#tw: attempted rape/noncon

[aftgficrec]

Can't believe I caught this open. I love your page. Was just wondering about fics centered around medicated Andrew. Like the foxes realizing that the drugs were more harmful than helpful. Thanks!

Medicated Andrew is an AFTG hot button theme with a good amount of fandom meta, discussion, and umbrage to be found. Some fic writers go the fix-it route with time travel aus or canon divergent stories with different or zero meds (here's the ao3 unmedicated Andrew tag). When Andrew is on the problematic medication it’s usually Neil who wants it gone, but sometimes other foxes see it too. We also found aus with unexpected people wanting Andrew off the meds…can you say Tetsuji Moriyama or Fox!Harry Potter? We have a good amount of Andrew’s pov, and fanart that’s like whoa. What I’m saying is, buckle up for a wild ride, rabbits. -A 

previous recs:

Andrew’s meds here

‘They All Burn the Same’ here (updated)

‘take two’ here

‘Deals With Devils’ and ‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (both updated) 

‘The Sphynx and the Hare’ here (completed)

‘Hope Was A Dangerous, Disquieting Thing’ here (updated)

‘i'd die for you (that's easy to say)’ here

‘California Drifting’ here (updated)

‘Of Ocean Tides’ series here

‘This Is What Hollows’ here  (completed)

andrew pov:

‘The Court-Hole Fox’ (completed), ‘Fuck the Game’ series, and ‘oh be cautious, do not stand too near’ series, plus ‘Monster’ and ‘Monster 2.0’ (both updated) here

‘Fold me in your palms’ here

‘Therapy session’ here

‘Odd Eye’ here

‘Stranger To Stay’ here (updated)

‘The Real Thing’ here

‘And we’ll be running’ here

‘One More Time (With Feeling)’ here (updated)

‘we destroy everything we need’ here

you may also like:

post easthaven andreil reunion here

foxes revise opinion of Andrew here

‘Live Once More (This Time Will Be Better)’ here

‘Inked Truths’ series (parts 1 and 2) here

‘The Unkindness of Ravens’ here (updated)

I hate your smile by PateticabutBunny [Not Rated, 2066 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

One day on the relationship between Andrew and Neil And the drugs

tw: vomit, tw: addiction, tw: mania, tw: medication side effects

Another Raven in the Nest by 0bsessednerd [Rated M, 4051 Words, Complete, 2024]

“Minyard will cooperate, I’ll find a way.” Kevin ensured them. and Riko gave him a dangerous look. “If you don’t I will.” Riko said coldly, and everyone knew he would. Kevin better keep his promise, thought Neil, or Minyard was going to not have a good time. No one spoke for the rest of the flight. ~~~ Neil has a nightmare of Andrew being in the nest and part of the perfect court. As imagined it doesn’t go well

tw: nightmares, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: abuse, tw: torture, tw: ptsd

I would choose to live all this a thousand times, if in the end, I had you by FayeS2 [Not Rated, 42517 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

After almost a decade together, Neil and Andrew travel back in time to Neil's first year at Palmetto. Now, they must relive demons from the past. But at least they still have each other.

tw: drug use, tw: homophobia, tw: violence, tw: blood

Good Men Lie Too by heybabyricecake [Rated M, 100678 Words, Complete, 2024]

Me: Andrew and Neil are perfect for each other <3 their love story is iconic and they are otp and it's a crime to ship them with anyone else!!!!! Also me: Anyways here's a KevNeil fic :) Canon reimagined as if it were Kevin and Neil falling in love!! I take some of the story line from the original series but there's also very different plot points for Kevin and Neil for obvious reasons! Not Kandriel sorry. This fic answers the question: What happens when two Exy obsessed idiots fall in love???

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: vomit, tw: canonical character death, tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: homophobia, tw: involuntary outing, tw: assault, tw: blood, tw: attempted rape/noncon, tw: kidnapping, tw: alcohol abuse/alcoholism

Glow In The Dark by Anonymous [Rated M, 20984 Words, Complete, 2024]

If Riko Moriyama is Exy's number 1, Kevin Day is number 2. But, if Riko Moriyama is King of Exy, Andrew Minyard is the opposing pawn who’s crossed the board to become Queen. Andrew has spent far too long denying Riko what he wants and Riko has spent far too long fantasising about the day Andrew finally breaks to leave things as they are. And if you want a job done right, you really do have to do it yourself it seems. So RIko invites Andrew to Evermore for the holidays.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced medical abuse, tw: threatened rape, tw: abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: emotional abuse, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: nonconsensual restraint, tw: nonconsensual nudity and photography, tw: internalized homophobia

Vivid by Anonymous [Rated M, 6884 Words, Incomplete, Updated Feb 2024]

Andrew returns to Palmetto State after his spending his winter break at Edgar Allan. And he's fine. Totally fine. Obviously. Hello. Welcome or welcome back. Vivid is finally here and got longer than I expected. So technically, this is a sequel to Glow In The Dark but you don't need to have read it to understand. Everything important is either there in the summary or will be explained in the fic.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced medical abuse

A collection of Andreil one-shots by Auviic [Rated E, Collection, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2024]

Chapter 1: Andrew Minyard's mistakes [6567 Words] Andrew and Neil find themselves amidst a zombie-apocalypse.

tw: graphic descriptions of violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced suicide, tw: gun violence, tw: drug addiction

Chapter 3: Tongue tied [5125 Words] Nathaniel Wesninski is paired with a new partner.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: torture, tw: blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Sunrise by DeeLeBee [Rated E, 26499 Words, Complete, 2023]

Part 1 of Sunrise, Abram, Death 

Listen. All fans of All For The Game hate this fucking series just as much as they love it and I am no exception. Nora's writing doesn't make sense in so many parts, there are plot holes, WHAT ARE ANDREW'S MEDS ABOUT, and Nora was a coward because she planned to make Kandriel a thing but chickened out. (Love you , Nora.) Anyway, I am here to remedy all these ailments.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: recreational drug use, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: nonconsensual kissing, tw: canonical character death, tw: self harm

We work well with crazy. by MBlack93 [Rated E, 45145 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2024]

Neil is on the run for his serial killer father and apparently a Yakuza family with delusions of grandeur. Harry is on the run for the Dark Lord, the Light Lord, and practically the whole Wizarding World, except for the Goblins. Because Goblins are awesome.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced food withholding, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced human trafficking, tw: nonconsensual drug use

Andrew pov:

A Monster, A Defender, A Psychopath (You Maniac) by Lytta323 [Not Rated, 1953 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

Andrew has a bad psychotic episode due to his medication and gets the help he deserved sooner.

tw: self harm, tw: blood/gore, tw: mania

What if I’m the Monster? by 0bsessednerd [Not Rated, ​​1130 Words, Complete, 2024]

The pills sat on the counter taunting him. He really didn’t want to take these. But when had Andrew ever gotten anything he wanted in his life? It was his fault he had to take them. That’s what everyone told him. If he hadn’t gone too far, if he hadn’t been a problem he wouldn’t have to be on these. He wouldn’t have to be high out of his mind every fucking day. He wouldn’t have to give in to the addiction. He wouldn’t have to go to therapy. He wouldn’t have to be reminded he could never be free. He wouldn’t be a monster. ~~~ Andrew taking his medication for the first time and how he felt doing it. And how he felt after the effects kicked in.

tw: implied/referenced hate crime, tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: negative self image

a foxhole collection: on possibilities and digressions by vicariously kingly (pelted) [Rated T, Collection, Last Updated 2016] 

Chapter 21: andrew minyard in wonderland [734 Words]

for the prompt: pre-andreil snippet. in summary: andrew on drugs.

Feet Don't Fail Me Now by freefromenvy [Rated E, 56824 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2024]

Neil was an exceptional runner until his past caught up with him. After years on the run, he was taken back to the Nest where he had to learn how to survive all over again. After Neil helps Kevin and Jean escape the Nest, Riko sends Neil to Palmetto to inform the rest of the Foxes that he will keep attacking their team, just like what happened to Jamie Smalls, unless Kevin and Jean return to the Nest. If Neil fails in his task, the Moriyamas will giftwrap, and hand deliver Neil to his father after he is released from prison. Neil has always known he has lived on borrowed time. He lived Alex's life, Stephen's life, James's life, and many more. Now all he wants to do is to be able to die as Neil and not as Nathaniel Wesninski.

tw: violence, tw: abuse, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced human trafficking, tw: blood/gore, tw: mutilated dead animal

Apathy by Marquee [Rated G, 144 Words, Complete, 2023]

Andrew thinking about people in his past. Including but not limited to awful foster homes, people who him on the drugs, people calling him crazy, just yucking people in general

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

Love Bites, Hate Bleeds by kongruenz [Rated M, 6286 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2024]

Andrew's at juvie with nothing to look forward to, no life, no passion, just the constant need to be numb and bury what happened, to forget. Until Coach Wymack, Kevin Day and Neil Josten appear in his locker room to recruit him to the Palmetto Foxes. _ An AU in which Neil joined the Foxes before Andrew, and Andrew looks at Neil for protection instead.

tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: violence

I don't want to by The_7th_Void [Not Rated, 3017 Words, Complete. 2024]

Andrew runs late night errands with Neil and tries to fight his drugs. Neil is confused but helps him anyway. Or Neil lies. Andrew is honest.

tw: vomit, tw: addiction

I took the pills for these empty nights by All_for_the_andreil [Rated T, 6013 Words, Complete, 2022]

He gazes at Neil and thinks about all the questions he’s too afraid to ask. Would you still want me when I’ll be a mess? Would you stay even after you see how fucked I am? Would you hate me if I stopped playing exy for good? And perhaps the most important one: Will they kill you if we fail this season because of me? -or- Andrew gets diagnosed with bipolar disorder and is prescribed medication. Given his history with that, he has some issues.

Träumerei by Sashe [Rated E, 12038 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2024]

Andrew never planned on joining the Ravens, not when Riko and Kevin demanded it, but Coach Moriyama is willing to bargain. And he sees right through Andrew in a way no one ever has before. He’s offering Andrew a home, people who believe him, a family who will never abandon him, and a chance at something to build his life around – something to live for. All he has to do is play Exy for him for five years.  or Just another Raven!Andreil AU

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: emotional/psychological abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

We will survive to live by Whyreme [Rated M, 20663 Words, Incomplete, Updated April 2024]

Andrew had been a Spear since the age of thirteen. He endured a lot, but he had a mother, a father and a home. Until it all fell into ashes and his world was turned upside down. He fought back and lost everything, earning himself mandatory medication in return. So when Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day offered him a tempting deal, he couldn't refuse. He'd be a Raven, but that was a bigger cage than his alternative, right? or AU where Andrew never met Aaron and Nicky, was adopted by the Spear and has a very good reason to be a Perfect Court member. (Raven!Andrew and Raven!Neil AU)

tw: dark, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: hallucinations, tw: horror, tw: blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced child abuse and neglect, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: medication addiction, tw: torture, tw: murder, tw: vomit

The Avarice Never Ends by stuntinf8 [Not Rated, 1341 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew liked Neil Josten in the way that a cat might like a mouse: easy to tousle by the tail, quick to fuss, simple enough to rattle. The meds made it even easier. (OR A medicated Andrew reflects on the anomaly that is Neil Josten.)

fandom thoughts and meta:

Dependence and Addiction in All for the Game meta by @the-greater-grief [Tumblr, 2022]

I need to talk about Andrew's medication meta by @deadliestpieceontheboard [Tumblr, 2021]

if Andrew wasn't on anti-psychotics, what was he on? meta by @amiandthechaos, @sinistercacophony [Tumblr, 2021]

why abby was so vehemently against committing andrew to rehab early? discussion by @bookmarkmyword, @deadliestpieceontheboard [Tumblr, 2022]

Andrew -Medication or Incarceration ? meta by @lemonboyjosten [Tumblr, 2021]

thoughts about Andrew…his mental issues and medication? by @palmettomonsters [Tumblr, 2017]

Andrew’s meds make me so fucking angry by @kazzyboy [Tumblr, 2021]

Happy Pills by Weathers song analysis by @meanie-boy-minyard [Tumblr, 2019]

Art

Alien Blues art by @fortheloveofexy, on ao3 here

“It’s a cruel world” art by @swarenar

Put on a happy face :) art by @allfortheslay25

bloody smiles art by @rhyva

meds art by @/rhyvva on twitter

I'm not okay art by @creekgods

apathy is a tragedy art by @doesephs

medicated Andrew art by @yolkylemon

sober vs medicated Andrew cosplay by @/csplyxeva on tiktok

aftg-tober day 4 art by @i-did

[263adder]

Run to You

Fandom: Kinnporsche the Series Summary: An alternative to the start of episode 5. Word Count: 2586 AO3 link here.

Awaking with a jolt, the fog briefly clearing from his mind with the sudden rush of adrenaline, Porsche’s head shot up from the pillow. It took a moment for his mind to catch up with his senses and identify what had finally dragged him out of his dreams. There was warm air blowing over the icy skin at the back of his neck. His hand moved there, wondering if a window had been left open.

With a glance over his shoulder he was met by an unfamiliar sight: Kinn, fast asleep. He was incredibly close, robe brushing against Porsche’s bare back, breath fanning against him, and his presence threw him for a moment. Unlike his morning with Pete, after the night Kinn had kissed him, it didn’t take long to remember what had transpired between them. On both occasions, a part of him wished he hadn’t.

As if their working relationship wasn’t complicated enough. As if he weren’t already living in perpetual danger from Kinn’s work.

Who had drugged him? Who had tried to…

Porsche shuddered. The man was a blur but he clearly remembered the harm he had threatened to inflict. If it hadn’t been for Kinn, he might not have woken up at all.

If it weren’t for Kinn he might not have woken up so sore, he amended wryly.

Frustratingly, their night together wasn’t as memorable as the threat of violence from his abductor. The fear had been strong enough to permeate the drug’s effects. With Kinn all he could remember was their skin meeting, being kissed until his lungs felt dry, a point of pain being met with soothing pleasure. Words were lost, however, to the muddled mess that remained of his brain.

He needed more sleep but that would mean lying back down with the man beside him. His boss who had once kidnapped him as well. Kinn. That infuriating, smug, egotistical, confusing, dangerous bastard. Heir to the major family. Enemy of the minor family. The kind of person he wouldn’t want Porchay within a mile of. A man who was determined to take his mind, soul and body. If he laid back down, would Porsche be handing it to him? Did he want to?

Both times Kinn and he had been intimate, Porsche was inebriated. Was that the reason for them coming together? He couldn’t be sure, and neither did he believe that Kinn would be forthcoming about any changes to their relationship. If Porsche got up and left now, Kinn likely wouldn’t acknowledge what had happened. He’d only made veiled attempts to the kiss, ones Porsche finally understood.

He should go. Keep what remained of his dignity.

Trying to push himself further up, however, his head swam. With a surprised gasp, his arms gave way and he fell back onto the pillow. The small shake of the mattress was ready to pull Kinn, always vigilant, from his slumber.

“Porsche?” He said, immediately demanding. Porsche would roll his eyes if he weren’t concerned about vomiting. He was so bossy. “Are you all right?”

Propping himself over Porsche’s prone body, Kinn searched his face.

“Do you need anything? Water? Painkillers? Pete is patrolling the floor, I could get him…”

Porsche weakly batted him away.

“Stop talking.” He muttered.

Kinn’s mouth pressed into a hard line, clearly dissatisfied with the request but too apologetic to refuse.

Taking a few deep breaths, Porsche waited for his vision to stop wavering before he attempted to sit up again; Kinn’s hands were there with him, waiting to catch if necessary.

Again, Porsche pushed his hands away.

“I’m fine, stop hovering.”

Taking that as an invitation to speak again, Kinn was quick to disagree. “You’re whiter than the sheets. And your hands are cold.”

“They’re not.”

Snatching them up in his own, Kinn instantly disproved him. His skin felt like fire in comparison.

“You should get back under the covers. Stay warm. I’ll send Pete to buy some clothes that will fit you.”

“I have clothes.” Porsche said.

“Not here.”

Frowning, Porsche disagreed again. “What I was wearing last night…”

“You can’t wear that.”

“Why not?”

Kinn withdrew to his side of the bed. “They’re ruined.”

With that curt response, he tightened the sash around his robe and went for his phone. He was soon barking orders to whoever was on the other end, taking the call with him into the bathroom.

It didn’t take long for Porsche to try and get up again. He was sure his clothes were somewhere, or at least there would be a second robe. Staying in bed, exposed, didn’t feel like an option so he pushed through the wave of nausea that threatened as soon as he swung his feet onto the floor. Dragging the sheet with him in attempt to save some of his modesty, despite baring everything to Kinn already, Porsche hoisted himself up.

His clothes were strewn in a pile, unlike Kinn’s which were neatly folded.

Tutting, Porsche leaned his hip against the bedpost for balance as he pulled his vest and underwear on. There was an unpleasant odour lingering on the fabric, a scent he couldn’t quite place, but that wasn’t enough to stop him. He couldn’t stay in this room, naked in too many ways.

He had one arm in his shirt when Kinn skulked up on him.

“No.”

Reflexes slow, he almost fell from the shock of his voice, but a hand clenched around his arm and held him upright. The other immediately started pulling his shirt off.

“Stop that.” Porsche complained, trying to prise himself away.

“I told you it was ruined.” Kinn snapped, successfully dragging it away from his weak grasp.

“It’s fine.” He said, still reaching for it. “No one cares if my shirt is wrinkled.”

Throwing it to the floor, Kinn raised an eyebrow and started corralling him back toward the bed.

“I told you to stay warm.”

“Clothes will help with that.”

“Pete’s getting you some from across the street.”

“Why? Mine are right there.” Porsche argued, pointing at the heap. We wished his legs would carry him there, instead he fell back against the bed woodenly with the gentlest of pushes from Kinn.

“I told you,” he retorted through gritted teeth, “they’re ruined.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are.” Kinn yelled, making him flinch as a shot of pain ran across his head. As always, he noticed immediately and quietly apologised. “I meant you shouldn’t have to wear them. They smell like… him.”

Pinching his vest between two fingers, Porsche lifted it to his nose. That odour struck him again and with it a sickening reminder. Hands forcing him onto the bed, pulling at his clothes, gripping at his limbs and rearranging him to their whim while he was helpless to stop it.

With a noise of disgust, Porsche ripped the vest from his body and threw it over the side of the bed before flopping back. A shiver immediately ran over his exposed skin but he ignored it. The cold was worth it if it would stop the flood of memories trying to return. His voice wasn’t clear, muffled by the drugs, yet Porsche couldn’t forget the words he threatened him with. To cross the line; the line protected by Kinn, only to be taken by him minutes later.

“You’re still cold.”

Porsche didn’t dignify that obvious statement with a response. He couldn’t contain a small grunt of appreciation, however, when a warm robe landed over his prone body.

Rolling his head lazily to the side, he saw it was Kinn’s. Unlike Porsche who had hunched in on himself, Kinn stood brazenly nude in the rising sunlight. With no thought to his state of undress, he focused on arranging the fabric to cover Porsche’s shoulders then retrieved the forgotten cover from the floor and cocooned it around his legs.

“There,” he said gently, “that will keep you warm for now.”

Turning to retrieve his piles of clothes, Porsche looked but didn’t see as Kinn got dressed. His eyes kept drooping as warmth gradually started returning to his extremities. The smell that had disturbed him was replaced with a finer scent: Kinn’s. It lingered on the pillow too, and Porsche wiggled his way up the bed to return to it.

Kinn had crossed a line, yet his scent still brought comfort. He wondered if he should be concerned about his sanity. It seemed plainly obvious, even to him, that the drugs were still in his system. He shouldn’t call out to Kinn, asking him to stay in the room as he opened the door to go. For some reason – the drugs, he reasoned – he did.

“Where are you going?” He asked, head rising from the pillow. “You’re leaving me?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Kinn looked surprised. “I’m checking in with Pol. He’s reviewing footage from last night.”

“Why?”

Frowning, he dropped his hand from the handle and walked back toward him with his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “To find out who did this to you.”

“Why are you leaving?” Porsche clarified. “Can’t you call?”

Raising one of those perfectly sculpted eyebrows, Kinn was surprised he had to ask, “You want me to stay?”

Suddenly feeling petulant, Porsche turned his head away and barely refrained from sticking out his lip like Chay used to do. “No. Go do whatever you want. You always do.”

He hadn’t said the last part as quietly as he meant to, but with his head turned he failed to see how his words affected Kinn. He expected scorn; felt he deserved it too. He thought Porsche would want him gone; would be disgusted by him.

Pulling the phone out of his pocket, Kinn stayed where he was as he made the call. Porsche didn’t turn back to face him. He waited until awkward silence fell over them, then burrowed his head back in the pillow.

“Porsche.” Kinn said, his voice a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

He grumbled in response, eyes still heavy.

“Porsche. I stayed.”

“I know.”

“You wanted me to stay. That means we have to talk about it.”

“Did Pol find who did it?”

“We will.” Kinn vowed.

“Then, no. I don’t want to talk.” Porsche corrected. He didn’t want to think about what almost happened but he had to. He had to know who attacked him; before they tried to do it again.

As if reading his mind, Kinn said: “They won’t get you again. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that.” Kinn replied brusquely. “Would I have hired you as my bodyguard if you couldn’t? Porsche, talk to me.”

“No.” He said, rebelling against Kinn’s demanding tone. Why did he have to be so arrogant? So bossy? So… so…

“I took advantage of you.”

Porsche grimaced into the pillow.

“You were drugged, and I knew better.”

“Then why did you?” He asked, before he could think better. It was inappropriate. He was an employee. Something the man standing repentant before him liked to constantly remind him.

“You were being…” Kinn started before he stopped himself. Porsche rolled over to face him.

With a sigh, he corrected, “Because I wanted to. Because I’m attracted to you. Something which made me lose my better judgement. Which is something I must apologise to you for. I am sorry. You had been attacked and I made everything worse. When I kissed you for the first time, you were drunk. I’ve taken advantage twice. I’m sorry.”

Porsche watched Kinn lower his head, uncharacteristically avoiding meeting his eyes.

“I thought I dreamt that at first.” He admitted.

Kinn’s expression darkened further as he confirmed, “You weren’t in your right mind.”

“You should’ve told me.” If he had… maybe things wouldn’t have escalated the way they did. But what alternative was there? They could never be normal, in a normal relationship.

“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t know how you would react. I never know how you’ll react, you always surprise me.” Kinn lamented. “Besides which, I didn’t know if you were that way inclined.”

“Oh.” That made sense. Using his choice of words, Porsche explained, “Well I’m inclined both ways. So I wouldn’t have been mad about that.”

Kinn’s shoulders seemed to lose some tension, but not much. “I’m still your boss.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t want to work for me.”

Porsche snorted. “I know.”

“You wouldn’t be happy with me. You hate my life.”

“I do. So why did you do it?” He asked, sitting up. Another shiver ran through him so, under Kinn’s disapproving eyes, he pulled the covers up to his neck.

“You do something to me. You get under my skin.”

“You hate me half the time.”

“No I don’t. You annoy the shit out of me, but I don’t hate you. So,” he said, pondering his next move, “I’ll let you go. Or we can… do this right. Properly.” Kinn said.

“Do this or that?” Porsche asked, gesturing first to Kinn’s gun and then to the rumpled sheets.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he was clearly talking about them when he answered, “This. If you want. I’m never going to force you to do anything else again.”

Porsche couldn’t contain a laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement.

“You’re the bossiest person I’ve ever met, of course you will.”

Kinn smiled slightly. “Yes, I take your point. But if you never want to see me again I understand why and – much as I might hate it – I’ll respect the decision.”

Looking down at the sheets to think, Porsche weighed up his next words. After the night he’d had, everything felt insanely confusing. What he and Kinn had done – the relief he had felt when he realised Kinn had saved him and was there – his confusion over their initial kiss… the drugs, the alcohol…

“I need to think. I should go home for a bit…”

“No.” Kinn said harshly, before moderating his tone in reflection of the promise he had made mere seconds ago. “No. We don’t know who attacked you yet. They might come after you again. You don’t want to expose your brother to that.”

He knew that was his weakness, the one way to get him to agree.

“Fine. But I can’t be on your detail for a while.”

“That is acceptable.” Kinn said reluctantly. He would find some other way to monitor Porsche’s safety.

“Tankhun?” He asked dubiously.

“I can assign you somewhere else. Arm could take you into the armoury. Work internal security for a while?”

“So I’ll be stuck inside the whole time?” He sighed, hating the thought. Still, at least he wouldn’t be forced into ridiculous costumes by Kinn’s older brother again.

“Not the whole time.” Kinn mused. “Not if we… were to go out?”

“On a date?”

“If you want. Only if you want.”

Porsche nodded slowly.

“Think about it.” Kinn urged.

“Okay.”

A knock on the door set Kinn back on his feet, striding over to find out who had disturbed them. It was only Pete with new clothes.

Porsche’s friend craned his neck around Kinn’s unmoveable body blocking the entrance to see how he was doing. Lifting a hand, Porsche waved at him with – what he hoped – was a reassuring smile.

Kinn came back briefly to pass over the shopping bag before stepping out, phone in hand, to give him some privacy while he dressed and time to consider his offer.

There was a lot to consider.

[2chopsticks2eyes]

Numb

(Part Two)

This is part two of a multiple part series, please be sure to start from part one!

(Part One) | (Part Two)

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

Pairing: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Fem Reader

Themes: Angst, (Smut), (Fluff)

Word Count (all parts): ~21.8k | AO3

Summary: You were penniless and working tirelessly at a seedy club when you were assaulted. As soon as you resigned yourself to your fate, Lee Minho saved you, albeit grudgingly. You received treatment and you didn’t have to pay them a dime under one condition: You must be confined to his home for the remainder of your recovery.

Author’s Note:

***IMPORTANT!!!*** THIS STORY IS FILLED WITH TRIGGER WARNINGS. THIS SECOND PART DOES NOT CONTAIN THOSE TRIGGERS, BUT IT IS IMPLIED AND REFERENCED. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ TAGS AND WARNINGS AT BEGINNING OF PART ONE BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The overall plot line was based off a recommendation from @linoots from Tumblr (I received permission from them to write this type of content)

(I’ve missed you all dearly. So sorry it’s taken so long 🥺)

__________________________________________

You silently watched as the doctor removed the IV that had been pumping fluids into your body for the past 48 hours and you rubbed the uncomfortable bandage he replaced it with.

You refused to make eye contact with him. In fact, you did not look or talk to anybody since you woke up in that same home-hospital room you had grown accustomed to. Not Chris, not Felix, and definitely not Minho.

You were a shell of your former self and you didn’t know if you were upset or relieved that you were revived. You didn’t know what to make of it. But now, there was one emotion you knew that burned brighter than your numbness.

Anger.

You couldn’t quite believe Felix’s words when he said that Minho was the one who came to your rescue… again…

But that was preposterous. The bastard probably told the younger man to say that to make himself look better… Whatever, fuck it all.

You allowed yourself to be led back to your room to get some rest. However, when Felix left and Minho walked in, you fortified your walls even further. You felt your face turn sour with each passing moment without even looking at the man and you rolled over in bed so your back was facing him.

There was a long pause of silence that seemed to drag on for hours.

You finally heard a long sigh and then the sound of him plopping down into the chair by your bed. “You know…” He started, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “There’s a reason I bothered to do all of this...”

You tried your hardest to ignore him, but you couldn’t control the fact that his words piqued your interest, your ears already tuned-in to his velvety voice.

“Not just this time, but… the reason I brought you here in the first place.” After a moment of silence, he realized you weren’t going to respond, so he huffed in frustration. “Forget it.”

You suddenly heard the door open and you peered over your shoulder. Without turning to face you, he blankly said, “You are now required to have 24/7 supervision, congratulations.”

And with that, the man walked out while Felix walked in, a meek smile on his face and hands full with baked goods.

“In the mood for cookies?” You sighed and just returned to your side as you balled up in a mess of frustration and confusion under the covers, mind still tingling with the thought of what Minho was going to say.

__________________________________________

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Felix. I’m a grown woman.”

Felix just huffed, obviously sick and tired of your complaints. “You know why it’s this way, sweetie. Don’t blame me for doing my job.”

The topic was a constant now. He was obviously there for your physical therapy, but he was also everywhere else. You loved the man, you did, but there is only so much time you could stand without a little alone time!

You wanted to watch TV? He was there. You wanted to nap? He was there. You couldn’t even go to the bathroom without having to leave the door open so he ‘has access to you at all times’. Thank god he stayed outside while you did your business…

After a week of this bullshit, you decided to do something about it…

Throughout your exploration of the house, you found some rooms with names on them. Evidently the ones that Minho once said were strictly prohibited. A couple of the rooms had names you were completely unfamiliar with, but others, you remembered well. Chan, Felix, Jisung, Seungmin, Jeongin, and finally some large double-doors with the initials L.M.

Lee Minho.

The man had supposedly been ‘out on business’ the entire week, but you knew for sure he had come back today with all of the ruckus of the house staff.

So, when you were positive that Felix had finally passed out on the sofa in your room for the night, you, as quietly as humanly possible, snuck out of the room and tip-toed down the hallway and downstairs to the doors you knew by heart now.

The room was surprisingly extremely secluded and you thanked the heavens because you knew for sure you wouldn’t be able to keep cool once he was in sight. You were fully prepared to bang your fist all the way through Minho’s door to meet the man himself if that’s what it took, but as you raised your fist to knock, the door suddenly opened.

Well… shit…

You really didn’t want to admit it, you really didn’t, but… the sight before you was absolutely, without a doubt, mouth watering. He looked just as surprised as you, but you found yourself focused on something other than his face for once…

The man was completely shirtless, pajama pants riding low on his hips and revealing the prominent V of his abdomen. Speaking of abdomen, the dude was of course ripped. Well, maybe not Dr. Chris (Or Christopher, or Chan, or what the fuck ever you want to call him) kind of ripped, but enough to make your eyes bulge out and glue themselves to every inch of impeccably toned abs and pecs.

And another thing that stood out in particular was the sleeve of tattoos twisting and swirling around the upper half of his right arm. You had only seen him in button-ups thus far and, even if he rolled up his sleeves, you somehow hadn’t ever noticed it. You were usually hyper-focused on his face, but at that moment, all you could see was the vast amount of skin on display.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What are you doing here?” His stern words snapped you back to reality and you had to rapidly blink to regain a semblance of consciousness.

What am I doing? You shivered and grimaced at yourself for your intrusive thoughts before meeting his eyes.

“Uh-uhh I–” You halted your words when you noticed he was clutching something on his side. Curiosity got the better of you and you peered around his towering frame to see a soiled and basically useless bandage dripping with blood. “Holy shit! Are you alright?!” You said stepping towards him instinctively, catching yourself once he tensed and stepped back, correcting his posture as if to defend himself.

Psh, what could you possibly do to him? You couldn’t even defend yourself…

He glanced at the cloth he was currently pressing to his side and made a disgruntled noise. “I’m fine.” He said with a curt and slightly annoyed huff. “Why don’t you have anyone watching you right now?” He grumbled, obviously frustrated as he looked around behind you in search of your babysitter.

You furrowed your brows, still peeved but also worried about the still-bleeding wound on his side. “I had to sneak away because I don’t necessarily appreciate being babysat like a fucking child! Now you need to refresh that bandage before it gets infected!” You borderline shouted.

You could almost feel the daggers he shot at you with his eyes pierce through your flesh. “I said I’m fine! Now go back to be– Hey!”

You cut his sentence off short when you saw a first aid kit that looked like it had been through war and back on a small table behind him before you marched your way in, not giving two flying fucks that you were invading his room. “Get your ass in here, we need to clean you up first.” You demanded, collecting the kit and marching into what looked like the ensuite, completely ignoring his protests.

Jesus, is this much luxury even necessary? You thought as you passed through his behemoth of a room. Gray, white, and covered in smooth marble and chandeliers, it housed all of the amenities to be considered its own wing of the house. The gray material of the sofa and bed looked so soft and luxurious you were tempted to walk over and run your fingers along them. But that would have to wait.

He slammed his bedroom door shut with a huff and turned around. “You can’t just–!” You ignored him as you strolled into the bathroom (Still unnecessarily gorgeous).

“Just get your ass in here and sit!” You shouted from the bathroom. When you saw him stop in the doorway and glare at you, you just proceeded to open the first-aid kit and then pointed at the black and white marble countertop next to the sink. “Sit.”

He rolled his eyes before squeezing them shut and breathing out a slow sigh. “You… You’re a pain in my ass.” He groaned before dragging his feet over to you and hopping up to sit on the counter like you asked. If you hadn’t been right in front of him, you would have almost missed the slight hiss of pain he breathed through clenched teeth.

Why you had felt a pang of sympathy for the man, you had no clue.

He watched you apprehensively as you washed your hands and moved to face him. A brief moment of awkward silence had permeated the air before you tentatively raised your hands to remove the soiled bandage.

Minho visibly stiffened, but he made no move to stop you as your shaky fingers slowly peeled back the gauze.

Holy shit. That was 100% unmistakably a bullet wound.

Your mind was automatically transported back to that first night where you witnessed this guy casually gun down those men, effectively splattering five different brains on the fresh snow without even batting an eyelash. Who the fuck is Lee Minho? And what all was he capable of?

“If you’re going to just stand there and stare, then kindly leave me the fuck alone.” His gruff voice made you jump slightly as you were pulled from your thoughts.

You cleared your throat as you proceeded to throw away the red-stained dressing. You avoided his eyes as you grabbed the saline solution and a towel, still feeling his eyes bore into you with every movement.

However, you froze as you held the saline up to the mangled skin. “U-um… Did you take out—?”

“Yes, I already removed the bullet. Get on with it.”

Your stomach churned at his affirmation of the cause of injury, but you were getting sick and tired of his assholery as you glared up at his blackened eyes. “You know, a little gratitude goes a long way, shithead.”

He seemed stunned for a moment, looking at you as if you had gone crazy before returning to his deadly glower. “Look here, Tinkerbell—“ You bristled at that stupid-ass name again… “YOU’RE the one that barged in here. YOU’RE the one who has been a pain in my ass ever since you got here. So, no, I won’t give ‘gratitude’ where it’s not deserved. Plus, you’re the one to talk…” He murmured the last bit, but you still clearly heard him.

“Then why bother saving me in the first place?!” You basically screamed at him.

Silence and a shocked disposition was all you got in return.

“I had nothing to live for anyway, so why bother?! You could have just as easily ignored what was happening and went on your merry fucking way. Could have left me behind that dumpster to freeze and bleed to death so you wouldn’t have to deal with this ‘pain in the ass’. Could have also left me alone to OD and suffocate on my own vomit the other day. So what gives?” You finished with a seething remark while gesturing to yourself.

His face was stark blank. “You want to know why I saved you?” He said through gritted teeth. You just responded with a curt nod. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration before his expression morphed into something more solemn. It seemed like he was having an internal battle before he began to speak. He finally sighed and leaned his head back against the wall mirror with closed eyes. “I once… I had a cousin, one that was very close to me. I would always be overbearing and protective and she would always tell me to stop babying her.”

He chuckled fondly as he reminisced and you found yourself latching onto his every word. You chalked it up to the fact that you were finally learning something about this enigmatic man and this whole fucked up situation.

“Anyway, as we got older and I got busier, I began giving her more space. She was becoming a woman and I accepted the fact that she could begin to take care of herself.” He paused, but considering the faintest waver in his voice and his dry swallow, it didn’t sound like it was because he was waiting for a response… “I thought she was safe… but there were… others… vile pigs that knew how close she was to me…”

Another beat of silence and you watched his face slowly morph from sorrow to unbridled rage.

“I found her in almost the exact way I found you…” His words felt like a punch to the gut and painful images flooded your mind as you swallowed the bile that rose to your chest. “But, in her case, the scum that had… done that to her had already fled and I… I couldn’t save—” He squeezed his eyes tighter and his jaw clenched hard around the emotions before they could spill out.

You both knew he didn’t need to finish that sentence.

You felt the numbness that had taken over your soul begin to crack once again at the feeling of sympathy towards his cousin, and that shit scared you like none other.

“So, yeah. You might be a raging bitch and I might be a pretentious motherfucker. But even so, I couldn’t just leave you… I just couldn’t…” You felt something churn in your gut and you furrowed your brows in frustration as to what it was. You watched him take a deep breath and sit up a bit straighter. “So, with that being said, I can’t just allow you to throw away everything you’ve worked for so far.”

As if indicating that he had enough of the back-and-forth, he attempted to grab the saline bottle from your hand, only to be met with adamant resistance. You gently pushed his hand away (thankfully without any struggle) and brought the saline and towel up to his ever-bleeding wound that was dripping down to the puddle it created, causing a concerning amount of deep crimson to flood the marble countertop.

You silently flushed the deep cavern with the solution until you deemed it was properly cleaned before moving on to the peroxide. “This might sting a bit…” You warned as you watched his jaw clench. He closed his eyes as you disinfected it and you wondered how he could keep so cool after having a bullet plunged into his side.

Once he was properly cleaned and covered in antibiotic ointment, you picked up the gauze and searched for some tape. Your eyes widened as he wordlessly moved to hand you a long compression wrap.

You emitted a noise that sounded somewhat like a sputtering engine and your face flushed as you saw his suppressed smirk. To wrap that thing around him, you would have to run your hands all over his muscled torso… fuck.

“Something the matter?” He lilted in that nonchalant, annoying timbre. Teasing. “If you don–”

“It’s fine!” You cut him off, maybe a bit too loudly as you refused to make eye contact. “It’s just… just… don’t you have any dressing tape?” You said as you coincidentally eyed his well-defined pecs and abs.

He shrugged. “Nope. Not with me anyway. I just have this—“ He said while waving the fabric in front of your face again with a challenging brow lifted.

You nervously chuckled and squeaked out, “O-okay… Stand up…” You instantly felt goosebumps rise all over your flesh as he hopped off the counter, keeping the gauze pressed to his wound, and stepped a bit too close for a man you barely even knew. Deep breaths, you can do this…

“Hey…” You slowly raised your eyes to meet his own at the sound of the softer change in his tone. He took the tiniest step back to make it easier for him to look you in the eyes. “If you're uncomfortable… I mean… I’m not…” You don’t think you had ever seen him struggle so much with his words. He sighed and closed his eyes before sadly looking at you again. “You have nothing to be afraid of with me… I wouldn’t even think of…” He huffed and shook his head in disgust as he seemed to be thinking of the exact same thing that had plagued you day and night since arriving here.

Before he could even drive his point home, you gently laid your hand on his shoulder, causing his gaze to return to you. “I know…” You replied. “You hardly scare me, Lee Minho.” You teased with a wry smile that even surprised you.

His disturbed face was slowly replaced with a pleasantly surprised grin similar to your own. You watched with feigned mockery as he raised the wrapping once again. “Then prove it, Tink.” You just scoffed and rolled your eyes at the shortened version of his unrelenting name for you and snatched the elastic cloth from his hand.

“Fine.” You huffed defiantly before looking at his abdomen once again. You tentatively pressed the end of the wrap against his heated skin that made you blush. You could feel him watching you and you suddenly felt like hiding.

You wrapped the bandage over several times, feeling yourself tense up every time you touched his bare skin, and secured it tightly once you were finished. “O—“ Your voice cracked when you tried to speak and your face heated as you cleared your throat. “Okay, you’re finished…”

You wouldn’t look him in the eyes, how could you after you basically forced him to let you run your hands all over his tan, muscular, and absolutely gorgeous skin?

“W—“ He hesitated and, despite yourself, you found your eyes instinctively seeking his own out to somehow read the words through his dark irises. You found he was searching your eyes as well with pursed lips before he looked away and cleared his throat as well. “Thank you.”

Huh?

“Channie-hyung wasn’t available when I returned home so I tried to take care of it myself. I guess my half-assed effort didn’t do much, huh?” He chuckled and looked back at you with a meek smile.

Who the fuck is this man and where did Lee Minho go?

He nervously chuckled and you realized you’d been staring at the man far too long. You took a deep breath and stepped back. “Well, I kind of owed it to you now, didn’t I?” You said it lightheartedly, but he furrowed his brows.

“You don’t ever have to owe me anything.”

You arched a brow, but he just turned and began packing away the first aid kit again. You watched his back, trying to remember why you came to his room in the first place. “Minho?”

He stilled his movements.

“What do you even do?” He turned and arched a brow at you and you rolled your eyes, stepping forward next to him to lean against the counter. “Like, you are obviously loaded…” You said gesturing to your luxurious surroundings. “You have a full staff with a doctor to patch up nasty bullet holes like this and god knows what else…” You both looked at his bandage. “And not to mention the bullets you cleared through those guys’ heads without even blinking an eye that night…”

He bit his lip and you followed the action with your eyes. You instinctively wet your own lips. After he was done staring at the marble countertop for an unnecessarily lengthy amount of time, he hesitantly turned his body to face you.

“You could say I sort of run something like a… secret organization?” He said tentatively like it was a question unto himself and you furrowed your brows.

You squinted skeptically at him. “So… you're telling me—“ Is that worry on his face? “—that you're a secret agent? Like a spy?” You looked at him in disbelief.

He sputtered a restrained laugh and looked at you with a suppressed smile. “I suppose you could say I’m like a spy.”

“LIKE a spy?”

He looked up like he was deliberating. “Sure. Like a spy.”

“But not actually a spy?”

He groaned at your questioning and ran a hand through his messy hair. Come to think of it, this is the most dressed-down look you’d seen on him. Gone were the button-ups and slacks, now replaced by sweats and a compression wrap over his shirtless body.

He stood straight and crossed his arms, obviously ready for the conversation to be over. “Does it matter? Look, it’s already really late and Yongbok will panic if he realizes you ran off.”

Oh shit, that’s right. That’s the whole reason you were even there. In Minho’s bathroom. Standing closely to him. With the man half naked and you in your flimsy, silk nightwear. Your peaked nipples seemed suddenly way more apparent as you crossed your arms over your chest. You rapidly blinked as if suddenly waking up and quickly stepped back.

“I-I wanted to ask you something…” He arched his brow and you continued. “Can you please call off the reinforcements? I know I made a bad decision and all, but I will honestly go crazy if I have to use the bathroom with the door open one more time.” You found yourself begging rather than demanding like you had initially intended.

Why, though?

He looked hesitant and you quickly added, “I don’t even mean all of the time! Like, I’ll keep my bedroom door open so he can check up on me and he can even watch me secretly while I’m around the house, I just want at least a little sense of privacy!”

You knew you sounded like a pathetic child, but you had resigned yourself to that fate as soon as you had to take a massive, violent shit earlier that day and you knew Felix had heard everything from the other room. Without any doors to create that sweet, sweet sound barrier? Ugh… You were still mortified to look at him.

You silently watched him with imploring eyes as he tiredly rubbed his brow. “You…” You widened your eyes with a hopeful energy pulsing through them, hoping to portray as such as he looked into your pleading eyes. He sighed. “I suppose those terms are fair…” You lit up like a Christmas tree before he raised a finger. “BUT, if you are EVER alone ANYWHERE, you need to let him know where you are and give him regular updates on your whereabouts to let him know if you are okay. Okay?”

You vehemently nodded your head and perked up. “Thank GOD!”

He smirked and crossed his arms again. “I think I like you calling me a god. Have I upgraded from a narcissistic asshole?” He tilted his head with raised brows and you were, once again, reminded how gorgeous this man really was.

You rolled your eyes and went to shove his shoulder, but before you could even touch him, he grabbed your wrist in the blink of an eye. For some reason, you both looked surprised as he froze with your wrist in his hand from less than a foot away. Your heart was racing and you chalked it up to being from fear of someone grabbing you.

But why did that conclusion not feel quite right…?

Before you could ponder it, he dropped your arm and quickly stepped away. “Fuck. I-I’m sorry.” He shook his head and you watched worry swirl in his eyes.

No…

No, you weren’t afraid of this man. You don’t know why, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt you intentionally. Even after everything… “It was just instinct! I swear! I would never intend to—“

“I know, Minho.” You cut off his panicking, but his brows gave away his lingering concern. “I guess I’m just going to have to take your word for it on the whole spy thing, though, because those were super fast reflexes.” You chuckled to ease the tension and his face softened slightly.

It was silent for a moment and he cleared his throat again. “Well, I should walk you back to your room, it’s late and I’ve had… a very long few days.”

You took a large breath and promptly left the bathroom. “I’m perfectly fine on my own, you know?” There’s that twinge of irritation again…

”I know, I know. But if Yongbok is awake, I want to be able to ease his worries and update him on his role in taking care of you.

Taking care of…

Not treating, not monitoring. Taking care of. You supposed that’s what they were doing, huh? Felix was, in fact, doing much more than treating or monitoring. He waited on you hand and foot and you were being a bitch about it. You made a promise to yourself right then and there to let him know as soon as possible how much you appreciated his care and apologize for your behavior.

You nodded, both to yourself and to Minho’s reasoning before making your way back to your room with the mysterious and intriguing man just a few steps behind you.

__________________________________________

Felix was a saint. Not only did he forgive you when you apologized, but he went as far to say it was his fault for being overbearing. Which was obviously preposterous.

With your new parameters in effect, Felix decided to leave the estate shortly, before quickly returning with gifts for you. Among them were several jigsaw puzzles and you perked up at the sight of them. Over time, you had come to really appreciate those puzzles. So much so that you had already finished all of the ones currently at the estate, strangely enough. All kinds of different collections displayed on random tables throughout the mansion.

Felix was true to his word and gave you your space, only briefly giving you regular check-ups as you sat in one of the many living rooms that giant freaking place held and began the therapeutic work of putting together an adorable puzzle of a litter of kittens.

You would love to have cats…

When a sudden ruckus erupted down the hall, you furrowed your brows and looked behind you to the source. Down the corridor you saw the same seven men that you had seen regularly around the house (obviously minus Felix) dressed in what looked like active-wear gathering around the front entryway.

The men never approached you, but that was most likely because you tried to make yourself scarce once you saw one of them. Maybe Dr. Chris, Felix, and Minho you trusted, but you didn’t know those other men and it made you sick to your stomach thinking of being alone with a stranger without one of those three men accompanying you.

”Okay, guys, this is just routine training today, so no fire hazards, alright Hyunjin?” You heard Minho announce to the group.

Training? Like their super-secret-spy type training?

You felt yourself stand and march over to them without even formulating what you were doing. Who needs rational thought anyway?

If you were remembering correctly, the one named Jeongin spotted you first with a look of surprise. “Come. On. Hyuuung. We need to be prepared for anyth—“ Jeongin harshly elbowed the one who you assumed was Hyunjin and quickly spoke up.

’Hy-Mr. Lee, sir. I think someone is here for you…” He nodded a bow to you and you returned it, giving a meek smile to the group before meeting Minho’s gaze.

He looked slightly surprised before giving you… was that a smile? No, surely not…

You cleared your throat as Felix made his way over with hurried steps and a worried expression. You, then, glanced over at the other men who had become quiet as death upon you stepping up next to Minho. You scanned over them before slightly bowing. “Um… Good morning…” You introduced yourself before hearing a small ‘oh’ from the man beside you. You turned your head as he stepped forward and turned to face you again.

”I guess I haven’t really introduced them all to you yet… These are my… This is my inner circle.” He hesitated and turned to gesture to each of them. “Some I’m sure you already know. Like Channie-Hyung, Yongbok, and Jisung.” The three nodded politely with soft smiles. “But to formally introduce you to the others, this is Changbin…” The shorter, muscular man offered a shy smile. “Hyunjin…” Your eyebrows raise at the incredibly handsome man as his full lips formed a smile as well. “Seungmin…”

”Nice to formally meet you.” He said with an amused grin and you nervously chuckled as you informed him likewise.

”Then there’s our maknae, Jeonginnie.” Hyunjin cooed at the youngest when he also gave a shy smile and he received a death-glare in return.

All of the men remained incredibly polite, bowing their heads when introduced and maintaining their distance. Shit, they probably already know everything about you and your situation… especially considering the fact that no one asked you who you were or why you were there.

You guessed you understood and you were actually somewhat grateful. It saved you from having to explain it yourself and relive all of the pain again…

”It’s very nice to meet you all.” You gave the men a polite smile before turning to Minho again. You were on a mission. “Minho, can I please come train with you guys?”

You could hear a pin drop with how silent the room got. “You… you want to train?” You gave a determined nod before slumping your shoulders at his shake of the head. “No. No way.”

“What?! Why?!”

”Um, I think it’s best we head out first. We will meet you there sir.” The youngest quickly relayed before walking out the front door with the other men in tow, Felix quickly retreating to some other corner of the estate.

After watching the mass leave, you fixed your glare on Minho’s resolute expression. “Not only are you not employed by me, but you also have an injured arm—“

”It could be good therapy for me! And I can even raise it horizontally now!” You demonstrated the movement with gritted teeth, trying to hide the pain, and he responded with an unimpressed visage.

“You are already receiving therapy and you would just be a liability. So, no. End of discussion.”

A liability? Ouch.

You felt anger rise up in you and you took a step near him, his features remaining stone-cold. “You… You’re a… ugh!” You couldn’t even muster up the will to call him an asshole anymore. What the fuck was WRONG with you?

With the lack of anything better to say, you furiously stomped away up to your bedroom to fume in private, but not without flipping him off the entire way there.

__________________________________________

“Knock knock, love.” Felix announced before stepping through your open doorway. It hadn’t been long since you petulantly curled up on the plush armchair by your window to angrily watch the rain outside.

Of course it would rain. Apparently fate had decided to mock you as if you were an actress in some sort of sad music video. Surely Felix would agree.

You watched with hesitancy as he held out his hand to you. “Follow me.” He said calmly with a smile. “I want to show you a new room.” You perked up at that notion. You had been running out of places to explore recently and the prospect of seeing something new was like a kid going to a playground.

You took his hand and allowed him to lead you to one of the many locked double-doors on the estate. What you saw made you gasp in awe. Bookshelves upon bookshelves lined the walls of a massive, two-storied library that was stocked to max capacity with what looked like brand new books as well as older than hell pieces of literature. All surrounding a cozy living area with couches, armchairs, and even a fireplace.

”Minho-hyung must really trust you to let me show you this. These books mean a great deal to him and many of them are extremely fragile as well.” He trusts me? You thought as you watched Felix’s eyes widen. “I-I mean Mr. Lee…”

You furrowed your brows and turned to him. “Why do you do that?” You asked and he just blinked at you with worry written on his features.

”D-do what?”

Playing dumb, are we? “That! Those other guys do it too! Why don’t you just call him Hyung? You all are obviously close. Why try to hide it?”

Felix nervously rubbed the side of his neck and looked down. “It’s not like we are trying to hide it, necessarily. We are just trained to remain professional. It’s just much harder when we are all home and much more relaxed.”

You nodded your head in understanding. “But why do you try to hide it with me? I’m not exactly here on business.” You arched your brow and he smiled sweetly.

”It…” He seemed hesitant to speak until he sighed and lowered his head. “If we keep things professional with you, it might be easier when we have to see you go…” You were taken aback. Easier? Is he saying they would miss you? Why? You were a nobody, and you were honestly kind of a bitch. No, that can’t be it.

”What do you mean by easier?”

He seemed confused by your question. “When you spend so much time with someone, it’s easy to get attached. Even the coldest heart can find warmth in someone they find trustworthy and important.”

Trustworthy? Important? You? What in the world did you do to earn those titles?

Felix must have read the disbelief on your face because he continued. “You and I have spent a lot of time together over the past months. I’ve learned a lot about you and your habits.” You blushed. He most definitely knows a lot about you. He’s seen a lot too. “I know you are a good person. I have an eye for these things.”

He winked at you and you huffed a chuckle.

“And Minho-hyung knows you are a good person too. He just has a different way of… expressing his feelings.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “No, it’s true! We discuss you and your progress often and the kind of leniency he gives you in this place is unheard of for anyone other than our circle. Even some of the house staff haven’t been allowed in some of these rooms you’ve seen.”

What on god’s green earth did you say to them to trust you? I mean, of course they can trust you. You bear no ill will toward any of them, not seriously anyway. But why do they think so? Felix could definitely see the confusion on your face when he gently placed a hand on your upper back and guided you two further into the treasure-trove of books.

“Don’t think about it too much, love. Just know that everything we do, we do out of good and pure intentions.”

You definitely thought about it too much.

__________________________________________

You were determined.

You were going to get out of that damned house, even if just for a minute, whether he liked it or not. By exploring the house, you ended up finding a board room, like true business-official type shit. A long table surrounded by office chairs and even a projector screen. And with a small tip from Felix, you knew they all happened to have a meeting that morning.

An actual business meeting. Not the one including half-naked women this time.

So, after gearing up in some serious workout attire, you marched yourself to that exact room, not even bothering to knock. You were on a mission. ”Lee Minho, I demand to be included in your training. I won’t take no for an answer!”

His were the first eyes you seeked out when you entered the room and you willed yourself to not back down.

You, then, remembered the presence of the other seven men in the room and how silent everyone had become. It was as if they thought, if they move even slightly, all hell would break loose. And by looking at Minho’s facial expression, they might have good reason to think as such.

”I. Said. NO. Now please see your way out. As you can see, we are clearly busy.” You were pissed, no, more than pissed, but you squared your shoulders.

However, before you could utter a word, Jisung spoke up. “Hyung. I think we should let her. She is obviously passionate about it.” Minho glared at his friend and then back at you. He was silent for a moment, as if he was deliberating, before speaking again.

”No.”

”FUCKING HELL, MAN! I have been sitting on my ass here for months now for a reason I’m sure everyone here already knows about—!“ You watched guilty expressions color the room. “—and now that I’m getting better, you’re not going to help me defend myself if something like that happens again?” You witnessed his eyes widen as a traitorous tear fell down your cheek. “Fuck. You. Lee Minho!”

Resilience be damned, you were itching to escape that suffocating room and the problem within it. You stormed away once more with a harsh slam of the door and a burning fire inside you fueled by hate and anger.

Fuck this.

__________________________________________

You felt a plop on the couch next to you and you jolted in place with a tiny squeak.

After the meeting room fiasco, you had been spending all of your time in the library. You were so immersed in your book that you didn’t even realize there was another presence in the room.

With a quick whip of the head and an incredulous look on your face, you watched Minho smirk next to you in amusement. “For someone who is super quick with their tongue, you sure are slow with everything else.” He chuckled as you came down from your fright and you placed a hand on your rapidly beating heart.

That motherfucker just about killed you! Well, not literally, but still! You closed your eyes to collect yourself before opening them again to glare at him.

However, instead of that same annoying smirk, his face turned into one of regret. “Shit, I’m sorry… I didn’t even think if that would make you… fuck, I didn’t—“

”It’s fine!” You quickly cut him off, knowing where he was going with that statement. “I-I’m fine… you just startled me a bit.” You calmly placed your bookmark before turning back to him with narrowed eyes. He looked a bit more relieved.

”Still, I need to be more… considerate.” He looked down at his hands, avoiding your eyes. “In more ways than one…” You furrowed your brows in suspicion before he returned your gaze once more. “I’ve thought about it a lot and I realized that I haven’t necessarily been easy on you throughout all of this. I might have played a part in helping you physically, but I didn’t consider how this would all affect you mentally.”

You were speechless. Was this the same man? He’s actually being… remorseful…

“So, yeah. Sorry about all that…” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck while averting his eyes. He clearly wasn’t used to apologizing so much. “I, um… I wanted to ask you if we could, like, start over?”

You had never seen the man fumble so much since meeting him and it was quite a refreshing sight. “Why? Are you about to drop another ridiculous rule on me and you’re just saying this to lessen the blow?” You huffed a bitter chuckle.

You could see his temper start to rise before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m saying this…” There was a slight edge to his voice before he opened his eyes again with a much more gentle demeanor. “—because I am tired of us butting heads.” He slumped into the backrest and you arched a brow. “And also because you were right.”

Okay. Something is seriously wrong.

”I thought it would be dangerous for you to train with professionals and be subjected to a room full of random men.” He limply turned his head your way while remaining melted into the cushions. “And yes, there will be other men there. All of my subordinates use this training center. It’s one of my most used gyms for my… industry.”

You scoffed. “Pft. ‘Industry’” You mocked with finger quotations.

He smirked. “Yes. Industry.” His face gradually returned to a more serious disposition. “There is also the matter of secrecy.” You nodded your head. Yeah, that made sense considering his occupation, but who were you going to tell? “Not saying I don’t trust you—“

”Why do you trust me?” You blurted, the question still buzzing around in your mind like an annoying pest. He furrowed his brows as if he didn’t understand. You continued. “Like, yeah, I get why you saved me now and all, but why do you trust ME?”

His brow slightly softened and he cleared his throat. “Y-you have given me no reason not to trust you. Why? Did you do something?” He said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “No, asshole. It’s obvious to me that you should trust me, but you’re just going to take my word for it? You must be a really shitty spy.” He guffawed loudly, sitting up with a bright grin as he seemed like himself again.

”You haven’t seen what I can do, Tinkerbell.” You rolled your eyes, but you did find the notion intriguing.

”Oh yeah? What can you do?” You could see a spark light up in his eyes as he stared into your own and you had to gulp down the saliva that pooled in your mouth from the sight.

”Well…” He shifted to face you, elbow now propped up on the back of the couch. “You’ll get to see some of it when we train you.”

You felt your heart jolt. “When you train me?” You felt the corners of your mouth slowly lifting and his followed right behind.

”We leave at noon. Unless you’ve changed your mind?” He mused.

”No! No, I want to!” You looked at the clock. 11:30. Shit, he couldn’t have told you a little sooner? You sprang to your feet and he stood as well. “Just let me go change and I’ll meet you in the foyer.”

He just gave you a brief nod before turning on his heel and leaving you giddily buzzing in your skin.

__________________________________________

Somehow, you had plenty of options to choose from, but you opted for a simple T-shirt and joggers. Not the cutest, but who were you trying to impress?

A vision of Minho flashed in your mind and you reeled from the thought. Ugh. Why did my head think of HIM? In fact, why were you thinking so much about him in the first place? You chalked it up to it being from interacting more frequently nowadays. Yes. That must be it. You resolutely threw on a hoodie over your shirt and marched your way to the foyer.

“You ready? It won’t be easy.” He said from where he was leaned up against the staircase banister. You took in the sight of his workout attire, not really taking the time to fully appreciate it until now.

He wore a loose pair of sweatpants and an airy tank top that allowed you to gaze at his intricate sleeve of tattoos once more. He would almost look human if he hadn’t been blessed with his other-worldly beauty.

You blinked away the thoughts and gave a firm nod to him in response. “I don’t want easy. I want effective.”

He smirked and stood up straight when you approached. “We’ll see soon how confident you are in that statement.” You glared and he gestured his head. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Instead of heading out the front, he made his way further into the house. You furrowed your brows. “Where are the other guys? And where are you going?”

”Tsk. So many questions!” He mused and grinned at your responding scowl. “The guys are already there and, as to where we are going…” He stepped up to a large door located in the next room and opened the door for you to enter first, your face surely gawking at the luxury. You heard a chuckle from behind you. “Your reactions are always so adorable.” He smoothly teased.

EXCUSE ME?!

You whipped around and glared at him as he just continued walking past you. “Now…” He turned back to face you again. “Which one do you want to take?” He said plainly as he gestured to the plethora of extremely expensive cars.

The garage definitely looked like it belonged in a spy movie, but you were stumped. He said he was like a spy. Not a spy. Like a spy. You were still racking your brain as to what that meant.

Your eyes grazed over the fancy marble interior of the museum-like garage and the cars on display. How can someone have this much disposable income?

You didn’t know the first thing about cars, why did you have to pick?

When you just pointed to some random car, he raised his brows. “Really? The Rolls Royce?”

“Well, shit I dunno! Why do I need to pick? You obviously know more than I do when it comes to this!”

He cackled and led you closer to your chosen car. “Oh, I know waaay more than you, Tink.” You grumbled and he chuckled as he opened the door for you, letting you slide into the disgustingly luxurious vehicle.

”Why do you even have all of these cars? Don’t you have someone else to drive you?” He donned a cocky half-grin when he slipped into the driver seat.

”Sure, when I’m on business I do. But we are just going to train.”

In the blink of an eye, his face was directly in front of yours as he reached across you, eyes fixed on your seatbelt strap as he grasped the material. As soon as he stretched it across your body, he seemed to notice your surprise.

He froze, blinked at you rapidly, then quickly averted his gaze back down to the strap to buckle you in. He cleared his throat and gulped before starting the car. “Plus…” He added with a slightly strained voice. “It’s not nearly as fun riding as it is driving.”

__________________________________________

“Was the bag seriously necessary? Who would I even tell?!” You seethed as you threw the black, silky fabric at him.

Before you two even left the driveway, he forced you to shove your head in a stupid black hood so you “couldn’t know the location” once you left the estate later. You told him that it was unnecessary and stupid, but the man insisted.

You ripped the damned thing off as soon as he put the car in park.

”Have you forgotten what I told you? About my work? Why are you surprised with the secrecy?” He explained calm and composed as he discarded the bag in the car again.

”Well then blindfold me next time! I could barely breathe!” You were over exaggerating, of course. That material was extremely airy and breathable, you just wanted to feel superior to such treatment.

”Well excuse me, your highness…” He rolled his eyes as he pulled out his keys and walked up to the door of a large, nondescript, concrete building. Unlocking and opening the door for you, he gave you an exaggerated bow.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you passed the threshold, and marched into what looked like a massive gym complex of some sort.

However, the entire building was devoid of life. Of course that’s not including the seven familiar figures you saw fighting on the far end of the room. ”I thought you said all of your employees train here?” You said with an arched brow.

Minho passed you with a shrug. “Not today they don’t.” Well that answered nothing…

”Hey there, girly! Ready to get that blood pumping?”

”Calm down, Changbin. She is still going through therapy, remember?” Dr. Chris told the younger muscle man from where he was doing crazy heavy deadlifts off to the side.

”I know, I know, grandpa.” Changbin smirked at the doctor’s glare. “But just remember: ‘What hurts today makes you stronger tomorrow.’”

The other men groaned in tandem and you found yourself slightly smiling. “That’s a great motivational outlook, Changbin.” You said to the group as you watched Changbin’s face light up.

”Okay, enough, enough.” Minho declared. “Today’s training is obviously a bit different than usual.” He gestured vaguely at you. “We have a base level trainee and she needs to be trained from ground zero.” He gave you a side-eye and a cocky smirk. “Maybe even lower than that…”

”Hey!” You made a move to give him a lighthearted shove, and then was immediately reminded of what happened last time as his hand shot to your wrist to stop the action. You tried to free yourself, but his grip was like stone. “Let me go, asshole!”

”Make me.” He said as he suddenly faced you, pulling you closer. “Come on, show me. What would you do if you wanted to be released?”

You didn’t have an answer for him. Any move you could possibly make would be caught by his cat-like reflexes. You just challenged him with your eyes before his own softened, along with his grip on your wrist.

Just as your wrist was released he gave you a couple pats on the head. “Don’t worry Tinkerbell. I’m sure you will figure it out eventually.” You just about growled at him as he walked over to stand by Chris who was now seated on a bench nearby. “Channie-hyung and I are just here to observe and critique ALL of you, so do your best.” The man made an annoyed expression and waved the back of his hand in front of him. “Well? Get on with it!”

With that, you found yourself surrounded by six (frankly gorgeous) men looming over you.

“Hey! Back off! Don’t all go at her at once! I said ground zero you pabos!” Minho shouted from the sidelines before the others retreated and Changbin stepped in front of you.

”Calm down, Minho. This is what I’m here for.” You breathed in a resolute huff and nodded at Changbin. “I’m ready.”

__________________________________________

“Watch out for her arm!”

…

”Don’t actually try to hurt her, idiot!”

…

”That’s too rough!”

…

The entire training session Minho had shouted at each and every one of the men trying to teach me at least once and it was growing tiresome. “Why even let me train if I can’t even, I dunno, actually train???” You grumbled at the stubborn man as the group was taking a break. “I have legitimately learned nothing with the parameters you have set!”

”For real, hyung. You aren’t letting her show her full potential. She needs—“

Minho instantly cut Changbin off. “I will decide what is needed and I think that it would be better for her to just watch for now. It’s obvious that she is not ready.”

”WHA—?” You squealed with widened eyes and a disbelieving expression.

”Actually, I think she is doing quite well in her recovery…” Dr. Chris stated matter-of-factly where he stood next to the other six men drenched in sweat.

You watched Minho slowly turn his murderous expression to the doctor, but you stepped into his line of sight before he had the chance to retaliate. “Please let me continue… I promise I will take it easy, I just…” You looked down at your restless hands before returning your gaze to his blackened irises. “This is just really important to me…”

You watched as the man’s face minutely softened and glanced at the seven men around you that also awaited his instruction.

”Please?” You implored, not used to such pleading from your end. His eyes darted back to you before he moved to rub his temples with a sigh.

“Fine.” He groaned. “But base-line self defense only. We can move on to more advanced training once you have recovered a bit more.”

You don’t know why you felt such relief come over you. Maybe it was the satisfaction of even marginally getting through to him, but you let a wide grin escape as your body involuntarily moved to hug the man.

What the fuck?

Just as quickly as you embraced the man, you retreated just as fast with furiously heated cheeks. Why in the world did you do that? You were FAR from hugging terms with him! He probably just about shot you in the head from the unexpected touch!

However, you couldn’t help but notice the citrus and sandalwood scent emanating from his solid, warm body. His skin felt like flames against yours and you welcomed the heat. It didn’t last long, but the simple contact with him made your blood boil and quickly reddened your entire face.

When you pulled back and cleared your throat, you witnessed a millisecond of bewilderment on his stone-cold face before it was immediately schooled back into place (but that did nothing to cover up his bright red ears). “Th-thank you.” You mumbled before you escaped to the water fountain that was, blessedly, on the other side of the room. Never mind the fact you had a water bottle already with you by the group…

__________________________________________

By the time you and the rest of the boys finished (which was a very productive start if you do say so yourself), Minho had informed he was called in for an unexpected ‘business meeting’ across town and that training would finish early for the day as he needed to take a couple of his men with him.

You were a bit disappointed, but at least you got to do something. Which was more than you expected honestly.

As you requested, you were blindfolded for the car ride back instead of the stifling bag he donned you with on the way there, but you rode back with only five of his men instead.

You could feel all of their eyes on you as you rode in silence. Jeongin drove the unnecessarily expensive limousine, Changbin, and Hyunjin sat across from you, and Felix and Chan bracketed you on each side.

The silence was even more suffocating than the bag you wore earlier as you felt yourself start to become antsy. “For the love of god, please someone say something! I feel like I’m an exhibit in a museum right now.” You whined and buried your face in your hands (even though you couldn’t see anything anyway).

”And what a lovely piece of art you are, darling~” Hyunjin lilted before you heard a slap of skin and an over dramatic squawk from said man.

”Yah! Don’t be a creep!” You heard Changbin exclaim as the precious Felix giggled next to you.

”It was supposed to be a compliment!” You heard someone click their tongue before Chan decided to speak up.

”It’s interesting isn’t it…” He commanded the whole group’s attention with practiced ease and you quickly realized the hidden influence this man had over the lot of them. Which would make sense due to the fact that the doctor had probably saved most of, if not all of their lives at some point in time. “I haven’t seen or heard of Minho ever taking it easy on a trainee before… Most of them have to come see me even after their first session with him.”

”For real though, the man is ruthless with everyone else! He will even push them through the pain of broken bones!” Hyunjin exclaimed incredulously.

”He wants to make sure they are prepared through anything, even excruciating pain.” Jeongin stated simply from the driver’s seat.

Holy shit, these guys are no joke! “What the fuck? Why can’t he do the same with me?!” The entire car went dead silent in response. You could feel the annoyance creep into your bones. “Is it because I’m a girl? Seriously?!”

You heard Felix scoff next to you. “As if.” He sputtered in amusement. “The female trainees are some of the toughest among all of us.”

Then why?

”Maybe he just has a soft spot for you…” You heard Hyunjin mumble and you outright cackled at that one.

”Are you kidding?! Have you seen the way he treats me??” You question with an incredulous chuckle.

“You never knooow~” Hyunjin stated with a teasing lilt to his voice before you heard another smack.

And before another word could be said, your blindfold was removed and you were ushered into the estate once more.

A soft spot? What a joke.

__________________________________________

I hope you guys are happy with the turn-around. 😏

I’ve missed you all so dearly and I apologize for the wait. 🥺 I would say that the next part will come out sooner, but I don’t want to guarantee that if life decides to fuck with me some more. 🙃

As always, please like, follow, and share!

Thanks baby Stays! Love you and missed you guys! 💋😽💋

And of course my squad and tag list:

@lyramundana

@channieandhisgoonsquad

@moonlightndaydreams

@queenmea604

@sweetracha

@rylea08

@maknaeswrld

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

[konigsblog]

please write kidnapper könig + noncon and degradation

TW/CW; NON-CON, DEGRADATION, KIDNAPPING. DARK FICTION. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. MDNI 18+

Kidnapper-König attempts to stay calm and relaxed, especially with your constant, loud sobbing, your screams for someone to save you.

He understands that you're in such a vulnerable state, snatched away from society and locked away in the chamber downstairs for his own use and enjoyment, for him to love and dote on. He can see how mortified and frightened you are at his presence, how you avoid his sweet, lustful touch and squirm through disgust and displeasure when he continues to grope you for his own sick benefit.

He's eerily quiet, only the sound of heavy breathing coming from the man towering above you, smiling at you in a perverse way that leaves your bottom lip quivering. His watchful and protective gaze doesn't falter, he has security cameras installed inside the basement to eye you up and jerk himself off to the sight of your fear, riling himself up with his fantasies and the way he yearns for control. Something about raping his sweet victim entices König, encourages him until he can't control his frustration and resist the need to claim ownership over his captive.

“Quit your crying, Liebling. I know for a fact you can take this. Now, hush and obey.” König grinds his teeth together at your behaviour, how you wriggle through the splitting agony between your soft legs.

Your hands are pinned down to the metal table, your legs dangling off and pressed to your chest, with a ball gag silencing your loud squeals and pleas. The blood running down your thighs stains his hands, and although shame leaves König horrified as he brutalises his sweet girl, he can't control himself. His thrusts only quicken, with his swollen and bulbous cock swelling inside of your pussy, sore cunt. Arousal leaves König's core tight as he feels himself lose control inside of the warmth of your little pussy, ignoring how glossy your loveable eyes have become from his cruelty.

You can feel the tip press against your sweet spot, causing moans to flow from your mouth loudly. Shame fills you, disgust and guilt leaves you overwhelmed. Feeling aroused by your assault leaves your stomach churning, nausea leaving you light-headed, the blinding light above you worsening your throbbing headache. He runs his soft lips down your neck, licking up your jaw to your eye, cleaning your face from your tears. His teeth nip your bare skin, staining it with his sinful and lewd touch.

Truthfully, König hates seeing you in so much pain, but the sight of your terror arouses him in shameful, taboo ways he can't explain.

“Take every inch. I know your pussy can take it, even if you hate every second of it.”

[minotaurs-my-beloved]

I used to think mermen are cute and harmless, a bit like Disney till one day I tried being too friendly to them. One of them realized how dumb I am and proceeded to roughly rape me. Could you elaborate on that please?

Course babes, sorry this has taken me a bit<3

TW: Noncon and eggpreg, (I assume since he's part fish so there would be eggs right?)

You had always been fascinated by mermaids. Growing up, mermaids in movies and other media were always seen as kind, adventurous creatures.

You would soon learn this couldn't be further from the truth.

You went out swimming in a cove, hoping to find the mermaids that are said to live there. And find them you did, your childhood obsession now kicked into overdrive you try to reach out to them, attempting to be friends. And very slowly, it worked. It was never a close friendship, but they answered your questions and didn't attack, which to you, was all that mattered.

There's one in particular that took a special interest in you, Ænon. He seems real nice, I mean sure, he may smile a bit too wide, when he looks at you it feels as though he's looking through you, and you don't think you've seen him blink once. But he's not human, so that has to be why!

You two start getting closer and you stop treating him with caution. You even let him take you places alone, which is where you were right now, in a secluded cave. Completely reverting back to seeing him as you did mermaids when you were younger, cute and harmless.

That is, till he decides he wants you.

You refuse his advances, telling him your relationship isn't like that, that you only see him as a friend, but that only serves to anger him. He grabs you and holds you against the side of the cave, you try to push him off but it takes a huge toll on your energy to both keep yourself afloat and hit him. He knows that you're at a massive disadvantage and just waits, unflinching, for you to tire yourself out, staring at you with those predatory eyes.

Eventually, you do just that. Panting, your arms get weaker and slower, it's so hard to keep fighting. He grins at your state,

"You gonna listen to me now? Poor baby, you put up such a good fight." He mocks, tilting his head and pushing his bottom lip out slightly as he pins your wrists to the wall.

He doesn't give you time to respond before tearing off your swimsuit and shoving his mouth on yours, drowning any words you wanted to say with his tongue. As much as your mind is screaming at you to kick him off, you can't find the energy to do so, resigning yourself to whatever fate he has in store waiting for you. Feeling his slimy, wet cock invade your cunt you can do nothing to stop him, squeezing your eyes shut so you won't have to look at him.

You resort to begging but that only spurs him on further, feeling his cock twitch with every, "please! stop!" that flows out of your lips. He finally finishes by flooding your womb with his eggs, growling in your ear that you're his and he'll do whatever he wants to you.

[mugloversonly]

This was really good!

Whatever you want it to be - completed

My @subeddieweek fic

👉 AO3 Link

Summary:

Steve, who has just ripped through the tape binding his wrists in an impressive feat of strength, freezes mid movement. His nostrils flare and Eddie can practically see the moment it clicks for him, even before his eyes flick down.

“Wait a second,” he mutters, and then his eyes are back on Eddie’s face, wide and panicked and disbelieving. “You are-”

“Pretty fucking hot when tied up?” Eddie rasps around an aching jaw, voice still hoarse with misuse. “Why, gee, who knew you were into that kinda stuff, Harrington?”

“Stop joking, that’s not what I meant!”

The command is sharp, and Eddie finds his jaw clenching shut against his conscious will. A red-hot flush is crawling up Steve's neck, but his face is full of serious concern.

“You're in heat,” he murmurs.

---

Or: The one where Eddie goes into a drug-enduced heat courtesy of Jason Carver and his goons and Steve saves him. (And then they fuck about it.)

Tags:

[theredofoctober]

The Sand Violet: A Fallout Dark Fic

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Mute Female Reader fic

Synopisis: The Ghoul known as Cooper Howard kidnaps Reader in an attempt to sell her for medicine. When she escapes and humiliates him he has his revenge.

The Reader insert is female and mute. Other features not described

TW and CW: noncon/rape, violence, death, cannibalism

Words: 6,899

Read after the cut ✂️

It’s quiet in Filly, or as quiet as it gets, the afternoon so hot as to bake the earth dark and to drive its milling residents back indoors.

Store holders draw their shutters down against the sun and crouch, noiseless with exhaustion, over whatever toil pays their way in the world.

Dogs loll snoring in doorways, and bartenders find themselves elbowing old punters aside to serve the new and many stumbling in to wet their mouths and take refuge from the warm.

You and your husband, Gray, idle in one of several junk shops in town, having little else to do until the heatwave dwindles into night.

A thick-shouldered man sits drowsily at the front desk, squinting as you traipse about his wares for your fourth or fifth rotation of the room.

“Clear out if you ain’t tradin’,” he mutters, but as you loiter with stubborn aversion to the sucking heat beyond his doorstep the man does not rise to chase you out.

Gray lays a gentle hand on the crook of your arm.

“Let’s go pretend to be interested in that thing over there,” he murmurs. “Keep the old guy happy.”

Talking Gray’s elbow, you obey, looking at his turned, freckled cheek with a want to kiss it. You’re as in love as two people can be in such times, and though the days are hard and the nights harder still, with Gray they do not feel so.

You sleep rough in sand dunes together, eat canned fruit with one spoon between you over fires you put out before the radroaches come.

Tonight you’ll find a bar and drink with what stray caps you’ve each left in your satchels, and later lie as one until the sun scrapes the night away, still tasting the rum on one another’s breath.

Or so it would have been, had fate not cracked a backhand blow across your hopeful faces.

The junkshop door bangs open against the wall, setting its bells thrashing in an angry fairy chorus. As a mean silhouette moves into the light like an eye gouged from the face of God Gray steps ahead of you by instinct, his right hand grazing the knife at his belt.

“Ah, shit,” says the shopkeeper, half-rising from his seat. “You ain’t allowed in here.”

“Says who?” drawls the stranger, kicking the door shut behind him. “I know you ain’t about to get your ass up and stop me, Davey, else the taste of lead’s startin’ to sound mighty flavoursome to you.”

Davey sits down slowly, his broad face wincing and resigned.

The newcomer is a hairless man in an ancient cowboy hat and a coat whose tatters trail, wisp-like, at the spurs of his boots. His face is like that of a red moon, sunken and cratered, and without a nose to speak of, his skull gleaming with the scars of some ancient burn.

A ghoul.

You know of such creatures, so changed by radiation that some no longer think them men, though they are human, still, for all their deviance from that race.

The stranger’s dark eyes switch the store with a slow calculation, dismissing its contents before turning at last to Gray and to your shielded figure behind him.

“I heard there was two Vaulties in town,” says the Ghoul. “And lucky me: I just happened upon them.”

“We’re not Vault Dwellers,” Gray says, curtly. “Not anymore.”

Six months ago he’d gotten into a fight with another man he’d perceived to have disrespected you, and had been turned out of the Vault on that account. You had followed, seeing no life there without your husband, though you knew little then of what lay beyond.

Quickly you and Gray had learned the way of the wastes, casting much of what softness you’d had aside but that which you held for one another.

Evidently it is not enough, for the Ghoul looks at your husband with a grin full of sly yellow teeth.

“Hell, look at you,” he says. “Those hands of yours are as tender as a new-born’s. Once a Vaultie, always a Vaultie. You ain’t built to step outside those fish tanks you lock yourselves up in.”

The Ghoul turns to peer at you, his eyes narrowed to earthen slits as Gray pushes you further behind him.

“What do you want with us, anyway?” Gray asks. “We’re just minding our business trying to live up here, same as anybody else.”

Sneering, the Ghoul says, “Yeah, well, let’s see how long that lasts. Now who’s this shrinkin' violet you’re trying so damn hard to hide from me?”

He shunts Gray aside with one rude shoulder and stands over you, eyeing you up and down as he might a saloon whore, his hands resting at his belt.

You’re glad of the cotton dress that covers you from throat to boot top, allowing him nothing of the skin that restless stare likely seeks.

“Now, ain’t you pretty,” says the Ghoul. “What’s your name, sugar?”

Trembling with anger, Gray says, “Leave her alone.”

The Ghoul shifts his jaw in an irritable motion.

“I ain’t talkin’ to you, kid. I’m askin’ her.”

“She can’t talk,” says Gray, and you nod at the Ghoul, who tips his hat back from the crenellation of his brow in mock surprise.

“That so?”

With a trembling hand you sign, yes.

“Sorry, sweetie, I don’t speak your language.”

“She’s mute,” says Gray, quietly. “Has been since she was a baby.”

You echo the statement with cradled arms, and the Ghoul’s head tilts aside like a jackal watching a man die at some lofty distance.

“So you’re tellin’ me this beautiful lady right here can’t make no noise?” he asks, slowly. “Well, ain’t that convenient. See, I’m lookin’ to make some easy money, and as it so happens there’s a whole lot of folks chompin’ at the bit to buy a woman of just that description.”

The Ghoul seizes you by the arms with a motion so sudden that you do not protest, only stumble against him, feeling a sash of bullets like some torn out length of spinal cord upon your own.

“You’re comin’ along with me, darlin’,” says the Ghoul. “Hope you don’t mind.”

His breath is hot against your ear, smelling of cigarettes and some strange chemical.

“You’re not taking her anywhere!” snaps Gray, his lean frame tense with fury. “That’s my wife!”

The Ghoul looks sideways at him, his narrow lips upturned.

“Not no more she ain’t.”

Gray pulls his knife from his belt and lunges forwards, halting only at the raised snout of a gun protruding from the Ghoul’s calm grip.

Davey stands up once more, yelling and waving one arm ineffectually.

“Hey now! Hey now!”

Caught up between two men you find yourself oddly collected, as though by desperation fear has made you the sole point of calm.

Perhaps the Ghoul feels the racket of your heart against your bones; it does not matter. You cannot allow Gray to know it beats so, nor to bound, reckless, into a bullet on your behalf

Looking into the jailhouse madness of your husband’s eyes, you sign, I’ll go with him. I’ll get away. I’ll find you. I love you.

Gray flinches, and sheathing his knife, he says hoarsely, “She says she’ll travel with you. Don’t let her get hurt.”

Davey drops to his seat in palpable relief, a single vein writhing like an albino snake along his forehead.

The Ghoul tucks his gun away with a satisfied ease, his other arm still clamping you to him.

“Oh, I won’t let a soul leave a scratch on her,” he says. “’Cause if they did she wouldn’t be worth shit to me.”

He twists you ahead of him, nudging your ankle with the toe of his boot.

“Come on, Violet,” he says, as you attempt to look back at Gray over your shoulder. “We got places to be.”

As he propels you out of the store you hear Davey half-whisper, “What hell were you thinkin' pullin' a knife on him, kid? That’s Cooper Howard, for fuck’s sake.”

The Ghoul pauses abruptly, as though jerking from the dream of some sunken childhood horror.

“Ain’t gone by that name in years,” he says, gruffly. “Don’t you go raisin’ the dead.”

Then he jostles you onwards, and the sound of his spurs and the closing door become the same funeral song.

*

The Ghoul directs you through the town into a quarter of parched woodland, his gun trained lazily at your back. He speaks little, only snapping occasionally at your unrushed pace, which through dull spite you’ve no interest to change.

The shock of your abduction morphs into a watchful cunning in which you await your moment to revolt, your silence lending greatly to the effect of submission.

Still, you are not trusted to fall behind or even aside of your ruthless captor. The Ghoul has likely walked a hundred cringing hostages to their demise at organ shops or dens of ill repute, and from those journeys knows what tricks he might expect from even so pliant a charge.

In time you’re driven on into desert terrain that goes on unbroken for miles, the afternoon heat crushing strength and moisture from you like the blood of some small animal mercy-killed beneath a stone.

That land, as you have glimpsed before, is wrought of death and casual evil.

You see one man dragging another on a leash, the latter’s knees worn through to the bone from crawling so long in the wastes.

You see ferals beheaded and lashed to sun-bleached fences, only letters marked by stones in the earth denoting what, in life, they’d been.

You see a pack of dogs eating a woman’s entrails in the remains of an old shack, one of which raises its head to watch you pass with one viscous eye like the orb of some addled sorceress.

The Ghoul observes all with the same grim cynicism, smirking occasionally, as though gleaning something blackly comic from this show of ugliness.

He only stops when the sun collides with the skyline, setting up camp in what remains of an old gas station.

You loiter by an old pump, thinking that to run or to attack the Ghoul outright would not end in your favour.

Rising from his work, The Ghoul says, “Come here, darlin’. Let’s see if you have any weapons on you.”

You shake your head, thinking of the knife in your boot and the others in your satchel as the last thread by which you might escape.

Please, you sign. I need them.

The Ghoul strides across the camp and outstretches a leather clad palm.

“Hand ‘em over or I’ll pat you down and take ‘em myself. You’ll be waitin’ for the chance to gut me in my sleep. I ain’t takin' no chances with you, sweetie. “

When you hold back he snatches a handful of your dress and begins a rough search of your body, feeling you all over from breasts to groin with a scowl on his wizened lips.

It’s only when he raises your skirt to retrieve the bowie knife from the back of your boot that something of ordinary male desire crosses his face, his stare crawling the smooth plane of your calf.

He does not touch it, though from the stillness of his observation you perceive that he would like to.

“Gimme that satchel,” says the Ghoul, gruffly. “Let’s see what you got in there.”

He rifles through tinned food and RadAway until he finds the three blades sewn into the lining of your bag.

“That’s one hell of an artillery, Violet. You know how to use all this?”

You nod shortly.

“Well, at least that’s somethin’,” says the Ghoul, and he dumps the open bag into the earth. “Pays to know how to survive in this place.”

Producing a length of rope from somewhere under his coat he takes hold of your wrists and binds them, ignoring your mouthed words of dismay.

“I’ve seen you eyein' that desert,” he says, “tryin’ to figure out if you can slip past me. You might not talk, but your face sure does a lot of yappin’ for you.”

Satisfied with the knot, The Ghoul sits on an upturned barrel and hefts a flask of water to his mouth. Your cracked tongue pushes forth in hopeless want of moisture, watching beads of it run in a careless spill upon his chin.

Catching your eye, the Ghoul says, “Want somethin', Vaultie?”

With knotted hands you gesture to the flask. Sneering, the Ghoul takes another noisy mouthful of water and pours the rest onto a grimy rag with which he wipes his face, a waste of precious contraband.

You turn away, refusing him your despair.

“Here, sweetie,” says The Ghoul, gesturing the sopping fabric. “You want water? Come get what’s left of this.”

Still you do not look at him, attempting not to think of the liquid falling drop by silver drop upon the sand.

The Ghoul scoffs.

“Think you’re too good for it, huh? Well, you ain’t gettin’ anythin’ else all night. Maybe not tomorrow, neither. So come on, Violet. Drink while you can.”

He tugs the rope cuffing your wrists until you’re forced to your knees and holds the cloth to your lips, allowing the water to drip between them. Thirst awakened, you snatch a corner of the scrap in your teeth and suck the fabric dry, aware of the Ghoul’s eyes upon you.

“Now ain’t that a pretty sight,” he says. “Just for that I’ll give you a little more.”

He takes the flask from your own bag and again soaks the filthy cloth. This time you rip it from his hand and squeeze its contents down your throat with knotted hands as though pulping some browned fruit.

“You got spirit, Vaultie,” says the Ghoul, drying his hands on his coat. “I can see you ain’t gonna be easy to tame. But I’ve had dogs before. You ain’t no different.”

Snatching the cloth back, he shoves you into the dirt with a boot squared to your chest.

“See, I told that husband of yours I wouldn’t let you get hurt, but that don’t stop me teachin’ you a lesson, sweetheart. Just as long as I don’t leave a mark on you your value won’t shift a dime.”

You lie on your side, breathless and hateful, watching through half-open eyes as the Ghoul slouches nearby to settle in for the night.

“Get some shut-eye, Violet,” he says. “We got another day or so of walkin' ahead of us.”

You keep sentinel for hours, not trusting his appearance of sleep. Once, when you inch away from the Ghoul across camp, the rope at your wrists is tugged smartly taut as he reels you in across the sand.

“Stay close,” he says, opening one eye to squint at you through the dark. “I ain’t riskin’ somethin’ eatin’ you out here. What the fuck would I sell then?”

*

You awake to the Ghoul’s hand on your shoulder, turning you onto your back as though to identify a cadaver. From the luggage draped on his shoulder you guess he’s keen to leave, compelled by some urgency not yet detailed.

“You hungry?” he asks. “I ain’t openin’ the cans till we need ‘em, but I’ve do have this.”

You glance at the strips of dehydrated meat hung from his bag and shake your head, thinking how easily it might be the flesh of a man, being that the eating of them in the wastes is not uncommon.

“Don’t say I never offered,” says the Ghoul. “I’d wager you’ll be beggin’ for it in a couple of hours.”

As he pulls you to your feet you reach towards him with your wrists, mouthing a plea to be released.

“Now, you know I can’t do that, sunshine,” says the Ghoul, not without humour. “I must have heard that one a hundred times.”

Just one. Please.

The cowboy hums under his breath, thumbing the knot that joins your arms in a display of consideration.

“What do you need a hand for, Violet?”

You shift in discomfort, and to your relief the Ghoul gets the message.

“Alright. You get two minutes to do your business. Then we’re on the road.”

Slipping your dominant hand free of the lasso he turns in the other direction, whistling as you squat in the dirt. You’re coldly surprised that he allows you this dignity.

Once both arms are unified by the rope the Ghoul nudges you before him into the desert again, uncaring of the limp you’ve developed in your fatigue.

On your way you pass a church, repaired after the bomb by some follower of that old religion, or else inherited by the new.

Beyond it lies a boneyard, brittle skeletons set up like headstones across the plane.

There are wandering salesmen naming their wares in croaking shouts as they wheel forth shopping carts before them. There are hardened men and women the Ghoul claims are bandits, firing warning shots before they get close enough to attack.

“They’d eat you up, doll,” he drawls, cleaning off his gun. “Right down to those pretty white bones.”

You cross paths with groups of whores who lift their low-cut dresses and holler at your captor, who tips his hat, but otherwise ignores their attempts to woo him. Families stagger along with children whose faces are like rotting taxidermy, mutated, or else merely warped by whatever horrors they’ve encountered on their endless walk.

At the bottom of a sloping dune you come across the remnants of a massacre, bodies cut down into gelatinous morsels afloat on a lake of blood. When you halt, trembling, at its edges the Ghoul spits at your feet.

“What’s the matter, Vaultie? Don’t you know your Great-Great-Grandpappy and Grandmamma had a hand in making the world the way it is? Your ancestors didn’t give two shits what happened to the rest of us. That blood’s on your hands, darlin’.”

You stare at him without comprehension, thinking how closely his visage resembles the dead.

Suddenly the Ghoul bends over in the throes of a coughing fit, one hand scrabbling in his bag for a vial of liquid he decants into his mouth with a feverish need. He stoops, gasping, for some time, his lashes fluttering helplessly.

As you stare on it occurs to you that you know of this illness, the thing that chars the minds of ghouls away with its dread madness.

It makes Cooper weak, and thus you know what you must watch for in him to slip his hold.

*

That night, camped out beneath a blasted tree, the Ghoul coughs again, a wheeze like that of some punctured machine at work. As he falls sideways, his hands spidering for his pack, you see the precious bottles of elixir skid across the dirt out of his reach.

Starving, half-crazed with tiredness and thirst, you drag yourself up with aid of the tree and approach the Ghoul, watching his face upturn in desolate recognition of what you mean to do.

First you snatch the bags from him, finding a knife to cut your tethers. You spread your hands, gasping at their stiffness as you roll the joints.

Being untrained in the use of firearms you carry his gun to a patch of scrub and throw it amidst the foliage, far from sight. If he turns feral he will not think of it; if he survives the fit it will at least take him time to recover.

The Ghoul’s eyes prod your back with bleak resentment as you work.

Returning to the fallen man, you point your boot at the three glass bottles left of his supply.

You want them? You sign.

The Ghoul nods; you see that he expects nothing, and that lends you a cruel edge of power.

Taking care to look into his browless gaze you raise one boot and smash the vials beneath it, letting their contents leech away into the sand. Still the Ghoul inches forward in an attempt to lick it from the dirt, forgoing his dignity in the face of survival, as is surely his habit.

You draw back a foot and kick sand into his raddled face, burying the last of his medicine in its spray.

Fuck you, you tell him. You son of a bitch.

Then you turn and begin the long walk back to Filly, and to Gray.

*

You march, bow-legged with muscle cramp and blistered ankles, both day and night, pausing only to take your RadAway or drink from the flasks the Ghoul had filled at a well the day before. The dried meat you devour in segments, knowing that you must make your food stock last, or else starve before you reach civilisation.

You no longer care where the strips came from, or tell yourself that you do not. Guilt will inhibit your survival, and you’ve seen enough of the land to acknowledge that all men here are for themselves.

On the second day of solitary travel you are followed by a grinning stranger attracted to your stumbling vulnerability. He whispers as though to a lost love as he shadows you, licking at his mouth with his cracked tongue, one hand in his pocket, upon his cock or a blade, their end all the same to you.

You have not killed before, but from what you’ve known in your six months beyond the Vault you are sure in your knife hand as you turn on him and slit his throat. It is as though some sun burned doppelganger commits the act, so little do you feel as he stills, gargling, in the earth.

Only later, taking rest in a rundown cabin, do you look at your killing arm and wonder that it has taken you so long in the desert to have spilt your first blood. You are not sorry for the stranger, knowing from his mutterings what he would have done with you beneath him.

Still, you feel yourself altered, knighted by death as its champion.

In the morning the man’s body is gone, dragged away from the road by animals, or else by people so like them that their differences are irrelevant.

You begin to ask passers-by if they have seen your husband, all of which shake their heads, or send you on false leads that weary you to the point of sickness in their length.

There is no doubt that Gray would have followed you here; his overzealous sense of morality would not abide the notion of remaining behind. Yet there seems no trace of him in this thankless land, and through your savage tutelage in its ways you doubt that you will find him.

The miles are eaten by your splitting boots, and yet more come, as though in some sequence from nightmare they will never conclude, only expand into a formless frontier. You’re in such pain from walking that you can think of nothing but its grip upon you, raising one foot after the other only through the terror that in resting you may never rise again.

It’s afternoon when you come upon the old church once more, pale as a dead tooth in the gum of the horizon. You lope towards the double doors and knock, hankering after the cool shade within.

An elderly man answers, peering out at you without expression. There is a gun in his hand, aimed in a discreet fashion at your stomach.

Raising your palms, you mouth, Safe. I need shelter.

The old man lowers his gun without apology.

“I see. Come on in, sister. I’ll see about finding you something to drink.”

You are led through a hall in which rows of dirty wooden pews face the carved figure of a martyr nailed to a cross. His carved eyes seem to dog you as you sit and accept a cup of water as though judging you for the sin of taking a life.

You look back at him, dispassionate, untouched by He you do not worship.

The priest asks, “You’re troubled, sister. What is it you’re looking for out here?”

Taking a notepad and the worn-down stub of a pencil out of your bag you write, I’m looking for my husband. His name is Gray Freeland. He’s tall. Blue eyes. Freckles. He’s from a Vault. You’d know him.

The old man reads slowly, following the text with his finger.

“Well,” he says. “I haven’t seen many living folks pass through here in a long time. Mostly I keep my doors locked, since the only people I do see are man eaters. Wildmen.

“Just the other day I chased a few of them off a body they were dragging along, thinking to cut pieces from it whenever they were hungry, I suppose. I brought the poor man into the crypt so as I could give him a decent burial.”

Again you glance at the man on the cross and see that he is weeping. Your own eyes are dry, raw from the sand winds, a travelling cynic’s.

Take me to see the body, you write, and the old priest leads you down a narrow stairway like the coil of a shell into a cool basement of stone.

On a slab there lies a corpse, the ribs opened out and plucked clean of organs, the face half devoured, marks left on the skull from scraping teeth.

The other eye, the sloping cheekbone. These, intact, you know.

“You recognise this man?” asks the old man. “Is he your husband?”

You don’t answer, just look at the body as you did the massacre, stunned beyond grief by the cruelty of the wastes.

In the notebook you write, I want a funeral for him. A burial.

“You weren’t parted from your husband by the hand of God alone,” says the priest. “Someone came between you two.”

Yes, you say. The Ghoul. Cooper Howard. He wanted to sell me for caps, or medicine, I think. I ran away.

A twitch tugs the old man’s eye like a fishing line.

You write, you know this Ghoul.

“Yes. Everyone around these parts has heard of him. He’s a brutal man. He’s killed women, children, anyone to get what he wants. If he has any sort of code at all then it’s not one I know of.”

You stare into the eye of your dead lover and inherit from it his resolve to go on.

I should leave. If the Ghoul survived, then he may come here.

Placing a veined hand on yours, the priest asks, “What did you do to him, sister?”

Not enough.

*

You stay at the church overnight, given a meal of salted meat and hard bread, and a bath in a vast tin tub. You sleep on a palette bed in a back room with clean sheets, and drink cool water that tastes only of minerals, and not the filth of the wastes.

Yours is a slumber like that of the sick, or the long dead.

Then at first daylight you’re back on the road again, forced to leave your husband’s body to rot in its chill crypt.

With no purpose but to live you trundle forth past the grotesque landmarks that distinguish each stretch of earth from the other, walk until your boots are blood soaked and your hips ache like a crone’s.

Only when your knees give out do you resign yourself to set up camp by a defunct railroad, warming a tin of soup over a pitiful fire. You think almost of nothing as you drink, beaten flat as an ancient coin by the afternoon sun and the grinding nature of your suffering.

Slumped on an old box, you look at the fire, like some offshoot of your skyward enemy, and yearn for the cool of the Vault.

Footsteps crunch in the sand at your back, and a soft male voice says, “Now there’s my shrinkin' violet. Sittin’ out here all alone.”

Before you can dart away a weight strikes the middle of your back, pitching you into the dirt in a clumsy sideways roll. Winded, you find yourself peering up into the ravaged features of the Ghoul, and think that Death in his ragged coat could not appear so cruel.

“You’re tougher than I gave you credit for, sweetie,” he says, conversationally. “Meaner, too. Where’d that holier than fuckin’ thou Vault attitude go to?”

He must have hidden some vials amidst his clothes, enough to revive him from his lunacy. You had not thought to check his pockets, absorbed as you were in your revenge.

The Ghoul strips you of your weapons, tutting at the banality of routine. Then he looks down at how you’ve fallen, legs apart, your prairie dress gathered up like a tangled net about your knees, and notices the undergarments cupped with sweat to the cut of your cunt.

You see, then, a stain of thought spread through him like a thirst for blood, his eyes as black as the charred stumps of headless ferals you’d seen roped to fencing on the road.

“Well, now,” says the Ghoul. “Least I’ve figured out a way you can pay me back for all them vials you stomped on.”

His voice is low, a purr of heated malice.

With the nose of his gun he lifts your skirts up to your thighs and nudges the barrel against your cunt, Vault regulation underwear done away with in one taunting motion.

“Get up, doll,” says the Ghoul. “I’m gonna do something that dumbfuck husband of yours probably never did and teach you how to ride.”

He sits down on the wooden crate and gestures with his weapon for you to rise.

“Come on, Violet. Get that old dress off and take a seat.”

He pats his thigh, and you shake your head, signing with frantic hands.

No. No. Not this. I’m married.

He doesn’t yet know of your husband’s death, it seems, for when you gesture to your wedding ring the Ghoul’s expression sours.

“I had a wife like you, once,” he says. “Soft skin, and real beautiful, like a movie star. And just like you she screwed me over, so pardon me if I don’t take the sanctity of marriage too seriously no more.”

He moves the gun again, his fingers approaching the trigger.

“Now do what I said. If you make me shoot you I’ll be sure to hit you some place it’ll hurt. You want that, sweetheart?”

You glance over your shoulder at a universe of sand, contemplating how far you’d get before the Ghoul put a bullet in your back. Perhaps he’d let you run a bit for idle fun before he shot you down.

It’s as you’re thinking this that a weight falls about your neck and the Ghoul yanks you to him by a lead of rope, half throttling you in his malice.

“Damn it, Vaultie, you ain’t runnin’ out on your payment,” he says, coolly. “I ought to whip the skin off your hide for what you did.”

You’d be nose to nose with the Ghoul, if he still had one. In his irises you see your own face, still human, so unlike his. The beauty of it has taunted this man like water the many thirsting in the Wasteland, a mirage made real, and now owed to him through your slight upon his person.

It scares you, that bitter lust. He might kill you through the thing he means to do.

Stilled by one gloved fist on the lasso, you daren’t struggle as the Ghoul peels your dress up over your head, blinkering you with the fabric. His free hand trails from your quivering throat to both breasts, taking his time with the exploration.

He wants the glove off; you feel it in the labour with which he draws a path between your thighs, near awed by the delicacy of you against him.

You wrestle the dress off your head and glare with a spiteful terror into his scarred carapace.

“How’d a pure little Vault dweller like you change so fast?” asks The Ghoul, almost in admiration. “The Wasteland ain’t barely started with you yet. Maybe you loved that boy so much it drove you crazy. Used to be songs about that, as I recall. Songs about men like me, too, and what we do when we’re crossed by snakes like yourself.”

You sign you deserved what I did to you with expressions and hard gestures he understands.

“I admit I played with you a little,” says the Ghoul. “’Cause when I see a green, pretty girl like you I want to screw you into the dirt like a smoke. Just about the only way you’ll learn how things really are when you’re in a tough spot in the Wasteland.”

He spits on his gloved fingers and bars them between your folds, watching with his head inclined as you stiffen up in pain and disgust at his entry.

“Well,” he says. “Now I know what I ought to drink when I’m runnin’ low on water.”

You think to strike him, but the lasso is braided across your windpipe merely at the flash of your eye.

“Don’t be stupid now, Violet. I know you’re a smart girl. I’d hate for you to prove me wrong.”

He takes his gloves off with his teeth and spits them in the sand. With one bare palm he touches you all over, the rasp of his strange skin like grit against your own. The other hand struggles with the opening of his pants, starving to have them open.

“What’s the matter?” asks the Ghoul, as you look down at his cock, which is as coarse as the rest of him. “Ain’t nothing to be scared of.”

He tests your opening with two fingers, and you convulse with a silent agony at their insertion, and the betrayal.

“Aw, now come on now, sweetheart. It ain’t that bad. Still, I’d use that mouth of yours instead, only I know you’d bite like a mare.”

His skull-like features press close to yours. He smells of smoke, of sweat, as most men do in the Wasteland.

“Now open those legs of yours and sit,” says the Ghoul, “before I pick some other hole.”

When you merely stare in sickened mutiny he forces you up onto his lap. You cringe as he punctures your cunt with his length, twice that of your husband’s, breaking you upon him like the bones of an enemy.

The Ghoul looks at you from under half lids, his lashes as lush and beautiful as black reeds, a surprising feature amidst such ruin.

“Hurts, don’t it?” he asks. “That’s what you get for crossin’ a fella in these parts.”

He ducks down and licks the sweat off your tits up to your neck, smacking his lips with a pop.

“Salt and tequila. Makes me miss the good old days.”

You grip his tattered coat for stability as he jounces you on his cock, thinking of the sinewy flesh under his collar, wondering if your blunt little white teeth could prise out a vein. Wondering if he still bleeds like a man, or gives but dust.

“Come on, now, little lady,” says the Ghoul. “Why ain’t you puttin' in no work? Get to it.”

He slaps your flank, but you don’t move, in too much pain from walking and the girth of him to do much but wince as in the rhythm of his arms you fall and fall upon it.

“Hope you ain’t tired already,” says the Ghoul. “We’re just warmin’ up.”

You mouth ‘ugly’ into his face, emphasising the syllables.

Your attacker leers.

“That may be, but you’re still wet for me, ain’t you? Maybe you ain’t so opposed to fuckin’ a ghoul as you let on.”

Enraged, you try to spit at him, cannot rally enough moisture to defile the smirking cheek.

“Don’t waste your water, Violet,” says the Ghoul. “I sure won’t be loanin’ you any.”

He turns you on his lap, one arm across your breasts, another at your hip, squeezing the meat there with lusting appreciation. You struggle in his hold, your joints like troughs of magma, and the Ghoul laughs against your neck.

“Still want to fight, huh? Ain’t no skin off my back.”

The Ghoul shoves you forward into the earth, and you roll there together like men. With ease he could overpower you, yet he allows you your digs and attempts to inch out from under him for the sake of some bastard fairness.

His heat, his heaviness upon you incurs a panicked need to buck him from your back. You almost succeed, except the Ghoul yanks you to him through the dirt and stones like a prisoner drawn and quartered.

Then, turning you under him, he casts a palm full of sand into your face, watching you choke and fight to rub the grains from your eyes with a vindicated pleasure.

“You know, Violet,” he says, “I may not speak your signs, but I can read some. There was a deaf fella out in Truth or Consequences I used to have dealings with, and I picked up plenty from him. I know you’ve been cussin’ and cursin’ me since the day we met. Makes it all the better knowing I can fuck you.”

Again he fills you with the rot of his existence, growling as he does so, a gleeful torturer at work. You kick at him with your boot heels as you might some mad horse, but he keeps at you, unrelenting, his grinning teeth like the cracked plains of soil after drought.

The friction of the Ghoul within you, rough skin to the soft, builds a cave there in which pain shambles out as something else.

He groans as he feels that change around him, wetness in a land so absent of it. Not once in this attack had he intended your desire, had expected only your abjection on the pumice of his want. His hands go back to your body then, to your breasts, your outstretched neck, and he touches you as a husband might, as he did his own bride, long ago.

You bury your fingers into the burning sand and pray to what God, if any, rules the wastes. By now you know Him as a man, not the weeping idol of crucifixion but one of greed and brutal caprice.

Climax—yours and the Ghoul’s—ride together like two prey animals grown to hunt in symbiosis, his just ahead of yours. He fucks you with his half-hard cock until you cease motion around him, and still does not pull loose.

The way he looks at you no man ever has, not even the rough ilk of Filly.

The Ghoul’s eyes are hellfire and tenderness; he had loved a woman like you, and hasn’t forgotten who he’d been when he’d done so. But he can love like that no longer, and though there’s something nearly gentle in the way he moves to cup your face in his hand you are only appalled by the radiance of his desire.

The fight snaps free of you in a bracing instant, and the Ghoul watches it go. Watches your face in all the motions of defeat.

“Those lips of yours,” he croons. “Even cherry pie ain’t sweeter. Now I’ve got to have me a taste.”

Then he kisses you, softly, at first, after the ripping winds of his fucking, and then with a grunt like some rooting boar he sets at you with the aggression of before, consuming you with tongue and borderless mouth until what thought there was of past romance is chipped from the gravestone of him.

The Ghoul’s hat fell off sometime in the scuffle; as he rises again you see that the weird planes of his skull are beautiful, as the rest of him must once have been.

Like some Martian fiend he appears as he crouches over your quivering nakedness, tugging your gown back on over your head as though dressing a stiff little corn doll.

“Now we’re just about even,” says the Ghoul. “And if you put even a foot wrong I’ll keep on evenin' that score.”

He sets about tying the lasso about your neck to a stake of wood in the dirt. That done, he sits back on the box and looks at you again, dusting his hat off absently with one hand.

You stare through him and up at the bile of deities that is the golden afternoon sky.

“Now you’re gettin’ it, Violet,” says the Ghoul. “The Wasteland ain’t no place for a Vaultie housewife like yourself.”

Later, one of your hands outstretches to pen letters in the sand.

I-A-M-A-W-I-D-O-W.

The Ghoul blinks.

“Well, shit. And there I was thinkin’ I’d wrecked a decent home.”

S-H-O-O-T-M-E.

“After all the fussin’ I’ve been through to get you back you ain’t goin’ nowhere. And don’t try to kill yourself, neither. I sleep with one eye open. You’re worth more to me alive, and I ain’t about to forget it.”

The Ghoul lies down beside you, arms folded under his head, content in the desert’s justice.

Only when the night slaps like a dripping cloth over you both does he speak to you again.

“I ain’t gonna sell you, Violet. You better learn to earn your keep.”

[aftgficrec]

Hii! I'm so glad i caught you guys, youre doing gods work over here. I've been wanting something similar to blame it on my youth and way down we go . Something long and addicting and eventually wholesome, preferably something where Aaron is kinda jealous of Neil. I love the soulmate idea. Thanks so much <3

You’ve got a mix of things in your ask, so I’m giving you long andeil fics with happy ending + Aaron angst that are post canon like ‘Blame it On My Youth’ (here), pre-canon canon divergent like ‘Way Down We Go’ (here), soulmates, and some other aus. -A

previous recs:

long fics like BIOMY here

‘Guardian Angel’ series here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ series here (completed)

‘progress comes in small steps’ series here

‘we were together’ series here

‘This Complicated Life’ and ‘In My Defense, I Have None’ here

you may also like:

Neil & Aaron: quests, situations, friendship & slash here

post canon:

Trust Fall (And Welcoming Arms) by SpangleBangle [Rated E, 84557 Words, Complete, 2017]

Life goes on after the Foxes win the championship, and for Andrew and Neil it's uncharted territory with only each other for guides. Maybe it's time to put away some of those hard edges, and learn how to touch more softly, and speak more honestly. And if they falter, they have their family to help them get back on their feet.

tw: scars, tw: homophobia, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: discussions of self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced eating disorders, tw: depression, tw: dissociation, tw: flashbacks, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced drug abuse, tw: explicit sexual content

pre-canon canon divergent:

Oakland by AgentCoop [Rated M, 105947 Words, Complete, 2023]

When Neil Josten gets arrested for a fake ID and thrown into the Juvenile Detention System, he knows that he's running on borrowed time before his father's men catch up. His mother is dead, there's nowhere to run, there's nothing left at all but an Exy court at the Oakland County Detention Center that he has to earn the right to play on through good behavior. And Neil's never been great at obeying rules. -- An Andriel AU where the boys meet as teens in Juvie.

tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: nightmares, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

Lifeline by pandaseek [Rated T, 269357 Words, Incomplete, Updated April 2023]

"What is your name." He wouldn't care usually, but the way this kid had avoided it last time he asked, he was curious. "I've had six so far." He answers slowly, weighing each word. "Which one do you want?" Six names? Yep, there is something going on there.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

NB: fanart for this fic by Super_Yellow on AO3 here

soulmates:

i once believed love would be black and white by acidmeringue [Rated E, 26708 Words, Complete, 2023]

Andrew does not believe in soulmates. Nicky has a soulmate. His twin Aaron has a soulmate too, but Andrew doesn't let them speak. Everyone around him has a soulmate. They can all see in color. He can't. He doesn't believe in soulmates, doesn't believe in love at all. When enough people tell you what love should look like, when you're told enough times that you should be able to see in color but you can't, you start to believe that you don't have a soulmate after all. And that's okay. At least, it was, until Andrew makes eye contact with a stranger at Eden's and the world comes to a screeching halt. ~ Soulmate au where you can't see in color until you lock eyes with your soulmate. Additionally, if your soulmate dies, your vision goes back to monochrome.

tw: implied/referenced abuse

The Real Thing by nekojita [Rated M, 34125 Words, Complete, 2021]

Andrew was more than willing to turn down the Ravens' offer to be their newest goalie, unwilling to play five more years of Exy - let alone for someone with a too-sharp smile and a manic gleam in their eyes. That was, until he realized that a member of their Perfect Court was his soulmate. (That was, until Riko Moriyama realized that Nathaniel Wesninski, the Ravens' #3 in waiting, was Andrew's soulmate.) Andrew always knew that Fate loved tormenting him, he didn't need a reminder yet again via a too-attractive soulmate who appeared to loathe him. Yet things aren't always what they seem, especially in the Nest.

tw: attempted rape/noncon, tw: abuse, tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: alcohol, tw: medication withdrawal

other aus:

If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger [Rated T, 43145 Words, Complete, 2024]

Neil is imprisoned at sixteen years old for being the Butcher of Baltimore. Andrew obsesses, and Aaron obsesses because Andrew does, and everything goes wrong and raw and painful. Feat. the twinyards breaking each other’s hearts, and a decent amount of shade on the American justice system.

tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced torture

Shut Up and Dance (With Me) by OfficialStarsandGutters [Rated E, 168160 Words, Complete, 2021]

Dance AU. - Neil Josten just wants to dance, but being on the run leaves little time for frivolous hobbies. He has no idea what one night of risk will lead to when he first steps into Eden’s Twilight. Andrew Minyard dances alone. Everyone knows this. Until a wide eyed, desperate rabbit of a boy stumbles into his path, and he breaks his self imposed rule.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: torture, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: anxiety, tw: depression, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced drug abuse, tw: explicit sexual content, tw: implied/referenced eating disorder, tw: vomit, tw: graphic injuries, tw: nonconsensual drug use

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You Masterlist

summary:

the ascension changed the person Astarion was, or so you believed. you broke up and parted ways after defeating the netherbrain, thinking it was for the best, but when you see him again six months later at the reunion, you realize you never truly moved on. and neither did he.

current state: COMPLETED SERIES

word count: 50k~

pairing: astarion x fem!reader (implied fighter!tav (slight body description) with noble background). contains some shadowheart x fem!reader

rating: explicit (but a few of the first chapters are tame, those rated E for smut and graphic violence will be highlighted on the list below)

major tags/cw: 18+. angst, smut, lovers to exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, assault, possessive behaviour/sex, progressively soft!ascended astarion, blood/vampire bites, graphic depiction of violence, noncon, good ending. full list available on ao3.

read on ao3

back to writing masterlist

read on tumblr:

Prologue/Chapter 1 - The Reunion (rated E)

Chapter 2 - The Meal

Chapter 3 - The Invitation

Chapter 4 - The Ball (tw: attempted r@pe)

Chapter 5 - The Aftermath (rated E)

Chapter 6 - The Plan (rated E)

Chapter 7 - The Afterlife (rated E)

Chapter 8 - Retalation (rated E)

Chapter 9 - The End Of All Things (rated E tw: rape & torture)

Chapter 10 - Reconsideration

Epilogue - Forever After (rated E)

playlist below the cut~

the playlist:

prologue: track 1 - 10

chapter 1: track 11 - 22

chapter 2: track 23 - 28

chapter 3: track 29 - 36

chapter 4: track 37 - 40

chapter 5: track 41 - 48

chapter 6: track 49 - 55

chapter 7: track 56 - 65

chapter 8: track 66 - 74

chapter 9: track 75 - 80

chapter 10: track 81 - 84

epilogue: track 85 - 91

[smiletimeisrunningout]

"It was Randall, you know him. Knew." Not closely, maybe, but he wasn't a complete stranger. And yet, she hadn't even flirted with the man, she hadn't been looking for companionship at camp, even when free to move because Washington didn't have to respond to her parents about her safety anymore - she had made sure it would be clear to both parties that her safety was back in her hands so that there would be no fallout for the patriots if she were to die - she'd go find someone out of camp for that sort of dalliance.

"You can't protect me every second, you are not guarding me while giving me safe passage somewhere, this is just... camp and it's night, I was only in the blockage because I couldn't sleep or I'd have been in bed. He's still with the horses. I called James, officer Gold, so I could come tell you myself. There is no time to patch me up, I'm sure now you have a lot more work to do because of what I did..." this time her tone was as dejected as she felt, and she looked down while clutching at her cloak to do the opposite of showing him, because the necessary information had been given, now all there was left was consequences: "I am so sorry. I promised I wouldn't make your life harder when I first arrived here, and that I'd follow the rules, and wouldn't..."

She shook her head, speaking slowly so she could somewhat control the tremble in her voice: "I tried to hold back, but that's exactly how I got hurt, and then my instincts kicked in..." She always did her very best to keep her word, and to have broken one she had given Ben, who was so dear to her, who already worked so hard to keep things smooth at camp with little if no praise at times... Of course Randall deserved death, she stood by that, but there were appropriate ways to go about that.

Abruptly, Benjamin's eyes snapped up toward her face. "Who?" he demanded. He hated the slight quiver in his voice -- hated the break of vulnerability where stark, searing rage boiled quietly underneath. "I want a name, Swan -- I want his rank and purpose here in this camp."

Emma was sorry... Why in God's name was she sorry?

"No, I am," he denied. "Part of my appointed duty is to protect you...and I failed on this night."

Swallowing, he rose and fetched the first aid kit he kept hidden underneath his bed, the small wooden box weighing heavily along with his guilt as he returned to her side. Kneeling down, he opened the kit and sifted until he retrieved a roll of gauze. "Is the blood yours?" he asked. There was a certain lack of emotion in his tone; by this point in war, Benjamin was accustomed to such indifference towards human life, and yet in this instance, he was attempting such calm for her sake rather than his own.

Lifting his eyes to hers, he frowned. "I know you're hurt, Swan, so don't bother denying it. Just show me where, and I'll help you patch up."

[veritas-dolos]

so since i recently reblogged a post with fic recommendations i realized i should maybe make a list of all of my favorite fics so you can check them out.

just letting you know, these are all going to be for the 2012 tmnt!! i'm not going to give a summary for each one, just a little detail.

tw's are stated where necessary. also, some of these are ship fics, and they're kinda spread out throughout the list so they might be hard to find.

for the future, for you. by SpectrumWriting

this one is donnie centric.

Tendencies by orphan_account

leo centric.

Under The Skin by Red_Dragonn

tw for bugs and body horror. raph centric.

on my own by feduphufflepuff

raph centric.

The Hostage Situation by taizi

mikey centric!!

Desolation by goodstoryfan

this is part one of the series (next fic below is part 2). leo centric and mind control!

Devastation by goodstoryfan

part two of the series. leo centric during the space arc!

Bro, You Literally Got Hit By A Bus by emmals16

in this fic leo got hit by a bus. it's mainly written for the 2003 show, but it can be read as 2012.

The Nature Of The Wind by This_world_of_beautiful_monsters

tw for rape/noncon. this is a dark fic, but leo centric. it's really good despite the themes.

Consequence for Indifference by Professor_Anxietree

mikey angst, and the brothers aren't abusive.

Interrogation or Malpractice? by Professor_Anxietree

more mikey angst for the end of season 3 where he goes through that thing that was supposed to read his mind.

unwavering by OverlyObsessed223

mikey and leo centric angst!

i've got my eye on you by taizi

mikey angst and donnie worries about him.

Despite Everything, I'm Still Human by WastedAndReady

raph angst!

Be like your brothers (And never like yourself) by ItzZaira

mikey angst!!

Mixup by The_Fourth_Queen

okay so this one is leo x casey but it's so funny i had to recommend it.

where it all began by a_rutabaga

leo angst where he and his brothers don't get along. this one is really good i've read it many times.

The Orange Turtle Without The Dimension of X by itz_me_E

mikey angst post dimension x.

Angry tender hearts. by Koalagriton

this one is raph x casey but it's really good.

Whatsername by less_depresso_more_espresso

another raph x casey and it's got angst what more could you want

Play the Fool, Pity the Fool. by SpectrumWriting

mikey angst, but tw for suicide attempt and self harm.

Not as Thick as Blood by thirdsday

mikey angst. (wow, i have a lot of mikey angst bookmarked)

The Arrangement by Ivelostcontrolofmylife

this is donnie x casey, and i haven't read it in a while, but it's really good.

Crash Course in Mistletoe by coolpointsetta

raph x casey. this is the first ever rasey fic i read that got me interested in the ship, so it's a good read. (this is the first in the series, the fic below is part two. there is a part 3, but i am yet to read it.)

the corner of the world we made ours by coolpointsetta

raph x casey, part 2 of the series.

(un)reality by SpectrumWriting

mikey angst fic that takes place during/after dimension x.

Notes pour trop tard by Anonymous

leo angst. tw for suicide (off screen) and suicide notes.

Breakfast for Sensei by rakuenoasis

mikey angst post dimension x. (wow i have a lot of dimension x fics bookmarked someone stop me)

How to deal with grief by ItzZaira

mikey angst at the farmhouse.

Atrophy by DerelictWreck

mikey angst. tw for very detailed and graphic suicide attempt and surgery, but it has a happy ending and mikey does not die. the brothers aren't the best but they're not abusive.

and the walls kept tumbling down by leones

leo angst. tw for eating disorders.

Temporal Differential by paranormal_worm

mikey angst post dimension x.

Into Dimension X by HolyKingWasteLand

mikey angst post dimension x.

we'll burn them down by dame_de_la_chance

mikey angst post dimension x. i have to say this one is one of my favorites of all the dimension x fics.

walk with open hands by taizi

you guys. this is so good. this is a fix it fic for the end of season 4 where mikey tries to save splinter's life.

Control by SceneNerd

mikey angst. tw for self harm.

Translate the Problem by Professor_Anxietree

mikey angst post dimension x. in my mind this is THE dimension x fic. it's the first one i ever read so it's really good. (the fic below is a continuation of this)

Mind and Matter by Professor_Anxietree

mikey angst when they're in space. (based on the episode journey to the center of mikey's mind).

to thine own self be true by inkandstone

mikey angst. this is a truth serum fic!!

and that's it!! i went through my entire bookmarked 2012 list and found each one of these. i have 261 tmnt 2012 fics bookmarked. it took over an hour to make this list and christ i am exhausted.

anyway i hope you guys read some of these! they're all amazing!!

[forwhump]

a/n; in case you wanted some batshit story advancement 😛 & point pov !!

tw/cw: rape, noncon, transphobia, misgendering, dehumanization, beheading, skinning, repeated major character death, captivity, guns, attempted forced impregnation, humiliation, kidnapping, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of medical torture, mentions of beastiality

creepy whumper, really emotionally unwell whumper, living weapon whumpee

Point urges the girl beneath his desk to keep moving with a hand to the back of her head and watches, irritated, as the freak experiment turns itself sideways to fit through the wreckage of his office doorway.

Fuck, it’s big. His men had talked about it, to him and amongst themselves — the district’s new prized possession, the meat Weaver’s oh so proud of, big and deadly. Point is a good fuckin’ soldier and a great fuckin’ captain, without the help of steroids and fuckin’ mad scientists. He didn’t care about the freak and he didn’t care to marvel about it. He didn’t flock to the gallows to watch its field tests the way some of them did; he didn’t watch them from behind the safety of the security cameras like some of the others.

They’re all afraid of it. Point has thought, until now, that it was weakness, and he’d been embarrassed for them. But he’d only only met it once, and it had been on its knees, bound and prone. Even on its knees, it had been taller than him, but Point still hadn’t grasped how big the thing was, not truly.

Not until now. Not until he has to look up, up, up at it, head angled almost all the way back. It isn’t weakness that have his men so afraid of it; it’s loathsome. It looks like the maniac from an old slasher movie, dripping red, hair plastered to its face and the sides of its throat. Nobody had raised an alarm, which means they hadn’t had the time. It hadn’t given them the time.

“What?” Point asks. He keeps his voice flat and his eyes hooded.

It cracks its neck and says, “you have something that belongs to me.”

Beneath his desk, the girl tenses. Point can feel the warmth of her breath as she exhales, “Silas?”

Something folds in the freak’s face, something that Point would never admit makes the back of his neck start to prickle with cold. It looks at him like he’s prey, and it’s convincing. Point almost believes it.

He threads his fingers through the girl’s hair, pushes his dick into her throat to keep her quiet, and raises both his eyebrows. “The girl?” He asks, skeptical, because her mouth is so warm it pulls focus from the cold at the nape of his neck. It’s such nonsense that he rumbles with laughter and the girl chokes in his lap. “Fuck you, you’ve got a thing for the girl.”

Like she would be worth all this fuckin’ trouble — like she would be worth any trouble at all. Really. He laughs and it’s in good humour.

But the freak isn’t kidding. The freak is dead fuckin’ serious. It takes a step closer and Point isn’t laughing anymore.

He quickly lifts his other hand. He points his cherished handgun. “Fuck you,” he repeats slowly. “You’ve got a thing for the girl.”

It’s fuckin’ serious. It’s standing here, making a mess of Point’s office, after having massacred Point’s men, and for what? For what? “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he says, even though he knows it isn’t. “She’s a whore,” he tells it. “We found her on the floor of a crack house”

The thing tilts its head and it looks like a nightmare. “He’s mine.”

There’s something so definitive in its voice that Point forgets all about being cold. It sounds so sure, so smug that it stokes something under his skin that makes his blood boil. “She’s mine,” he snaps, and puts a bullet in the freak’s brain.

The sound is like a crack of thunder and the girl chokes again beneath his desk, panicked. She tries to pull away but Point fists a hand in her hair, keeps her still, and watches the freak wipe blood from the bullet hole between its eyes with the back of one hand.

It stays standing. It stays on its feet. It looks right at Point and it grins with all its teeth. It has dimples, and for some reason that could almost make Point vomit. It’s the most grotesque part of the whole disgusting patchwork. “Gonna have to do better than that,” it says, and it has the low, distorted voice of a monster.

Point roars in frustration. He has to empty his gun into the thing’s face before it finally stops coming for him.

Under his desk, the girl trembles with crying, and Point pushes himself back with a boot to the side of it to look down at her. He almost softens; she really is such a pretty little thing. Her mouth is swollen and her eyelashes are clumped together, sad and scared. It doesn’t cool Point’s blood by any means but it’s a heat he more enjoys. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for the freak,” he warns, and pulls her up by the throat.

He bends her over the desk so she has an unrestricted view of the meat, dead and cooling on the concrete. There’s so much blood the room smells too rich of it. The girl cries, trembling beneath him, pleading, shrieking, fighting, and it almost makes all the commotion worth it.

He forgets about the freak sack of meat. There’s a blissful time, before it’s constantly a problem, that Point is able to forget about the freak. That it doesn’t haunt his every waking moment, or any of the sleeping ones, either. There’s a blissful time that Point can still look at the girl and not think about that fuckin’ thing.

Then they move it formally into his unit. It’s assigned to his care.

He trusts her, too, that’s where he fucks up. She’s usually a good girl; it had taken a lot of time and a lot of discipline, but Point had trained her well. She’s usually on her best behaviour. She screams and she fights still, sometimes, but that’s because she’s such a spirited little thing. It’s been fun trying to break that.

When he’s done with her, he leaves her on the floor of the common room, because he was decent enough to even bring her back. She’s still conscious, but just barely, whimpering and pliant, and it’s one of the ways Point likes her best. It’s hard to let her go.

He shouldn’t’ve. He knew better.

But he had already fuckin’ killed the thing, sprayed the concrete walls of his office with its brains, fucked the girl in a pool of its blood after he’d fucked her over the desk, just to make extra sure they both really learned the lesson they needed to learn.

He gives them both too much credit, that’s where he fucks up. They aren’t smart, not at all, neither of them. They don’t learn. It doesn’t seem like they ever think very critically.

He leaves the girl on the floor of the common room, and he doesn’t think about the freak. Blissfully, he doesn’t think about the freak at all. Doesn’t consider him for a second. Sidles back to the barracks, sated, and lies down on sheets that are still wet, that smell enticingly like the girl. One of her socks had been kicked off in her struggle and Point thumbs over the damp argyle, pleased.

When the alarm is raised, when the lights start flickering red, he still doesn’t think of the freak, not right away. He sighs and pulls himself out of bed again, pulls his kit back on, thinks that one of the other losers in his unit found the girl and panicked. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He’s wrong, though. Still blissfully naive.

The alarm is a resounding panic and the lights all flash red and frantic. The freak is a silhouette from a nightmare, standing at the end of a long, empty corridor. He walks towards Point slowly, unhurried, and Point stands his ground, refuses to be intimidated by this sack of meat and steroids, but it’s a nightmare the way it stalks closer to him, the way it gets bigger the closer it gets, disappearing into the shadows in the half seconds between panicked red light.

What the fuck? Point thinks, and exhales softly.

“What have you got there, big guy?” He asks.

It lifts its right hand, and the whole thing is so surreal that for a second, Point just stares, he doesn’t process.

Heads. It’s heads. The heads of Point’s men, men he had been with just hours ago, not cleanly severed but ripped off their shoulders with inhuman force. It has its fingers twisted in their bloody hair, and when Point looks back up into its face, it grins widely. It has a horrible grin. Too human.

“For Wren,” he says.

“What?” Point repeats. “The girl?”

It lifts its chin at him. “I just need one more.”

Point groans loudly, tipping his head back. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he says. “This is about the girl? Come on.”

It raises an eyebrow at him, almost impatient, and for some reason that makes Point start to prickle, heat blooming at the nape of his neck.

“You’re a fuckin’ disgusting eye sore,” Point says. “A real ugly piece of shit, right? But she’s a whore. She’s easy. She’ll fuck you, too. You don’t have to do all this bullshit to try and impress her.”

It tilts his head, and the way it moves is inhuman. Might have to do with the fuckin’ mass of it — how can anything that big move in a way that’s human? Is it even bigger than the last time Point killed it?

“I don’t like the way you talk about him,” it says, and that ignites a rage in Point that almost makes him shriek. What gives this fuckin’ thing the right —

“Boo fuckin’ hoo,” he snaps, and the only reason he doesn’t die in the corridor that day is because responding artillery finally finds the freak, and blows both his kneecaps out from behind.

He drops, roars like a wild animal. Drops the heads when he’s commanded, folds both his hands behind his own head. Doesn’t look away from Point once, and Point has to curl and uncurl his fists to try and burn off some of the simmering fury that stokes in him.

“Better luck next time, big guy,” he sneers.

But the freak grins. Dimples. Lifts his chin at Point. “Next time,” he agrees, and it sounds like a threat.

Point waits until the freak’s nose is to the concrete before he stomps down onto the back of his head with all his weight.

It doesn’t have the effect he wants it to have. He breaks the freak’s nose, but it rumbles with laughter beneath him, mocking.

He barely makes it back to the barracks before he finally shrieks in frustration.

“Please,” she whimpers. She looks especially pathetic. She’s wearing Point’s favourite gingham dress, on her knees, flushed with crying. Normally, this is how he likes her best, but it prickles at a nerve that makes it almost annoying.

His lip curls. “Look at you,” he says, and her shoulders hitch as she sobs. “How can you debase yourself like this for that thing?”

Her wrists are knotted together but in front of her, so she has her fingers twisted desperately into Point’s pants. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth — normally, he’d love to have her like this. He never gets to have her like this. But it’s ruined, and it’s ruined because of that fuckin’ thing.

“Please,” she sobs. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault! Don’t hurt him.”

“I know it’s your fault,” Point sneers. “This is all your fault. Couldn’t keep your fuckin’ legs closed and now you’ve got a rabid guard dog.” Her touch is warm through his clothing and he wishes that was good enough. “And what happens to dogs once they start to bite, baby? What does animal conservation do for rabies? You’re smarter than this.”

Her hands are shaking but that isn’t good enough, either. “Please.”

The freak, her fuckin’ dog, it’s never been worth any of the trouble that follows it, any of the fanfare, the medical marvel, but it’s worth less now, twitching as it bleeds to death on the filthy concrete.

It just doesn’t know when to fuckin’ stop. Most of the skin had been stripped from his chest and his right arm. The left side of his throat had been torn out. A decent chunk of his scalp is hanging loose off his skull, and blood is pooling in every dip and crater of his face, pouring from his mouth as he coughs and sputters and vomits up more and more.

Still, it keeps trying to get up. Still, it keeps moving. It just won’t stay down.

He strikes her harder than he means to, knocks her to the ground in his frustration, and when she cries out, her ugly fuckin’ dog tries to pull its ugly, skinned corpse up from the pool of its blood, almost ankle deep.

“Silas,” she breathes, pushing herself up quickly. “Silas, don’t —“

“No,” Point interrupts, watching with wry amusement. “Let it try.”

She sobs, trying to grab his leg again but he pushes her away with the side of his boot.

“Look at it,” he tells her. “Is it really worth embarrassing yourself like this?”

She sobs again, pulling herself through its pooling blood on her hands and knees, ruining Point’s favourite dress with the remnants of that thing. “Silas,” she breathes quietly. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

Most of the dog’s throat is missing, and it can’t talk beyond low, wet rumbles of sound. Still, it lifts a hand from the concrete, its arm trembling with blood loss. Still, it cradles the girl’s cheek in its hand.

It’s disgusting, really. Point can’t even imagine the way that thing must smell. It smears blood across her soft skin, gets gore in her pretty hair. It trembles, and it’s too big, it’s grotesque, its hand is bigger than her delicate head and still, she leans into its touch. Still, she covers its disgusting hand with both of her own. She cries for it.

“Pathetic,” Point snaps.

She doesn’t look at him, she doesn’t take her hands off of it, and Point is across the floor in a second, wrenching her from its grip with a fist in her hair. She reaches for it, cries out, and it reaches back, stretching a shaking hand out across the concrete. Point crushes its elbow with his boot and all his weight, and the girl screams as it roars in pain.

Point rubs his heel into the broken chips of its bones and says, “any last words, mutt?”

The girl reaches up, tries to grab his hand, gasps, “please, Darren, please, don’t — don’t —“

The dog lifts its other hand from the ground, mostly skinned, flesh hanging from his bones in wet flaps. It lifts its middle finger, and Point roars in frustration. He empties his gun into the freak’s right eye, and only then, finally, does it stop moving.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Point says softly, rubbing his mouth with a hand gloved in leather.

He looks between them, and it’s like seeing for the very first time, so many small details that it’s almost overwhelming, all of them high definition.

How many times have they done this? How many times do they have to do this, still? It swings wildly between moderately inconvenient and a blood bath, a slaughter of Point’s men. His numbers have been dwindling, and every recruit he brings on is too green, too scared of the freak, not quick enough to stop him. They’re dead almost as soon as they’re assigned to Point.

Point isn’t an idiot, but maybe he was too hopeful. Maybe he had too much faith in the girl. Maybe she’s more manipulative than Point ever gave her credit for. The dog is dumb, big and simple, mean and bloodthirsty, and the girl is pretty. Gentle. A whore. It hadn’t been hard to piece that puzzle together. She’s using the dog, taking advantage of it, fucking it into shape as her attack dog and it’s too dumb to know that’s what she’s doing, too dumb not to let itself be used.

Except he looks between them now, and he was wrong. He isn’t stupid, but they’re both so much stupider than he had ever thought they might be. The girl is so much stupider than Point ever would’ve thought. He looks at her, clinging to its corpse, its massive head in her lap. She keeps running her fingers through its hair as its body starts to rot before it’s even cooled and the water from the shower beats down around them both. It almost makes him sick. “You really love that fuckin’ thing.”

It had been sick for a while, a reaction to something the surgeons had given it that had to work its way through its system, eating away all its arteries and organs before they could start again with him, figure out where they went wrong. Point had allowed the girl to look after the thing, given her as much space as he could give her because he thought she was smarter than this. He thought, watching it rot, she’d finally see the freak for what it really is, for how much it doesn’t deserve even a glance from her direction. She might be stupid, but she’s better than this.

It makes his skin crawl. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he repeats, a little more acidic. “The dog? You fell in love with your fuckin’ dog?”

She lifts her head to look up at him, her hair plastered against her face with the water, so light in colour it almost looks translucent. “Leave him alone,” she says, and he doesn’t like the way that she speaks to him, unafraid, almost flat. “He’s already dead.”

“It won’t be dead long enough,” Point says.

She doesn’t stop running her fingers through its hair. She cries for it. She mourns it.

Point spends the next three days frantically trying to fuck the apathy out of her, but it doesn’t work. She doesn’t stop mourning the dog until Point finally chokes her into unconsciousness.

“I want you to take her off her birth control,” he says.

Medic’s face doesn’t change. He looks at Point once, up and down, and says, “fuck no.”

Point fuckin’ hates Medic, and he’s constantly reminded why. He’s too belligerent for somebody whose life is in Point’s hands, and Point has never been known for being particularly careful. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Okay?” Medic says, and one of his eyebrows lifts, but just barely. “I said fuck no.”

Point can’t help it if his jaw twitches. He knows what Medic is up to — he knows he’s got a thing for the girl. He does this whole knight in shining armour thing to try and get to her, almost the same way the dog does. Pretend to be her hero, get into her pants. It’s bullshit — Point’s never pretended to be a hero and he’s in her pants more than any of them. They’re all wasting their time, and it fizzles under his skin that any of them think she would be worth all this fuckin’ trouble, that she’d be worth any of their lives at all.

She’s a whore. A legally dead, fuckable cut of meat. He found her on the floor of a crack house. Point saved her, really. Point rallied for her brother’s life — to keep her pliant, but he rallied all the same. He was supposed to have killed her on site — he saved her life. He saved her. She owes him her life and he owns her for it. All this wasted time and pretend chivalry is really starting to piss him off.

“You work for me,” Point reminds him through his teeth.

He kind of turns his mouth down, dismissive. “I work for the team,” he says. “I’m not your GP.”

“I think,” Point says, “maybe it’s time the team was assigned a new doctor.”

“Yeah?” Medic asks. “Just wait till the new guy finds out you’re harbouring biological contraband.” He raises his eyebrows, taunting. “And that you’re trying to get it pregnant.”

Point goes as far as to reach out to him before he manages to catch himself, straightening the collar of Medic’s black coat so he doesn’t strangle him to death on the floor of the medical wing, making eye contact the whole while. “She’s mine,” he says, “and I can do whatever I want to her. I don’t understand what you people aren’t understanding about that.”

Medic leans back slowly against his desk, folding his arms over his chest. He doesn’t like Point, either, and he’s never pretended otherwise, which Point just doesn’t like. The belligerence, the disrespect — when is enough enough? What does a guy have to do to be given the respect he deserves? That he’s earned? He’s their fuckin’ captain, for fuck’s sake. “Do you want my opinion?” Medic asks. “As a medical professional?”

“No.”

“I think you’re losing it, Point,” Medic tells him evenly. “I think you have been for a long time. I thought you snapped when you cracked his pelvis in half, but that was just the first sign something was wrong. You can’t keep going like this. You can’t keep treating a human being like this. Something’s gonna give. And it’s not gonna be Silas.”

“Silas?” Point repeats, temper spiking. “What the fuck does the dog have to do with any of this?”

“You’ve gone too far,” Medic warns. “They might have to put him down but he won’t go until he takes you with him. It’s up to you to decide how much it’s gonna hurt.”

“Fuck you,” Point snaps. “This has nothing do with the fuckin’ meat. It’s about the girl, and how her piece of shit GP is gonna take her off her birth control if he doesn’t wanna die like a fuckin’ dog.”

Medic exhales softly, shaking his head. “Fuck no,” he says.

Point leans down, gets into her face, and screams, “why?”

She flinches away from him as best she can, bound and gagged. Her eyes are huge, lashes clumped together with crying. Naked except for the argyle socks, pulled up over her knees. She looks especially pathetic and Point wants to enjoy it. He wishes he could enjoy it.

But it’s hard not to look into her and think about her fuckin’ dog. It’s ruined her. Point looks at her and it’s hard not to imagine its disgusting hands on her skin, the way she cries for it, the way she probably moans for it, too.

“WHY?!” He screams again, and it’s hard to even delight in the way she recoils, sobbing through the gag.

It isn’t fuckin’ fair. That disgusting fuckin’ patchwork dog. That failed fuckin’ experiment. That filthy fuckin’ sack of shit. It’s brutish and stupid and there’s always fuckin’ blood on its hands. And the girl happily opens her fuckin’ legs for it? She loves it? She lets it touch her and she touches it in turn, this fuckin’ freak that looks like an old movie monster.

He shouldn’t have to fuckin’ share her with it. It’s fuckin’ ridiculous.

“The fuckin’ dog?!” He shrieks, and he doesn’t mean to hit her, not really, but he can’t help it. He can’t look at her and not imagine the way she looks at that fuckin’ thing. “What does it have that I don’t have?! It’s a fuckin’ dog!”

He grabs her by the shoulders, tries to shake some sense into her. He spits in her face and the way she flinches does nothing for him. “You’re disgusting,” he spits. “You dog fucking whore. You disgust me. The fuckin’ dog,” and he groans so hard he can feel it in his fillings. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

She chokes out a sob beneath the gag, muffled, and Point grabs her around the throat to muffle her still. “That was rhetorical,” he spits. “I know what the fuck is wrong with you. You were a whore when I saved you and you’re a whore now. But dogs? You’ll even fuck dogs?”

He spits in her face again and her throat bobs beneath his hand. “I know what I have to do to fix you,” he tells her. “I know. I can make you settle down. You could settle down! You wouldn’t have to be scared all the time! Wouldn’t that be so nice, baby?” He coos at her, but the more he talks the quicker he talks, increasingly frantic, the harder he grips her throat. “Wouldn’t it be so nice not to be so scared? No more violence, no more crying. You wouldn’t have to worry about your creepy male delusions. We could set you up in a nice little room off my office,” he coos. “You’d be safe there. You wouldn’t have to be scared. You could take care of our babies. Don’t you think we’d make such beautiful babies?”

Her shoulders shake as she sobs beneath him, her face flush with Point’s grip around her neck. “But no,” he spits again, fever spiking. “You’d rather fuck dogs, wouldn’t you? What the fuck?!” He leans in closer to scream in frustration. “Stupid bitch. What the fuck? You’d let the dog knock you up, wouldn’t you? Bet you’d give it a fuckin’ litter. Why not me?! What the fuck?!”

He squeezes her around the throat tighter than he means to and screams again once he realizes she lost consciousness.

He turns her over so he doesn’t have to look at her face as he pushes her bare thighs apart. He really fuckin’ hates her sometimes.

He has a vision of her on a farm.

He thinks it’s the accent that brings it out in him, because he’s never dreamed about living on a farm before, but he looks at this girl, soft and sweet, young and blonde, and he wants her barefoot and pregnant on a farm somewhere, and he wants it so bad he dreams of it and his dreams are so vivid he could almost convince himself they’re memories from another life. He wants her in a short, pleated dress with an apron. He wants the little farm girl braids and he wants in her cowboy boots. No panties, because he wants her free use.

They’d be happy. Point knows they would.

The life he’d built with his wife was a lie, because he didn’t know yet what he really wanted, he hadn’t yet met this girl. He’s never been so stupid about a girl before — he’s never yearned. He’s never felt like this.

He thinks about miles of lush grass and big, open sky and looking up at it, framing the girl as she rides him. He thinks about high socks and high ponytails. He thinks about bending her over their big wraparound porch.

It’s these thoughts that carry him as he dumps her unconscious body in his trunk.

Furlough. He never told his wife he’d applied, so she isn’t expecting him. It’ll be a good few weeks before anybody really notices he’s missing, and they’ll be long gone by then. They’ll have moved on to their next life.

His tires squeal as he peels onto the highway and the girl’s body thuds in his trunk. A thrill runs through him, one he hasn’t experienced since that very first day, since she first looked up at him, all pretty and terrified, from the floor of that crack house. He did what the dog failed to do, time and time again — he got her out. He saved her. He gets the happy ending.

He laughs out loud. He has a full tank, an endless stretch of highway, and a pretty, naked girl bound in his trunk.

Point fuckin’ did it.

He won.

That fuckin’ dog can rot for all he has to care anymore. Point won.

[konigsblog]

Ok ok so I LOVE Puppy!Soap and Reader with Owner!Simon but what if the reader was a kitty instead??

tw: rape, noncon, hybrid fucking

you're always so sensitive, so skittish. when johnny attempts to hold you down, desperate to slide his thick and stiff cock into somewhere - anywhere - and you're squirming and hissing at him. baring your teeth in fear as he shoves his big cock into your transparent panties, collecting your slick and desperately attempting to push inside.

you don't let him in without a struggle. your sharp claws dragging down his skin making him whine needily, catching his tangled fur. he's too fucking stupid to realise you don't want this — that this isn't just a game, that you're not playing hard to get! he takes your struggle as a playtime, not realising how your ears are low and your tail is puffed up in fear.

when he gets you on your back, you're left with no choice but to succumb to his desired, depraved needs. johnny's clawed paw grips your fluffy tail, panting heavy with drool rolling down his chin, slobbering all over himself. groaning with relief, finally finding your tight hole and pushing inside. this is the exact reason hybrid dogs shouldn't be fucking the hybrid cats; they're used to rough play, never taking ‘no’ for an answer!

you whine and cry, hissing and trembling as he begins fucking into you. too bad your owner — simon — is drinking beer on the couch, unaware of what his horny mutt was doing to his precious, little cat. :((

[serickswrites]

Whump Series

Eyes--status complete. 8 parts. TW: kidnapping, self-sacrifice, coma?, blood, weapons, honestly this is magical shit so i have no idea how to tag it, some team elements, but not overt team whump

Roadtrip--status complete. 12 parts. TW: kidnapping, restraints, drugging, sexual assault, rape, non-con, stabbing, blood, hospital, dehumanization, gagging, creepy/intimate whumper, escape attempts (I hope I got all the tags). Has some team elements, but not overt team whump

Annoyed--status complete. 6 parts. TW: captivity, torture, whipping, blood, creepy/intimate whumper, sexual assault, noncon, videotaping, rescue

Fit--status complete. 5 parts. TW: kidnapping, captivity, restraints, muzzle, noncon, sexual assault, physical assault, drowning, collapse, broken bones, implied hurt/comfort/hurt/aftermath/hurt/recovery

Nothing--status complete. 7 parts. TW: emotional manipulation, noncon, dissociation, physical violence, broken bones, bruises, choking, suffocation, emotional whump, caretaker and whumpee

See--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, rescue, hospital, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery. Has team elements, but is not team whump

Where--status complete. 4 parts. TW: blood, torture, captivity, emotional whump, hospital, unclear character status at the end

Mutual--status complete. 7 parts. TW: kidnapping, captivity, restraints, whipping, blood, knives, beating, bruises, wounds, suffocation, choking, rescue, explosion, self-sacrifice, video tapes, emotional whump

Prepared --status complete. 3 parts. TW: mcd, blood, emotional whump

Know--status complete. 6 parts. TW: blood, kidnapping, torture, restraints, two whumpers, rescue, hospital

The Gift--status complete. 7 parts. TW: captivity, torture, physical violence, blood, noncon, buried alive, two whumpers, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hospital

Alive--status complete. 5 parts. TW: torture, captivity, restraints, water torture, electrocution, hospital, emotional whump, self sacrifice, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, rescue. Has team elements, but is not team whump

How--status complete. 6 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, whipping, blood, wounds, botched escape, actual escape, two whumpers

Take--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, torture, rescue, scars, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt recovery. 

Dearest Forsaken--status complete. 10 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, gore, knives, physical violence, electrocution, drowning, choking, white torture, sensory deprivation, rescue, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery. Has team elements but is not team whump.

Late--status complete. 2 parts. TW: drowning, kidnapping, cpr; rescue. Has team elements, but is not team whump

Dramatic--status complete. 4 parts. TW: hostage situation, self sacrifice, guns, gunfire, gunshot, blood, mcd. Has team elements, but is not team whump.

Choke--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, choking, strangulation, drowning, passive suicidal ideation, temporary character death, cpr, rescue, hospital, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Rescue--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, failed rescue attempt, torture, blood, wounds, sickness, rescue, hospital. Has team elements, but is not team whump

Bloody Valentine--status complete. 6 parts. TW: mcd, blood, gore, wounds, kidnapping, physical violence, hospital, yandere whumper

Hunger--status complete. 2 parts. TW: captivity, torture, starvation, cruel whumper, fawning, feigned fawning

Ice--status complete. 3 parts. TW: captivity, escape/rescue, drowning, hypothermia, cpr, mcd. Not team whump, but has team elements.

Secrets--status complete. 5 parts. TW: kidnapping, restraints, blood, torture, forced to watch, rescue

Want--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, kidnapping, yandere whumper, physical violence, drugging, sexual assault, noncon, rescue (x2), MCD, knives

Good Times, Bad Times--status complete. 6 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, noncon, two whumpers, sadistic whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, rescue

52 Weeks--status complete. 8 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, wounds, video tapes, rescue. Not team whump, but has team elements.

In Plain Sight--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, torture, blood, wounds, burns, restraints, medical care, hospital, caretaker and whumpee

Not of This World--status complete. 10 parts. TW: kidnapping, captivity, blood, murder, death (not mcd), noncon, aliens

Say It--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, knives, blood, wounds, unconsciousness, emotional whump, escape, hospital, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee. 

Morning --status complete. 5 parts. TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Reaper at the Gate--status complete. 7 parts. TW: restraints, blood, torture, captivity, botched escape attempt, physical violence, electrocution, drowning, illness, fever, rescue, caretaker and whumpee, unclear character status. Not team whump, but has team elements.  

The Sea Inside--status complete. 9 parts. TW: blood, wounds, stabbing, potential drowning, captivity, torture, cruel whumper, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee (mostly comfort tbh)

Legends Rise--status complete. 8 parts. TW: public humiliation, whipping, torture, restraints, blood, stabbing, knives, unconsciousness, defiant whumpee, threat of death. 

Song of the Siren--status complete. 6 parts. TW: yandere whumper, captivity, magic, soul sucking, manipulation, drowning, implied mcd. 

Awake--status complete. 6 parts. TW: head injury, drugging, broken bones, noncon, yandere whumper, unclear character status. 

Come On--status complete. 5 parts (including epilogue). TW: captivity, blood, wounds, infection, bandages, drowning, knives, stabbing, mcd, grief, mourning, hurt/no comfort, caretaker and whumpee. 

Every Breath--status complete. 5 parts. TW: referenced torture, referenced captivity, sick fic, medical whump, yandere whumper, drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, unclear character status. 

Royal Pain--status complete. 6 parts. TW: torture, restraints, bruises, blood, wounds, emotional whump, cruel whumper, self sacrifice, mcd, caretaker and whumpee, hurt/no comfort. 

This Means War--status complete. 8 parts. TW: kidnapping, torture, choking, strangulation, restraints, unconsciousness, rescue, caretaker and whumpee, hospital, unclear character status (multiple)

Secret Agent Man--status complete. 7 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, broken bones, bruises, wounds, injury, blood, knives, hospital, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, rescue, caretaker and whumpee, two whumpers

On a Limb--status complete. 3 parts. TW: captivity, torture, rescue, broken bones, amputation, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Lethal Weapon--status complete. 7 parts. TW: conditioning, manipulation, captivity, hidden injury, gunshot, blood, wounds, unconsciousness, hospital, self sacrifice, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath. Team elements, but not team whump

The Night We Met--status complete. 4 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, noncon, blood, wounds, drugging, mcd, two whumpers, creepy/intimate whumper, cruel whumper

At Last--status complete. 4 parts. TW: captivity, torture, wounds, blood, bruises, unconsciousness, hospital, escape, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee

Words--status complete. 2 parts. TW: emotional whump, threats, torture, captivity, restraints, wounds, blood, stab wounds, mcd, grief, hurt/no comfort, caretaker and whumpee

Once and for All--status complete. 7 parts. TW: kidnapping, restraints, gags, physical violence, torture, blood, bruises, broken bones, noncon, choking, unconsciousness, mcd, two whumpers, hurt/no comfort

Forever--status complete. 5 parts. TW: yandere, drugging, magic, poisoning, unconsciousness, self sacrifice

Stuck On You--status complete. 3 parts. TW: captivity, torture, broken bones, escape, hospital, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, two whumpees

Quake--status complete. 3 parts. TW: earthquake, head injury, blood, unconsciousness, rescue, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hospital. 

Undercover--status complete. 3 parts. TW: blood, gunshot, wounds, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, blood, gunshot, mcd, hurt/no comfort

Grateful--status complete. 3 parts. TW: referenced torture, referenced captivity, scars, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Chatter--status complete. 5 parts. TW: restraints, torture, exposure, hypothermia, unconsciousness, noncon touching, noncon, escape, defiant whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, hurt/aftermath

Higher Love--status complete. 7 parts including epilogue. TW: captivity, torture, drugging, noncon, sexual assault, rape, hospital, rescue, dissociation, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee, yandere whumper, cravings, substance abuse, recovery.

Sweet Nothings--status complete. 2 parts. TW: injury, hospital, unconsciousness, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Hook, Line, and Sinker--status complete. 8 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, gag, self sacrifice, torture, stabbing, blood, gun, gunshot, mcd, hurt/no comfort, caretaker and whumpee

Touch Them--status complete. 7 parts including alternate ending. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, unconsciousness, blood, head injury, forced to watch, choking, strangulation, suffocation, begging, noncon, rape, broken bones, mcd, caretaker and whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper. Alternate does not have MCD

Are You Scared--status complete. 2 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, buried alive, temporary character death, cpr, rescue, hospital, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

On Three--status complete. 3 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, forced to watch, strangulation, broken bones, physical violence, escape

Good Things Come To Those Who Wait--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, nail, wounds, rescue, unconsciousness, physical violence, unclear character status, hospital, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Ready, Set, Go--status complete. 8 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, suffocation, asphyxiation, unconsciousness, rescue, physical violence, temporary character death, cpr, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Two Birds, One Bullet--status complete. 6 parts. TW: captivity, threat of death, forced to watch, self sacrifice, gun, gun violence, falling from a great height, potential mcd, blood, broken bones, torture, gunshot, gunshot wound, blood, unclear character status, hospital, intubation, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Compass--status complete. 3 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, hunting, cruel sadistic whumper, pursuit, gun shot, unclear character status

Close--status complete. 4 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, forced to watch, electrocution, forced to hear, rescue

Unhand--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, self sacrifice, physical violence, unconsciousness, blood, burns, cuts, appears to be mcd, but is not actually, nightmares, rescue, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

In Your Arms--status complete. 3 parts. TW: kidnapping, torture, restraints, bruises, beating, rescue, gun fire, gunshot, blood, wounds, bleeding out, unconsciousness, temporary character death, cpr, hospital, bedside vigil, emotional manipulation, self sacrifice, lies, caretaker and whumpee, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Still With Us

Make Me

You're Awake--status complete. 3 parts. TW: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, blood loss, rescue, unconsciousness, hospital, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

So Tired

Miss Me?

Strength in Your Bones

Tender is the Night

We've Had a Good Run--status complete. 3 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, drowning, temporary character death, rescue, cpr, failed rescue, mcd, hurt/no comfort

Shake and Shiver

Silence

Electrify

Frozen Tears

Heavy Burden--status complete. 5 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, botched escape/rescue attempt, strangulation, cruel whumper, blood, cuts, wounds, mcd, escape, failed rescue, hurt/no comfort, caretaker and whumpee

Walk

Devil's Advocate

Thin Ice--status complete. 3 parts. TW: captivity, torture, brands, burns, restraints, cruel whumper, hurt/no comfort, mcd

You're Doing Great

Twenty-Three and Me

All Quiet--status complete. 4 parts. TW: escape attempt, torture, captivity, restraints, drugging, experimentation, blood, broken bones, unconsciousness, physical violence, blood, forced to watch, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, guilt

Let Me Help You--status complete; 2 parts. TW: bruises, blood, broken bones, unconsciousness.

Another catatonia request--status complete; 2 parts. TW: referenced torture, referenced captivity, catatonia, caretaker and whumpee, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Dangerous Game--status complete; 3 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, threat of death, pursuit, escape, stabbing, blood, mcd, hurt/no comfort, failed rescue

Lonely Place of Longing--status complete; 17 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, dehumanization, manipulation, torture, blood, unconsciousness, wounds, medical care, gore, stabbing, cuts, knife, gun, gunshot, cruelty, heartbreak, self sacrifice, mcd, cpr, failed cpr, heartbreak, hurt/no comfort. Living weapon whumpee

Electric Feel--status complete; 5 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, electrocution, incontinence, drowning, gag, unconsciousness, rescue, cardiac arrest, cpr, mcd, hurt/no comfort

It's Over--status complete. 4 parts. TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, knife, stabbing, wounds, mcd, rescue, hospital, revenge, recapture, unconsciousness, unclear character status, rescue, too late rescue, mcd, grief, hurt/no comfort

Lake Lachrymose

On My Way

Antidote

Rope

Wake Up

[3-2-whump]

(Re)Living a Nightmare, part 2

<prev next>

You're still here? Okay, it's not gonna get any better for our poor boy. Do read and heed the tags/CW.

Basic Summary if You Decide to Skip

Also please skim this chapter and this chapter if you haven't already, because they will be referenced heavily in the story coming up

TW/CW: rape/noncon, bound and gagged and blindfolded whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, knife play, neither safe nor sane nor consensual, blood (lots of blood), victim blaming, internalized victim blaming, whumpee and whumper unknowingly triggering each other, blunt force trauma to the head (face), panic

NOTE: The inner thoughts and opinions expressed within do not align with those of the author, who themself has never and would never condone such thoughts and opinions in real life. Reader Discretion is advised.

All Thomas asked of him was to change into clothes he wouldn’t mind replacing, which usually meant that whatever Khaled wore would be torn/burned/ stained so irreparably that it’d just be thrown away after. Already based on that request, Khaled could guess he was in for a rough night. He had no idea how much worse it could get until he was blindfolded, bound, gagged, and carried out the apartment and down to the cold garage, where the hard foot-well of the back seat waited for him. The car revved to life, and his restrained body lurched forward as Thomas pulled out of the garage and drove them to fuck knows where.

Eventually they came to a stop, Thomas exchanged some words with the night-shift guard at the old house, and then they kept going until they parked. Khaled slowly started to put the pieces together. They were back at the old house, which probably meant Thomas wanted to take him downstairs, which meant whatever he wanted to do to him would be too messy or too specialized to do back at the apartment. What is he planning? Khaled wondered. He’s asked me to wear my most expendable clothes, he’s tied me up like I used to be when I was recaptured, he’s thrown me into the back like when I was recaptured-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening. He blindly tilted his head toward the chill of the night and the distant sound of frogs singing. A pair of calloused hands hauled him up from the foot-well of the back seat and slung him over a broad shoulder. “Thought you could escape me this time, did you?” his master’s voice purred in his ear.

A pit of dread competed with the chill of the early spring night in his bones as Khaled realized what all this preparation had meant. Master wants to roleplay my escape attempts. He began shivering, though not just because of the cold. A warm hand rested on his buttocks to steady him as he felt himself being carried inside, through the hallway, and to the front of a very familiar door. Reliving his failed escape attempts but with an added sexual element was one of Khaled’s recurring nightmares. What cruel irony was this, that he had begged so enthusiastically no more than half an hour ago for this man to make his nightmare come true?

The familiar creak of a door opening preceded the dusty, dried-blood smell coming from the stairs leading down into the cellar. Khaled pleaded through the rag stuffed in his mouth and the tape sealed over his lips as they descended the stairs step by concrete step. He tugged at the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles, but all that did was dig the hard plastic further into his flesh.

The cellar in the basement was the only room in Luciano Antonio Costa’s old house that didn’t get renovated when they converted the rest of it into an office space. Mainly because its purpose as a room for torture and interrogation never went obsolete. Khaled didn’t have to see it; he’d been down in the T&I cellar enough times to have the layout committed to memory. Dusty, red bricked walls arched into a curved ceiling where two overhead lamps hung by thick chains, illuminating the large expanse below. A fireplace and all its accompanying iron tools sat to the left, and a rack lined with various instruments of torture was positioned to the right. In the middle was one large table with scratch marks furrowed into its edges, and many other types of equipment were either shoved in a corner or hanging from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains and hooks like morbid chandeliers. Partitioning a back portion of the room was a large iron gate leading to a small offshoot of the basement, much like a door to a prison cell. Not much lay beyond the iron gate besides a hard-worn bench and several opaque plastic storage tubs full of mysterious items.

Khaled squirmed as he was lowered onto his stomach on top of the familiar table. “What were you thinking,” scolded the nightmare looming above him. A faint swish of a pocket knife and cold steel next to his skin made Khaled pause his struggles as his master cut away the zip ties. “Escaping in this cold weather without so much as a scrap of clothing on you –did you even have a plan?” he taunted. “I don’t know what your plan was, or even if you had a plan, but was it really worth freezing yourself to death?”

Khaled enjoyed the freedom of his unbound limbs for only a moment until his wrists were snatched into a tight grip and gathered in front of him. A coarse and scratchy material –rope, most likely –began entangling around and in between his wrists as his master continued talking. “We have a tracking chip installed inside of you, remember? You can never escape me; I will always find you.” With a forceful tug, Khaled’s hands were pulled in front of him, then he couldn’t move his hands at all. The other end of the rope must have been tied off to the ring attachment at the edge of the table.

His ankles remained free, if only to make it easier to take his pants off.

There were some light shuffling noises before the wooden table groaned under a newfound weight. Khaled felt the body heat of another person leaning over him. The cologne Thomas wore quickly overpowered his senses as the man hovered close. Khaled could feel his master’s breath on his ear and something hard and stiff against his backside. “The last time you tried to run away, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons,” Thomas sultrily whispered.

Oh god no. By now, Khaled knew which escape attempt they were reenacting, and, coincidentally, it was the one he had nightmares about the most.

“I don’t want to permanently cripple you though,” Thomas sighed, “mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

He could already hear the hiss of the iron.

His panicked cries took on a new pitch of desperation. Without warning, his master’s fingers pinched at the edge of the duct tape on Khaled’s mouth and pulled, making him scream in pain. The rag was quickly removed, only for his tormentor to shove his index and middle fingers past the boy’s teeth to depress his tongue. “Suck,” he growled, “because this is the only lube you’re going to get.”

“Please, no, not this one, please, please no, not this, not this,” Khaled begged around the fingers in his mouth.

The fingers quickly withdrew before Khaled’s head was yanked back by the hair and then smashed onto the table. Stars danced across his blindfold, and a faint trickle of something warm and wet escaped from his nose.

“Let’s try this again.” Thomas shoved his fingers back into the boy’s mouth, burying them to the knuckle and making the boy gag. “Suck.”

Khaled shakily worked his head up and down the length of the fingers as his tongue lapped at each digit. He started to cry. As soon as the fingers withdrew, his pleas picked up again in earnest. “Please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me-”

“Would you relax?! I’m not going to burn you!” Thomas shouted above him. “What about any of this looks like I’m gonna burn you?!” Khaled heard a frustrated huff above him as his master yanked down his pants and underwear, exposing his bare ass and legs to the cold. The shed clothing was discarded, landing with a soft whump somewhere behind them. The two digits that were in his mouth forcefully entered him below, all pretense of play forgotten as they began roughly working him open. “Besides which, weren’t you the one who wanted to do this? You asked for this, you wanted this! You said you would be good for me!”

And he was right, he did say he wanted this. He asked for this to happen. So, with a defeated sniffle, Khaled went quiet and limp.

“So, are you going to be good for me now?”

Khaled’s bruised forehead scraped against the table as he nodded.

“Thank fuck,” Thomas grumbled.

I asked for this, Khaled told himself. The darkness around his eyes became damp as the blindfold caught his tears. I asked for this, I wanted this. He repeated it like a mantra as the man on top of him replaced his fingers with his cock and steadily screwed him against the table. I asked for this, I wanted this. Something tore down there as an unmistakable thin, warm, and sticky fluid trickled past the cock pummeling his hole. I wanted this. I wanted this…

I didn’t want this.

I never wanted this. Any of this.

I don’t want this. Slowly, the new mantra gained strength, and he let the words slip between his lips with every shuddering breath. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this-”

“Tough shit,” his master grunted.

Khaled pulled against the rope restraining his hands as he struggled against the body pressing into his. “I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I-” Again, Khaled’s face was smashed against the table. He heard a faint crunch as a new river of blood flowed out of his nose.

“You can scream all you want, nobody’s going to hear you,” Thomas growled, “but for fucks sakes, can you please scream something less annoying?!”

Khaled kept repeating it between every sniffle, like a sad broken record. “I don’t want this,” he sobbed. “I don’t want this… I don’t want this…”

His begging finally outwore Thomas’ need to finish. “Fuck,” his master huffed, unsticking his sweaty torso from Khaled’s clothed back as he pulled out of him. Khaled collected his heaving breaths. It would be too naïve of him to believe his bitchy whining finally got through, but he would appreciate this moment while he could.

He suppressed his sobs and tilted his head to follow the footsteps and shuffling sounds Thomas was making as he tried to guess what would happen to him next. Khaled heard the faint schwing of a different knife being unsheathed. It cut through the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt as his master finally completely undressed him, tearing away the scraps of cotton the knife didn’t excise from his body. “You said you would be good for me, but you have been anything but!” A twisted strip of cloth was wedged between his teeth and hastily tied off at the back of his head. His master’s hand pinned him down by the back of the neck, crushing him against the table with the weight behind it. “You said you missed me, but you’ve only fought against me this whole time!” Khaled screamed into the gag as the tip of the knife sank in between his shoulder blades. Its blade dragged tortuously and deliberately through his skin as his tormentor continued griping above him. “You’re a fucking liar, you know that?” The knife mercifully lifted from the trough it had carved, only to be plunged into a new area of Khaled’s back. “Do you know what I do to liars, boy? I make them pay!” The raw wounds on his back wept with blood as the knife kept slicing, spilling over his sides and pooling underneath his stomach and the table below. It was hard to cry with a gag in his mouth and a broken nose full of blood. He gasped for breaths between sobs, never quite getting a satisfying breath before the pain of the knife would make him scream again. His tears slipped past the saturated blindfold and tracked down his cheeks to join the pinkish smear of saliva, snot, and blood he could feel covering the lower half of his face. “This is for Callahan!” The knife drove down and sliced another line through his skin for each name the monster dropped. “This is for Trémeaux! And Robinson, and Martinez, and Kruger, and Kościelsky, and this-” The knife dug deeper this time. Khaled bit into the gag as his nerves screamed in agony, the steel scraping something hard as it dragged against his back. “-this is for my brother; he is never coming back! Tony is never coming back, and it’s all because of you!” the monster above him roared.

It was in that moment, between the terror and the pain, that Khaled realized with a fascinated horror that his master was reliving a nightmare, too. I need to snap him out of it if I’m getting out of this cellar alive, he realized. So, he set his own trauma and pain aside and began doing what got him into this mess in the first place. The twisted cloth had loosened just enough. He pushed it out of his mouth with his tongue and started begging as if his life depended on it, because this time, it really did.

“I didn’t kill him!” he cried.  “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him!” Khaled screamed well past the point his throat hurt. “Master, please, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill any of them! I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him, Master, I didn’t kill him…” If the knife had stopped cutting into him and the rope around his wrists had been untied, Khaled was too far gone in his panic induced catatonia to notice. “I didn’t kill him… I didn’t kill him…” he rasped through a throat torn raw from screaming.

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[eldritch-spouse]

Blind(not actually blind) anon here, I had ANOTHER really horrible sounding idea which I am guiltily enjoying (bubble bath after this one, I feel like a really guilty Catholic schoolgirl LMFAO)--

Patches gets kidnapped by the reader and raped, except he's clearly very into it despite his bad attempts at trying to behave like an actual victim

Kidnapper! Reader, who's tied Patches up and is forcibly fucking his ass with a strap-on: I've wanted this for so long, you have no id--

Patches, screaming like a delighted whore: me fucking too, oh my god, holy shit, gimme more, please!!~

Kidnapper! Reader, feeling the most turned on they've ever felt in their entire life:

TW: Noncon???

Honestly, you're just saving him the trouble of actually having to take initiative.

He wouldn't even try to behave like someone who's scared and doesn't want what's happening to him. This fucker sees you coming a mile away, deliberately lets himself get abducted, "wakes up" chained in your basement and blushes like a bitch in heat when you come to see him.

This very much translates into a confirmation of all that Patches could ever dream of. You love him too! You want him back badly enough to do all this! How blessed isn't he?!

Patches might cry when you "rape" him, but only because he can't believe it's actually happening, and you want to fuck him so bad you'd keep him in a dingy little basement as your filthy fuckpet forever- You don't even have to worry about feeding him, he's so low-maintenance, just drop by and touch his pathetic cock every once in a while, he'll be happy, he'll be so so happy.

What are you going to do with this little creep when Stitches manages to front? Because he's certainly getting out of the chains, there's no doubt about it. Maybe you will wake up in your own basement soon enough.