mind, the weight of your actions pressing down on you. The roads were deserted, the world oblivious to the storm raging within yourself. After what felt like hours, you found yourself on a secluded stretch of road, surrounded by dense woods and a nearby lake. The isolation was both comforting and eerie. You pulled over, stepping out into the crisp night air, the silence deafening.

What you didn’t know was there was someone in the same boat as you. Many feet away, where the water was. A man had just watched his boss sink beneath the surface, swallowed whole by the murky stillness of the lake. The water was still now. Eerily so. Only a ripple remained, then silence. Lee Know didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The weight of what he’d done wasn’t something he could explain—not even to himself. Still in his work clothes that were now stained with blood, the white work shirt was left unbuttoned a bit, without the blazer. He stayed a few feet from the shore, back against the door of his car as he kneeled with his head in his bloody hands. His mind was blank, eyes glassy, until the sound of gravel moving under heavy wheels of a car broke through the stillness. Someone was here.

He tensed, moving to hide instinctively. From behind the tree line, a figure emerged—disheveled, limping, clearly hurt. You. Your hair was wild, eyes swollen and red, your white dress soaked in spots with something dark. Blood. You dragged your feet to the lake’s edge with tired desperation. To see how deep the lake went down, your held tilted in curiosity to yourself. He watched from the shadows, unmoving. You stopped at the edge. For a second, he thought you were going to throw yourself in too. Instead, you turned around, to walk back to your car. You gulped, the lump in your throat finally growing as you crumpled onto your knees in the grass. Hands trembling, covering your mouth. Sobs—choked and hoarse, tore through you, all the whilst trying to bite them down with your knuckles. Grief. Horror. And guilt.

You had blood on your hands—literally.

Lee Know knew that look. Knew the weight of whatever you had done. He stepped backwards without thinking. Gravel shifted beneath his boots.

Your head snapped up to the sound. In terror, you scrambled to your feet. Only to notice a car through the night sitting in the gravel near the road. You gulped.

Shit.

Your eyes locked onto the abandoned car, that clearly had been there the whole time, as a man stepped out from behind slowly, hands raised in defense. “I’m not here to hurt you.” Your eyes raked down the unknown male’s figure, taking in his disheveled appearance. What startled you further, was that it wasn’t far off from yours.

However, you didn’t believe the man. He took quick notice of the knife you held even before you saw him. Eyeing it with weary. But you were already moving—staggering slowly toward him, fist clenched around the knife like you had nothing left to lose. “I didn’t ask.” Your voice shivered, staring down at the dirty knife etched into your hold. Slowly taking a step forward just as he took one back, he began again, “I won’t say anything, just-” He paused with a small sharp inhale watching you stare up at him, your eyes almost deranged, his whole body tensed. You shook your head, “I can’t let you go. Not after seeing this.” You gulped, and before Lee know could defend himself, you lunged. He struggled, wildly, as you brought him to the ground, straddling him, the blade of the knife forcefully being brought down to his chest in an attempt to stab him, but the grip he held to your hands around the knife gave both of you a struggle.

“Stop,” he hissed, twisting your wrists away with a grunt of struggle. You didn’t. Tears streamed down your face and as you shook your head. “I—I can’t—”The moment his fingers pried the knife from yours, you crumbled. You sat there, still on top of him, sobbing so hard your body shook. All the male could do was just watch, he was familiar with the feeling she couldn’t get passed. Regret

Then—

Sirens.

Blue and red lights cut through the trees.

“Shit,” he cursed, the two both standing up, watching a cop car pull up, headlights flooding the scene. holding hands in front of their faces from the lights that parked in front of them at a distance. Lee know knew the only way to get out of this, it’d be one hell of an idea though. The officer stepped out, one hand on his holster. “What the hell is going on here?”Upon seeing the bloodied couple and the knife, you’d be able to put two and two together. Your breath hitched. Then—his hand grabbed yours.

“Run.”

Gunshots.

You bolted. His grip tightened around your wrist as he yanked you toward the car. Your car. The bullet grazed his shoulder. He grunted but didn’t stop. The car roared to life, tires screeching, bullets roaring.

The chase had begun.

And neither of you could turn back now.

A/U: soooo i’ve underestimated how long I wanted to make this story, so ill be splitting the chapters into parts (3 or 2 max prolly), doing this mainly to make it easier on ur gurl cause exams are coming up :(( but i hope u pookies like this!!

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facefullofsadness · 5 months ago

Note

now i need yandere!yunjin😞

OMLLLL 🫠 idk if u wanted me to write to this but I'm gonna! bayonetta yunjin as pics bc same-ish vibes!

also cw for non-con

AHAKDHKDJFKG YESSSSS!!! dyk how much I love a yandere concept... it's actually a little concerning but I digress! yandere!jen who's been your bestie for a while. she became friends with you solely to get closer to you, learn every little thing there is to know about you, know your exact routine, understand the relationship dynamics you have, and eliminate possible threats. simply put, she needs to know what to do to make sure you are hers.

you run into her room absolutely sobbing, collapsing into her arms as she asks what's wrong even though she already knew. your best friend had been brutally murdered last night and you were in total shock. she held you in her arms and comforted you as she felt you melt into the hug, seeking solace and warmth in her embrace. she comforts you with a sinister smile uncontrollably emerging on her lips, holding you tight as your face is buried in her chest, unbeknownst to you her creepy expression. she softly calls out comforting words to make sure you know you're not alone and that she'll always be there for you, that she'll do anything to make you feel better.

explaining that you might need time alone for a few months because of how heartbroken you were and her expression turning bitter, not appreciating or liking the idea of you being anywhere else other than with her. she tries talking you out of it, suggesting you stay with her instead, that there's a killer on the loose and you need protection, but you'd rather die to their hands than live with this pain of your friend dead. that sets her off, she's angry you don't wanna stay with her despite everything she's done for you, how nice of a friend she's being, it's so unfair of you to treat her this way after what she's done! you'd rather die than stay with her? then she'll be the one to do it... not until she's had her fill.

flipping you over and pinning you down, resisting because what the fuck is actually happening right now, panicking and fighting against her, thrashing around to get away from the aggressive yunjin with a fiery look in her eye, screaming horrifyingly as she has you completely overpowered, way stronger and more calculated as she manages to tie your limbs down and all apart from each other. you can't move and you're terrified as her eyes burn through your clothing and tears of sadness and grief turn to ones of fear and confusion, yunjin burning with desire as she watches your pretty face distraught and betrayed, blazing with emotion.

after everything I've done for you, this is how you repay me? if I can't have you, no one can... but this is just the start. her words send chills throughout your entire body as she absolutely ravishes you, a feral animal tearing open your clothes and consuming you whole. her possessive hands dragging all over your body, claiming each and every inch for herself, her mouth littering your frozen-in-place state, heating you up despite your mind screaming for her to stop. her hands are greedy, groping and digging her fingers into your skin, her mouth is desperate as her tongue leaves trails of wet desire across your heaving chest, your body covered in red marks, hickeys, and bites. you moan as her mouth trails lower, her fingers pushing forcefully into your wet virgin hole, screaming as she rips you open while wrapping her lips around your throbbing clit.

the pain and heartbreak makes you continue to sob, but the pleasurable heat emanating from your core is undeniable as your body ignites into seething lust, whole body ruined emotionally and physically as yunjin forces orgasm after orgasm from you, squirt and cum covering the insane maniac in between your legs. after everything she's done for you, the audacity for a stupid little girl like you not to fall in love with her gave her no other choice than to make you hers.

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serpentandlily · 2 years ago

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Untouchable - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand's Sister! Reader ✨

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court's spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he'd eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on-with Elain, your brother's mate's middle sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that - more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: angst

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part I

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Your heart was twisting in your chest, a sick feeling curling in the pit of your stomach, as you hurried down the dimly lit hallways of the River House. You held a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to break loose and the bile that stung the back of your throat. You could do it, you could hold it in. At least until you got back to your room. And then you’d be free to cry and cry and cry as much as you wanted to.

You had spent years trying to bury your feelings for the shadowsinger. What had started out as a harmless crush on your older brother’s friend when you were just a girl had blossomed into true, real feelings since you had come of age. But despite your best efforts, Azriel still never seemed to notice you. Not like that anyways.

Him and Cassian had adored you the moment you had entered their life as just a babe and the sister of their best friend. You had been born during a time of peace, decades after the war. The three of them had been nearing two-hundred. They had watched you grow into the female you were today. Had been there through your toughest years after watching your mother brutally murdered in front of you at the age of thirteen, barely saved before your own life was taken.

It was a good thing Rhys had become High Lord before the time you reached eighteen or your father would’ve had you married off, no doubt for some political alliance. You had hoped your brother would’ve given you a role in his court once you were of age but after almost losing you, he had become increasingly protective.

So instead of being sent on missions, or used as an emissary, you spent most of your time volunteering in Velaris—helping to build the sanctuary into what it was today. You had eventually stopped arguing with your brother to loosen up his hold on you when he had broken down crying in front of you simply at the thought of you never returning if he was to send you out in the world.

And how could you complain when Velaris had been your cage? So you learned to play your role, for him, for your brother. The pretty little sister of the High Lord. Never known for anything but your beauty. The beauty that had males sending your father marriage propositions since the age of ten.

But there had only ever been one person you wished would see you that way. And he never had. You had to watch him pine after your own cousin for centuries. Never once looking your way. You feared he’d only ever see you as that little girl—the one who used to climb all over them at the cabin, the one who had the three males wrapped around her finger since she had been born.

Only ever just a girl in his eyes.

And you had made peace with that, as much as it hurt to be looked over by the one person you wanted the most. It still bothered you to watch his eyes track Mor all the time, to stare at her in a way he would never look at you. You had made peace with that…until tonight.

You couldn’t lie to yourself and say you hadn’t seen the shift in him when he started looking after the middle Archeron sister. You had once believed he only had eyes for Mor, and it had brought you some solace in knowing that might be the only reason he had never looked your way.

But then Elain showed up and those affections shifted from Mor to her. Suddenly he was always with her, spending hours in the gardens with Elain. Staring at her the way he would stare at Mor. Your heart had started crumbling all over again with the realization that he could move on from Mor, could fall for someone other than her—and it hadn’t been you.

You had left your bed chambers tonight to fetch a glass of water from the kitchens but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you would’ve walked in on. You had smelt them before you opened the doors. Azriel’s cedar and night-chilled mist and Elain’s sweet jasmine and honey.

You should’ve left then but something had compelled you to open the kitchen doors just a hair.

And there they were. Elain seated on the counter, Azriel between her legs. Her skirt has been pushed up to her thighs, his hands tangled in her hair, as they kissed like two starved animals.

You were lucky you had spent years learning how to keep a strong mask like your brother, for it allowed you to slip away without them ever noticing you.

You finally made it to your room, shutting the door and locking it behind you. You were grateful for the sound wards you had put up because the minute you stepped over that threshold you collapsed into a heap on the floor as heart-wrenching sobs erupted from your lips.

It felt like you had been stabbed in the heart with a million knives, like someone had gutted you and twisted your insides. It hurt so much to think that Azriel would never want you the way you wanted him. He didn’t want you. He didn’t crave your presence the way you did his. He didn’t want to touch you the way you wanted to touch him. He just didn’t want you.

And he never would.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Send me somewhere,” you said, pressing your palms onto your brother’s desk as you stared at him right in the eyes—the eyes you shared. “Anywhere, I don’t care. Just send me somewhere.”

Rhys frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. “What has gotten into you? Did something happen?”

You let out a sigh, collapsing in one of the armchairs. You couldn’t tell him the real reason you wanted to leave. It was embarrassing. “Nothing happened. I’m just…tired of being cooped up here. Please, Rhys. It doesn’t even have to be far—just please.”

“Where is this coming from, y/n? You haven’t asked this in years. I thought you were happy here.”

“I am happy here. But I want to see the world, Rhys. And we’re finally in a time of peace. So let me, please.”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed, taking in your appearance. The slightly swollen eyes, the dark circles, the haphazard way you had braided your hair this morning. “Did…did someone hurt you? Did someone do something to you?”

“What? No!” A lie of course. But what could you say? Azriel had hurt you but it wasn’t like it was his fault. It wasn’t like he owed you anything.

“You know you can always talk to me about anything. Right, dove?” The use of his nickname for you nearly caused the tears you were fighting back to escape.

“Of course, Rhys. But I promise you. No one did anything to me. Please. The war is finally over and I think I’ve spent enough of my life here. I want to see what the rest of the world has to offer.”

Rhys’s head fell in his hands. “I-I don’t think I can let you go, dove. I’m sorry but I can’t bear it…I can’t bear not having you here where I can protect you.”

“It’s not fair!” You shouted, standing up. “I’m not a child anymore—I’m nearly three hundred years old for Gods sake! I’m suffocating here, Rhysie. Please.”

“Rhys,” Feyre said softly, placing a tattooed hand on her mate’s shoulder. “Perhaps it is time you let y/n make her own choices. You promised me you’d always give me a choice—would always let me decide what to do with my life. Why can’t that apply to your sister?”

You shot her a grateful look, hoping she would make him see reason. Rhys stayed silent and you knew he had been struck by her words. “I can go to Mor, on the continent. Then you don’t have to worry about me being alone. I can help her try to form alliances there.”

Still he said nothing but judging by Feyre’s narrowed eyes, you could tell they were having an argument mentally. You wiped your sweaty palms on your dress, wishing that he would listen to his mate about this. If anyone could talk Rhys into something, it was her.

It felt like an eternity went by before your brother finally looked up at you. His eyes were full of sadness and guilt and you knew in that moment, you had won.

“Fine, fine. But you will go to Mor in Vallahan and stay with her the whole time. You will listen to her at all times and never go anywhere alone. And you will write me twice a week,” Rhys growled. “And I swear, y/n, if you even miss one letter, I will come get you myself. Those are my rules—take it or leave it.”

A genuine smile bloomed on your face as you jumped to your feet and ran around the desk to embrace your brother in your arms. “Thank you, Rhys! Thank you! I promise I’ll do as you say. I promise.”

He held you tightly as if he never wanted to let go and you peered at Feyre from over his shoulders to mouth her a small ‘thank you’.

This was it. You’d finally be able to leave this city after three hundred years. Finally see the world! And most importantly: be far, far away from the shadowsinger that had won your heart but fallen for another.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Three months went by in the blink of an eye. You had spent the entire time traveling with Mor from Vallahan to Montesere, where you two had just settled down when Rhys had contacted you both, asking for your return home. Apparently he had big news to share but he wanted to do it in person. So now you were packing up your things, getting ready to return back to Velaris for the first time since you had left.

It had been annoying how much you thought of Azriel still. But it was getting easier to ignore the longer you were away. You hoped those feelings would eventually disappear entirely—but every time you thought of moving on, something in your chest would ache and ache.

That didn’t mean you hadn’t taken lovers in your time here. It had always been hard to find males to mess around with in Velaris considering they all knew who your brother was. The last thing they wanted was for Rhys to come looking for them after sleeping with you. So you’d only taken a few lovers here and there throughout the years.

But on the continent, no one knew who you were. Had no idea that you were the younger sister of one of Prythian’s High Lords. And Mor had been sure to teach you all the ways to have someone wrapped around your finger. You had never felt so confident in yourself as you did now. Finally becoming the female you wanted to be without your brother or the two other bats watching you over your shoulder. It was exhilarating.

But the thought of returning home had dampened some of your newfound joy. You were worried about slipping into your old role—being that sweet, pretty, little accessory they all expected you to be.

You wouldn’t allow that. You couldn’t. Not after having a taste of what it could be like if you became the female you always dreamed you’d be. Someone who knew she was desired for more than just her looks. Someone interesting. Someone smart and witty. Someone brave. You tried to ignore the part of you that hoped Azriel might see those things in you now.

“Are you ready to go, y/n?” Mor asked, leaning against the doorframe of your room.

You took one last look at yourself in the floor length mirror. You were wearing a dress that was typical of what they wore here in Montesere. If you could even call it a dress. It was white, the bodice dipping into a v-shape and clinging to your body with gold embellishments and blue gems decorating it. It had long sleeves that connected to a hood, stitched in glimmering gold. It cut off right under your breasts, exposing your toned stomach until just slightly passed your belly button.

The skirt was held up by two thin gold straps that criss-crossed over the sides of your hips to connect it to the top part of the dress. The skirt itself traveled to the floor and had two long slits on either side to show off your legs. The white color complimented your tanned skin and the kohl you had lined your eyes with made the violet color of your eyes glimmer even brighter.

You had left your hair down in soft curls, only pinning back two strands on either side of your face with some gold pins. More than happy with the way you looked, you turned back to Mor with a grin.

“I’m ready to go home.”

#acotar #azriel #fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #angst #rhysand sister #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x female!reader #acotar fanfiction #shadowsinger x reader #acosf #post war

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keanusbabydoll · 8 months ago

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longing

paring: peepaw!myers x fem!reader

warnings: 18+content, angst, mentions of murder, michael himself is a warning, smut, rough sex, no aftercare, choking, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, little to no foreplay, huge age gap, sadism if you squint

a/n: probably not the best smut i’ve written but it was 3am and i was tired :o

masterlist

it was a chilly night in haddonfield, the air thick with an unsettling silence. the streets were eerily empty, except for the flickering jack-o'-laterns on porches and the occasional sound of children laughing in the distance. on one street, however, the atmosphere was anything but calm. a mob of angry residents had gathered, their faces set with determination and a hint of desperation. they were waiting, waiting for the moment of retribution against the shape that had haunted their town for decades.

among the mob were you, a young woman, confused and scared. you clutched a baseball bat that a stranger gave to you nervously, your knuckles white from the tension. you had lost friends to michael myers, the embodiment of pure evil, but you couldn't shake the feeling off that what those people were about to do wasn't right.

the mob's plan was simple: lure michael myers into a trap and end his reign of terror once and for all. karen, your best friend's mom, also daughter of laurie strode, was the one to set the bait, stepping out of the dark with michael's mask in her hand.

michael, unmasked and exposed, approached the trap with his usual silent menace. he reached down and grabbed his mask, pulling it on with a tight grip on his knife. the mob surged forward, ready to attack, but you hesitated. you let the bat fall from your hands and took a few steps back, your heart pounding in your chest. as the people descended on Michael, your eyes widened in horror. you knew this wasn't right. even after everything he has done.

a scream tore from your throat, halting everyone in their tracks. even Michael's blank, soulless eyes seemed to turn towards you.

"stop! this isn't right!" you yelled. "he's also just human!"

the people turned their hateful gazes on you, their faced twisted with anger and disgust. your words defending michael led to you being grabbed roughly, hands tied behind your back. you were thrown to the ground next to Michael, the cold pavement digging into your knees. you thought it was over, you would be slaughtered right next to the shape.

but Michael had other plans.

with a swift, brutal efficiency, he fought back, killing everyone who dared to attack him. blood splattered the ground, screams filled the air, but you were untouched. when the gruesome scene in front of you ended, Michael's cold eyes fixed on you. his knife still clung tightly in his hand. your breath caught in your throat as he approached, your body trembling with fear. you closed your eyes, expecting the end.

instead, you felt the tightness around your wrists disappear. your eyes snapped open in shock to see Michael standing over you, his head tilted in that unsettling way. you cautiously got to your feet, taking a few steps back. but Michael didn't move to harm you; instead he pointed at his wounded chest, silently asking you for help. hesitating, you nodded, your heart still pounding. in a flash Michael lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to an abandoned cabin on the outskirts of town.

the cabin was a relic of a bygone era, its walls creaking with age and neglect. you carefully tended to Michael's wounds, using whatever supplies you could find. you knew that this was incredibly wrong, but somehow it felt so right to you. feeling a strange sense of duty and compassion, you stayed with him. michael, for his part, was confused by your gentleness, your care. he was used to hate, to killing, not kindness.

over a few months, you and Michael settled into an uneasy coexistence. you both moved into your house, hidden away form the prying eyes of the world. you took care of him in every way that you could, cooking for him, buying him proper clothes. the shape was perplexed by your tenderness and your determination to protect him. he didn't understand why he allowed it, why he didn't kill you like everyone else. something about you was different.

as time passed, you found yourself falling for the masked man. you couldn't explain it, but there was something about Michael that drew you in. despite his cold exterior and violent tendencies, you believed that there was more to him. he was still a mystery, a cold, silent presence in your home. maybe it was his quiet strength, his stoic nature that intrigued you. michael, too, felt a strange pull towards you, though he didn't understand it.

months turned into a year, and your relationship became more complex. your feelings deepened, but Michael remained distant, cold. you wanted more from him, needed more. you had done everything you could to make him feel at home, to show him that he was safe with you, that he could trust you. but Michael remained closed off, distant.

he didn't allow you to touch him, rejected your attempts at affection. you obviously grew frustrated, longing for his touch, his love. you just wanted something in return. of course you understood it somehow. Michael was a lost, misunderstood soul, hated by everyone and he wasn't used to someone actually caring for him. but still you expected just a little bit of affection from him and the longing you felt for him grew stronger each day, and with it, your frustration.

Michael noticed your change in behavior but didn't understand the reasons behind it.

one night, you were sitting on the couch, a horror movie playing on the tv. you barely paid any attention to the film, your mind too preoccupied with the man sitting beside you. you glanced at him, his tall, imposing figure taking up most of the couch, his mask still in place. even with the mask on you found him so sexy, so attractive.

you couldn't take it anymore.

the need to feel him close, to know that he was real, that he cared for you in some way, was overwhelming. hell, you wanted his man to finally fuck you. you've been together for more than a year now and nothing sexual happened even in the slightest bit.

you scooted closer to him, trying to snuggle up against his side, but just as you feared, he pushed you away with slight force, a growl leaving his mouth.

as always.

"Michael..." you began, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "I cant keep doing this."

he didn't respond, not even looking at you. his eyes kept fixated on the tv, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his hands clenched into fists.

you stood up almost immediately, your frustration boiling over.

"you don't care, do you?" you snapped, tears welling in your eyes. "I've done everything for you! I've given you a home, cared for you, and I... I feel so much for you, but you just-" you broke off, voice catching in your throat. "I can't live like this, not with a relationship where I'm the only one who feels anything."

you turned to leave, the tears now spilling over, but before you could take a step, Michaels hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. you gasped, turning back to face him, your heart pounding strongly against your chest. he pulled you back, his grip firm but not painful, and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes that you hadn't seen before - a flicker of emotion, something raw and vulnerable.

then, to your shock, Michael reached up and slowly pulled off his mask.

your breath caught in your throat as you looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. you had seen him unmasked before, on the night you met, but it was dark and everything happened so fast.

his face was scarred, rugged, and a white, trimmed beard covered it, but he was the most handsome man you had ever seen. there was a gentleness in his eyes that took you by surprise. you had expected coldness, detachment, but instead, you saw, regret, and something else - something that made your heart ache.

"Michael..." you whispered, voice trembling.

he obviously didn't reply, but the way he looked at you, the way his hand still held your wrist, told you everything you needed to know. slowly, cautiously, he pulled you even closer, until your faces where just inches apart. your heart raced, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you waited, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. you didn't fully understand what was happening and why Michael acted like that suddenly. but you weren't complaining in the slightest bit. that was exactly what you've wanted for longer than a year.

then, finally, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss. it was tentative at first, almost like he wasn't quite sure what to do, but when you responded, pressing your lips more firmly against his, he deepened it. the kiss was filled with a desperation, a need that had been buried deep within him for so long. one of his hands moved to your waist, pulling you on top of him, while the other one rested lazily on your thigh. and for the first time since you had met, you felt his warmth, his desire.

the heat began to pool in your panties, the whole situation was turning you on way too much. when his hand wandered from your waist to your ass and gave it a harsh squeeze, you gathered all your courage and began grinding down on him, feeling his bulge already pressing up into you. a muffled moan echoed off the walls, when your clothed clit rubbed deliciously against his erection. you could feel Michael tense up as well as his hand squeezed even harder and his breaths became heavier. you increased your speed and pulled away from his lips, head falling back in pleasure.

when you returned your hazy gaze back to him, he was already watching you like his prey. his expression was cold but his eyes were sparkling with lust and hunger. hesitatingly, you put your hands on his chest, slowly gripping the zip of his blue coveralls, pulling it down his chest. your hands felt the warm skin beneath it and held on tight to his shoulders.

but michael had other plans. he didn’t want to keep up your bullshit of preparation. with a tight grip on your waist he roughly manhandled you on your back. he crawled on top of you, grabbing the collar of your shirt as he tore it apart, making you gasp out in shock. he tossed it away before he quickly got rid of your bra. then, he ripped open your pants, adding it to the pile of clothes.

your heart was beating rapidly and the ache in your core started to get unbearable. you waited so long for this moment - too long.

“please michael.” you whimpered out as you pushed your hips up, signing him that you need more.

he grunted in response, getting up from the couch and pulling down his coveralls and boxers. your eyes almost fell out when you saw his length. it was thick, long and veiny. something so big you’ve never seen before. with the blink of an eye he was on you again. his hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them as wide as possible. you curiously propped yourself up on your elbows, as you watched him pushing your panties to the side.

as he saw your wet, glistening pussy, you could have sworn you saw him licking his lips. michael put both of his hands beside your arms, trapping you, before he lined his cock up with your entrance. your eyes searched for his and when he finally looked at you, he plunged his whole length inside your hole with one harsh thrust- his dick filling you to the brim and stretching you to your limit. a scream tore from your throat and your eyes were shut at the stretch. waves of stinging pain cursed through your whole body and your walls clenched tightly around him.

but michael wouldn’t let you get used to it. he isn’t that type of man.

as soon as he felt his tip kissing your cervix, he began to rut into you with a fast pace, never planning on going gentle. loud moans and cry’s filled the air as you tried to get used to his size which was almost impossible because of his harsh pounding. his hips just moved faster and faster, almost making you see stars.

“slow down michael.” you choked out as you lay back down again. in reply, michael surged forward and wrapped a calloused hand around your throat tightly, almost cutting off your airway. your eyes shot open at the sudden lack of air and you looked at him with pleading eyes. but michael didn’t show mercy. how could he have? he’s the shape of haddonfield. nobody gets to tell him what to do.

in a matter of seconds, michael had you up in a mating press, the new position allowing him to go deeper, his tip pressing against your g-spot deliciously. “oh fuck! you feel so good michael.” you yelled out, hands gripping on his arms for support. by now you were used to his size and all you experienced was pure pleasure. the both of you moaned out as he went in and out of your tight cunt. the hand that squeezed your throat now wandered down to your breast and kneaded it roughly, only adding to the intense sensations he’s giving to you.

michael let out a low growl, his thrusts becoming more desperate, chasing his own release. your nails dug sharply into his flesh and you slowly felt your orgasm building up. with his pelvis constantly clashing against your puffy clit, you only reached your high faster. “please michael let me come.” you pleaded, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

suddenly he pulled out of you and before you could even comprehend it, he threw you on your stomach, ass up in the air. immediately, he reentered you, his thrusts just as harsh and fast as before. your face was mushed up against the couch, whimpers and high pitched moans leaving your lips. michael’s hands found their way to your hips, pulling your body roughly back, meeting his own thrusts.

this position made him go even deeper, rougher and when you felt his tip constantly brushing against your sweet spot, you tripped over the edge. a pornographic moan rang through the room as you came with such a great force, almost passing out from the intensity.

your orgasm made him go feral and he began to pound into you with an animalistic pace, inhuman even- to a point were it began to hurt. his hips snapped so harshly against your ass, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“too much. s-stop.” you begged, voice just above a whisper. with an answering growl, he aggressively gripped the roots of your hair and pulled your body up, forcing you to arch your back uncomfortably. a string of loud cry’s came out of your mouth and tears started to pour down your cheeks uncontrollably.

the loud sound of skin slapping against each other and the heavy smell of sex that lingered in the air, made your brain dizzy. your arms threatened to give out but michael pulled you now fully up against him, pressing his chest into your back.

the squeals and cry’s that came out of your mouth turned him on even more and the fact that you were experiencing pain, made him go crazy. if he would have known before that he could use you like this, he would have fucked you months ago.

after a few minutes of his relentless pounding you noticed his breaths getting louder, the grunts and growls he would let out here and there were also getting more intense, signing you he was almost reaching his high.

“cum inside me michael.” you managed to squeal out and in reply michael fucked into you with all his strength, hands grabbing your tits and teeth biting into your shoulder. with an animalistic growl, he finally let go and painted your walls with his white liquid. he continued to push in and out of you, fucking his cum deep inside of you.

you could barely hold your eyes open and your body was feeling like jelly. but then michael pulled out of your hole and you immediately fell back on the sofa. exhausted breaths came out of your mouth, trying to calm down from the intense fuck.

you felt his weight shifting on the couch and heard him getting dressed again. your eyes were still closed when he suddenly gripped your hair again and pulled your head up. he was bent down to your level and you saw something in his eyes you’ve never seen before.

“good girl.” he faintly whispered before releasing his grip and walking away. your mouth opened at his words and your brows furrowed.

you thought you were dreaming. for the first time ever michael spoke to you.

#smut #michael myers smut #michael myers #peepawmyers #oldmanmichael #halloween #halloween kills #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #fanfiction #jamesjudecourtney #slashers

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yaoi-enthusiasts · 16 days ago

Text

Chapter Three || no longer afraid - s. ryomen

❛ ❜ Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader (on going)

❝ in the lands of gods and monsters, she was an angel, living with the King of Curses-

Sukuna Ryomen Itadori was a man of many things, but before he became the cursed monster, he was a kind husband, who was sarcastic, always loving in his words, and loves his wife dearly. After a day of work, he returns home early, to find his wife brutally murdered in the home he built for the two of them. Sukuna was unaware of the power he held, but when it unleashed, he became something his wife never thought she could imagine. 10 years pass, as Sukuna visits his wife's grave, the same spot he buried her all those years ago, something was different, something touching his face as he awoke, could this be real?❞

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. hurt/trauma. smut . anxiety. death. graphic scenes

Word count ; 7.2k

main masterlist | series masterlist

The cottage sat in the hills like a secret, basking in a quiet sun that filtered through the spring trees. Just beyond the winding path lay Sukuna’s massive estate—a monolith of power, dread, and reverence. But here, a mile up and tucked into a field of green, everything felt softer.

Your father had gone out early to gather herbs for the meal you were preparing. The door creaked open as it always had, and Ryo, the aging black-and-white cat, meowed at the threshold. You looked over your shoulder from where you stirred stew on the stove. A familiar weight filled the doorway. “Awfully domestic of you,” Sukuna muttered, arms crossed, towering in the doorway like a shadow that didn’t quite belong. His bottom two arms held something—gifts, maybe, or offerings. A whole cooked hen and fresh bread, still warm in its cloth. “Should I be concerned you’ll try to make me a housewife too?” You smiled, unbothered by his tone.

“Maybe,” you said lightly, taking the food from his arms and setting it on the counter. “But you’d complain too much. I’d fire you after a day.” He snorted, his lip curling, walking inside with his usual heavy gait. “Please. You’d be begging for me to come back. You couldn’t cook an egg before you met me.” You tilted your head, wiping your hands on your apron. “That’s why I learned. So you’d stop eating burnt toast and boiled onions for breakfast.” His red eyes cut toward you with the faintest hint of mischief, but his mouth pulled into a scowl. He looked away, muttering under his breath, “Boiled onions weren’t that bad.” You walked to him, cupping his bottom left hand, running your thumb along his knuckles. “You’re grumpy today,” you said softly, watching his jaw tick. “I’m always grumpy,” he replied, not pulling away, but not reciprocating either. “Especially after dealing with nobles who think pissing themselves is diplomacy.”

“Still better than being feared, I suppose.” “Wrong.” He cracked his neck. “Fear is reliable. Love? Love is a liability.” You kissed his hand. “That’s the second time you’ve called me a liability this week.” “You’re not a liability,” he growled, eyes sharp. “You’re… something else.” You didn’t ask what. Instead, you took his hands—all four of them, your hands full and his hands hardly fitting in your tiny ones—guiding him to sit on the floor in the sunlit corner of the cottage. He relented, not saying a word, the wood creaking beneath his monstrous frame. You brought the dinner to a gentle simmer and joined him on the rug with a soft thump.

He leaned against the wall, arms folded again, watching you like a hawk with something he couldn’t quite name in his gaze. “Ryo’s gotten bold since you returned,” Sukuna muttered, as the old cat jumped onto the windowsill, then trotted toward him, curling against his leg. “He didn’t touch me for ten years.” “He missed having love in this house,” you said gently, reaching to scratch behind Ryo’s ears. “He can tell the difference.” Sukuna stared ahead. “He’s old.” You rested your head on his shoulder, reaching up to touch his jaw. “So are you.” “Watch it,” he grumbled, but didn’t push you off. “You’re older than you were ten years ago too.” “Only a little.” “Only dead a little.” You snorted. “You’re terrible.” “I’ve always been terrible.” His voice lowered. “That hasn’t changed.” You crawled into his lap. Not asked. Not hesitated. He stiffened instantly, his arms remaining frozen at his sides, but you ignored it, wrapping yours around his thick neck.

“Maybe. But I still like you.” His head tilted down slightly. “You love me.” “I do,” you whispered, kissing his cheek. “I always have. Even when you stopped believing it.” His breath hitched. “You shouldn’t. I’m not… I’m not who you married.” You kissed the scar on his jaw. Then his brow. “I know. But you’re still mine.” He looked like he wanted to argue. Wanted to pull away. Wanted to crumble. Instead, he stayed still, his hands twitching slightly, then finally resting lightly—barely—on your hips. You cupped his cheeks and peppered his face in soft kisses. His nose. His cheeks. His forehead. His chin.

“You always used to roll your eyes when I did this,” you giggled against his skin. He grunted. “Still do.” But you felt him lean in just slightly. His breath slowed. He sighed—one of those deep ones that he only ever let go when he was alone or with you. “Why are you always so gentle?” he muttered. “After everything?” You rested your forehead against his. “Because you’re still here. Because I know that monster you’ve become isn’t who you are, not deep down.” He shook his head, but weakly. “Don’t romanticize me.” You smiled. “Then stop making it so easy.” A long silence followed, the only sound the bubbling of stew and the soft purrs of Ryo, curled up beside you both. Sukuna let his arms wrap around you, slowly. Not tightly. Not desperately. But like it was something sacred. You kissed his lips. And this time, he kissed you back.

The stars were thick in the sky, draped like a velvet shawl above the cottage. The old wooden floorboards whispered underfoot as you moved around the small bedroom—lit softly by candlelight, the air smelling of chamomile and warm linen. Sukuna had stayed longer than he planned to again. He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his four arms slack and heavy. His broad back was turned to you as you folded a blanket at the foot of the bed. You could see the war in his posture, in the tense curve of his spine, in the twitch of his jaw. He hadn’t spoken much since dinner. You came up behind him, your hands brushing over his shoulders. “You’re quiet.”

“Hn.” “Did something happen?” “No,” he muttered, voice low and scratchy. “Nothing happened.” You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Then what’s wrong?” “I shouldn’t be here.” You blinked. “Why would you say that?” “I’m not safe,” he growled under his breath. “Not for you. Not like this.” You moved to stand in front of him. “Sukuna…” His eyes lifted, glowing low under candlelight. Four blood-red orbs watched you, full of hunger and restraint. You were wearing one of his old robes now—long enough to drape around your knees, tied loosely at the waist, the collar dipping wide around your collarbone. You hadn’t intended to tempt him, but you knew the look in his eyes. The barely-checked desire. “I’ve wanted you every day you were gone,” he said hoarsely, jaw clenching. “And now you’re here. And I can’t touch you the way I want to.”

“Why not?” He stood suddenly. “Look at me.” You did. And you’d never once looked away. He towered over you, all muscle and scars and power. His body was enormous—inhuman. His lower arms twitched with tension, his claws flexing as though unsure what to do with them. His black markings shimmered across his chest and throat, and the extra set of eyes blinked with raw heat. “I could break you in half,” he said darkly. “But you haven’t.”

“You don’t understand.” He stepped back, dragging a clawed hand down his face. “I’ve spent ten years ripping things apart. My instincts aren’t human anymore. I’ve tasted only blood and rage and grief.” You stepped forward, gently reaching for his lower hand. “Then let me help you remember what gentleness feels like.” He didn’t move. “Touch me like you used to,” you said, voice soft, laced with that warm grace that always cracked him open. “Let me show you that I’m not afraid.” He looked at you like you were made of porcelain and fire. Slowly, his fingertips came to your face, brushing along your cheek. Then the other hands followed—one at your waist, another cupping the back of your head, one resting against your ribs, trembling. You leaned into him. “Sukuna. I love you. In every form.” He exhaled raggedly, like the breath had been caught in him for years. “You always said you saw the man under the monster.”

“I still do.”

His lips hovered just above yours. “Don’t ask me to be gentle.” “I’m not,” you whispered. “I’m asking you to be honest.” He kissed you then—fierce, breath-stealing, like he was starving for you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you up into him as if anchoring himself to the only thing that felt real. His hands—so large, so clawed, so dangerous—held you delicately. Trembling. Like he feared even his love might destroy you.

You felt his restraint in every movement. In the way his breath hitched as he traced your hips. In the way he kept one hand pressed flat against the wall behind you, gripping it so tightly the wood creaked under his strength. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, panting. “I can’t lose control.” “You won’t.” “I want to tear the world open for you, and all I can do is hold myself back.” You kissed his neck. “Then hold me. Just hold me.” And he did. He lifted you gently into his arms, cradling you as he sank to the bed, settling you into his lap like something sacred. His mouth found your shoulder, your collarbone, reverent and burning. You could feel the need radiating off of him, but he held himself like a dam on the verge of bursting. You let him explore—slowly, carefully—relearning your warmth, your softness, the curve of your waist, the tremble of your breath.

“I’m still yours,” you said against his throat. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “Not after what I’ve become.” “You became this because of love.” You pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Don’t you see? I died. And you still stayed. You could’ve forgotten me. But you didn't.” His face was so close, his lips trembling. “I never forgot,” he choked out. “Not a second.” You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed him again—tender this time, reassuring. His arms wound around you tighter, and you both sank together into the silence, broken only by the sound of your breath and the soft wind outside the cottage.

That night, he didn’t take you. He didn’t unleash the heat he’d been holding back. But he held you like he’d die if he didn’t. And when you fell asleep in his arms, curled against his chest with Ryo purring beside you, Sukuna stared up at the ceiling for hours—still afraid, still unworthy, but slowly beginning to believe that maybe… just maybe… this was real.That you had come back to him. And that he didn’t have to be a monster forever.

—

The sun was low, casting a honeyed glow over the rolling fields behind the cottage, painting the garden in warm hues. You were kneeling in the soft soil, your hands dirty from planting new flowers—blossoms you had once grown before your death. The garden was wild now, untamed in the most beautiful way. Like you, it was finding new life. Dirt smudged your cheeks, and a lock of hair stuck to your forehead as you gently tucked a seedling into the soil. Ryo, ever your silent companion, lounged nearby in the sun, tail flicking lazily, as if he too had found peace in this second chance. Then you heard it—heavy footsteps, the crunch of steps on gravel, the ripple of cursed energy that made the birds quiet for just a beat.

You turned around, Sukuna stood at the edge of the garden, cloaked in the remains of battle. His crimson-streaked kimono told you more than words could: the violence was still a part of him. Blood soaked the lower half, dark and fresh. His jaw was tight, and his eyes scanned you like he needed confirmation that you were real. Again.

“You couldn’t change before walking through my flowers?” you asked calmly, raising a brow as you shifted to wipe your hands on your apron. “I just washed the porch.” He scoffed. “I just slit a man’s throat for disrespecting me in my own damn throne room, and you’re worried about the porch?” “Of course,” you said with a serene smile. “Because your bloodstained shoes are tracking mud and murder through my cosmos.” Before he could retort, the front door creaked open behind you. Your father stepped out, wiping his hands on a dishrag, eyes narrowing the moment he laid eyes on Sukuna. “What did I tell you about leaving that bloody mess at the door?”

Sukuna looked at him with an unamused glare. “You want me to kill with surgical gloves now, old man?” Your father pointed a finger at him. “I want you to remember you’re not some godless beast when you walk through that gate. You’ve got a wife who loves you, a home to keep clean, and a cat who’s seen enough of your damn curses.” You suppressed a laugh, placing a hand on your chest as you chuckled warmly. Sukuna rolled his eyes, muttering, “I’m the King of Curses and somehow the least respected man in this house.”

You patted the earth beside you. “Then come, Your Majesty. Sit down and earn our respect.” He grumbled but obliged, lowering himself onto the grass with a thud, one knee up, arms crossed as he watched you tend to the flowers like some ethereal being made of sunlight and soil. His eyes trailed the way your hands moved through the dirt, the way your smile was so achingly familiar… and real. Your father disappeared back inside with a mutter, “Try not to scare the tomatoes next time.” Sukuna’s gaze lingered on your face.

“How can you still look at me like that?” he asked suddenly, voice low. “Like I haven’t painted the world red with fire and bone.” You looked up at him, dirt on your cheeks, sweat on your brow, and all the love in the world blooming in your expression. “Because you still look at me like I’m the most important thing you’ve ever known.” He was silent.

“You brought death to this place,” you said gently, “but you also brought me back to life. I see that. Both sides of you. You still come back to me, don’t you?” He exhaled heavily, his four arms tensing then slowly relaxing. “It terrifies me how much you see. How much I let you see.” You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, careful not to touch the bloodied fabric. “That’s the part of you I love the most.” He watched as you leaned back, planting the final seedling, brushing your hands clean on your apron. You were glowing from the inside out, and when your fingers reached toward the sky, stretching after hours on your knees in the soil, Sukuna felt something stir inside him. Not lust. Not rage. Longing.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know how to hold it. But it was blooming in him just the same. You turned to him again, with that radiant smile, and held out a flower. “For you,” you said. “Something new. Something soft.” Sukuna took it, staring at the small white blossom in his massive hand. The petals didn’t burn, didn’t wither. They stayed whole, untouched by the blood on his skin. “You’re strange,” he muttered. You smiled wider. “That’s what you love about me.” And he couldn’t deny it. Ryo jumped into your lap then, purring and stretching, and you giggled, pressing a kiss to the cat’s head. You looked at your husband once more. “You need to be nice to people.” Sukuna huffed. “I’m nice to you.” “You kill everyone else.” “Well, they’re not you.” You reached out, brushing his cheek with your fingers, the same fingers covered in earth and life. “But you could be more. If you wanted.” He looked away, heart pounding, mind wild with everything he didn’t know how to say. But he stayed. On the grass, at your side, flower in hand. And maybe… just maybe… he would try. For you.

—

The garden had gone still, the sun dipped low enough to cast a warm golden gleam across the field. You stood from your work, wiping your dirt-smudged hands on your apron as your eyes flicked toward Sukuna, who was now reclining on the grass like some bored war god, still cloaked in his bloodstained kimono. You shook your head with a smirk and put your hands on your hips. “That’s it. You’re not coming into this house like that,” you called, brushing hair from your cheek. He looked over lazily, a brow raised. “You worried I’ll stain the damn furniture?” “No, I’m worried you’ll stink up the bed.” You walked over and tugged lightly at his sleeve. “Come. The barn shower’s still working. You can clean up there.” He scoffed. “I have servants for that.” You gave him a sweet but firm smile. “But none of them are your wife.” Sukuna opened his mouth to argue, but when he saw the glint in your eyes — the stubborn, graceful kind — he exhaled like a man who had long surrendered to your will. “Fine. But if the water’s cold, I’m taking you down with me.” You chuckled as he followed you with reluctant, heavy steps toward the side of the barn, where the old outdoor shower still stood surrounded by vines and wooden planks. You reached for the front of his kimono. “I’ll take that.”

His arms tightened. “Tch. I don’t need you doing my laundry.” You looked up at him and tilted your head. “But I want to. What kind of wife would I be if I couldn’t take care of the man I love? Let me serve you, just this once.” There was a long pause. Then, slowly, he let you peel the heavy garment from his body. The thick fabric was crusted with dark blood, but underneath, his skin was unscarred and solid. Beautiful in a terrifying way. You folded it gently in your arms. “I’ll wash it and hang it to dry by morning,” you said softly. He didn’t say anything — only turned and stepped into the water, letting the stream hit his back. His massive form stood tall against the rising steam, and for a moment, you just watched him — the most feared being in the world, quietly letting his wife care for him.

Inside the house, you scrubbed the kimono with lavender soap, your hands working slowly, lovingly. You hung it near the fire to dry, then fetched the largest towel you could find — still barely enough for him — and made your way back to the barn. “Alright, I brought—” You stopped.

The water still ran, gliding over his skin in silver rivulets, glistening on the ridges of his muscles, his long pink hair wet and pushed back. And then you saw it — or rather, them. Your breath caught. Your eyes widened slightly, lips parting as your gaze fell down the length of his form. Two.

Two cocks, stacked above the other, each as thick and imposing as the rest of him, glistening slightly in the steam, just barely veiled by the shadows. You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks, down your neck, blooming low in your belly. Sukuna turned lazily toward you. He noticed the towel in your hand, and the way you had completely frozen in the doorway. “Well?” he drawled. “You going to stand there and admire me all night, or hand it over?” You blinked fast, holding the towel out with trembling fingers, your voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a breathless laugh. “S-sorry, I— I didn’t know…” He took the towel, drying his hair first, one corner of his mouth lifting in a cocky smirk. “Didn’t know I was such a blessing below the waist? Or that I had more than you remember?”

You covered your mouth and giggled despite yourself. “Both.” He stepped closer, water still dripping from his shoulders, eyes flicking down to you like a lion watching its favorite thing. You reached up, touching his chest, fingers trailing along the water. “You’re really something else,” you whispered, eyes still wide, and full of wonder. “My husband… my monster…” His hand reached up to cradle your jaw, his expression suddenly unreadable — somewhere between heat and hesitation. “I don’t want to scare you,” he murmured. You pressed into his hand, voice gentle but unwavering. “You never could.” Your thumbs brushed against his lower arms, warm skin meeting soaked muscle. Your husband — your monster — stood completely bare before you. But he was still yours. And you were still the only thing that could make him flinch from affection and lean into love.

“Sukuna,” you called softly, his head turned toward you through the slats of the wooden structure, his four glowing eyes narrowing just slightly. “This towel has to be for decoration,” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “because if you think that’s going to cover all of this—” “It’s what you’re getting,” you cut him off, walking over with an amused little smirk on your face. “Your wife isn’t afraid of seeing her husband. Besides, I already did.” You bit your lip, teasingly. He groaned under his breath, pushing his wet hair back—soft pink strands clinging to his sharp cheekbones. “You’re tempting fate, woman.” You stepped closer. “Maybe I’m tired of fate tempting me first.” Sukuna stood there, stark and beautiful, water cascading down his body as steam rose from his heated skin. You could see the way his jaw tightened, how his muscles twitched beneath his skin. But he didn’t move away. Not even when your eyes drifted lower again. “I’m still trying to understand it all,” you whispered, stepping forward, your hand reaching out slowly, carefully, reverently. “What you’ve become… and what I still feel.”

His breath hitched the moment your fingers brushed against his abdomen—then lower. You let your hand trail down to explore the thick base of his first member, watching his eyes darken, his breath sharpen. Then you let your fingers glide to the second, marveling at the difference in heat, at the twitch beneath your palm. Sukuna’s top arms tensed at his sides. His bottom hands clenched. He was trembling. “Stop,” he rasped, voice rough and low, though it lacked bite. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” “I think I do.” Your tone was steady, though your heartbeat roared in your ears. “You’re my husband. I love you. I want to know all of you—even this new body. I’m not afraid.” “But I am.” He hissed, his voice tight. “I could hurt you. I will hurt you if I lose control.” You looked up into his eyes, slowly stepping closer until your chest brushed his soaked skin. “Then don’t lose control,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the scar over his heart. “Let me remind you who you are.” Your hands continued to caress him—slow, sensual, reverent. You weren’t rushing; you were exploring. You traced the raised veins, the heated skin, the slight difference in angle and texture between both of his cocks. Your touch was gentle but confident, as if you were rediscovering your place beside him.

Sukuna’s breath grew heavier. His bottom hands found your waist, gripping with tension he couldn’t release. His top hands hovered at your shoulders, unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. His entire frame was vibrating, fighting the primal instinct screaming inside him. And still, you looked up at him like he was the only man in the world—like he wasn’t a beast, a monster, a king of curses, but your husband. The one you’d married in a quiet field. The one who once braided flowers into your hair. The one who wept at your grave. “You don’t have to be afraid with me,” you said softly. “I never left you. I chose you. All of you.” His bottom arms finally crushed you to him, the tension in his body turning into something else—something heated, desperate, aching. His mouth found yours, devouring your lips in a kiss that trembled with restraint. And for a moment, there was no blood, no kingdom, no war. Just the two of you—one hand stroking his jaw, the other still curled around the pulsing heat of his new form. Loving. Learning. Claiming.

The water was still steaming off your skin when you stepped out of the old barn shower. You wrapped your damp hair in a towel and slipped into the nightgown you’d found in the chest tucked in the corner of your room — soft, thin cotton that clung to your curves like it was stitched by starlight. It swayed against your thighs, delicate as breath, but left very little to the imagination. You padded barefoot out the door, the chill of the night air brushing goosebumps over your damp skin. The moonlight poured across the grass, and there — just where you left him — Sukuna sat beneath the tree, shirtless, drying his hair with the too-small towel you'd handed him earlier.

His four arms were spread, his legs lazily splayed, his massive frame glowing silver under the moonlight. His pink hair was a tousled mess, horns glinting above his temples. He looked less like a man and more like a carved deity of chaos — devastating, impossible, and yours. You moved slowly toward him, watching the way his head lifted just slightly, sensing your presence before he even saw you.

When his eyes landed on you, they widened just a little — that was all the reaction a creature like him ever gave. But it was enough. His gaze dropped to the thin fabric clinging to your skin, and lingered. You saw his throat bob, a flicker of restraint across his face. You smiled, knowingly. "You're staring, my king." He huffed through his nose. "You're dressed like you're trying to kill me." "You’re already dead," you teased, stepping in front of him, barefoot on the grass. His top arms pushed behind him, leaning back, watching you like you were the only star left in the sky. His bottom arms rested on his thighs — tense, fingers flexing. He didn't move. Didn't speak. You climbed into his lap slowly, letting your thighs spread around his hips, your cotton nightgown rising with each motion. You settled onto him, and his breath caught — the soft weight of you pressing into him, your warmth sinking through him like a drug. He exhaled roughly. “You’re playing with fire.”

You leaned in, brushing your nose against his. "You are fire." you whispered, brushing your fingers over his jaw, your smile tender and unshaken. Sukuna’s red eyes darkened, flickering with something raw. Not lust — not just lust — but longing. Torment. Hunger that had gone unmet for a decade.

He stood suddenly, effortlessly lifting you into his arms as you let out a soft gasp, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. “Then don’t blame me when you get burned.” “I never would,” you said, lips at his ear as he carried you toward the cottage. The night creaked around you — the soft sigh of the wind through the trees, the floorboards of the porch under his heavy steps. But inside, it was warm, dimly lit by the fire your father had left before retreating to his room. The bedroom was just as it had been when you were alive — small, quiet, full of memory. As if waiting.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, and your cotton nightgown shifted against your thighs, still damp, still clinging. Sukuna’s gaze dragged over you like a man parched, drinking in every inch. He didn’t move until you whispered, breathless and steady, “Touch me.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he muttered. You reached for his hand, guiding one of his lower palms to your thigh. “Yes, I do.” His breath came heavier. You saw it — the way he shook, barely holding himself together. His thumb slid slowly across your skin, then curled around the back of your thigh. Your hand moved to his other wrist, placing it just beside your ribs. He didn’t resist. Couldn’t. “You don’t need to be afraid,” you said, eyes locked with his. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.” That was the unraveling.

Sukuna surged forward, his mouth crashing into yours, all four hands gathering you up with a possessive desperation. His kiss was rough, searing, teeth grazing your lip as he backed you gently onto the bed. You arched into him, gasping when the weight of his body settled above yours — immense, overpowering, and still careful.

Your nightgown was pushed up in one swift motion by his lower hands, exposing your thighs, your hips, your soft, wanting skin. The fabric bunched around your waist. The cool air met your heat, but you didn’t feel cold — not with him above you. His mouth trailed down your neck, dragging his tongue over your pulse, nipping at the places that made your breath hitch. His upper hands cupped your face, holding you still so he could look into your eyes. “You really want this?” You nodded, your voice thick. “I want all of you.” His body trembled at your words. “Even like this?”

“Especially like this.”

You reached down, your palm brushing across the lines of his stomach, the rough ridges of his scars. You felt his muscles twitch under your touch, saw the storm in his eyes breaking apart. When your fingers grazed the hard lengths between his legs — both of them — he groaned deep in his chest, head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. “I don’t deserve this,” he rasped. You kissed his temple, his cheek, his jaw, whispering between each one: “You do. You do. You do.”

And then you climbed into his lap, straddling him with slow, reverent movements. The nightgown slid further up your body, clinging only at your waist now. Your breath mingled with his as you kissed him again, softer this time, as if sealing a vow. “I’ll take care of you,” you whispered against his lips. “Let me.” His hands gripped your waist, still trembling, still afraid. But you were no longer afraid of him. And you were about to show him exactly why.

He hissed as you began to move your hands, eyes fluttering shut. But you weren't done. You stood just enough to guide him — both of him — beneath your gown, the fabric lifting with your motion. Sukuna’s claws flexed against your hips, trying so hard not to move, to let you lead. And you did. With a soft gasp, you began to lower yourself, inch by inch, letting your body take him, stretching around him, your breath quickening, eyes locked on his.

Sukuna's jaw clenched. He looked like a demon being tamed by a goddess. His muscles rippled, sweat beading across his chest as he held himself back, not daring to thrust, not daring to ruin the moment. He let you use his body. Let you take what you needed from him. Let you love him the way only you could.

You rocked your hips slowly at first, sighing his name like a prayer. "You're mine," you whispered. "Even now." His head fell back with a ragged groan, chest rising in sharp, hungry breaths. "Y/n…" he grit out, voice wrecked. Your hands slid up his chest, under his jaw, claiming him. And when the mouth on his stomach opened, tongue flicking out to tease where your bodies met — you gasped, trembling violently. That tongue moved in tandem with your rhythm, wet and hot and eager, driving you faster, higher. Your thighs trembled, back arching, and you clung to his shoulders with a cry, Sukuna's arms finally locking around you like chains of fire.

He growled your name against your skin, the sound a plea, a surrender — and you kissed his mouth, then the one below, your whole body blooming with heat and love and power. You were his queen. And tonight, he was utterly, completely yours.

Your body trembled as you moved, hips rolling in smooth, deliberate motions over both of Sukuna’s thick lengths. The stretch of him was intense, but you welcomed it, reveled in it, your fingers curling over his shoulders for balance, for grounding. The nightgown clung damply to your skin, sheer and nearly transparent under the soft golden lamplight, but you hardly noticed it anymore — all you could feel was the way his entire body was shaking with restraint beneath you. Sukuna was biting down on his own growl, his claws digging into the floorboards as he let you take your pleasure from him. You were in complete control, and it was driving him mad — the way you rose and sank onto him slowly, your lips parted in pleasure, eyes half-lidded but never leaving his.

“Look at you,” you whispered breathlessly, reaching one hand up to brush back a strand of his pink hair. “So desperate… and still trying to be so careful.” His bottom arms gripped your thighs now, trying not to pull, not to thrust — but the way you clenched around him had him trembling. Your body rocked faster, more confidently, taking him deeper. His jaw clenched, lips parted in a gasp, one of his upper hands brushing over your breast through the soaked fabric of your gown. You didn’t stop him — in fact, you arched into his touch, sighing sweetly against his cheek. “Touch me,” you breathed again, firmer now. “All of me, Sukuna.” That broke him.

He surged up to meet your rhythm, his large hands gripping you tightly, dragging your chest flush to his. His mouth crashed to yours — desperate, deep, hungry. You kissed him just as fiercely, threading your fingers into his hair, rocking your hips harder now as you cried softly into his lips.

Below, the mouth on his stomach extended its tongue again, slick and warm, teasing the most sensitive place where your bodies met. You moaned, your whole body quaking against him, and he growled, his voice hoarse with reverence. “You feel so good,” he rasped, “too good…”

You rolled your hips with more urgency, gasping against his mouth as you felt yourself start to climb higher. “Sukuna—” “I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your temple. “I’ve dreamed of you—just like this. And now it’s real. You’re here, riding me like you never left—” You cried out again, rhythm faltering as he bucked up into you, once, twice — letting his control slip just enough to meet your pace.

The pressure built — white hot, consuming. Your nails dug into his back. He kissed your chest, your collarbone, your throat. The wet tongue below worked in rhythm with his cocks, making you burn from the inside out. And then you broke — with a cry of his name, you clenched hard around him, your whole body shuddering violently. He held you close as you came apart in his arms, his mouth still whispering your name like a vow. He was close too — you could feel it in the way he throbbed inside you, in the tension rippling through his enormous body. But he didn’t give in. Not yet. Not until you told him to. Because you were his queen. And he was yours to command. And when you finally whispered his name like a prayer, trembling above him, your body spent and shivering in the aftermath of love, Sukuna let out a ragged cry—his climax overwhelming him, shaking the bed with the force of his release. His arms wrapped around you like chains made of need, his entire being surrendered to the woman who had loved him even when he believed himself unlovable.

He breathed heavily, his forehead resting against your shoulder, and for a long moment, there was only the sound of your joined heartbeats and the warmth between you. “You… are everything,” he finally muttered, voice hoarse and full of wonder. You kissed his temple, your fingers combing through his pink hair. “And you’re mine,” you whispered. “All of you.”

The room was silent, save for the gentle creaking of the wooden frame beneath the weight of Sukuna’s enormous body and your smaller one tucked close against him. The scent of your skin and the lingering heat of your shared desire still clung to the air, yet the atmosphere had shifted—slower now, more sacred.

His breathing had evened out some, though a faint tremor still lingered in his chest where your head rested. One of his arms cradled your back, another gently tangled in your hair, while the other two curved around your hips and thighs like a cage made of devotion. You felt him press a kiss to your forehead—soft, almost unsure. As though he were still afraid that if he blinked too long, you might disappear again.

Your fingers lazily traced the contours of his chest, his ribs, the curve of the scar that coiled like a forgotten echo across his side. He was so warm. Not from the fire of his power this time, but from the flush of emotion that hadn’t yet left his body. “Sukuna,” you whispered against his skin. He grunted softly in reply, still not used to this softness, still not used to hearing his name said like a sacred word, like something beautiful instead of feared. “I love you,” you said. His breath hitched.

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes—all of them—watched you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. “You’re thinking too hard,” you teased gently, brushing your nose against his. He swallowed hard, jaw flexing. “I still don’t know what to do with this,” he admitted. “With you.” “With being loved?” you asked. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. You leaned up slightly, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “You don’t have to understand it all, Suku. You just have to feel it.” One of his arms flexed around your waist, pulling you tighter to him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He was quiet for a long time. Then, in the lowest voice, barely above a breath:

“I was so cold without you.”

You held him tighter, your hand soothing through his hair. “I know,” you whispered. “But I’m here now. And I’ll warm you, every day, for the rest of our lives.” There was silence again, but it was a good one. Full. Whole. You reached down and laced your fingers with one of his enormous hands, smiling when he squeezed your hand just slightly. A pulse of silent thank-you.

“Don’t ever leave again,” he murmured. “I won’t,” you promised, your voice steady. “I couldn’t, even if I tried.” He shifted slightly beneath you, enough to roll onto his side and cradle you fully in his arms, wrapping around you like you were something both precious and essential. Outside the window, the first light of morning crept across the horizon, brushing the edges of the world with gold. Inside the cottage, in the safety of your shared bed, Sukuna—dreaded, feared, untouchable King of Curses—let his walls fall, piece by piece, held together by the one person who saw him not as a monster, but as a man. And he let himself be loved.

—

The sun was high in the sky when you finally stirred. The light streaming in through the gauzy curtains warmed your skin, and you stretched lazily in the empty bed, sore in ways that made your cheeks flush. Sukuna was already gone—you could feel it in the air, the faint hint of power and incense lingering in his wake.

You smiled to yourself, fingers briefly grazing the spot where he'd curled around you the night before, clinging to you like a man trying not to drown. After a long shower that soothed your muscles and brought you back to yourself, you slipped into a soft linen dress—simple, breezy, and just enough to be decent in the warm cottage kitchen. Your curls were still damp as you stepped barefoot into the kitchen, humming under your breath, already pulling vegetables from the garden basket near the counter. Your apron hung loose around your hips as you chopped, stirred, and peeked into the simmering pot of soup on the stove.

Your father wandered in, nose twitching with appreciation as he sniffed the scent of slow-roasted garlic and herbs. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a familiar smirk tugging at his weathered features. “Well,” he said with a dry chuckle, “I sure hope the baby doesn’t come out with four arms and a bad attitude.” You nearly dropped the ladle, spinning around with wide eyes and a red-hot blush crawling up your neck. “Papa!” you gasped, scandalized, your hand flying to your chest. “You didn’t—oh God—you didn’t hear—”

“Sweetheart, this cottage has paper-thin walls and that man sounds like a demon crawling straight from hell,” your father said without missing a beat, still grinning. “Not that I expected anything less from the King of Carnal Noise.” You were about to bury your face in your apron when the door creaked open.

Speak of the devil.

Sukuna ducked beneath the low frame, towering and imposing even in the soft light of day. His kimono hung loosely around his shoulders, eyes scanning lazily between you and your father before locking on the older man with a scoff. “Tch. Jealous old man,” he grunted, scratching his chest with one of his bottom arms. “You’re just bitter no one’s screaming your name anymore.” Your father blinked once. “Not everyone has four mouths to work with, freak.”

You choked on your own breath, turning around quickly, cheeks burning, and muttering, “Papa! Stop!” as you stirred the stew faster, pretending the conversation wasn’t happening right behind you. Sukuna moved into the room with lazy confidence, sniffing the air before sliding behind you, arms slowly wrapping around your waist. You squeaked when he pulled you back against him, chest rumbling with a smug sound. “I can’t help that your daughter’s insatiable,” he muttered against your neck, making sure her father heard it. You smacked one of his arms lightly, shushing him in a flustered panic. “Sukuna!” you hissed, then turned to your father with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

Your father only laughed, shaking his head as he headed to the table. “I’ve lived long enough to know what love sounds like. Just try not to give the old man a heart attack next time.” You busied yourself with ladling stew into bowls, cheeks still flushed. Sukuna sat down at the table without an ounce of shame, watching you with those sharp red eyes as if you were the only thing worth looking at in the room. You caught his gaze for a second, heart fluttering, then shook your head with a small, amused sigh. “Eat your lunch, you overgrown menace.” He grinned—slow, toothy, and satisfied. “Yes, wife.” And despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest.

#anime fanfic #fanfiction #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna smut #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #true form sukuna #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #ryomen x reader #jjk ryomen #ryomen sukuna fluff

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bleedingichorhearts · 4 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐒𝐤𝐮𝐥𝐥

“Alright, hear me out of this First awakened chaos god… Let’s see how I do after being sick, lol.” - Ichor

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Who knew the God of Blood had an… interest in a mere, humane mortal?

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.

TW // None.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

The God of Blood was never one to take an interest in minuscule things. He was known for more heavy things like violence, war, blood and skulls. Not sunshine and rainbows or the foul pleasures of the Slaanesh and the idiocy of Tzeentch. Nurgle was… alright, but he prefers more blood than puss and shit being thrown about the battlefield. He wants skulls and blood! Spines flying across the battlefield! To feel the heat of battle dance across his chest!

Well, until he set his sights upon you. A fine human of your species. Crafted by the hands of humanity itself. Your body fragile but strong against the aliments the chaos gods may bring upon you. Your own will hard to break against his soft whispers in your ear as he try’s to sway you into his side.

He, of course, still loves the thrill of the battle and blood, but trying to sway you also? It brings a strange, heated feeling through his torso. It… it almost confuses him. Was this Slaanesh trying to get on his nerves? Trying to present him a human figure that he has an… intrigue in? Surely it was? You don’t smell like you’re coated in Slaanesh though… You’re of mankind. Created of mankind, yet not of the Emperor…

What a strange human you are…

However, your resistance nor the Slaanesh tricks will sway him from you. He will conquer, like he always has. He was the first, therefore, he will be the first to tempt you to him by any cost. Whether it would be by soft whispers, phantom touches, hallucinations or even presenting you bloody skulls. He’s dedicated on having what he wants. He almost wonders if this is how Nurgle felt when chasing after Isha? No, Khorne doesn’t chase. He sits upon his throne and watches the chaos turn in his favor. He’s not chasing you, and he is not.

He hasn’t moved from his throne every time he’s trying to tempt you. His patience rather huge for a God of Violence. His talon-like gauntlets simply tapping on the arm of his throne with a rhythm. Feeling how the blood of mortals below empower him every moment, every second. His eyes of flame never blinking to savor the acts committed to worship him. His eternal acts of brutality never calming as he continually annoys you with his enticement.

Only when you turn to him, not falter, does he lighten up his lure. His eyes setting upon your tiny frame that suddenly appears at the foot of his throne. The tapping on the arm of his throne stopping as he observes you in the flesh.

Such a… small thing you are. So full of resistance. Your eyes… fearful of him. That expected, but he feels indifferent about it. He didn’t bring you to him to make you feel such. Though, he almost feels… pitiful for you.

Here you stand, frozen, and at the foot of a true Gods throne. Your own will breaking at just the sight of him as soon as you lost a piece of your petty resistance to him. He probably would have laughed if he wasn’t mature. Thats what the other gods do.

His figure leans over his throne to look at you more closely. The simple movement of him cause a bit of a shock as the area around him seems to go quite as if the galaxy was holding their breath. A huff of unneeded, hot breath washing over you that feels like hell just flew over you, and perhaps it did with how the monstrous being bringing forth his gauntlet and grasp you within it. The… metal? Skin? Of the God feeling cold against your own frame despite the raging fires around you.

Surprisingly, the being of murder doesn’t squish you to a pulp but rather the opposite. He sets you upon his lap: more accurately his thigh and simply just… leaves you there. Nothing more becoming of you. You’re just… there, upon one of the most feared gods in the entire universe.

Admittedly, the God himself didn’t know what he really just did himself, but it was now clear to others that you have become a trophy or perhaps… something more? It was really unclear of what he thinks of you, but you suppose this is a better fate than being a food source…

Khorne keeps you there for quite sometime thoug, eternally really. Fulfilling his and sometimes your own reasonable desires like your silly food and water consumption. Your weird little temperature balancing, (which is just all the more reason to keep you close to him to keep cool.) Yet, for a god a Violence. He doesn’t seem to… force things. Sexual or not. It like he doesn’t really have an interest in it? Which is also reasonable considering he doesn’t like Slaanesh, but he does indulge. Imagine the face on Slaanesh after they find out he does, in fact, get laid? That thought greatly amuses him. You can tell too with how… light everything around him gets. Something akin to a weight being lifted off your shoulders.

The tip of his gauntlet tap against a small skull as he thinks about you. Indulging in things he never really has never tried before, and it brings him a sense of… longing. You seemed rather… content in his presence and he was too in yours. It was strange but not in a… “bad” way. He wishes for the same thing to happen again as he looks over his area once more. Yet, he has learned about another cruel reality of the universe as his talons softly stroke the skull underneath his hand.

Tzeentch has offered him help, but he’s not sure he could trust the words of the all-knowing. He knows there are side deals to the cost of deals. Slaanesh was just a horny bitch about it, further angering him of that foul creation, and Nurgle seemed… sympathetic, in a way. He once again feels indifferent about everything.

#warhammer 40k #khorne #khorne x reader #khornite #khornite x reader #chaos gods #chaos gods x reader #chaos #third person pov #second person pov

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persevereforahappyending · 2 years ago

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This isn't Your Fault (Revenge)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: She turned back to the display case, after contemplating it for a moment she lifted the lid, reaching down and grabbing the knife.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death, Murder, Torture (I guess?)

Word Count: 7.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Enough!” Tara snapped. “We’re kind of on a time limit.” She glared at her sister, Chad, and Mindy. “Come. Don’t come,” she directed at the twins. “I don’t care, but we’re leaving. Now,” she turned to Sam and then began walking towards the door.

She heard footsteps stumbling to catch up to her. She didn’t need to turn around to know all three of them were following her. “We need to meet Gale,” Tara said, still not bothering to glance back at the others.

“Where are we meeting her?” Mindy asked. Sam pulled up her phone showing the location. Mindy’s eyes widened. “Why would we want to meet there?”

“Because it’s the perfect spot to set a trap,” Sam started to explain.

“Who cares!” Tara snapped again. “Let’s take the subway, it’ll be quicker.”

She finally glanced back at the others to see all 3 of them sharing a concerned look. She narrowed her eyes at them, making all three of them, even Sam, drop their gaze to the ground. Her girlfriend was lying injured in the hospital after almost being brutally murdered, they would have to forgive her for being a little impatient, and they needed to hurry the fuck up or Ghostface wasn’t going to be the only one suffering this night.

They made their way to the subway, all of them barely shoving themselves on. Once the doors closed all four of them tensed up when they got a good look at their surroundings. Tara had almost forgot it was Halloween. Nearly everyone was dressed in costume, a majority of them wearing a Ghostface costume specifically.

“How many stops?” Tara asked, glancing around at the Ghostface’s that surrounded them.

“Ten,” Sam answered, shifting closer to Tara as she watched the movements of every Ghostface.

Chad shifted, putting his body in front of Mindy and partially in front of Tara and Sam. Tara could see the fear in his eyes and the way his jaw was locked in place. His hand held onto the pole so tight his knuckles were turning white, but he stared down any Ghostface that so much as glanced their way. Sam moved behind Tara, resting her hand on the pole so her arm was resting around Tara’s shoulder. Mindy and Tara stood there, eyes darting all around the subway, squished between Chad and Sam.

With each stop a Ghostface moved, inching closer and closer to the group. All four of them watched and waited, ready to make a move. Attacking someone on a crowded subway would be a bold move, even for Ghostface, but Tara wouldn’t put it past him. Knowing Ghostface, and their luck, Ghostface would stab at least two of them and be off at the next stop before anyone were to realize what had happened.

Luckily their stop finally came, and they all piled out, lucky to escape without an incident. The four of them quickly made their way down the street to the location they were to meet Gale. They slowed their pace as they approached the alley, it wasn’t dark yet, but the sun had just begun to set.

“Good, you made it,” Gale said, popping out from the alleyway.

All four of them jumped, Chad even pushing Mindy in front of himself. Mindy turned around, slapping her brother hard on the shoulder. Tara glared at Gale, she didn’t have time to almost have a heart attack, she needed to find Ghostface, kill him, and then go back to you and spend the rest of the night apologizing. Tara would spend the rest of her life groveling for your forgiveness as long as she got to tell you Ghostface was dead.

“Are you ready for this?” Gale asked, looking at Sam before settling her gaze on Tara.

Tara nodded. “Let’s make this bastard pay,” She growled out.

Gale nodded, leading them down the alley and through the first set of doors. “Okay, I got everything all setup.” They followed her to the cage where she swiped the keycard, unlocking the metal door, they all piled into the room, waiting for Gale to flip the switch.

When the lights came on Tara’s breath caught in her throat. Gale had found the theater with a shrine to Ghostface and all the killings a couple months prior. She contacted them and they all came to see it. She had discovered it after two boys from Tara’s class had killed their teacher, only to end up murdered themselves. Sam was freaking out that it was Ghostface related but after Tara’s relentless begging and giving the police time to investigate nothing ever happened. No phone calls were made, no other killings happened, there was just silence. Sam was still one edge but without Ghostface coming after them it was hard to believe it was a real Ghostface attacked, it was chalked up to a copycat.

Tara had only been to the theater once and once was enough. She walked the display cases, seeing every gruesome detail of all the past killings. She even saw photos of her own attack, the shirt she had been wearing proudly on display with her blood still staining it. Tara hated the theater and wanted everything in it to burn, but if Ghost had a headquarters this was the most logical spot. It was also the spot they could most likely surprise him, setting up their own trap and catching him off guard.

“What’s the plan?” Chad asked, running his fingers across the glass display cases.

“We lure Ghostface here and then we kill him,” Tara said bluntly.

“We created a kill box,” Sam explained, looking at Tara with concern. “Once he steps foot in here, the doors close, and no one can come in or go out.”

“So, we’re bait?” Mindy said slowly.

“You didn’t have to come,” Tara snapped. She knew her friends didn’t deserve her attitude, but she couldn’t help it. She just needed Ghostface to arrive trying to kill them so they could turn the tables and kill him instead.

“So, what do we do now?” Chad asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“We wait,” Gale said.

Everyone nodded, moving to separate corners of the theater. They all had visual of each other, but they didn’t want to be next to each other, they knew it wasn’t time to talk. Sam made her way up the stage where the case with Billy Loomis’s cloak hung. Tara watched her for a moment before her eyes drifted down to the display case in front of her. It was her attack, crime scene photos of her kitchen and hallway decorated with blood. Tara tapped the glass, flashing back to that night.

Tara ran a hand down her face even though she hadn’t begun to cry. She shook her head, getting back into the right mindset, she couldn’t focus on the past, the only thing that mattered in the moment was avenging you. She glanced back up at Sam when a ring broke out making everyone jump as it echoed through the room. Everyone followed the sound, their eyes all landing on Mindy.

She slowly pulled out her phone, looking at the screen. “It’s Anika,” she sighed in relief. Tara held her breath though, waiting for Mindy to answer. When she had been attacked, she thought she had been talking to Amber, but it was Ghostface, who turned out to be Amber but that was beside the point. Until Mindy heard Anika’s voice there was no telling who was on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” Mindy asked. “Hello?” she scrunched her eyebrows. “Babe, I can’t hear you.” She took the phone away from her ear looking at the others. “I don’t have signal, let me take this outside.”

“Wait,” Sam said, taking a step forward.

“It could be important,” Mindy argued.

“I’ll go with her,” Chad said.

That ended the discussion. The twins wandered back out of the room, hoping to get a better signal. Tara looked to Sam who stood in the middle of the stage. Something didn’t feel right but she couldn’t place her finger on it. She turned back to the display case, after contemplating it for a moment she lifted the lid, reaching down and grabbing the knife. Tara’s hand shook as she gripped the handle before tucking it into her pants, it was the same knife Amber had used to stab her and it was going to be the same knife she used to kill Ghostface.

The second Tara closed the lid of the display case the lights went out. “Tara?” Sam called. Tara stumbled making her way in the direction she knew the stage to be. The lights flipped back on and her and Sam ran to each other, gripping on to each other’s arm as they stood in the middle of the stage. They spun around in a circle looking for who had turned the lights off.

Gale started to make her way up the steps towards them when a Ghostface appeared behind her. “Watch out!” Sam screamed, pushing Tara behind her. It was too late, Gale barely had time to turn before the blade was imbedded into her shoulder. Gale stumbled back down the steps, putting a hand to her wound to stop the bleeding. She turned, facing Ghostface but they quickly kneed her in the stomach, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the side of the stage.

Tara gripped Sam’s arm, and Sam gripped her hand back just as tight. They backed up, neither of their eyes leaving Ghostface who stood at the bottom of the steps, his head tilted, staring at them. The lights went out again and the only thing Tara could hear was her and Sam’s breathing. Then there was loud banging from the outside door and what sounded like Chad screaming. That’s when Tara realized it, they didn’t set up a trap for Ghostface, he set up a trap for them. Tara and Sam were locked in the theater with Ghostface while Gale was unconscious and bleeding out, and Chad and Mindy were locked out on the other side of the door.

Tara’s eyes darted all around the room, it was pitch black, any light that had been on was now out. She couldn’t make out anything, she couldn’t even hear the shuffling of feet. When the lights came back on Ghostface was standing right in front of her, head tilted, staring into her with those empty black eyes.

Tara jumped, letting out a gasp, as she gripped Sam’s arm, pulling her back. Sam spun around to see Ghostface in front of Tara, she let go of Tara’s hand, giving Ghostface a hard shove. They stumbled back, dropping their knife in the process. Sam quickly scooped it up, holding out towards Ghostface as he was left kneeling on the ground.

“Girls!” came a voice.

Tara and Sam turned, searching for the voice, Sam making sure to keep the knife pointed at Ghostface. They saw Quinn’s dad, detective Bailey entering through the gated door. He had his gun drawn and his head was looking from side to side as if he was checking the place out.

“How did you know where we were?” Sam asked. Tara moved closer to her sister, eyeing Bailey suspiciously.

“Kirby called,” he said, still moving his gun as he eyed his surrounding, slowly making his way to the girls.

“Kirby?” Sam furrowed her brow. Tara glanced at Sam, having the same look, they never told Kirby where they were going.

Before they could question him further another Ghostface appeared, knife raised and running up behind Bailey. “Look out!” Sam shouted. It was just the distraction the Ghostface kneeling before them needed, he reached up, ripping the knife back out of Sam’s hand.

Sam moved, elbowing Ghostface in the mask, causing him to drop the knife again. They both dove for the knife, their fingers nearly grazing it when Bailey fired, his bullet flying into the floorboard next to the knife. Sam jumped, looking back up at Baily. Ghostface grabbed the knife, turning around to point it at her, just as she had been doing to him. The Ghostface backed up slowly, joining Bailey at his side, as the one that had been running towards Bailey stood on his other side.

“You?” Sam asked, the shock evident in her voice.

“Yeah, me,” Bailey said, shrugging with a grin. “You’ve probably put together the rest,” he slapped the shoulder of the Ghostface on his left.

The Ghostface reached up, lifting off his mask to reveal Ethan. Both girls’ eyes widened. Tara shouldn’t be surprised. You had been attacked, she knew it wasn’t her sister, Mindy, Chad, or Gale. The options of who Ghostface could be were pretty limited and if Anika was still at the hospital with you that only left… Tara’s gaze shifted to the still masked Ghostface on Bailey’s right.

“Hey, roomies,” Quinn said with a smile as she revealed herself as the final Ghostface.

“What the fuck!” Sam said, looking between the three of them.

“You think you can mess with our family and just get away with it!” Quinn snapped, waving her knife around.

“Family?”

“They’re still not getting it,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes. “My name isn’t Ethan Landry! Isn’t that right dad?” he looked towards Bailey. The three of them breaking out into a laugh.

“Dad?” Tara questioned, out of everything, that surprised her the most.

“It was easy to dupe the roommate lottery and get Chad.”

“It was just as easy finding your roommate ad,” Quinn added. “I mean who wouldn’t trust a girl whose daddy is a police detective.”

“Look, whatever you think I did, I didn’t!” Sam shouted, as if she was trying to reason with them. Tara was sure Sam was just processing all this new information though. “I don’t know what you read about me online but I’m not a murderer!”

“Yes! Yes, you are!” Quinn shouted, her movements quick as she stood before Tara and Sam, angling her knife down at them. “You killed our brother.”

“Your brother?” Tara questioned.

“You stupid girl,” Ethan groaned, glaring at her as if the fact that Tara couldn’t figure out their motive was the most irritating thing in the world.

“You’re Richie’s family,” Sam said, her eyes widening with the realization.

Bailey nodded, tears filling his eyes. “Yeah, and you took him from me.”

“He was psychotic,” Tara spat out, barely dodging the knife Quinn swung at her.

“He was incredibly passionate about the things he loved,” Bailey said. “And maybe I indulged him a little too much. But I helped him build all this,” he raised his hands at their surroundings.

“This was all his?” Sam asked.

“His legacy,” Bailey sighed, admiring the memorabilia that reminded him of his son, even though all the items belonged to serial killers or their victims. “Which is why you have to die here, surrounded by what he loved the most.”

“What even is your grand plan?” Sam held up her arms, confusion written all over her face.

“It’s not enough to just kill someone anymore,” Ethan said. “You have to assassinate their character.”

“It’s as simple as posting a few conspiracies on reddit,” Quinn smirked. “Re-writing the story.”

“That was you?” Sam couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

“It was too easy,” Quinn giggled. “The rest just fell right into place.”

“Those two film nerds even helped out,” Bailey said. “We had to kill you before them, so we kill them, make it look like Ghostface is back but don’t do anything after to get you to let your guard down.”

“Which you did,” Ethan said, pointing his knife at the girls.

“Then we go after what you care about most,” Bailey snarled.

Tara’s eyes widened, instantly filling with tears again. “Y/N,” she whispered.

Ethan broke out into a devilish grin. “I have to say, I’ve never had so much fun,” he said, giving a little jump of excitement.

“It was you?” Tara looked at Ethan, though her eyes were filled with tears a darkness lingered underneath, all her anger slowly bubbling back to the surface.

Ethan shrugged with a smirk. “I volunteered.” He fiddled with the knife, spinning it around with his fingers. “Nearly begged for it actually.”

“Why? What did she ever do to you? How did you even find out about us?”

“Because you’re not as smart as you think you are!” he shouted, shaking his head to regain some of his composure. “It was an accident at first, I was at the library late and caught the two of you leaving all cuddled up,” he wrinkled his nose at the memory. “You don’t get to be happy,” he shook his head. “You don’t get the girl when my brother is dead!” he gritted his teeth, staring at her with a wild look in his eye.

Tara clenched her jaw, glaring at Ethan. Tara and Sam ended up standing back-to-back as Bailey, Quinn, and Ethan began to circle them. Sam kept her eyes locked with Bailey’s while Tara’s sole focus was on Ethan. Quinn stood in the middle, smiling from ear to ear, she’d occasionally swiped her knife, barely missing Tara, and Sam.

“You know, I was meant to give her the whole experience,” Ethan taunted. “The phone call, all of it,” he wiggled his knife. “You were on the phone with her. I was disappointed, thinking it would be too easy. She put a up a fight though.” He pointed his knife, as if he approved in your survival skills. “She still screamed like a little bitch when I beat her though,” he said with a maniacal laugh.

“Fuck you!” Tara screamed, making her move, she rushed forward, shoving him into one of the display cases, shattering the glass and sending the memorabilia to the floor.

Sam went for Bailey, grabbing his wrist as he fired three more shots. They struggled, pushing each other back and forth into display cases and mannequins.

Quinn gripped her knife, swinging wildly, getting a lucky shot and slicing Sam across the arm. Quinn went to stab Sam, aiming for her heart when Tara grabbed a brick randomly lying on the ground, swinging it right against Quinn’s jaw. Tara could swear she heard a crack, she didn’t stop to look at Quinn though, she grabbed her sister’s hand and took off, ducking through a door as Bailey began firing at them again.

“What’s the plan?” Sam asked, breathing heavy.

“We kill this fucking family once and for all,” Tara said, shooting a glare at Sam so her sister knew she meant it.

“Split them up,” Sam said, nodding along. “We’ll pick them off one by one.”

“Ethan’s mine,” Tara practically growled out.

“Find them!” they heard Bailey shout.

Tara and Sam quickly jumped behind the counter of the old snack bar, getting into position. The second the door they had come through swung open they pushed the popcorn machine over, sending it crashing into Ethan. Sam jumped over the side of the counter, grabbing the old glass gumball machine. As Ethan shook out the stale popcorn from his hair, slowly pulling himself to his feet, Sam used both hands to swing the gumball machine down onto his head, shattering the glass as it came into contact with his skull. Ethan crumbled to the floor knocked out cold.

Sam or Tara didn’t have time to finish him off before Bailey and Quinn were rushing through the door after hearing the commotion. Tara gave Sam one final nod before taking off down the hallway behind her while Sam ran down the other hallway in the opposite direction. Tara slammed her body into the walls as she took the turns to sharp, she glanced back to see Quinn following her. There was no sign of Bailey, meaning he most likely went after Sam.

Tara got to a staircase, taking the steps two at a time she made her way up to the second floor. She pushed through a set of double doors, stumbling out onto the balcony seating. Tara turned facing the door she had just come through, she watched the doors, ready for Quinn to come through them. She heard a slight creak to her side though, turning just in time to see a flash of silver, she dropped to the floor, rolling away.

Quinn had come up using the other stairs, on the opposite side of the balcony. Tara moved with caution, keeping her eyes on Quinn and the knife in her hand as she slowly backed away, stepping up the short set of stairs that led to the seats. Tara could see the blood dripping from Quinn’s mouth from when she smacked her with a brick, Tara couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Quinn gave her a toothy smile, showing that Tara had knocked out a couple teeth.

“You know I wanted to kill Y/N,” Quinn said with a bloody smile. “But dad thought Ethan could use the confidence boost.” She rolled her eyes “I might have had a bit more fun with her before her demise though,” Quinn wiggled her eyebrows.

Tara stood before Quinn, gritting her teeth, and snarling like a caged animal. Quinn swiped her knife back and forth, aiming for Tara’s stomach but Tara moved, dodging each swipe with ease. When Quinn swung her knife, bringing it back the other direction Tara reach down, gripping her wrist and then rushed forward. She pushed Quinn back until they both tumbled over the railing, crashing down onto another display case.

Quinn scrambled around, searching for the knife she dropped. When Quinn got ahold of her knife, she brought it up, ready to stab Tara. Tara grabbed a broken shard of glass, ignoring the way it ripped into her palm as she impaled it deep into the side of Quinn’s neck. Tara’s eyes held no emotion as she stared into Quinn’s wide eyes, her face falling slack. Quinn dropped her knife, bringing both hands to her neck. She tried to stand but quickly crumbled back to her knees, then collapsed the rest of the way onto her side, eyes lifeless and a shard of glass sticking out of her neck.

“No!” Bailey screamed, firing his gun at Tara but the clip was empty. Sam came out from the shadows, tackling Bailey back, crashing through the movie screen.

A door creaked and Tara crawled away from Quinn’s body, making sure not to be seen. She made her way over to the electric panel, being just out of sight but having a clear view of Ethan stumbling back into the theater, a large gash on his head from where Sam had hit him with the gumball machine. Ethan had his knife up, ready for a fight, but slowly brought his arm down as he saw his sisters body lying in a bloody mess.

“Tara!” Ethan screamed. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he spun around, looking everywhere. A phone rang cutting through the silence, making Ethan jump. He pulled out his phone, rolling his eyes when he saw the screen before he brought the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Ethan,” Tara said, using the Ghostface voice changer she had swiped from the broken display case.

“Cute trick,” Ethan said, kicking at some of the broken glass on the ground. “Too scared to fight me yourself?”

“Aww, don’t whine,” Tara taunted. “I thought you liked playing games. I just want to play a game with you.”

“You know the whole point of the Ghostface call is to scare the person, let them know there’s someone watching them, but not letting them know who it is or where they are.” Ethan spun around the middle of the room, waving his knife around. “I know who you are Tara,” he raised his hands in the air.

“But do you know where I am?” she asked then killed the lights, all except the, what would be emergency lights, around the perimeter of the room.

“Come on!” Ethan shouted, spinning around in circles.

Pulling out the knife she tucked in her jeans, Tara tightened her grip around the handle, quickly darting towards Ethan, shoving the knife into his side, underneath where the bullet proof vest she knew he was wearing ended. Ethan howled in pain, slashing his knife blindly but Tara had already disappeared, ducking, and weaving her way around the few display cases and mannequins that remained.

“You’re such a coward, hiding in the shadows,” Ethan said, putting pressure on his side with the hand that held the knife, while the other hand kept the phone near his ear. “What will your girlfriend think?”

“A coward?” Tara repeated. “Like dressing up in a costume, making scary phone calls, hiding every part of yourself from your victim?”

“Come out and face me you bitch!”

“With pleasure,” Tara said, the Ghostface voice not coming from the phone anymore but right beside Ethan. He turned to stab her, but she ducked, driving the knife into the opposite side she had before.

Ethan hissed in pain, gritting his teeth, his grip slowly loosening on the knife until it clattered to the floor. Tara walked around to finally stand face to face with him. Ethan held both arms to his sides, trying to put pressure on both wounds. “Aww, not enjoying the game?” she asked, holding the voice changer up to her mouth. Ethan stumbled forward, reaching out for her with a bloody hand but she easily side stepped him. She dropped the voice changer as she walked closer, digging her thumb into his wound, making him open his mouth wide as he screamed in pain.

“Who’s the one choking on their blood now?” Tara said as she brought the knife down into Ethan’s mouth, giving it a final twist before ripping it out.

He coughed up blood, spraying it across her face, she didn’t care about that though. As Ethan stepped back, stumbling to the floor, Tara followed. She tilted her head, watching him like the prey he was. She got down on her knees, straddling him, so she had a better position as she lifted him up by his cloak. She watched as tears filled with the realization as to what was about to happen. Tara tilted her head to the other side, watching as he struggled, gasping for breath, only for his throat to be filled with blood.

She spun the knife in her hand before getting a firm grip again. A darkness took over her eyes as she stared down at Ethan, before shoving the knife through one cheek and out the other. His body jolted against hers, she had to put her free hand on his shoulder, keeping him pinned to the floor, as the tears finally started falling from his eyes. She just as quickly ripped the knife back out, smirking down at him as he gurgled on the blood, just like he had said you were going to do. She watched as he cried, dying in the same way his brother had, the brother he had been so adamant about getting revenge for.

She looked to the side when she heard some commotion. Detective Bailey had stumbled back into the room, he gripped his shoulder, as he spun around with his gun in his injured arm, waving it around all directions. A few seconds later Sam pushed through the curtain, approaching him slowly, with an unreadable expression. Bailey aimed his gun, pulling the trigger multiple times, but the clip was still empty. Sam walked up to him, swinging her knife and slashing Bailey’s hand, causing him to drop the gun.

“You’ll never get away with this!” Bailey shouted.

Sam tilted her head, she glanced towards Tara. If Sam was surprised by the position Tara was in, she certainly didn’t show it. She glanced down at Ethan underneath Tara, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I think we already have,” Sam said. Bailey turned, seeing Ethan bleeding out on the floor with Tara on top of him. Two of his children were dead, one was dying, and he was about to die himself.

Bailey stepped forward, as if he was going to come for Ethan, as if he thought he could actually help his son. Sam stalked up behind Bailey, wrapping her arm around the front of him and lightly dragging the knife across his throat. It wasn’t deep enough to kill him instantly. He reached for his throat with his bleeding hand Sam hand sliced. Blood slowly started to gush through his fingers, running down his arm. He turned, looking back to Sam in shock. He stumbled past her, and she looked on, flipping the knife around in her hand, as if she was a cat playing with a toy. Sam gave Tara one last look before she followed after Bailey, impaling the knife in the side of his back, watching him crumble to the floor.

Tara let out a small sigh before turning her attention back to Ethan. “First your brother,” she said with a light smirk. “Then your sister and now your dad.” She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “Don’t worry,” she said with sweet smile, “you’ll be reunited with them soon.”

Tara used the tip of the knife to tap Ethan’s chin, making him tilt his head back. She ran the knife down his neck, making sure to only graze him and not break the skin, yet. She dragged the knife down until she got to the cloak. Then she dragged the knife over the cloak and down his chest. She could feel the bullet proof vest underneath his cloak. She tapped the knife against his chest, right underneath where the vest stopped.

Ethan coughed, spitting up more blood. Tara grabbed Ethan by the hair, yanking his head up hard. She inched the knife up higher, so it was now above the bullet proof vest, she pushed it down, knowing it was piercing his skin when he gritted his teeth. Tears fell from his eyes, he tried to look at her with hatred as he gritted his teeth, pretending to be strong. He couldn’t mask the pain though, as the knife dug deeper into his chest he winced, blood dribbling out of his mouth.

“How’s it feel,” she whispered, leaning closer so she was staring into his eyes, “being so helpless?” her eyes raked over his body in disgust. “Knowing no one is coming to save you?”

She let go of Ethan’s hair with an aggressive fling, letting it drop back to the ground with a hard thud. Ethan coughed, his whole body shaking with the struggle. His head flopped to the side, looking in the direction Bailey and Sam had been. Tara didn’t look, she knew Sam had it handled and based on the sob that racked through Ethan’s body she could make an educated guess as to how their fight turned out.

She tilted her head with an almost bored expression. After giving an Ethan a second to see his dead father she rolled her eyes, removing the knife she had been pressing into his chest. A hiss broke out through another sob. He turned back to Tara, looking up at her with his broken expression. She tilted her head to the other side. She wondered if this is how you looked up at him as he chased you around your house, as he tried to kill you, as he took a baseball bat to your ribs. Tara clenched her jaw, tilting her head down as she gripped the knife tighter despite the blood coating the handle making it slippery.

Tara gently ran the knife from Ethan’s chest back up to his neck before stopping. She gave the knife a few light taps on his neck before slowly sinking it in. Ethan’s eyes widened, his head jerked forward as he gasped for breath, only managing to gurgle up more blood. Tara tightened her grip on Ethan’s cloak, pushing down harder on his shoulder as he struggled against her. His arms flailed, one of them weakly coming up to grab at her arm but she just shrugs him off. When the knife was fully in Ethan’s neck he opened and closed his mouth a few times, the blood pooling in the back of his mouth before the struggle finally ended. His arm loosely fell back to the ground, his mouth left open, blood still trickling out of it, and his eyes wide open as Tara watched the light finally leave them.

Tara ripped the knife back out of Ethan’s neck, pushing her hand off his lifeless body to stand back up on her own two feet. She stood over him, looking down at her work, she didn’t necessarily feel happy, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t satisfied at having got her vengeance for you. Ethan had hurt you; he had attacked you; he had almost killed you. Tara had no mercy for him or the rest of his family. They deserved everything that had happened. Ethan deserved it. He would never hurt you again, Tara made sure of that.

Tara stepped over Ethan’s body, looking over to her sister who was in a similar position, standing over Bailey’s body. Tara looked down, the knife and her hand both coated in blood. She dropped the knife, letting it fall to the floor with a small clang and made her way to her sister. She stood behind Sam, looking past her to see Bailey dead, a knife sticking out of his eye. Sam turned to face Tara, they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before giving each other an approving nod.

“You, okay?” Sam asked softly, her tone not matching what the both of them had just gone through.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Tara said tiredly with a humorless chuckle.

*********************************

As soon as they got back to the hospital Tara made her way to your room. After the fight, Chad and Mindy broke down the door, pouring in with a team of cops. Tara and Sam had been taken out of the theater, immediately being given medical treatment, both ended up needing stitches, Tara for her hand and Sam for her arm. They watched as the medics carried Gale out on a backboard, she had a pulse, but they were rushing her to surgery. While Tara was going to see you, Sam was going to be at Gale’s bedside, waiting for her to wake up.

Tara made her way through the hospital; she had run into Anika at a vending machine while she was getting a bag of chips for you. Tara sent Anika back down to the lobby to be with Mindy, telling her she’d bring you the chips. Anika had handed her the chips, mumbling a, good luck, before making her way to the elevator. Tara sighed once she was outside your room, rubbing her hands on her pants. She had made sure to clean up before coming back to the hospital, but she could still feel Ethan’s blood soaking into her hands.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before pushing down on the handle, opening the door to your hospital room. Tara’s eyes flicked up, her mouth open, an apology at the ready when she froze. You were out of bed. You were standing right beside the hospital bed with one hand lightly grazing the edge for balance. But you were out of bed. You were standing. Tara couldn’t be happy at seeing you standing on your own feet again because her eyes were too busy raking over your body.

You were in the process of putting on a shirt, you had your arm with a cast and your head in but were clearly struggling with the other arm. Tara’s eyes stopped, focusing on your stomach and your ribs. For once she wasn’t checking you out, she couldn’t take her eyes off the bruising. Both sides of your ribs and your stomach were painted black and blue. Tara brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, she had seen the baseball bat on the floor, she knew you had broken ribs, but she never imagined what lay under the hospital gown.

She must have let out a gasp or a sob, she wasn’t sure, but she did something that drew your attention. Your head quickly snapped to her. You clenched and unclenched your jaw, your eyes flicking from her face to the floor, you were mad at her. Tara knew you would be mad at her when she left, she knew you’d worry, she deserved your anger, but she didn’t regret her choice because it meant avenging you, it meant you were safe, and more importantly it meant making sure the person who did that to you would never do it again.

“Would you mind?” You asked softly, clenching your jaw, and looking at the floor as if you hated having to ask for her help.

Tara nodded quickly walking over to your side, tossing the bag of chips onto the table next to the bed. When she stood next to you, she got a better look at the injuries, some of the bruising was more purple and a dark red, wrapping around ribs towards your back. The front part of your body was a darker purple, dark shades of blue, looking almost black. Where the bruising ended, she could see the faintest impression of the bat. Her hand reached up, subconsciously wanting to touch the injury, wanting to hold and bring you comfort. She didn’t though, she kept her hand moving until it reached up, grabbing your shirt. She lifted your shirt, allowing you to maneuver, not without wincing, and get your other arm through the sleeve. Tara helped pull your shirt down, making sure not to touch the bruising that was now covered.

You gripped the sheet of the bed tighter, your eyes pinched shut as you let out slow breaths, wincing with each one. Tara held her hands up, ready to catch you if you started to fall but making sure not to touch you. She couldn’t take her eyes off your abdomen, now knowing what lied underneath your shirt. Out of the corner of her eye she saw you loosen your grip on the blanket, your body stretching as you stood taller. You slowly let go of the bed all together, making sure not to move to far from it, as you turned to fully face Tara. You didn’t say anything, Tara could feel your gaze burning into her until she slowly lifted her eyes to meet yours.

“I’m mad at you,” you whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back.

“Do you have any idea,” your voice cracked, your eyes filling with tears. “Any idea how worried I was?”

Tara nodded, a few of her own tears starting to fall. “I’m sorry,” it was her turn for her voice to crack. “I needed to make sure they’d never come after you again.”

“You could have gotten hurt. You could have gotten killed,” your voice went higher, making you quickly wince in pain.

“I know.” Tara looked into your eyes, seeing all the worry and love you held for her. She watched as your eyes scanned up and down her body, darting all around her face for any potential injuries. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled.

Y/N reached down, taking Tara’s bandaged hand into her own. “You did get hurt,” you whispered.

“Technically I did this one to myself,” Tara said with small smile, trying to lighten the mood, it didn’t work.

You continued to hold her hand, gently running her fingers over the bandage. Considering how her last Ghostface encounter went Tara would argue she came out above everyone this time. Sam got a slash on her arm from Quinn that she needed stiches for but that was it. Tara on the other hand only got a gash on her hand because she grabbed onto a piece of broken glass to kill Quinn with. If Tara had just used the knife she had, she wouldn’t have had any injuries, but in the moment, she was feeling quite theatrical, and the shard of glass just felt more dramatic.

You reached up, gently turning her head to the side to brush some hair behind her ear. “Are you okay?” you asked. She nodded, wiping at her eyes and nose. “Don’t ever do that again, okay?” You stared her down, until she nodded. “Not without me,” you whispered.

Tara let out a shaky breath, nodding again. “You weren’t exactly in a position to come with me,” she tried to joke, letting out a chuckle that turned into more of a sob.

She heard you let out a small laugh then a louder groan. “I told you, no laughing.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again through more laughter.

“Did you get them?” you asked, your voice getting quieter, almost hesitant.

“Yes,” she said seriously, making sure there was no questioning, that she knew for sure they were dead. “We got them all.”

“Who?” you whispered, if Tara wasn’t standing right next to you, she would have missed it.

“Detective Bailey, Quinn-”

“Shit,” you breathed out, cutting her off.

“And Ethan.”

Your eyes widened at that, first in shock, then scrunching up in confusion. “Ethan? Why?”

Tara ran a hand through her hair, letting out a long breath. “Apparently Ethan is Bailey’s son and Quinn’s brother.”

“Holy shit.”

“That’s not all.” Your eyes widened at that. “They were Richie’s family.” Tara dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed that you really were attacked for knowing her. Tara and Sam killed Richie and Amber and then Richie’s family came after them as revenge. It was all Tara’s fault, if it wasn’t for her, you never would have been attacked.

“Hey,” you said softly, tilting her chin back up to make her look in your eyes again. “Come here.”

Tara wanted nothing more than to come closer to you, to hug you and never let you go but she didn’t. She stayed where she was, she didn’t want to hurt you. She didn’t want to cause you any more pain than she already had.

“Please come here,” you said again. “You can hug me, I want you to hug me, you just need to be gentle.” You looked at her with those puppy dog eyes that always made her cave. “Please, I could really use a hug.”

Tara slowly inched forward. She knew you really wanted to hug her, to comfort her. She knew that you were only saying you needed the hug because you knew she could never turn you down if you asked, saying you needed it, even if she knew it was a lie. That’s why Tara caved, making her way closer to you until she was standing close enough for you to wrap an arm around her. She stood still, letting her arms rest at her side as you wrapped your injured arm around her neck as well.

“A hug is meant to be a two-way thing,” you mumbled.

She slowly lifted her arms, bringing them around you, trying to make sure they were positioned high enough, so she didn’t hit any of your injuries. She felt you tense up and suck in a breath, it made her freeze. She was about to pull away, clearly giving you a hug was a bad idea, your ribs were all kind of messed up, you could barely put on a t-shirt, the last thing you needed was someone hugging you. Before she could pull away though you relaxed into her, your shoulders sagging with relief. The hug was a little awkward since Tara couldn’t press herself against you, she made sure her body wasn’t actually touching yours, keeping a couple inches between the two of you in case someone shifted slightly, she didn’t want any accidental touching, she didn’t want you in any more pain. Despite the awkwardness, Tara had to admit it felt nice. It was exactly what she needed.

You didn’t seem content with the distance though because you pulled her closer, burying her head in your shoulder. You let out a hiss as her body brushed against yours, but you quickly melted into her embrace again. Tara finally gave in, burrowing her head further into you as she clung to your shirt, afraid that if she stepped away, you’d disappear.

Tara wasn’t sure where it came from, but she let out a sob. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed into your shoulder, staining your freshly clean shirt with tears. You shushed her, starting to run your fingers through her hair. “I thought I lost you,” she rasped out.

“I’m here,” you whispered into her hair, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“I love you.” Tara gripped you tighter, inching her feet so they were touching yours. She was pushing herself as close to you as she could get without putting more pressure on your wounds. You made a mistake in asking for a hug from her because now she was never going to let you go.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax @canvascoloredin

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #this isn't your fault

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 11 months ago

Text

V Secret Identities

Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 3

“So, what do you have so far on the Red Hood case?” Dick asked Bruce, trailing behind him on the way down to the Batcave. He felt better, looser, after their fight. Maybe they could fit in a spar before breakfast?

“Not much.” Bruce’s voice sunk into Batman’s gravelly voice . It was a code-switching thing, he suspected; just being in the Batcave puts Bruce in Batman’s headspace. It happened to a lesser degree when he and Jason were Robin, but once Tim took on the cape, Bruce and Batman became as different as night and day.

Batman continued, “He’s a ghost in Gotham’s underground. No one knows who he is, or where he goes. Three weeks ago, he started targeting the drug dealers in Crime Alley, forcing them to work for him or die.” He tapped a few keys on the Batcomputer and brought up Red Hood’s file. “Needless to say, he’s developing his own gang at a rapid pace.”

“Red Hood, huh?” Dick studied the only picture Tim had managed to nab of the man. He looked tall, with broad shoulders covered in body armor similar to Batman’s. All features were covered by a matte red helmet. “That’s one of Joker’s old aliases. Any connection?”

“Not one that’s readily apparent. He chose the name for a reason , but until we interrogate him, there’s nothing that indicates a connection.”

Dick flipped through the file, landing on a report detailing the execution of multiple mafia lieutenants. “Nothing he’s been doing really connects with the Joker. Except for the killing.” The heads sent to the police was clearly a warning. Joker didn’t do warnings, not unless he was taunting them. “You said he’s building his own gang, right? Do you think he intends to take over Crime Alley ?”

“He’s certainly looking to put Black Mask out of business.” Batman switched to a video, an alley camera showing Red Hood beating several gangsters to death. “He's taking down the competition to establish his own control over the city's crime. His methods are brutal and lethal. He’s not just stopping criminals; he’s executing them. At the same time, he’s establishing rules in his own territory.”

“Rules?” Each gang had their own rules on how to operate, but in the end, their codes all sounded the same to Dick.

“No selling drugs to kids. There’s more to it than that, but Hood’s morals are being enforced through violence and fear.”

“So, once Hood’s arrested, everything going to get worse because of a power vacuum. Great. At least this is a concrete difference between Hood and the Joker.” Dick didn’t know what he’d do if Red Hood was a Joker copycat. The name kept bugging Dick. Criminals liked to make names for themselves. It's a way to instill fear, to create an identity that stands out in the criminal underworld. But the Red Hood… it was one of Joker’s lesser known aliases. So why would someone else take up that mantle? Is it a way to mock the Joker, to reclaim the name from one of Gotham's most infamous villains? Or is it something more personal?

Dick asked again, “And we don’t know the connection between them?”

Batman shook his head. “It could be a symbolic gesture, a way to reclaim the mantle from the Joker, or a means to instill fear. Or it might be something more personal that we’re not seeing yet.” He scowled.

Turning back to the Batcomputer, Dick restarted the video. It was one of the few they had of the Red Hood. “What does Tim think?”

“Tim’s not on the case.” Dick immediately shot Bruce a glare. “Red Hood is a volatile unknown who has shown remarkable aggression towards Batman. As skilled as Robin is, I’ve asked him to step away from this case.”

“And he listened?”

A sigh. “No. I gave him a few unsolved murders to keep him entertained while we deal with this.”

Dick snorted. “Well, that’s not going to work for long. What’s the plan for when he solves them?”

“Sending him off to Titans Tower. But that’s only if we don’t catch Red Hood ourselves.”

The Teen Titans were good for Tim, especially after the disaster that ended Young Justice. Hopefully Tim wouldn't feel thrown away; maybe Dick should call him more regularly? His little brother needed him, he’d just lost his father , but Dick didn't want to make him feel smothered, Tim had complained about that in past- "There." Dick rewound the video a few frames, then let it play in slow motion. Red Hood redirected a punch to the face, smoothly twisted the arm around, and then threw his attacker over his shoulder, dislocating the man's shoulder in the process. "That's a League of Shadows move." A little further along and- "And that's a move that Lady Shiva created herself."

"His fighting style indicates he's had a wide variety of teachers, perhaps even more than me," Batman said as the Red Hood on screen pulled off a move Dick had only seen Talia Al Ghul perform before.

"Have you asked Talia about him?"

"...She hasn't been picking up my calls."

Joy. "He could be ex-League. That would explain all his weapons and tech. That helmet, it's not just for show. It's advanced, probably customized. Has anyone taken credit for designing his gear?"

"Oracle's keeping an eye on the dark web, but nothing so far. If he is League, nothing's going to show up, but-"

The clack of shoes on stone interrupted them. Alfred had descended the stairs from the manor and was staring at them both, unamused. "Pardon me for the interruption, gentlemen, but breakfast is served."

Dick immediately obeyed the unspoken demand and locked the Batcomputer. "Thanks, Alfie." He smiled, placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "But you really didn't have to come down here to get us. The intercom would have worked."

Alfred raised one thin eyebrow. "Unfortunately, that hasn't been the case since you lived here, Master Dick. Both Master Bruce and Master Tim have developed an unfortunate habit of ignoring the intercom in favor of work."

Bruce didn't even have the decency to look regretful.

With their accent into the manor, Dick spoke, "No talking about our night life around Danny, okay?"

Their eyes widened. "He doesn't know?" Bruce asked.

"He's only met Nightwing once, and he's a heavy sleeper. He hasn't found out yet and I want to keep it that way."

Alfred pursed his lips. "He'll be upset when he finds out."

"I'd rather he be upset than him putting on a costume and jumping out the window after me."

"You're worried he'll want to help you?"

Dick glared at Bruce's amused smile. “Yeah, yeah, I see the irony. The best revenge is raising a child just like you , I get it. But I’m already having enough difficulty keeping him away from my police cases, he’d only get worse if he knew I was a vigilante too.”

They got to the dining room before Tim and Danny, giving Dick just enough time to pull a booster seat out of storage. “When did we last use this?” The booster seat matched the dark wood of the family dining room table and chairs, with a cushion to match.

Bruce looked between the booster and Dick. “Probably when you were eight.”

“I never needed to use a booster seat!” Dick immediately defended, trailing off as Tim and Danny entered the room, Danny holding Tim’s hand. Dick glared; this conversation was not over.

The table was already set: Bruce at the head of the table, with two seats on the right, and one seat on the left. As Dick was about to ask Danny to sit beside him, Danny dragged Tim over to one of the seats on the right, grabbed his booster seat without a word, and claimed the chair next to Tim. “Danny? What are you doing?”

Danny scowled at Tim. “If I don’t make him eat, Tim’s not gonna eat. So, Tim’s gonna sit here until everyone else is done, and if he doesn’t eat, he can’t have ice cream with us today.”

“We’re taking Timmy to get ice cream with us?” Dick asked as he took his seat across from them.

Tim shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Yes, we are! And you better not have forgotten, you promised!”

“Okay, okay.” Dick laughed. At least Danny and Tim were getting along better than he and J–

Breakfast began with an awkward silence, broken only by the clinking of utensils. Bruce finally broke the ice. "So, Dick, how's work been at the precinct?"

Dick was about to respond when Danny, his eyes lighting up, jumped in. "We just solved a couple of murder cases! They were really tricky, but we figured them out."

Bruce's interest was piqued. "Oh? And how exactly were you involved in these cases, Danny?"

Danny shrugged nonchalantly. "I just helped out a bit. I'm good at noticing things."

With some prompting from Bruce, Danny launched into an enthusiastic explanation, detailing how he and Dick pieced together the clues. Dick sat back and let Danny talk. Danny’s medium abilities weren’t something he’d planned to talk about with his family despite Danny being open about their existence. It didn’t bother Dick that Danny was a meta, but it was like Danny had no hesitation in telling everyone. Kids got trafficked all the time in Bludhaven, especially meta kids like Danny. And Danny was running around telling people about his powers, conning them into paying him to speak to dead family or friends.

Dick was half-expecting to turn on the TV in the evening to learn that one of Danny’s past marks had blabbed and then everyone would know that Richard Grayson’s foster son was a meta.

“-Honestly, the Hollydale Gang Murders is why I think those cases you were looking at are actually the work of a serial killer,” Danny was telling Tim, to Dick’s alarm. “The murder weapon keeps changing and the victims are unconnected, but there are too many similarities! They were all ambushed, all identifying features were damaged, all dumped in dumpsters–”

“Yeah, but all those things happen a lot with Gotham murders. You have to look for connections beyond that–”

Bruce held up a hand. “Wait, hold on. Tim, you told Danny about those murder cases?”

Tim shrunk in his chair. It seemed to dawn on him for the first time that Dick hadn’t told Danny about the vigilantism. “Yes? Was I not supposed to?”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Yes. No.” Another sigh. “What’s done is done. Danny, do you mind keeping this to yourself? Those murder cases you and Tim have been working on... I was the one who arranged for Tim to get them. I had to pull a lot of strings to make it happen.”

“Why?”

Bruce sighed. "Tim has a very particular set of skills and interests. Solving these cases is more than just a hobby for him—it's a way for him to channel his energy and make a difference. But it's also something that needs to be kept quiet. Not everyone would understand or approve."

Danny's eyes widened in realization. "So, you’re saying Tim wouldn’t be getting these cases without you?"

"Exactly. And I need you to stay quiet about it. If word got out, it could cause a lot of trouble, not just for Tim but for everyone involved."

Danny thought for a moment, a mischievous glint appearing in his eye. "I see. So, this is pretty important to you, huh?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going. "Yes, it is."

"Well," Danny said slowly, "keeping secrets can be tough. Might need a little incentive to make sure I don’t accidentally let something slip."

Bruce folded his arms. "What do you have in mind?"

"A hundred dollars should do it," Danny said, trying to keep a straight face but failing to hide a small grin.

“Danny…” Dick tried to scold, but Bruce patted his shoulder.

Bruce stared at Danny for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. "Alright, chum. You've got a deal." He pulled out his wallet and handed Danny a crisp hundred-dollar bill. "Just remember, this isn't a game. Keeping this quiet is important."

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know . I’m not going to spoil all my fun.” Everyone flinched, but Danny was too busy stuffing away his ill-gotten gains to notice. “Tim’s my first friend who shares one of my hobbies; I don’t want to lose him just because it’s kinda illegal.”

Tim looked touched. “Thanks, Danny. I don’t want to lose you too.”

They finished breakfast with Dick smiling at Danny and Tim–he was so happy they were getting along that his chest ached. As Danny left to use the bathroom, Dick pulled Tim aside.

“I already know,” Tim said, clearly expecting a lecture. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d already told him about our identities. I’m sorry.”

Dick pulled his baby bird into a hug. “I’m not mad; I just wanted to check in with you.” He pulled away enough so he could look at Tim. The bags under his eyes had only gotten deeper since they last met, and his hair was greasy, like he’d skipped his last few showers. “How are you holding up?”

First Stephanie, then his father. Timmy was losing so much in such a short period of time.

Tim didn't look him in the eye. "I'm fine," he replied, his voice hollow and distant.

“Timmy…”

“I’m fine , Dick.” Timmy pushed him away. He was shaking. “This is just… something I have to deal with. It doesn’t involve you.”

“It does involve me because I care about you!”

“Yeah, you cared so much that you adopted a kid without telling me.” Dick opened his mouth, but Tim wouldn’t let him speak. “Oh, sorry, you’re fostering a kid. My bad. There’s so much difference between the two.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tim closed his eyes. “I’m sorry too. I’m not… I shouldn’t be taking things out on you.” Dick reached out for another hug, only to be rebuffed. “I want to be alone right now.” Turning away, Tim disappeared down the hall, leaving Dick alone.

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #constantine jr au #c: danny fenton #c: dick grayson #c: tim drake #c: bruce wayne #c: alfred pennyworth

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salvatorres · 1 month ago

Text

ROMANTIC HOMICIDE

Words: ~1565 Status: complete (one shot), unedited CW/TWs: Dubious consent, mild violence Themes/Tags: Slightly voyeuristic (?) or exhibitionist idk (picture is very good reference), Unraveling character, “exposing” a secret, hatred as a metaphor for love (?) Setting: The woods/ravine. From the perspective of Bunny Summary: Richard Papen was a liar. And the only people who could contest his claims were either too lost in their own karmic miseries to bother with it– or, in the case of the two he’d lied about the most– six feet underground, long since claimed by the soil and earth.

PARANOIDPARANOIDPARANOIDPARANOIDPARANOIDPARANOID

I’M BEING PARANOID.

But could it be called paranoia– “unjustified suspicion”– when it was indeed justified? Of course not. Of course he’s going to kill me. He said he would. But when would he do it? How would he do it? Would THEY help him? Of course they would. Those fucking bootlickers. Those fucking spineless maniacs. Those goddamned pretentious morons. They think he’s some sort of God. Cursing them under his breath, he stumbled through the air, unusually careless. Yes, he was being careless– even in his semi-drunken state, he knew he was. But goddammit! A man can’t live in fear! There comes a point when he’s so afraid that he doesn’t care anymore– JUSTMAKETHEFEARSTOP.

“Just make it stop….” he grumbled to the listening trees, feeling their eyes follow him silently. Eyes. Eyes in the trees. Steps that lingered in the shadows behind him (always, always there, at home, at the football field….) Eyes in the hallways. Eyes in his dorm. The fucker was everywhere, the fucker was everywhere. Following, watching, seeing— Bunny saw his outline in the haze that fell before dreams. He was in Bunny’s head too— fucker really was everywhere— god, the nightmares….

He’s going to kill me. He’s tiring me out, the bastard. And I am tired. I’m tired of these games. So just….

“Come at me then, motherfucker. You fucking psychopathic….” I’ll sock him. He’ll lunge at me with a knife and I’ll…I’ll sock him. I got pepper spray too. It’s right under my pillow. I’ll burn his eyes if he tries to choke me in my sleep. Or maybe he’d chop me up. Like a real psycho killer. Maybe he’d chop me up…..what would I do then? Oh, what would I do?

Under the thicket of the forest trees, the sky looked darker than it was. He didn’t remember looking up, but the fever of his delirium was marked by swimming flashes of a cold sky, watching him through the tapestry of interweaving branches and leaves above him. His murmurs were swallowed by the breath of the foliage, his touch leaving traces of his essence on the dark bark, with its ancient swirls that had heard and seen and felt so many things….so many sins….No, I can’t think of….He shook his head clear of the mistakes he’d made in freshman year, fondling in the dark with…..Not the goddamn time. He’s going to kill you, and you’re thinking about…

“Lied to you, excluded you, called you all sorts of names….made fun of the very thing….” And you’re thinking about…..

When he looked up, the trees had cleared off the path, trimmed and shaved so they would skirt the path instead of crowd it. It was his usual route, and just the night before he had been thinking of changing it, because otherwise he’d be making it far too easy for him. But he was tired. And he didn’t want to be afraid anymore. And perhaps, deep down, a part of him was sure he wouldn’t do it. Sure, he was a murderer now. He’d killed someone– brutally, and relished in the fact. But hey, Bunny was….his friend. At some point, they’d been the best buds. Genuinely best buds. These very trees could testify for him. If only they could speak the things they’d bore witness to.

He wouldn’t really kill me. I’d look at him, and I’d laugh, and I’d say, ‘Come on, old man. It’s me.’

He thought he was confident in what they’d once had. He thought he knew the man well. But all that confidence went flying out the window the moment he turned the corner and came face to face with him.

It shocked Bunny to find him here of all places— sure, Henry had been openly stalking him, but he didn’t quite expect him to get so brazen about it all of a sudden—- unless he’s here to make a bold move. Bunny froze in his steps, and something horrible, something cold clutched his heart. His stomach sank.

Henry was standing there on the path, hands in his pockets, a strange smile on his lips, the glint in his glasses hiding his eyes.

For all his confidence, Bunny felt afraid.

They were all there. All of them, solemn faced, snake-skinned.

It was like coming face to face with a truth he’d been running from for a very, very long time. And now there was nowhere to go. Nothing to do but– he looked at the path behind Richard’s head, past Camilla, past Charles, away from him. There was a brief exchange of words, repressed as though they were concealed weapons– Bunny was still in his senses, only a little drunk– so for the most part his suspicion was less paranoid and more logical— considering everything. Bunny asked what they were doing. Henry said something about ferns.

“…Why aren’t you coming over here, Bunny?” Henry inquired, putting some concern into his voice and a slight smile on his lips.

“Why should I?” Bunny asked warily.

“No reason, really.” Henry replied, his voice almost sweet sounding, a tone he rarely used. He gave an inviting wave, gesturing for him to come closer. The others stood in a frozen tableau, mannequins with wide eyes and held breaths. They were so still they blended into the background.

A branch cracked under Bunny’s boot. He’d been backing away slowly, towards the trail through the pines, and Henry was following him.

Bunny’s voice trembled, “What are you lot doing here, really?”

Henry’s smile was unnerving.

“I told you, I’m looking for ferns.”

And what Richard wouldn’t write in his shitty little book of lies was this: ferns. Ferns. Ferns. Between the two of them, between him and this bastard that Bunny couldn’t recognize anymore, that word held a different meaning. Something that had come to life in these very woods, whispered to the trees with their sturdy, witnessing shafts, spilling, spilling, spilling…..

Bunny gasped sharply as Henry’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. He was twisting it.

“Yes, ferns. Help me look for them, won’t you?”

“Don’t touch me, goddammit! Get your hands off-”

“Come on, Bunny, dear,” (and he murmured the last part so nobody heard it) Henry said, sweet and almost even loving. “It’s just me.” A moment later, “You know, I’ve been thinking….”

“Get your goddamn hands off me you bastard!” Bunny’s voice cut through the air but Henry’s quiet murmurs continued, undisturbed.

“I’ve been thinking, you’re privy to things— things about each of us, all of us in fact– that we’d rather you didn’t know. It’s quite unfair, isn’t it? You shroud yourself in paradoxes so nobody sees you for who you are. It’s unfair, isn’t it?” Henry leaned in, his sweet voice turning bitter, he twisted Bunny’s wrist with a snap. Bunny cried out in pain, but the silent witnesses said and did nothing– in fact, they looked on, some might say with shock, some might say with eager curiosity.

“Why don’t we open up one of your precious secrets? Right here, right now.” Henry said darkly, he kept his gaze trained on Bunny’s nervous, jittery one. Bunny’s breath was quickening— he looked back at the others. And then he glared up at Henry.

“No secret I have could be any worse than yours!” He yelled at the top of his lungs (or, well, he tried to), then he looked madly at the evildoers behind Henry, “I haven’t killed an innocent man, I don’t have loose morals, I don’t fuck my own sibling!”

“Really? Aren't I a brother to you?”

Now this. This would come as a shock to everyone– what Bunny would never know but had wondered was this: did their worlds spin and did their minds reel with the sheer force that his world had rocked with? He felt himself grow pale– no, the trees would never throw such sacred a sin out into the open, no matter how many times they’d observed it. The trees were benevolent. Henry had been benevolent. Once.

“Shut up,” His voice tried to rise up, but it failed and sank in his chest like a deflated balloon.

“You,” Henry hissed back, all the fake pleasantry gone from his voice. “Shouldn’t have ever touched my things, you bastard.” And then he grabbed Bunny’s collar and shook him violently. Bunny let out a strangled sound, his free hand flying up to Henry’s wrist, trying to free himself. His brain couldn’t keep up with the rapid onslaught of violence. He’d expected Henry to be angry, of course he’d expected that. But not this. Not his once-dear friend shaking him like a dog, like he meant to pull him apart. Henry leaned in and bared his teeth and snarled his words and YOU’REHURTINGMEYOUR’REHURTINGMEYOU’REHURTINGMEYOUR’REHURTINGMEYOU’REHURTINGMEYOUR’REHURTINGME (again).

“Didn’t you want them to know? You wanted the world to know, so let them know! Let them see, Bunny. You damn liar, you damn hypocrite, show them what you are.”

Bunny’s eyes were full of tears.

“Get away from me, bastard—!”

There was a struggle. To the witnesses outside the skirmish, it appeared— shockingly— very one-sided. Bunny’s hands were preoccupied with putting distance between himself and his attacker, Henry’s hands aimed to bruise. He forced Bunny’s head to snap towards him multiple times, his large hand locked on Bunny’s jaw with such a force that his bones sounded like the creaking branches beneath their boots.

Bunny was overwhelmed, he was drunk, he was humiliated and devastated— and he had the wind knocked out of him when Henry crushed their mouths together. It was not like anything they’d shared before, in this very clearing, it was brutal, like it had been ever since….

HE’S DEVOURING ME

And what Bunny didn’t realize was this: the world was not spinning in his head. It was spinning literally. He did not realize that his comrades watched in complicit silence as he was walked backwards, whilst being devoured, whilst being romanced…..he was being walked with his back towards the ravine. And he only knew it when he felt the abyss behind him. When he missed a step. When his shoe stepped on nothing.

He clutched Henry desperately, eyes wide.

He gasped, “Henry—“

“Yes, Bunny?” He whispered, still kissing him with a strange sense of longing. Gentler now.

Bunny’s tearful eyes looked at his friends, standing silent; ghosts, observing a scene. And then it hit him. This had been planned. Oh, I’m such a fool. I’m such a fool. I should have…

His tears rushed.

“Henry, please–”

The smile on Henry’s face was nothing like a smile at all, his eyes were narrowed. “You deserve this.” and then, quietly, “I love you.”

And then he pushed.

And then he fell.

#complete fic!#one shot #idk if I oughta post this on a03 help?#bunny corcoran #the secret history #tsh donna tartt #henry winter #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #francis abernathy #fic ad #winterbunny #richard papen

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luvzxr · 5 months ago

Text

Little Pougie

I'm gonna try to make this a little more formatted but I also enjoy writing these little notes for the chapter so I can interact with people!

Summery; In which fem!reader is the little sister to John B Routledge. Sweet, gentle and innocent. The complete opposite to JJ Maybank but he finds himself falling for her and he can't stop himself doing so.

Pairing; Fem!reader x JJ Maybank

Word Count; 2,473

Masterlist to find previous chapters all together or previous to read chapter 3!

Next chapter.

04. Safe and Sound

"He didn't hurt you, right (Y/n/n)?"

JJ didn't want to seem too obsessive for his own good. He didn't want to confuse the poor girl as to why he was suddenly so frantic- she just went through what he could only imagine was pure hell and here he was causing more stress for her. But he couldn't help it; that was what he was turning into.

He needed to know that she was okay. That was his priority. He didn't know how long this had been going on before he walked in or if the scumbag had ever touched her way before the previous events.

JJ just beat the man senseless for simply having (Y/n) in his grasp. He should have killed him, no one would miss scum like that. He almost scoffed at the thought he let the man off easy, but he couldn't commit murder in the middle of Mr. Carrera's restaurant.

All (Y/n) could do was nod lightly.

He lost control- Right in front of her. The violence he condemned inside of him was now all out on the table and he could see just by how soft her voice was, the way she refused to look him in the eye, or the way she couldn't say a word to him that she was terrified.

He gulped, murmuring lowly, "come with me, Pougie. Please?" placing his hand on her arms, holding them firmly. His eyes bored into her own.

She seemed hesitant. She wanted to leave and be anywhere but here- she wanted to go home, but going home with JJ is what currently caused a mental battle between herself. The boy had just let lose years' worth of rage out onto the poor bastard who made the first attempt to scramble to his feet after a brutal beating, and Sophie practically saved his life from ending.

"Princess," JJ softly spoke, bringing his index finger to lift up her chin, "I would never hurt you."

"I know," her voice was small. She had no reason to fear JJ- he was protecting her, just like he always had and she knew that.

"Come on."

JJ's home was roughly the same size as her own; small but it would do. She found comfort in the mess inside considering she had to deal with it at her own home, so it hadn't made much of a difference.

She had been to his place countless times with John B but had never stayed the night due to the simple fact that JJ preferred to stay with them, for obvious reasons- That being back when his father was still on the Island, of course. As for now, (Y/n) wasn't too sure why he still chose to stay with her and JB- not that she didn't mind- but, he had the place all to himself now.

Empty glass bottles and aluminum cans littered the place, not a single spot wasn't covered by an empty bottle or can that once was filled to the brim with a certain beverage. The place looked completely discarded, which made sense- he didn't necessarily live here, he'd just stop by to pick up whatever he may have needed and leave again.

(Y/n) hadn't forgotten about the numerous altercations she'd witnessed over the years. The beatings JJ had taken right in front of her eyes. And she hadn't forgotten about the hundreds of bruises that formed all over his body afterward.

Over time, the girl slowly grew to despise the older man.

Perhaps 'despise' wasn't a strong enough word to use. She felt she wasn't being cynical enough. His father had no clue just how special his son was- he never gave JJ the chance to show his full potential.

JJ was a quick-tempered and erratic man, hell would break loose around him. Punches would be thrown, blood would be shed and, someone would be twitching and writhing on the floor. That was just part of who JJ was which often seemed to be the only part of him that others noticed, But he had another side to him. The side where he'd take liability for someone else's mistake, and he'd take the downfall because he felt he'd end up in jail sometime down the line, anyways.

He had an overwhelming amount of loyalty to the ones he loved. He'd take the dodged bullet without a single second thought. He'd fight for the things he felt closest to because that's all he had left to fight for. He had nothing to lose.

JJ also held onto the part of him where he knew how to make a bad situation something worth celebrating. He knew how to have a good time, and he knew how to make sure others had just as much of a good time. He was a goofball, something that (Y/n) took an immediate interest in.

"Sorry the place is a wreck," JJ apologized. He didn't know what else to really say because a part of him felt embarrassed. The place looked like the inside of a dumpster- smell and all. He didn't have the time to clean up beforehand because he didn't think they'd have to be staying at his place for the night.

He threw what he could away at the last minute into a large trash bag, wiping his arm smoothly across the coffee table- bottles and cans tipping over and tumbling into the bag. Eventually, he discarded the bag in the kitchen before returning back to the living area.

(Y/n) was placed on the couch, knees tucked to her chest. She was still quite shaken up from the previous encounter she had at her work with the creepy, old man. If JJ hadn't shown up a second later than he did, she wasn't sure if she'd safely be in his care or if she would have been dragged off the property in the grasp of the other man.

"(Y/n)?" JJ's voice was low, jaw clenched in order to bite back a more harsh, but natural sound. It wasn't his fault that his voice was much more deeper and intimidating. He didn't want to make the girl more timid than she probably already felt. His hand was placed gently on her shoulder.

"Hm?"

"Are you... okay?"

He wasn't too sure if this was a bad time to ask, for it was only moments ago she was put in a situation that no woman should ever be put in. He wanted her to open up, and maybe he could get her to. Or maybe he'd get the cold shoulder just like he would do himself whenever someone tried to get him to open up. And in hindsight, he didn't know (Y/n) and she didn't know him. Not properly, that is.

And even though he was the very person who defended her, he wasn't going to take that as an invitation to push past her boundaries.

(Y/n) shook her head no, turning to look at him, and rested her cheek against his hand that still rested promptly on her shoulder.

He shook his head before all together letting it drop and hang. feeling hopeless.

He failed her. He failed John B. That promise he made to protect the girl when John B could not. Over the years he made an internal promise to himself that he'd watch over the girl as long as she was on the Island and he wouldn't let a single soul handle her the way she was handled tonight, and he failed.

"I'm so sorry, Pougie. I... I should have been there sooner. If I had been there sooner then none of this would of happened and you'd be okay," He took careful steps around the couch toward her small figure. Guilt was evident but oblivious to how to express it.

"JJ-"

"I could of prevented it altogether," He gulped, taking his seat next to her. His head shook side to side endlessly.

"JJ-"

"You would of been okay,"

"JayJ-"

"I shouldn't have been so careless-"

He felt soft, gentle hands cup his face, "JJ! For once in your life; don't blame yourself."

JJ's head shot up, shoulders relaxing once his gaze landed on the soft smile of the girl sat in front of him. Sometimes he wondered how she could be so happy after traumatic situations.

"You saved me, and for that, I'm very grateful,"

JJ found his disheartened expression slipping into a small smile. She was so soft and gentle with not only her words; but her touch as well. She knew all the right ways to ease his racing mind.

They had yet to find out more about one another, yet here he had the girl sitting in his horribly trashed living room; feeling at ease from her touch and words- trying desperately to study her face, her emotions, her expressions. Trying to figure out why his heart was racing, and why he felt like if he didn't slow down he'd only crash and burn. Which, at the time, he felt completely okay with doing.

He was protective over the girl, but rightfully so. She'd done so much in his life he hasn't had the chance to thank her for. He wanted to give back, he just needed to figure out the right ways to do so.

But he shook his head. He stood up, giving her a small smile.

The girl had seen him at the lowest points in his life. The days when his father had beaten him so badly he was practically in shambles on the ground- she was petrified but she always would put him before herself because that was just the type of person she was. She was delicate- it was enough to break her if you truly wanted to, but she was kind. JJ has never experienced the type of care Sophie has given by anyone else and if he was honest- he didn't want to.

"Where are you going?" he could hear (Y/n)'s soft voice as he stood from the couch, reaching for the garbage bag he left slouched against the wooden doors of the lower cabinets on the floor an hour or two prior.

"I'm gonna take this out and then head to bed," he looked over his shoulder, bright blue eyes glinting in her direction.

"Already?" she frowned, "We just got here a little bit ago,"

"I just wanted you to get some good sleep before I take you back tomorrow," JJ replied calmly, though he unknowingly began to make his way back toward her again.

"But I don't feel like sleeping right now," she reached for him, indicating she wanted him to sit again. He undoubtfully took the invitation.

"No?" Puzzlement growing, eyes fixated on the small girl sitting before him.

"No." she confirmed.

"Well... I don't have to go right now," She immediately perked up.

"Great!" She squeaked, arms flung around his neck, "Cause I have an entire show to watch, and no one to watch it with. But now I do!"

"Oh, I see," JJ gave a slight nod, unable to control the small, slightly uneasy chuckle that fell from his lips, "We're gonna watch an entire TV show tonight?"

"Of course. What else would we do on a Friday night?"

"Actually It's Saturday because it's midnight,"

"Whatever," she crinkled her nose, looking at him as if it was so obvious, "I get to show you the wonderful world of TV,"

TV. That was something JJ didn't exactly have familiarity with, for anymore he chose surfing or partying rather throwing himself up on the sofa and flicking through channels to find something appealing.

"Please?" She was back to being her shy self again, pouting and practically begging him to stay inside for the night, "Netflix would work too, that way we can start something new that maybe you'd like,"

He frowned nonetheless, "I don't have Netflix Princess,"

"That's okay, I'll sign in to my account," She grinned, turning the current network off and switching it to the Netflix program.

"Okay," he nodded, and she just smiled softly.

JJ watched as she selected a program with the title 'American Horror Story' and switched on the Pilot episode. Leaning over and leaving the remote on the coffee table in front of them.

She laid back, her prior position with her arms around his neck was now with her back pressed against the soft cushion

She then looked over at him, expression changing at the hesitant way he was perched up on the couch.

"JJ, come here," she reached her arms out, faking a grab at him with her fingers.

He shook his head, "No, I can't,"

"Yes you can," she nodded, once more making a grabbing motion with her fingers.

"No, I really can't,"

"I know I'm probably not as comfortable as most girls you slee-"

"No, that's not it," his answer was quick, "I just shouldn't lie down."

"Why?"

"Because Pougie," he frowned, trying desperately to dodge her tiny grabs, "I'll fall asleep on you." JJ warned.

"So fall asleep," (Y/n) shrugged, grinning with triumph once he finally sighed and gave in. She held her arms out, moving ever so slightly to give out some more room to him. He removed his snapback, leaning back- to which his head hit her forearm gently.

His tired eyes soon began to flutter shut, ready to fully drown out every possible noise; Including the voices of characters in front of them.

JJ couldn't comprehend the bizarre situation at hand; he was laying down with (Y/n), at his house, and she was voluntarily letting him rest against her. He was breathing in her light scent, listening to a show he assumed was one of her favorites, spending the night with the one person who agitated him the most- and he was enjoying every minute of it.

Something changed. Not enormously, For it was roughly hard to get through to JJ because of the skeptical side of him that refused to let anyone care for him. But the change was significant compared to what most accomplished. He no longer found the way he had to swoop into her rescue irritating. He didn't mind how she questioned everything he's done because in reality; she was curious and nothing was wrong with that.

This situation with (Y/n) was nothing more than a girl caring for a friend who, no doubt, needed the affection but was too stubborn to admit it.

JJ could only envision the small, gentle smile covering her features, imprinting her skin and burning a mark in his mind. He imagined her face as she pressed the tip of her nose against the back of his neck, small arms wrapped around his torso carefully.

He felt himself tense up. He's never felt such a delicate touch before- at least not ones that hadn't led to more than just a chill night on the couch. No, those situations almost always turned into more- to which JJ himself usually initiated.

But this was different because he didn't want more. He wanted to stay right where he was; In (Y/n)'s arms, wrapped up on the couch, drifting off into a much-needed peaceful sleep. And that's exactly what he was doing.

"Goodnight JayJ."

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