#tw: reference of physical abuse

[itsabouttimex2]

Ok, ok, HEAR ME OUT-

How about lmk Monkeifam and Bullfam with a Y/N who isn't afraid to throw hands —

Like i mean in a response to trauma or manipulation, becouse i fell it isn't explore enough in this situation -

Sure, your loved that you belived was a friend trapped /kidnapped/gaslight you is heartbreaking and of course you are gonna be sad and more incline to behave butttt-

There is always the other way of absolute rage that comes in once you realized you have been trapped/kidnapped /gaslight ecc- like i don't care anymore, i wanna throw hands, those people are death to me.(even thought this isn't the smarter choice considering the strenght of some of the people here) like them breaking Y/N down so they can comfort them to manipulate them, but then unsurprisingly the get the biggest smack/punch of their life . Just- wow the audacity.

Throwing Hands

Bullfam & Monkiefam

“…is this some sort of pathetic attempt at ‘rebellion’, Y/N? I am not impressed.”

Your hands straight bounce. Like punching a bag of wet cement, the Demon Bull King’s skin just shifts around under your fists, never breaking or bruising. You only shatter yourself against it, leaving you worn and looking foolish.

He might not even punish you, given that it’s likely that you break a wrist on impact.

“Now, look what you’ve done to yourself, foolish child. Did you truly think your mortal flesh could stand a demon king’s might? Well, now you know better.”

You lost your temper and struck him. Immediately, you learn better than to do that ever again, and he considers it lesson enough.

Surprisingly merciful, all things considered. (Partially because he finds it somewhat funny.)

I once said in my yandere alphabet that: “Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning or whipping you”. And though I think that viewpoint is usually true…

This changes that. It’s maybe the only situation where he would actively engage in any form of normalized torture “corporal punishment”.

Being physically attacked switches Red from ‘mildly reasonable, if a bit hair-trigger’ to ‘vicious and cruel’. Through brute force alone does he wrestle you into submission, binding your arms behind your back with a pair of metal cuffs.

He tosses you onto the nearest bed and couch before burning the lower half of your clothing off. He then takes up a thin metal rod to utilize in “disciplining” you, sharply lashing it down against your now unprotected skin. He’ll leave puffy, bleeding welts from the top of your rear to the bottom of your thighs, ensuring that you won’t even be able to think about walking for at least a week.

Problem is that not only does it not solve the problem of you being scared and angry, it also just… makes him feel bad afterwards. It breaks him, seeing you weep brokenly over his bed. Blood sluggishly trickles from the skin he’s lashed open, and you scream your lungs out into the sheets as you try to adjust to the pain.

And then he “has to” (wants to, in truth) settle in for some awkward form of aftercare, offering lotion and bandages. When you don’t accept, he forces you to drink a cup of honeyed tea loaded with sedatives because you won’t stop shrieking.

Antiseptic while you’re asleep, a few stitches here and there, then the lotion and bandages he tried earlier. And then a few cautious back rubs, trying to calm your fitful slumber.

“Gods, Y/N… what have I done to you? I… I was just… I was… no, I… I’m sorry.”

An outright dodge. Princess Iron Fan has no time for your nonsense. For trying, she’ll lock you into whatever room has been set aside for you, barring the door with powerful magic.

One shallowly-filled bowl of food every two days, adding just a little bit more to it each day. One ceramic cup of room temperature water every four hours. A change of clothes every three days. Instead of brute force, Iron Fan teaches you through deprivation.

After a month of this, she might see fit you allow you back out of your room, letting you mingle with the family you have been forced to adopt.

After writing her a letter of apology, of course. Two pages. Pray you have the mind to keep your pencil steady.

So very many tears to deal with, probably on both ends. MK knows that he’s doing isn’t all that great, sure… but it’s because he loves you!

Can’t you love him back, please? Ok, he’s been manipulating you! Maybe he’s been driving some friends away! Maybe he’s sent a few clones to tail you around the city! But, please, please- you can’t stop loving him! He just can’t risk having you hurt!

“Please, Y/N! You don’t understand! I’m just trying to keep you safe! You can hit me again, hit me as many times as you want! Just- please, Y/N… I need you. Please…”

His last resort is stuffing you in Shuilian Cave, given that you can’t escape with his or Sun Wukong’s help. Maybe a few ropes to keep you in place. He’ll cry with each knot tied, begging you not to hate him.

Sun Wukong tanks your punch and gives your head a little pat, frowning at the display. “Sorry, bud. Trust me, I know I’m not exactly the good guy here. Go ahead and let it out. I… kinda deserve it, huh?”

The Great Sage knows you have every reason to be upset. Really, you do. All there’s only so much waylaying of emotions to be done, unfortunately. You were going to crack eventually.

He stands firmly in place, one hand rubbing your back while you break your fists against his body, watching you scream and cry. The man is just… unsurprised? He’s starting to realize that he messes up a lot of things.. So just letting you whale on him seems fair, gently trying to shush your angry tears while your skin grinds to bloody pulp against his shredded abdomen.

“How about I make us some tea,” he offers afterwards, surveying your destroyed hands. “And I’ll patch you up. Then… I think you’ve earned yourself an early bedtime for the rest of the week, bud.”

“Oh, kiddo. Do you know what “screwing up” is? After this, they’re gonna put your picture in the dictionary as an example.”

Macaque does not tolerate having hands laid on him. Not by friends, not by enemies. And certainly not by his little student, who is supposed to be wide-eyed and placid, in awe of his every move and strike.

You are supposed to be sweet and respectful. You are supposed to be kind and loving.

And he’s sure that with a little bit of “training”, he’ll get you back to that disposition.

He’ll snap his fingers with an angry snarl, shadows springing all around you like cold wires. You are gagged with a cold ebon muzzle, both your hands locked inside a cuff of swirling black and purple. You want to act like an animal? Macaque will chain you to the wall by your new muzzle and treat you like an animal.

Maybe a few days spent so on a chain so short you can’t lay down will teach you better than to raise a hand against “the only person who even loves you, Y/N!” ever again.

[poisonousquinzel]

sweetie im so sorry you're not being allowed to flourish in live action and kill that damned clown, they don't deserve you

[pvremichigan]

Whoopsie time

[anja-the-sane-panda]

Just a silly lil fic with Jack and Night Swan interacting before one of his shows

Nothing more! Hehehehehehehehehehe

[dizzified]

Python Dynastia, the worst man you'll ever meet, I hope he falls into a paper shredder and fucking dies. Worst brother of the century, get him far away from Amelia. Call him gay and he will cry like a little piss baby bitch.

Hot take: Being physically and emotionally abusive to and gaslighting your sister into believing she doesn't have autonomy and is devoted and in-debt to you is not silly.

"Don't do it."

"I-.. I- Wasn't-"

"I can see it in your eyes, you're being swayed, you're having doubts again, what did I tell you."

"Not to-.. AH!—"

"You listen here, you stupid fucking bitch, you listen to me. You don't listen to him, you don't listen them, you listen to the only one who actually gives a damn about you. I'm your brother, I'm all you need, I put so much time and energy into your worthless body, without me, you're fucking nothing. You're a pathetic wriggling maggot that can do nothing for itself, not without my word, because your body was never your own, it was always mine, devote yourself to the fucking god that grants you purpose."

"P- Python-.. Python-.. That hurts- Please- I'm sorry-"

"Amelia, I'm going to break your fucking neck right here and now if you don't wipe that stupid abused look off your face, I've done nothing to you, it's not my fault you're an over-emotional whore that's fucked up her life beyond belief. I bet you really believe he loves you, don't you? That he's not just clamoring desperate for the power you could give him, like every other of his kind. Waiting for the moment when you plead a longer lifespan for him, to make him a god such as yourself, that's all he wants. Mortals are greedy, they're cruel, they only think for themselves, all of them, you've seen it first-hand how horrible they can be, you've seen how horrible he can be."

"He's-.. Hh-.. He's not-"

"He's just like all the rest of them, Amelia. They all exist to leech off us for power, you've seen how they pray oh so desperately to whatever god they believe will give them a sliver of power, no matter how corrupt. You've seen the cults, how they've sacrificed, genocided, enslaved, innocent lives just for their own benefit. Are you forgetting, are you forgetting what he was, are you forgetting what he did, are you so blinded by false love that you cannot see the bigger picture here?"

"Please stop-.. Please-"

"Shut your fucking mouth, you lowly bitch, that's all you are, a stupid girl who always lets her naivety guide her, that's why you have me, that's why I'm the smart one, that's why I know everything, to stop my dumbfuck of a sister from falling into the jaws of a wolf who only wishes the worst for her. God, Amelia, you're so lucky I'm here, that I can see the things that you don't, you're so trusting, so empathetic, so forgiving, so fucking gullible.. You can't even see you've been manipulated, you're just so fucking easy."

"… Hh.."

"Citrex isn't your husband, he's just like all the other greedy cultists clawing at your heels for an ounce of power, and when he gets it, he's gone. Listen to me, listen to your brother, couldn't you see how he was trying to turn you away from me, because I was telling you the honest truth? He's trying to keep you in the dark, to hide his true intentions, he doesn't love you, nobody does, nobody except me. Do you think I'd have done all of this for nothing, wasted all this time, I'm doing this because you're my sister and I love you, I have your best interest in mind, and all you've wanted to do this entire time is be a fucking annoying little bitch and make things harder for me! Just give it up, Amelia, for fighting for something that isn't worth it, they're not worth it, he's not worth it, I'm worth it. I am and will always be your everything."

[weepingpussywillowtree]

TW: references to abusive childhood and physical abuse scars

always a good day when people fighting and shouting in a meeting at work triggers your C-PTSD and you spend the rest of the day completely useless, close to tears, and staring at the scars your mother gave you with her fingernails over a decade ago. I'll be okay, but damn if this doesn't suck.

*sigh* happy friday y'all..

[shatteredmemoriesofroses]

Blank

I hate her.

She took everything from me.

My favourite colour, my favourite songs, my favourite ships.

Everything.

I can’t see what used to be my favourite shade of red without thinking of her,

I can’t hear some of my old favourite songs without breaking,

I can’t watch some of my favourite shows lest I remember her.

She took it all.

She took my birthday with her.

Leaving me dreading that day every year.

I had just turned 14, I thought I would be dead by morning,

I thought that I wouldn’t finish 8th grade.

I cannot shed tears when I think of it all.

I cry in my head.

My screams ricochet around my mind,

Incomprehensible beyond a dark cry,

Nonsensical screams begging for it to be over.

They don’t know that it’s over.

That it has been over for years.

She took some of the things I held most dear.

She took my favourite colour,

Red now relegated to number three.

And yet I think what if?

What if I’d never met her?

I’d still have my favourite shade of red,

And my favourite songs.

She ruined so much of what I loved.

I hate her for it.

I’ll always hate her for it.

[san-vimes]

He used a towel to hit me today.

[sanguineterrain]

Hey, I love your writing, your Jason fics are always so tender and authentic

I was wondering if you would write something where Reader is pulled aside by someone and asked whether they're in danger (since Jason is pretty big and intimidating) and later they laugh it off because they find it absurd but it gets to Jason and perhaps brings some insecurities to the surface

this is actually devastating!!! thank you for requesting 🤌

jason todd x gn!reader. tw: wrongly assumed abuse and jason being gutted at the idea, hurt/comfort, reassurance, estab relationship.

****

"Chocolate is obviously superior."

Jason sighs, flopping against the diner booth dramatically. "What a shame to be so wrong. Vanilla stays on top."

"Vanilla is boring as hell, Jay," you say, throwing your napkin at him. He catches it. Of course. "On the milkshake hierarchy, vanilla is barely a step above whatever monstrosity a peppermint bark shake is."

"Buddy, I happen to like drinking toothpaste." He points a finger at you. "And that's my God-given right."

"It's an abomination is what it is." You take a long, pointed sip of your shake. "Mm, the taste of good choices."

Jason traps both of your legs between his under the table. You gasp and try to wiggle free, but his strength is merciless.

"If it's an abomination, why is it on the menu?" he asks, grinning as you squirm.

"Well, what else are they meant to serve you freaks?"

Jason gently tugs you forward by your legs. He leans over the table. You meet him halfway.

"This freak appreciates the thought," he says and kisses you.

He tastes like vanilla shake. It's not what you'd order, but you really don't mind kissing it off of Jason's mouth. Funny how that works.

He pulls away and releases your legs, then scoots out of the booth.

"Gonna take care of business. Don't drink my incredibly irresistible shake."

"I'll certainly try," you say, looking up at him with what are undoubtedly giant heart eyes.

Jason disappears to the restrooms. You drink your shake and focus on trying to craft the straw wrapper into a snake.

You're close to shaping it when a woman comes up to your table. You've never seen her in your life.

"Uh, hi," you say. "Can I help you?"

She glances around the diner before leaning down.

"Hey. Look, if you're... in need of someplace safe, there's a great shelter downtown."

Your brows rise. "I'm sorry?"

"I was in your shoes once too," she says, eyes wide. "You don't have to rely on a guy to get you on your feet. Especially someone like him."

You shake your head slowly. "I... what? I don't understand. The man I'm with, he's my boyfriend."

She looks skeptical. You turn to face her fully, because now you're properly bewildered.

"Uh, I appreciate that you're looking out for people, and I know stuff you're referring to is everywhere in Gotham. But I promise I'm okay."

"I know physical intimidation is scary—"

"Whoa." You hold up a hand. "Just because he's a big guy doesn't mean he's throwing me around. He's the gentlest man you'll ever meet. I love him and he loves me. No one is in danger."

The woman's mouth pinches. You don't even have it in you to be upset. You've never once felt afraid of Jason. But you forget how he looks to others, how he's twice or triple most people's size and covered in scars.

"Here's the number to the shelter," she says, slipping the paper under the salt shaker. "In case you change your mind."

She hurries out the door before you can respond. You stare at the card, then shrug. You suppose, if anything, you're happy there are still good Samaritans in Gotham.

Presently, Jason returns. He purposely makes his footsteps heard because of the countless times you've lectured him about scaring the shit out of you due to his habit of going stealth mode without realizing.

"Hello, dearest," he says. "I've returned from war."

"My hero. Did you wash your hands in battle?"

Jason slides into the booth and sticks his hand in your face. "Smell 'em and rejoice, baby."

You take his hand and give it a deep sniff. It indeed smells like soap. Not that you ever doubted your boyfriend's handwashing capabilities.

"Smells like... wrong opinions about milkshakes," you say, then kiss his palm.

He rolls his eyes. "I can see my absence has taught you nothing. Unfortunate."

"I'm stubborn. I'm sure you of all people can understand that," you say, smiling.

"Mm. Y'lucky you're cute."

Your food arrives, the waitress cheerily informing you that she hopes you enjoy your meal.

"I think she's the happiest person in Gotham," Jason says, shaking the ketchup bottle.

You take a fry from his plate. "Probably a Metropolis native."

"Y'know my fries are the exact same as yours, right?"

"Nope," you say. "Yours have special boyfriend cooties on them. Adds flavor."

"You're gross," Jason says, quite lovingly.

You make a heart with your hands. He returns it, then takes a bite of his burger.

You don't even register it when Jason grabs the salt shaker. You're zeroed in on your lunch and don't look up until he speaks.

"What's this?"

Jason's holding the shelter hotline card.

"Oh! Some lady came over and gave that to me."

"Gave it to you?"

You should clock Jason's tone and the way he's stopped eating completely. But the experience was so odd that you can't fathom Jason thinking it as anything but a mistake.

"Yeah. For some reason, she thought I was here drinking a milkshake with you against my will. Probably 'cause it's Gotham, and you're my BBB: big beefcake boyfriend. Little does she know, I'm the heavyweight boxing champion of Park Row."

You swirl your fries in Jason's ketchup. He doesn't even blink. Usually, he'd give you a raised eyebrow and pretend he's cross.

Jason's still staring at the card. You catch his legs with yours. He doesn't look up.

"Jay?" you ask, smile fading. You drop your legs. "Hey. Y'good?"

"Hm? Oh. Sorry, baby." He puts the card aside and smiles at you, quick and strained.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

"Yeah. Uh, fine."

"Jason." You lean over and grab his hand. "What's wrong?"

He swallows. You wait, the noise of the diner fading. All that matters is whatever's causing his absolutely heartbreaking expression.

"How could she think I'm hurting you?" Jason whispers, finally looking at you. "How could—I would never hurt you."

"Oh, Jay. Honey, that's why I hardly entertained her. It was so silly to think about. I was so puzzled at first that I couldn't even decipher what she meant."

"But what if... y'know, maybe she sensed something about me. Sensed violence. I get it. I'd–I'd be scared of me if I were a regular person."

"Jason, sweetie, no. No, no, no. I think that woman experienced some hard things in her life, and that caused her to see something that wasn't there. She had good intentions, but she was absolutely wrong. I know you have a past, but I've never felt unsafe with you. Never. I could never be afraid of you."

Jason gnaws on the inside of his cheek. You get up and slide in next to him, crowding him against the wall. You curl against his arm.

"You love me so well, I forget that most people see a monster when I walk down the street," he says.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Pins in your heart.

"You're not a monster, Jay. You're good. I know it. Your family knows it. You're a protector."

He takes a deep breath. "If–if you ever felt afraid of me, ever, and you wanted me to stay away, then you tell me so, and I'd leave you alone. No questions asked."

"Jason," you whisper. You wrap your arm around his neck and pull him close. The vinyl squeaks as you shift. "Jay, I love you. I don't want you to leave me alone."

"But if—"

"No. Please listen to me. I know you'd never hurt or frighten me. Sometimes, people are wrong. She was wrong about you. She was kind but wrong."

You sit like that for a bit, feeling each other breathe. Jason's hand grazes yours. You grab it, lacing your fingers together.

"I love you too," he says quietly. "Never felt anything but love for you."

You smile and steal another fry off his plate. He snorts.

"I know." You lean against his shoulder. "Never doubted it."

[girlrotterr]

Ultraviolence.

farm!ellie x fem!reader TW!: references to alcohol and substance abuse, along with instances of emotional and verbal abuse. Summary: Years after returning from Seattle, you and Ellie chose to adopt a baby, hoping to rebuild your lives after the traumatic events. However, several months later, Ellie began struggling emotionally, haunted by her past, expressing her pain through cold and distant behavior. a/n: AHHH!! soo excited to finally share this!! lmk if you angels would like a pt 2!

read part 2! read part 3!

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The silence of the house was abruptly broken by a cry that echoed through every corner. It was a sound you recognized instantly, a heart-wrenching feeling that never failed to make your chest tighten. Those cries belonged to your child. 

As you stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing away residues of dinner from the white porcelain plates – the very ones Ellie had lovingly chosen for you – memories flooded your mind. Each sponge stroke brought back moments shared with Ellie, her attention to detail in every aspect of your life together.

The kitchen, once a place of laughter and shared meals, now felt empty. The soft glow of the overhead light cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the solitude that enveloped you. How you longed for Ellie's presence, her warmth filling the space with love and comfort.

Yet, she wasn't physically absent.

She simply wasn't present.

"Go check on him," ellie muttered rudely, not even looking in your direction.

"Already on it," you replied, setting the plate down and drying your hands on a nearby cloth. 

Making your way upstairs, the cries of your child grew louder as you approached his door. Your heart ached as you recognized them all too well. Taking a deep breath, you knocked and opened the door.

Before you could utter a word, he began pouring out his troubles. He knew it was you even before the door opened, aware that you were the only one who came to check on him. His other mom…hadn't done so in a long time.

He was sobbing into his teddy bear, his red and puffy eyes avoiding your gaze.

"Why is my mommy like that?" he asked, tears staining his teddy bear. "Why is she not playing with me? Does she not love me anymore?"

Closing the door gently behind you, you settled on his bed. His voice choked with emotion, he questioned why his mother seemed distant.

"Oh honey, she loves you.” you tried soothing by rubbing his back, “she’s just… been busy, but soon enough, she'll play with you again, okay? I'll talk to her.." you assured, pulling him into your arms.

"Promise?" This time he raised his head to look at you with those wet eyes. You'd been playing the mother role for the past half a year now. How many times had you made that promise to him? 

"Pinky promise," you affirmed, feeling the weight of your words as you made yet another pledge to ease his worries.

"Thank you mama.."  He smiled weakly, clinging to you with a sense of reassurance. 

A voice in the background called your name – Ellie.

Abruptly, the heavy thuds of footsteps echoed up the stairs, her sharp voice vibrating through the silence of the hallway. 

"What are you doing?!" she snapped, her tone laced with irritation as she barged into the room, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" Ellie snarked,  her words cutting through the air. Her cold glare pierced through you. "Kid, go somewhere else."

As Ellie's coldness unfolded, you began to bite the inside of your cheek, a surge of anger towards her lack of empathy. The lack of interest she showed towards everyone's feelings aggravated you, you were growing exhausted. 

"Stop it.” you intervened, hoping to convey to Ellie the need for a gentler approach toward the child. As expected, Ellie brushed off your attempt, a complete disregard for how her words affected the child.

"I said fucking go!" Ellie yelled.

Your child, tears swelling, quickly left the room, the echoes of his sniffles fading behind him. Dammit, Ellie...

You shoot her a glare filled with frustration, immediately getting up to exit the room. However, Ellie quickly grabbed your arm, her grip tight and nails digging into your flesh, causing you to wince and forcefully move toward her.

"Where the fuck are you going?" she snarled.

"Argh- Ellie, I'm not.. dealing with you right now-" you remarked..

Ellie tugged your arm harshly, her stare growing more aggravated. The scent of cigarettes lingering, the scent so familiar that you had become numb to it. This was the only time Ellie would even attempt to touch you, always using it to assert her control. In all other instances, you existed as nothing, always unnoticed.

“You don’t get to decide that.” She released your arm, shutting the door firmly and positioning herself in front of it to ensure you couldn't leave. Taking another drag from her cigarette, she exhaled the smoke.

Maintaining your glare, you scoffed and went to open the window, refusing to let the smell of cigarettes fill your child's room. 

"What the fuckk are you doing?" Ellie asked, displaying no intention of stopping you, her annoyance being clear. She didn't bother pretending. 

“What does it fucking look like?” you snapped, not bothering to turn and face her. You hated it when she tried irritating you. 

Instead, your focus drifted toward the view outside the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of warm gold and soft pink, casting a gentle glow. The fields surrounding the farmhouse with lively flowers, their petals swaying in the evening breeze.

The farmhouse itself stood as a sturdy, its walls covered with trailing vines of ivy. In the distance, you could hear the faint sound of cows softly in the fields. 

Ellie remained silent, simply taking another prolonged drag of her cigarette. She didn't spare the time to respond to your snarky remarks.

“..he wanted to play with you today,” you mentioned, leaning your head against the window, fidgeting with the sleeves of your shirt. “He thinks you don’t love him.”

It had become routine for Ellie to try and get any information about what your kid shared. His troubles and worries seemed to be a curiosity for her. You never questioned it, always holding onto the hope that, in some part of her, she still truly cared.

"So?" she replied nonchalantly, walking over to you and flicking her cigarette out the window. "What's one of his little feelings to me? He's too attached anyway. It'd be good for him if I ignored him for a while." 

Ellie's gaze drifted toward the window, her eyes captivated by the familiar view. The  golden glow over the farmstead, a sight she had always cherished. It was one of the main reasons she had chosen this farmhouse for her family to live in. 

You gazed at Ellie, taking in her features. Her heavy bags from the countless sleepless nights on the couch, her once-soft pink lips now only meeting the cold bottles of alcohol she consumed in the dead of night.

“He’s not the only one who feels that way..” You remarked, still staring at her, hoping that her emerald eyes would meet yours.

Ellie's heart sank, a flicker of emotion appearing on her face.

"Shut up," she muttered coldly. She didn't bother turning to look at you; your words had clearly affected her. 

"I don't want to hear you talk. I'll do whatever I want. If I don't feel like playing with him, then I fucking won't."

She stormed off, and the moment of silence shattered. Her heavy footsteps descended the stairs. 

Without a moment's hesitation, you rushed out of your son's room, your only focus being to find him. You swiftly walked down the hallway, your pace quickening. Leaving him alone, particularly when upset, was something you hated. As you walked down the hallway…

There he was. 

In the bathroom, seated on the black and white tiled floor, clutching his teddy bear, with his face buried into his knees and headphones covering his ears.

He didn't want to witness his mothers arguing. He understood that whenever Ellie interrupted your time together, it signaled something bad. 

You observed him from the doorway painfully knowing that he didn't deserve this, enduring the harsh environment that the house had become. It pained your heart to see that he had developed coping mechanisms for these moments.

He glanced up at you, his eyes red from crying.

You gave him a soft smile, walking over and lifting him into your arms, gently wiping away the tears from his face. “I’m sorry honey, mommy needed to tell me something-”

“I know,” he said softly, nuzzling his face into your neck. He already knew all your apologies.

You kissed the top of his head, tenderly stroking his hair and swaying side to side. Your mind raced, searching for ways to lift his spirits and make up for Ellie's behavior.

“Hey, why don’t we-”

"Mama... I’m tired," he interrupted, his gaze staring off as if he was drifting from this moment. It wasn’t just physical fatigue; he was tired of it all, exhausted from feeling this way.

You nodded gently. “Okay, let’s head to bed then…”

You walked over to the sink, sitting him on the nearby stool where you usually did to brush his little teeth. The tap gushed water as you applied toothpaste to his green toothbrush covered in tiny dinosaurs, a choice Ellie had insisted upon a while back. You remember her begs of "pleaseee!!" throughout the shopping trip.

With the toothbrush in hand, you gently brushed his teeth, being careful not to hurt his sensitive gums.

“Okay, now you can spit.”

Ptui!

“All clean, mama!” he exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together and flashing you his newly cleaned smile.

You leaned down, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Good job, honey!”

He carefully climbed down from the stool, making his way towards your bedroom. Sleeping with you always made him feel safe, and he eagerly headed for the bed, emitting little grunts of tiredness along the way.

Finally settling onto the bed, he lay down next to his teddy bear, giving it a small pat.

“Mama will join you after she’s done cleaning, okay?” you assured him, tucking him into his space-themed blanket. The blanket, a dark blue adorned with various planets and stars, was one of his favorites.

It was a gift from from grandpa Joel, who had been thrilled to learn about your and Ellie's news of starting a family. He couldn't contain his excitement, bombarding Ellie with endless parenting tips and even purchasing books on child development in preparation.

Joel never got to meet him. 

“Okay...” he said softly, turning away as you walked towards the door. You stared at his back, an ache overwhelming your thoughts, and all you could think about was saying, "I’m sorry." Though you knew you weren’t responsible for Ellie's behavior, you felt like you owed it to him.

You and Ellie were eagerly excited on the journey to adopt a child together, ready to try again. Jackson had many kids in need of a loving home. When you adopted your kid, you promised him a life filled with love and joy, but that promise crumbled far too quickly. 

You stepped out of the room and closed the door behind you.

Heading downstairs, you found Ellie sitting on the couch, smoking a joint and watching Breaking Bad, an episode she had already seen twice.

Resuming your routine, you began cleaning up the kitchen. Drying dishes, sweeping the floor, and wiping the countertops. All tasks you were now accustomed to doing alone.

 Ellie gradually stopped helping, a gradual drift. The same snarky excuses: “I’m too fucking tired” or “I have some work to finish up.” Eventually, she left you alone in the silent kitchen, where everything felt still.

“Goodnight,” you said, looking towards Ellie as you headed towards the stairs.

Silence.

Ellie remained motionless on the couch, smoking her joint and staring blankly at the TV. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, trying to detach herself from the world.

You took a deep breath, attempting to control your emotions and suppress the ache that surfaced every time she responded with silence. Placing your foot on the first step, you began to ascend the stairs.

"C'mere,” Ellie said, actually looking at you for once.

Your heart raced at her sudden attention, her piercing gaze catching you off guard. You walked over to her, standing in front of her. Up close, you couldn't ignore the mess she appeared to be. Her eyes were puffy and red, a foolish smirk plastered across her face.

“c’meree..” she said, motioning you to come closer. 

Ellie brought the joint to her lips, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke right into your face, giggling at how it was causing you to cough. 

She started laughing, “you look stupid.”

Irritated, you smacked the joint out of her hand. Causing ellie to jolt at the sudden movement. 

“Be fucking stupid and pick it up,” you snarled, glaring at her, your eyes piercing through her.

Ellie simply looked at you, no words, no movement, her gaze fixated on you. You couldn’t decipher the emotion behind her gaze there were thoughts behind those eyes, but you couldn’t recognize them.

Scoffing, you turned away, no longer wanting to be near her. Heading upstairs, you headed straight for the bathroom. Closing the door behind you, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Tears welled up, but you refused to let them fall. I need to be strong..she can’t..can’t win…

You couldn't help but feel stupid. Stupid for thinking she would offer you even a shred of affection. Her undivided attention, a drop of care.

Turning on the faucet, you splashed water on your face, feeling its cool touch soothe your heated skin. It was as if the water washed away the tension, calming your mind. Each droplet felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders, easing the ache you carried.

Taking a deep sigh, you began your nightly routine, another task you were accustomed to doing alone.

Slowly opening the door to your bedroom, you found your child fast asleep, clutching his teddy bear tightly in his arms and cocooned in his blanket. His gentle breaths filled the room with a sense of tranquility, a small smile gracing his lips as he slept peacefully.

In that moment, he appeared like a peaceful, angelic child, as if he were innocent and free from life's worries.

Closing the door behind you, you approached the bed, gently laying beside him, fingers caressing his soft hair, humming a melody –a melody Ellie used to sing to you back then. Never missing a chance to soothe you with her singing whenever you couldn’t sleep. 

He appeared so innocent, carrying that light within him. The idea of him being exposed to Ellie's behavior filled you with guilt. He was the reason you tolerated Ellie, not demanding for more.

You had an urge to fight for his safety and his right to happiness. All he deserved was love and affection, and ellie failed to provide it.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you closed your eyes, letting sleep envelop you as you tried to quiet the endless thoughts swirling in your mind.

Thud.

Sometime later in the night, you heard Ellie stumbling her way up the stairs. Her movements were unsteady, the effects of alcohol. It seemed like she hadn't slept at all. The only evidence of her rest was the blanket and pillow on the couch.

You heard the sound of ellie turning the doorknob and entering the room, not bothering to turn on the lights. The room filled with the sound of Ellie rummaging through drawers and opening closets. You had no idea what she was looking for, but she appeared determined to find it.

You tried to catch a glimpse of Ellie in the darkened room. Your eyes adjusted, and you could make out the outline of her figure as she searched. She stood there in a tank top and boxers, her arms revealing prominent veins, and her hair ruffled messily around her face.

“El’s?..” 

Startled, she jumped and stopped her search, clearly taken aback by the sudden sound of your voice. She turned around with a scowl, not bothering to whisper back.

“What?” she snapped, clearly annoyed.

"What're you… doing?" you asked sleepily, being awoken by her rummaging. 

"Nothing," Ellie replied with a heavy sigh "Go back to sleep."

You looked into her eyes, your eyes glistening in the gentle moonlight. 

Ellie was startled for a moment at the sight of the eyes that met her. But snapped herself back into reality.

"Don't… give me that look," she muttered before turning around and going back to rummaging through the drawers.

You gently extended your hand towards Ellie, wanting her to sleep with you. Your fingers moved slowly, reaching out for hers. 

She paused, her shoulders rising and falling as she took a sharp inhale of air. She sighed and then looked at you. She didn't pull away from your touch, her demeanor appearing softer as if she was trying to resist you.

"No," 

You stayed silent at her response, silently hoping for her to change her answer.

"I said No. Go… back to sleep." She tried to say firmly but her tone was softer now.

You turned away from Ellie, silently acknowledging her rejection. Each time your attempts were turned down, the familiar ache grew duller, as if numbed. You wrapped your arm around your child, closing your eyes in an attempt to drift back into sleep.

Your child's peaceful breathing filled the room, a comforting reminder of his presence. Though still awake, you could hear Ellie's silent breaths nearby. She lingered by the bed, her presence still even in the darkness. It felt as if she was trying to find a way to be near you without you knowing. 

You resembled an angel in the soft moonlight, your skin radiant. Ellie couldn't help but admire you, considering you the most beautiful sight she had ever seen—as if you were kissed by the moon. 

The night was warm, the gentle wind gentle and comforting. In this moment, you hoped to never wake up. 

Your soft hair laid on the pillow like soft and silky thread. Your gentle breathing was soothing. Your body looked like a painting created by heaven itself. You were its beautiful muse and the moon was the painter showing its admiration.

Ellie couldn't help but gaze at you, her eyes lingering on your lips for a moment longer than usual. She then looked down at your child, peacefully nestled with you For an instant, a longing for love stirred within her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a very long time. It reminded her of the days when you both were deeply in love.

Your body was so peaceful, ellie found herself entranced, her eyes tracing every curve and line. Ellie felt an overwhelming desire to simply…admire you, to preserve your presence. 

Without a second thought, Ellie found herself slowly lying down beside you, her body acting with impulse. The comfort of the bed and the softness of the cotton sheets gave her a warmth that she had long forgotten.

She pressed her body as close as she could get it against yours. Her hands folded under her chin, as if she was too afraid to touch you. 

She found herself lost, aching for a connection she feared to ignite. 

[cuckette]

ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

All My Scars

The stories behind one of the scars each of the twst cast has SOME ARE WAY ANGSTIER THAN OTHERS OKAY please read the tw and the tags, and like the stuff in brackets under characters names that have them for a heads up...what Specifically their section covers

TW: SH, abuse, Bad Parents (specified in the reading), references to alcoholism, implied SA survivor, and some OOC stuff bc I like making Cater cry sorry PROCEED WITH CAUTION FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, apologies for inconsistencies

IF YOU DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. Here's my masterlist to some fluffier stuff if you still want to check out my writing. Thank you!

I'll be doing a fluffier version of this some other time, like dumbest childhood injuries they had or something, so if this ain't for you, please hold! --------------------------------------------------------------------

"How did you get your scar(s)?"

Heartslaybul

Riddle The question caught him off guard. He glanced down at his hand where your thumb ran over the small indentations on the skin between his thumb and pointer finger, a small smile kicking up the corner of his mouth.

"That was Che'nya. When we were kids." You looked at him, your silence prompting him to continue.

He smiled a little more, gently pulling his hand from yours to look at the scars left there, laughing softly, though a bit pained.

"I wasn't prepared to receive very much physical affection, but Che'nya couldn't really help himself. He said if hugs were off the table, he just wanted to nibble." He chuckles softly "Of course he didn't give me much of a warning, though Trey tried to stop him before he bit me. It was a shock at the time, but both of them explained it was an expression of affection...I confirmed it later on in an article on the behaviours of beastmen. Trey was used to getting bites from Che'nya, but usually with less pent up energy. Nonetheless, he helped me take care of it before I had to return home."

His brow furrowed a bit as he sighed.

"Of course, my mother noticed eventually, the divots on my hand. It was the first and only time I ever outright lied to her - lies of omission aside. I know she didn't believe me when I told her it was just me being clumsy with my pencil, but I suppose it was a tender mercy she didn't have time to deal with me that day." He looked at the divots a little longer, a particular softness in his expression.

"They're the only scars I have. I find it rather ironic that the only imperfection I carry in my mother's eyes...is the lasting impression that there is at least one person who cares for me more than she has ever been capable of."

His smile was sad, but he tried to keep things light as he looked at you. "That is not an invitation to try and bite me as well. I know full well you care for me...because you've helped the scars nobody can see, fade."

Trey

"Which ones?" He chuckles softly, pausing his kneading as he held out his arms for you to look over the various marks he had, before he pointed at one, taking matters into his own hand. "My youngest brother likes this one for some reason. He thinks the texture is different and kinda just rubs my arm when he's calming himself down."

He turned his arm so his elbow was pointing out a little bit so he could look at his forearm, pointing to a bigger scar. "This was a burn from bumping against the edge of the oven while trying to take out a tray of cookies in a rush."

He turned his arm yet again, showing off another one. "This one was from me trying to reheat baked potato leftovers. I put butter on it and threw it in the microwave, but I almost dropped the bowl when I took it out and had the bright idea to try and catch it. Splashed hot butter up my arm." He chuckled again, using his shoulder to bump up his glasses. "I have a few from Che'nya as well. Some from my siblings. Some from baking. But they make for good stories should I ever need something to share."

Cater (Heads up for the abusive parent HC's regarding using kids for media Clout) <- you can read by clicking the link

He looks startled, like he's just seen a ghost before trying to laugh it off.

"I uh...oooh sevens don't tell me you saw me eat dirt like two days ago while I was skateboarding! I swear normally I'm better than that, I just- I didn't scar, just a scrape and nothing more, swear! It's sweet you're concerned though."

You gave him a bit of a sad look, before sighing, looking away awkwardly, knowing there was no...delicate way to tell him what you wanted to.

"Look, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but the last time I was babysitting Cheka I...saw what he was watching on his tablet and um...well I unsubscribed him from the channel but there were some videos on there that-"

"Stop."

Cater was hugging himself, balled up as tightly as he could get on the opposite side of the couch, his hair shrouding his face somewhat. He was taking shallow, rapid breaths, and while you wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, you didn't think he would respond well to touch at the moment.

"How much did you see?" His voice was as demanding as he could get it from inside of his little shell.

You cleared your throat a bit. "I didn't go digging into any of the videos, won't watch any if you don't want me to...it was just some of the thumbnails that...worried me that you...might have more than emotional scars to work through..."

You moved slowly to kneel on the floor next to Cater, offering your hand should he want to take it. "I'm sorry, there were better ways for me t-"

"You're right." He sobbed softly, looking out at you, nothing but pain on his face as he tried to hold in another sob, taking your hand in his, and moving it to gently run over his outer forearm.

"I c-cover them up um...a-all the time, it's second nature now but.." he takes a few moments to try and catch his breath.

"These ones were all from the same damned prank video...mom..covered the floor in dish soap in the kitchen...I was like...four, I still loved cookies, so when she said there were some, I came running in...slid and crashed into the oven...."

He sniffled and rubbed at his eyes with his free arm. "I remember watching the doctor pluck glass out from me and my mom was outside the room....just...yelling at my dad..."

He waved his hand over his forearm, letting the faded scars come to light beneath his concealer, trusting you to keep this a secret. His eyes still held unshed tears as he looked away from his arms, and from you.

"And the worst part? That video went viral. People thought it was funny. So of course mom went and did more and more prank videos, even if some people made it popular for the wrong reasons, there was still attention and validation there for her efforts, so it didn't matter. If I was crying, it was cute for me to...fuss, because I was- am the youngest, and nothing I felt really mattered. It was- I just-....I like being who I am now...most of the time...because nobody...nobody sees beyond what I want them to see...er...most people now I guess..." He gave you a bit of a bashful smile, clearly upset and conflicted still, before his face fell again and he gently tugged his hand from yours.

"Just give me a few minutes and everything will be okay again. Promise."

Deuce (with the HC he's deaf/HoH)

He kinda just sighed deeply at your question, shooting you a bit of an unimpressed look.

"I mean you could take a guess where I got most of'm and probably hit the nail on the head." He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck a bit, his eyes drifting to the side awkwardly as he wracked his brain for a scar story that wouldn't dredge up memories he'd rather forget.

"I mean the scar story my mom tells her coworkers about..." He cringes a tiny bit at the idea of relaying the story the same way his mother does, but sighed anyways.

"I was young, like really young, maybe two or three. It was before I was used to my hearing aids, so I didn't have them in at the time. She had just turned a little to greet one of our neighbours who had come out to say hello, only to hear ungodly squawking, followed by giggles...I didn't know the bird I'd managed to grab was giving me a heads up it didn't like being grabbed, besides it's struggling...long story short, it bit me pretty good." He blushed a bit and pointed to a relatively small scar on his cheek. "I don't even know what kind of bird it was. I just know what happened because it was something my mom talked about a lot."

Ace (TW for alcoholic father/abuse/manipulation)

"Mmh?" he sounded rather uninterested. It was a fair question, given the amount of time the two of you hung out, it wasn't like you wouldn't notice the jagged scar on his neck to his collarbone.

He shrugged, trying to play off how uncomfortable the memory was. "Just somethin' that happened when I was a kid."

Your unspoken questions bothered him more than he thought they would, rocking to sit up properly and look at you a little pissy.

"Look, I'm over it, so I'll tell you but I don't want a damn reaction or pity, okay? I was nine, my brother had just gotten his admission letter into NRC, and my dad was drunk off his ass. Threatened my brother with the cost of my life if he quit his job and stopped being his beer fund- not that it was much of a threat, it was a glass bottle or some shit he'd shattered and held to my neck. That was the night my brother made arrangements for me to live with his friends families so he could still come here without making me walk on eggshells around my dad. He still won't tell me if he kept paying the bastard's beer money or not, but my dad's in rehab now, and I don't ever gotta go back to him by myself again. I can just visit my brother now he's got his own place, even if he's got a roommate. So now you know." He got up from the couch, shaking out his hands a bit.

"Now, I'm gonna make some breakfast and I'm using your materials. Ain't no way I'm trekking back to Heartslaybul just for breakfast."

Savanaclaw

Leona

"Don't remember" He stretched on his bed, yawning. "Same shit I told Ruggie. It doesn't affect me now, so what's the point in remembering it? Can't hold on to every dusty memory."

"Aren't scars a symbol of nobility to those from Sunset Savannah?"

You could practically feel the discomfort rolling off of Leona in waves as he turned his back to you more.

"....yeah, they can be..." he sighed, feeling the weight of your next question mounting. "Just chalk it up to some stupid royal tradition that should have been abolished years ago. You don't have to believe it, but I'm done talking now."

Ruggie (Hyena Hierarchy shit ig?)

"Eh?" His ears flick playfully as he snickers. "They ain't a big deal. Growin' up some of the girls would play a little rough, 'nd now I mainly take care of the rugrats they like to chew and bite on anything they can get their little teeth into, not limited to ears and tail."

His ear flicks again and he holds his hands out. "And I mean, my hands ain't scarred but I don't have fingerprints cuz my grandma taught me how to do the hot food flip, you know what I mean." He snickers. "But y'know, just cuz they don't hurt anymore, doesn't mean I won't take a little extra cuddles or pets if you're gonna offer."

Jack

He scratched the back of his head a bit. "You noticed it??" He seemed a little awkward, and now that the fact had fully settled that the only scar he had was the small one on his upper lip, you could kind of understand why.

You nod a bit and he sighs, his hand dropping from behind his head and looking off to the side, a little bit embarrassed.

"It was a frog." He cringed a bit at his wording and at the eyes he felt from you, and he knew you were trying to hold back laughter.

"I- my bigger cousin was showing me a frog he caught and it jumped on my face. I didn't have full awareness of ah...my capabilities and...where my claws were in relation to my face... ended up hurting myself in the process of getting it off of me. I don't remember much else after that....just that I don't...love frogs..." He admitted a little shyly, tail tucked slightly, and clearly embarrassed.

Octavinelle

Azul

He looks at you rather unimpressed, then gestures to the tweels.

"They think I'm a chew toy. They would be the reason for any and ALL of my scars, as I've never been in any other danger where scarring would be an issue."

Jade

The question seems to hit him harder than you expected. Jade was normally hard to read, but his discomfort was apparent with your question. He gave you a practiced, but strained smile.

"The story behind my scars are not something I share willingly with anyone. I will be taking my leave." (but you can read the story here >:D)

Floyd (partial nudity?? but it's just Floyd showing off the scars he has all along his legs enthusiastically)

"Aha! I got a whole buncha scars shrimpy, which ones are ya curious 'bout?" He flopped down next to to you, and took his shirt off, showing off scars on his back.

"Oh didya see the ones on my legs durin' basketball practice?" He tried to pull up his school uniform pant leg, to no avail. He huffed and just slid his pants off, leaving him in his boxers as he showed off the scars all along his legs.

He beamed "It's a helluva lot harder t'see em when I'm in my mer form, blend right in with my scales, but my human body?? I look sick!! And there ain't too many humans who can boast 'bout havin' scars from a shark attack or a tussle with a barracuda! I got a whole buncha stories I could tellya if ya think you can stomach'em-" He snickers.

Scarabia

Kalim

"Ahah....I..I've got a scar?? Where?" For some reason he seemed a little panicked, looking over his arms anxiously. "No, no I shouldn't have any scars I um- I- just-"

His behaviour made you a little worried, so you moved to take his hands in yours, trying to steady him, but he pulled away from you, looking at you rather frantically.

"Just tell me where! I....I can- I'm alright, promise, but I don't have any scars!"

I'm realizing I have an obsession, here's another story

Jamil

"I mean I have a few minor scars on my hands from when I first started learning to cook." You watched his practiced movements as he chopped vegetables at a quick pace, sliding them off the cutting board as necessary to make more room for himself.

"Though I suppose with how intently you watch me work it's not a stretch to assume you noticed them." He gives you a bit of a knowing smirk, before pausing for a moment, and flexing his wrist to show a small scar on the back of his hand.

"That one was from taking care of Najma. She was just learning how to walk and wandered out of my fathers sight. My mother was taking care of something inside the palace, so as soon as I noticed she wasn't toddling around us, my father and I began searching for her. She ended up somehow getting herself wedged between....seven, I can't even remember. I remember putting both hands in, and pulling one one out with a cockroach on it, and the other struggling to pull Najma out until my dad was able to assist." He shook his head and sighed. "I cut myself on the wood around her, needed a couple stitches after....but she was all good, save for a mouthful of sand she had stuffed into her mouth." he chuckled softly.

"But if I have any other scars...you'll have to wait longer for those stories."

Pomefiore

Vil (SA Survivor vaguely implied)

"I do not know what you are referring to potato. I don't have so much as single blemish on my skin."

You met his eyes in the mirror, a silent questioning match ensuing between the two of you. You broke eye contact first, leaving him satisfied as he took a deep breath.

"There is nothing inherently wrong with scars. But the ones I have don't deserve any more thought, the person who inflicted them are no longer a part of my life, and never will be again. It's been over seven years, I know that there isn't a cell on me that has not been replaced by a new one."

He met your eyes back in the mirror. "Never bring this topic up again, unless you require assistance with your own scars."

Rook

"Hm? I've taken great care to cover them all up, mon trickster. Since coming to Pomefiore and being under Vil's supervision, most of my scars have faded to a point they are barely identifiable." He smiled softly at you.

"Though if you've noticed one or two, I assure you the story is lackluster." Despite his casual appearance, Rook seemed to be on..even higher alert than usual, as in you could actually pick up on the tension coming off of him. Despite this, your curiousity got the better of you.

"How can they be lackluster? Aren't most of them from archery or animals?"

Rook met your eyes with a rather cold expression, and regardless of stature, made it feel like he was looking down on you.

"No."

His glare lasted a beat longer, before he beamed, "Ah, it's best I get going. I bid you good day."

Epel (got top surgery over the summer)

"WHATCHYA MEAN HOW'D I GET MA SCARS?!" He has a wide grin on his face, hiking his shirt up.

"I AIN'T GOT NO TITS NO MORE!" He sets his shirt back down, a shit-eating smile on his face. "It was about damn time y'know! Lookit how flat ma ches- look at the scars!! Ain't they cool lookin?? Make me look MANLY an' strong, earlier Sebek done asked who I fought nd I just told'm it was my femin-feminini-.....it ain't funny now, but his face sure was!"

Ignihyde

Idia (TW for SH scars)

The ends of his hair went almost clear, and he looked rather deflated. "....cats. Stray cats. Used to pick them up without trying to bribe them first..." he mumbled, pulling at his sleeve a little more to try and cover them up, before trying to flash you a smile, though he was clearly uncomfortable and upset, so it only lasted a moment before he turned completely away from you.

The silence was heavy between the two of you, knowing the truth was more than the consequences of an angry cat.

He hugged himself more, still away from you.

"I don't do it anymore...Ortho is here now..to ah...remind me to do better...even if he doesn't know about it, his presence is enough."

Ortho

"Scar??" He tilted his head and giggled a little bit. "I don't really get those. When I get scratches Idia helps me buff them out. Why, do you see one?"

He ran a diagnostics test, trying to answer his own question, but came up empty, now trying to look over himself manually for any sort of disfiguration, only to look at you more confused and a little amused.

"What are you talking about?"

Diasomnia

Malleus

He had to hide a slight pout at your question. "Fae do not scar, not easily..."

He could see the way your eyes shifted between his face and his ear, before he sighed. "However...when I was much younger, I was prone to fits of anger, often scaring and sometimes harming the guards that were too slow to react around me." A tiny smile started to form as he thought about it more.

"Besides the initial pain when his weapon brushed past me, the guards face of terror was enough to make me giggle, despite the blood that dripped from the tiny incision." His hand came up to gently hold his ear between two of his fingers, rubbing over the small scar along the edge of it.

"I told him if he agreed to play with me I wouldn't tell my grandmother what he'd done. In a way, he was one of my first friends..but the news inevitably made it's way through the chain of command, and he was soon replaced by another heartless, soulless guard...they were all like that you know....so afraid of me, as a Draconia, to even extend the hand of friendship to a child."

Lilia

"Kheeheehee I've not got a single one, not anymore! I've had more than enough time for all the memories of my glory days fade like the scars that would have told the stories. Besides, having any visible scars would put a damper on my absolutely adorable face!" He batted his eyelashes, resting his cheeks on the 'v' shape his hands made.

Silver

"How did I get my scars?" He repeated, then looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't have many...ah." He pulled his pant leg up gently and revealed a somewhat...suspicious looking scar on his calf.

"When I was younger, Sebek's yelling wasn't always enough to wake me up. He got fed up and bit me. He was successful in waking me up, so I have a few other scars similar to that one from when we were kids, but when he was about ten he had to stop. It was too much and he had poor control over his bite force."

He touched the side of his face pensively. "Though I was outside a lot as a child too. I'm sure I've got more scars and marks than I've cared to count. But Fa- Lilia was always attentive during our sparing sessions, so I've never received a scar from a blade."

Sebek

He huffed, an annoyed sounding bellow leaving him as he crossed his arms and turned his face away from you.

"I have not had the opportunity to receive a scar but-"

"The opportunity?"

His face flushed a bit, and he looked a little grumpy, "SILENCE, do not interrupt me human. Of course you wouldn't understand! My grandfather has battle scars still, they're a symbol of his bravery and valiance in Briar Valley! If I should ever have the OPPORTUNITY to receive a scar by blade, I would like to have one that matches his."

Extra

Che'nya

"Eh?? Well why'dya wanna knyow?" He chuckles, sitting crisscross against nothing, upside down in front of you.

"I was just curious- you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

He just giggles more, wiping one hand over half his face, evidently using magic to get rid of concealer on that side of his face.

"It's nyat a big deal, all I've got are acne scars and the result of me just pickin' at myah skin." He grinned, pouting playfully and making a peace sign. "'m still absolutely adorrrrrrrrrrrrable though, makeup just is more tolerable than putting lotion on and reminds me not to pick at it." He purred through his own compliment, before using his hand to use magic and put the concealer back on.

Jack Hearts-Trappola (same TW as Ace, only it's implied here, not outright)

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Don't ask Ace that question, kay? It'll put'm in a funk for the rest of the day even if he denies it." He moved to pour himself a glass off coffee, aware you were still waiting for an answer. He took a sip before looking back to you, and answering best he could.

"The scars I have were mostly caused by glass. Once I got into the entertainment industry, I took up soldering and welding so I've got a few pretty bad burns myself from slag or poor PPE, but I had fun doin' it. So no harm no foul." He grinned, the same wide, shit-eating grin that matched his younger brother's expression so closely, it was uncanny.

Falena

His laugh filled the room, boisterous and light. "Ah, you noticed them?" He had all sorts of scars along his arms, in sets of two or three, headed in the same direction.

"Thank you. Here, scars are a testament to one's nobility, strength and perseverance. I received many from Leona when we used to spar, he was always quick on his feet and caught me off guard many times." He chuckled again. "I was never the best at fighting, but it was an important skill to develop should I ever need to defend my son...and if my wife isn't around to exact her fury." His wife gave him a light, playful shove, making him laugh in response as well.

Najma

"Okay if I tell you, you can't tell Jamil or my parents okay?? Don't go snitching me out." She pulled you up to her room, and to her window, sliding it open to a palm tree just outside.

She pointed down at a ridge on the tree, and then pulled up the cuff of her pants and pointed to a scar from the middle of her calf up to her knee. "That fucking tree bit me when I was just trying to go meet up with some of my girls. Do you know how quiet I had to be so my mom and dad didn't catch on??"

Neige (HC he uses mobility aids (forearm crutches + wheelchair when necessary) when not in public eye)

He laughed softly, settling back into his wheelchair and pulling his leg up across the other one, pointing to a small scar over the front of his ankle.

"I got it when I was really young. I was trying to run away from someone who was chasing me, I don't remember if it was tag or not, but probably! I ended up getting a deeper cut than I thought I did when I tripped over one of those concrete barriers they use for cars. It was already falling apart, so the I guess it was moreso the mix inside the concrete that got me?? I don't remember. I do remember getting ice cream after though." He giggled. "I think I was on my way to a photoshoot. I'll have to see if Vil remembers."

Rollo (vague religious themes, SH, never ask me to write for this man again)

He had a band around his wrist, as if he had a bracelet that had turned into one massive scar. It wasn't entirely unreasonable for you to ask, and now that you knew of his brother, there was no reason to really keep it to himself now.

He sighed, holding his wrist out to you rather disdainfully.

"It's a reminder. Every time I look at it, I can imagine the pain my dear brother was in as fire and magic consumed him. I burnt myself for weeks in the same place so as to remind myself repeatedly what my failure has caused. It serves as a reminder what hell will feel like should I never repent of my sins, or fail in correcting the path so many have fallen to. Magic is no god of mine. I will not let it dictate when life is lost or gained. Not in my life. Not in anyone's if things were to go my way...but I'll show them the right way eventually."

His eyes slid over to you.

"You agree, don't you? You'll walk down the righteous path with me and preach the truth to everyone until they join us too."

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

Free me from my mental prison dear god why do I do this to myself at the worst times of day/night.

[sunrise-imagines]

Marshall Lee and Gary Prince x reader dating hcs? NSFW and sfw plssss (can either be together or separate IDM)

Assjdhdhjd finallyyyy, thank you so much for requesting this! I’ll keep it sfw for now but I’ll post some nsfw headcanons for them later! Hope you enjoy!

(Also there are a few references to Adventure Time characters in the beginning, so if you recognize those you get a cookie!)

TW: Mentions of abuse, skip the section marked with “***” if you want to avoid these, mentions of homophobia, rich people

Poly! Marshall Lee x Reader x Gary Prince Relationship Headcanons

***

• Since we already know a bit about Marshall, I wanted to touch a bit on Gary’s backstory just for funsies. This is where the TW comes in so skip this part if you aren’t comfortable with that

• His parents died when he was very young, so he was given custody to his Aunt Griselda and her family.

• He also has a little sister, Nadine, who has autism and is nonverbal.

• Sadly, he and his sister were verbally and sometimes physically abused by them, so at the age of 16 he got emancipated and started to live on his own while taking care of Nadine.

• He’s currently enrolled in Community College classes and hopes to improve his financial situation to help support them both.

***

With that out of the way, onto the headcanons!

• Gay gay homosexual homosexual gay-

• Y’all are that totally-in-love queer couple throuple that make homophobes that see you in public clutch their pearls (the lemoncarbs).

• You all make sure to spend time together individually as well as all together so no one feels left out.

• Gary’s dates consist of taking you to a cozy café or sneaking into the bakery after hours to make you all kinds of sweets.

• Marshall is much more unorthodox in his choices, taking you to a bar on the other side of town or exploring a vacant building before chilling on the rooftop.

• Marshall will also steal his mom’s credit cards and take you two out to fancy restaurants, ignoring several missed calls and dozens of texts from her while the three of you try everything on the menu.

• If you want to learn how to play guitar, Marshall would be happy to teach you, or have a jam session if you know how to sing or play another instrument. As for Gary, there isn’t a musical bone in the poor man’s body. Karaoke night is always a struggle to get through with him, but you both love him anyway.

• You and Marshall have a never ending supply of sweets and pastries to try, as he has you two sample all of his pastrymanchen(?) before he starts selling them.

• Now that you’re all dating, Marshall will usually crash at either your or Gary’s places instead of Fionna’s. This means Ellis P is also around sometimes, but if he gets too annoying (which he often does) just let Marshall know and he’ll gently but firmly kick his ass out.

• You all sleep in a big pile with Marshall and Gary on either side of you, basically this but with you sandwiched in the middle

• Sometimes Marshall takes you out for drives in his van, parking by an overlook and just watching the sunset with y’all.

• In the winter you guys will go to the ice skating rink! Gary is a really good skater, so he’s the one guiding you both while you and Marshall hold onto the railing and try not to fall

• Marshall wants you all to get matching tattoos, and Gary is kind of hesitant about it, but if you want it too then he’ll agree to getting a small one.

• Although it would seem like Gary does most of the cooking, Marshall isn’t bad at it either and he’ll help out in the kitchen quite often (his Dad taught him how to make a few dishes when he was a kid)

• Both of them are very supportive of your goals in life and will help you to achieve your dreams in whatever way they can.

[devilevlls]

"In the depths of my soul, you reside."

3,259 words - Minors do not interact

TW 📌: "Satanic" rituals, abuse, explicit language, pornographic content, mentions of sexual abuse, hateful language directed at religious groups, blasphemy, corruption kink, demons being demons, unprotected sex, creampie, gay sex, MC is the bottom, MC trusts him to consume a piece of their soul.

MC is AMAB, I use they/them pronouns to refer to them because that's the way I feel comfortable in describing the character. They are called "boy, young man, son" and so. If you are uncomfortable with any of the warnings, please, do not read. Sumary:

After the former priest was removed due to accusations of sexual abuse, the authority place had to be filled by someone else and Lucifer, who owed a favor to his friend Simeon, took the spot, ministering that Saturday to fulfill his obligation.

He ends up finding a new motivation when he encounters MC, who is in conflict with themselves about their dark thoughts. Their desires and duty are fighting to see who would take the young human and the demon would like to help, with a price.

The sound of the chapel's heavy doors echoed, interrupting the stillness of the afternoon, as the man dressed entirely in black entered, moving with determination and agility, casting furtive glances around to ensure he was not being followed. His long, purposeful steps led him until he stopped in front of a cowering, sobbing, fearful figure.

The young human was kneeling before the bench, hands clasped in prayer, tears flowing freely.

"Why are you crying, son?" The newcomer's hoarse voice cuts through the silence, his imposing red eyes penetrating deep into the boy's soul.

They were startled, interrupting their prayer to look at the one who was getting in the way of their sacred moment.

"Forgive me, sir." They bowed gently, voice trembling.

The elder gentleman stood majestically, dressed in the attire befitting his vocation, exuding an aura of divine elegance. 

With a subtle clearing of the throat, they signaled their intention to speak further. “I believe you are the new priest responsible for our humble chapel this saturday. I am your assistant, aspiring priest, a... Deacon.” The human struggle with their words.

"It's nice to meet you, MC." The older man's husky voice delivered a playful tone.

"How do you know my name? I haven't introduced myself yet," MC replied, somewhat intrigued.

"Do not worry. I know everything," the man replied, his enigmatic smile seeming to widen even further. "My name is Lucifer." He took a few steps towards MC, his confident posture and penetrating gaze causing slight discomfort.

A frightening shiver ran down MC's spine, but they forced themselves to maintain composure, standing up and trying to appear receptive, although the nervousness was still evident.

"That's a pretty unusual name for a priest," MC commented, their voice a little shaky as the younger one tried to hide the fear that was beginning to settle inside.

"Do not be scared. I will only stay here while the other priest is being investigated for the rape of the young people in this chapel.”

The mention of the accusation made the boy take a step back, feeling their stomach twist with tension.

"Oh... yes."

"Did he touch you?", Lucifer asked, taking a step forward and reaching for MC's chin, forcing them to maintain eye contact, his imposing presence dominating the surrounding space.

"No, sir. Father Kahleus has always been very kind to me," MC responded quickly, feeling uncomfortable with the unexpected physical contact.

"Humans are so hypocritical, don't you think?", Lucifer continued, his voice filled with cynicism, as he watched MC's reaction with interest.

MC gave a nervous laugh, confused by the direction the conversation was going. "Humans...?", he began, before being interrupted by the tall demon.

"Please, refrain yourself from acting like you don't understand," Lucifer said, his gaze making them uneasy.

Swallowing hard, they turned away from Lucifer, looking down at the ground for a moment before taking a deep breath and gathering the courage to respond.

"Sir, we shouldn't make that kind of analogy in a sacred place like this. Would you like to accompany me, so I can show you your private room next to the tabernacle?"

"Show me the way," Lucifer replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes, watching as MC chose to ignore the reality unfolding before them.

— * 

Once inside the room, MC presented all the important documents, financial notes and accessories for the masses that would begin the next day.

"Do you have any questions, sir?" The human asked, briefly meeting Lucifer's gaze before looking away again, feeling uncomfortable under the intensity of those piercing eyes.

"Why were you crying earlier?", Lucifer asked suddenly, breaking the brief silence that hung in the room.

A shiver ran down MC's spine before he could respond. "Father Kahleus was never like that. I feel like the devil tempted him," MC confessed, voice thick with worry and confusion.

Lucifer held back an ironic laugh and sighed, shaking his head. "Are you that naive? People are bad and blaming the devil doesn't make them better," he replied with disarming directness.

"Don't you understand? We have oaths. We all do, and I'm sure you did too," MC insisted, struggling to comprehend the complexity of the situation.

"Many centuries ago, when my wings were still white as snow and my mind corrupted by the ideals of a cowardly creator," Lucifer murmured, a trace of melancholy passing through his eyes.

MC sighed, feeling scared and confused, taking a step back and inadvertently bumping into the coffee table.

"Don't be scared, but I must admit that the more time we spend together, the hungrier I get," Lucifer said, voice filled with a strange sadistic energy, he enjoyed watching his prey connecting the dots and becoming alarmed.

"You... You did this to him?", MC asked, voice cracking at the terrifying possibility.

“Ah… Now you have become aware of who I really am.” He smiled slightly and concentrated for a moment, making his demonic form apparent. “No, I didn’t do anything.”

MC tried to scream, but before they could make any sound, their mouth was immediately silenced by Lucifer's firm, gloved touch, which covered their lips with firm pressure. The demon's gaze conveyed a silent warning, a contained threat that echoed beyond the simple physical gesture. The air around them felt heavy, thick with palpable tension between the two, as MC fought the panic that threatened to wash over. The young human’s eyes widened in despair, but the words were suffocated before they could even come out.

“Let's not make a fuss, okay? You're safer with me than you were with that creep. Unlike him, I know how to keep my dick in my pants instead of molesting innocent young boys and girls.”

MC's eyes widened at Lucifer's explicit language, feeling uncomfortable with the description and lack of shame.

Stopping for a moment, Lucifer was truly stunning, almost mesmerizing, and he was so close already... It made the human's heart race.

The demon sighed and removed his hand from the boy's mouth, looking around before moving away, breaking the physical contact that had left MC so tense. “You don’t look very old, how old are you? Why are you so naive?” “I’m 23 and not a child to be naive.” MC hisses a little offended “I’m aware of what happened, but I can’t believe he would do such a thing.” “Then you are just stupid, young man," He says agressively before changing the subject. "Well, I believe your work is finished for today. I'll see you at mass tomorrow", Lucifer declared, his voice filled with indifference, as if the previous meeting had never happened.

"Why...", MC started to ask, before being interrupted by Lucifer.

"Why, you say? I'm just following orders, nothing more," Lucifer explained as he settled into the office chair, crossing his long legs with an air of nonchalance. "Please leave. You're making me agitated with all this excitement between your legs." Lucifer's final remark made MC feel heat flush their cheeks. “I’m not excited!” They complained.

“I can see your erection from here.” The demon states dismissively, opening one of the reports to analyze.

MC quickly walked away and left the room without saying another word, feeling embarrassed. The encounter with Lucifer left them shaken and confused, questioning how all this could happen in such a sacred environment.

Why didn't the demon attack him or do terrible things to them? These questions echoed in their mind as the panicked figure hurriedly walked to the quarters.

Once there, MC threw themselves on the floor and closed their eyes, trying to banish the disturbing thoughts. The human wondered if it was all just a nightmare or a bad joke, but the firm feeling of Lucifer's hand still hovered over their skin, making them feel indecently warm.

"I wonder if he's really going to minister tomorrow…", MC muttered to themselves, voice filled with uncertainty and apprehension.

They feared what the next day might bring.

—*

The other day, in the morning as promised, MC entered the private room before mass to organize all the accessories, but was surprised to find Lucifer dressed for the celebration, his attire highlighting his magnetic beauty even more. So handsome... So tempting.

"What...?", MC began, their shaky voice reflecting the confusion at seeing the demon there.

Lucifer turned and sighed, recognizing the human's presence. "You again…", he murmured.

"I'm your assistant. I-I mean... I'm the substitute priest's assistant!", MC hurried to explain, reeling in their own troubled thoughts as they watched the demon button his shirt and put on his chasuble with a disconcerting naturalness.

"So nervous early on. This way you won't make it through the rest of the day," Lucifer teased, approaching the young man with an intimidating presence. "Can we go or are you going to keep devouring me with your eyes? I thought you had a vow of chastity to keep."

MC stepped back looking away to avoid the temptations Lucifer offered. "We may proceed. The faithful are arriving," they replied quickly, trying to maintain the composure.

—*

It was truly surprising to watch Lucifer lead the mass. He delivered speeches and read bible verses as if had memorized them in his mind centuries ago. Well, in a way, he actually had them. After all, he was once an angel before becoming that.... Thing.

MC found themselves staring at him as he continued with the ministration, unable to look away. Lucifer's beauty was mesmerizing, every movement elegant, every word spoken with authority. Even though they knew who he really was, MC couldn't help but admire, getting lost in the details of his sculpted body and magnetic aura.

They tried to push away the conflicting thoughts, focusing on the church service that was taking place in front of them. But despite the efforts, the demon's presence continued to exert an undeniable fascination over them.

After concluding the morning mass, they both retreated to the private room once more, where Lucifer intended to change.

"And with that, I'm free from this stupidity," Lucifer remarked with disdain.

"But there's still Sunday mass," the other replied.

"I couldn't care less. Saturday was my agreement, and I've fulfilled my part," Lucifer retorted coldly.

"Please, I don't know how I'll find another priest!" they pleaded, their voice tinged with desperation before clearing their throat. "Not that you're truly a priest, but..."

"Perhaps I could assist... for a price," Lucifer interjected.

The human sighed disapprovingly. "And what do you want, demon?"

"Fear not, nothing of a carnal nature unless that's what you desire. Just a small sampling of your soul. It won't be painful..." Lucifer's voice dripped with mockery, knowing full well it would inflict torment.

"Okay... but..." They fidgeted nervously. "What if I desire... to explore something more?" The young man struggled to articulate their thoughts, aware that the words might inadvertently reveal the weight of something deeply personal. Despite the embarrassment that lingered, they saw this moment as an opportunity to confront a long-standing question that had lingered since their teenage years: exploring intimacy with someone of the same sex.

"More...? Pray, enlighten me," Lucifer responded, already aware of the human's desires but relishing in their embarrassment nonetheless.

"What if I desire... to be intimate with you?" they whispered, their cheeks flushing crimson.

"Ah, you are a naughty one," Lucifer chuckled, crossing his arms. "Very well, then. You've piqued my interest enough to indulge your curiosity."

Lucifer drew nearer, enveloping them in his embrace, arms around their waist, and swiftly initiated a fervent kiss, his tongue forcing the other to yield while they squirm, their kisses growing sloppy.

"Ngh..." the human moaned softly.

"Hush," Lucifer whispered, pulling them closer until their backs met the desk, eliciting a startled squeak. "We wouldn't want anyone overhearing, would we?"

The boy felt his heart thundering as they attempted to match Lucifer's fervor, but this was, indeed, their first kiss. Delicate hands roamed frantically over the demon's back, grasping at his clothes, while their legs trembled, on the verge of collapsing.

Observing the human's struggle, the avatar of pride seized their waist and gently positioned them on the table, slipping his hands beneath the fabric of the shirt to caress the delicate skin underneath.

The young assistant was already swept up in excitement, their cheeks ablaze as they breathed heavily. Their eyes darkened with lust, body craving more with every heartbeat. There was a slight twitching inside their pants and Lucifer noticed right away, brushing his long finger on top of it.

Lucifer leaned in closer, their lips grazing the human's ear as they whispered in a low, sultry tone, "You're quite eager, aren't you?"

They shivered at the sensation, their whole body tingling with anticipation. "I... I want..." stuttered the assistant, their voice barely a whisper as desire flooded their senses.

With a smirk, the demon gently lifted their chin, his gaze locking with the assistant's as he whispered, "Tell me exactly what you want." Swallowing hard, their heart race in their chest. "I want... I want to feel you," they confessed, voice trembling with a mix of nerves and longing.

A predatory gleam sparked in Lucifer's eyes as he leaned in, capturing the assistant's lips in a searing kiss. They melted into each other again, the heat of their desire igniting a flame that consumed them both.

The demon quickly starts undressing, taking off his clothes and tossing around before doing the same with them, until they are only with their underwear. Feeling both exposed and exhilarated, the human experienced a rush of courage as they reached out, their finger tracing along Lucifer's firm chest and abdomen. His physique wasn't overly sculpted, but it was undeniably defined in a way that stirred desire within them. It was fucking sexy.

Biting their lip, they chastised themselves for entertaining such thoughts about him. Yet, with every movement, their mind spun with vivid imaginings of what lay beneath his clothing, igniting a wild frenzy of desire that threatened to consume them completely.

“Now let's begin…” Lucifer cast a spell, conjuring a bright red light that momentarily dazzled the priest assistant. As their vision cleared, they blinked in surprise to find Lucifer holding a bottle of lube in his hand.

MC's cheeks flushed crimson with a mixture of arousal and astonishment. "What... what did you just do?" they stammered, their voice betraying a blend of curiosity and anticipation.

“I just got something to assist you.” He spreads some of the liquid on his hand and comes closer, sliding their underwear down. “Now, be a good boy and spread your legs for me.” As they opened their legs, Lucifer adjusts himself in between, sliding the underwear off his body, making the hardened shaft plop against his abs. The human widened their eyes, admiring how thick and perfect it looked. It was way better than they could ever imagine. Taking a deep breath to steady themselves for what would come next, they fix their gaze on Lucifer as he spread the lube over himself with deliberate care.

Anticipation coiled in the air between them as he stepped closer, now caressing their thighs. “Hold into me and enjoy your ride.” His low voice echos into their mind.

As Lucifer aligned himself and pushed into their entrance, MC gave a sharp intake of breath, instinctively clinging to the demon as a wave of intense pain surged through them. Tears welled in their eyes, and a soft sob escaped their lips, the sensation overwhelming and unexpected.

"Oh, do not cry," Lucifer murmured with a smirk, his voice a blend of amusement and a hint of something more complex. Despite his earlier taunt, there was a surprising gentleness in his actions as he continued to push himself deeper,the movements careful and deliberate, attuned to the human's sensations.“I almost feel pity of you.”

As the older man's hips pressed against theirs, the human's moans and pants grew louder, caught in a mix of pain and pleasure unlike anything they had ever experienced before. 

With each thrust, MC's member pulsed with desire, coating their belly with slick pre-cum, a testament to the overwhelming arousal that coursed through them both. 

"L-Lucifer... I..."

“Already?” Lucifer teases, moving faster and pushing forcefully inside them. They didn’t answer, only digging their nails into Lucifer’s back, nodding while moaning desperately.

Seeing the opportunity, the demon smiles sadistically and turns into his demon form, dark wings spread, growling like a wild animal. His tone was demonic, it had something almost disturbing in it. Without a word, he sinks his fangs into the boy's shoulder, the sudden surge of pain and pleasure caused the boy to gasp and squirm uncontrollably, their body convulsing with ecstasy as they release their load, splattering a mess across both of them in a wild climax of desire and darkness. As Lucifer indulged in consuming the ecstatic piece of soul, relishing its delectable taste, he exercised restraint, ensuring not to take too much.

It was a corruption that came so natural, so enticing, it only fueled his insatiable hunger further. With each taste, he felt himself sinking deeper into them, reveling in the delicious sensation of it all.

He couldn’t hold himself anymore.

He grips into their hips, his nails digging into their skin as he thrust himself deeper with a primal ferocity, ignoring the human's pleas for respite as they get overstimulated, he moved with an unrestrained urgency, becoming increasingly feral as he relentlessly massaged their prostate with his tip. With a primal roar of release, the avatar of pride surrendered to the overwhelming intensity, emptying his pent-up load deep inside them. Groaning and trembling from the sheer magnitude of the moment, he gasped desperately, seeking solace in the warmth of the human's neck as he nuzzled against it. That was the most vulnerable moment of Lucifer, the afterglow. Holding their body tightly, Lucifer ensured they couldn't escape from his corruption, his embrace a mixture of possessiveness and longing, binding them together in the aftermath of their shared descent into darkness. "Hells..." he murmured, his voice heavy with satisfaction. He threatens backing away but gets pulled back into the embrace.

"Please... Don't go yet," the human pleaded, their breath still coming in ragged pants as they hugged him back.

"Listen... I'm just here because I was in debt with a friend of mine, so I had to hold a stupid mass, now that I'm done with it, I will go back to Devildom. I'm just catching my breath," Lucifer explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh... So I'm not going to see you again?" There was a slight hint of sadness in their tone.

"What? Are you switching sides now? Want me to take you to hell with me?" Lucifer smirked, nuzzling against the MC's neck once more, inhaling their sweet scent mingled with salty sweat.

"No! Of course not. How could I...?" they replied, their tone falsely offended.

"Don't deny me like we didn't just... you know, fucked" Lucifer teased, his smirk widening as the human blushed and caressed the back of his neck.

“D-Don’t say such a thing.”

"Since you are so inspired… Maybe I could indulge you in a second round, but I don't think your human body will handle me again," Lucifer suggested, his voice laced with amusement.

"Please... Again," they whispered eagerly, desire evident in their eyes.

"Guess I will visit you more, human," Lucifer agreed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With smiles exchanged between them, they resumed their passionate embrace, forgetting the world outside the private room as they risked getting caught in the most sinful act they could ever do.

Ok, this took me too long... I really really really hope you guys liked it. ＞﹏＜ AO3 version OH! And thanks for the 300 followers! You guys are amazing, thanks for the support, for rebloging my stuff and interacting in the posts, I'm loving every part of it.

[hp-hcs]

HEYY I SAW U WANYED SOME THEODORE REQUESTS SO I WAS WONDERING IF YOUD WRITE SOME ANGSY W FLUFF AT THE END?

promise — theodore nott x gn!reader

Requests open

‼️ TWs: references to past domestic abuse & violence: emotional, financial, and physical ‼️

U.S. National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233

Text line: Text START to 88788

YOU DESERVE SAFETY. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Theodore Nott had his suspicions.

You’d never told him about any of your past relationships, but some of the odd things you did helped him draw his own conclusions.

Like that one random Tuesday night, when you were making dinner together in the kitchen, just chatting and laughing like usual. Theo had finished washing the dishes and shook his hands dry while reaching for the hand towel hanging from the oven handle, when you violently flinched back.

He froze, looking at you with wide eyes. You’d just laughed and patted his shoulder, apologizing for startling him.

Or that one time Theo had been trying to organize some bank statements, and had innocuously asked you if you’d bought something from a certain store when he couldn’t remember having made the purchase himself. You immediately froze up at the question, staring with a deer-in-headlights expression. You had timidly apologized, looking meek and like you were playing dead, to protect yourself, Theo had realized.

Or that time when you were going to a group get-together at a friend’s house and assured him there’d be no other men there.

Or when you couldn’t find your house key before work and panicked.

“I’m working from home today anyways,” Theo had reassured confusedly. “I can just let you in when you get back. I’ll be here all day.”

“You won’t lock me out?” You had asked, genuinely bewildered.

Theo hadn’t known how to respond to that.

But when you had accidentally been decked in the mosh pit at a punk show and rushed home in hysterics, Theo opening the door at your frantic knocking and finding you in the middle of a panic attack, he knew he needed to find out the truth. While trying to calm you down from the attack, you accidentally called Theo the wrong name, pleading with him to not hurt you further.

Theodore’s lips thinned and the blood drained from his face as his suspicions were only solidified. “I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N. Did somebody use to hurt you?”

You had nodded shakily, still beside yourself with anxiety. Theodore skimmed his thumb across the knuckles of your hand, shushing you gently.

“It’s alright, darling. What’s the bastard’s name?”

You mumbled it quietly, your sobs slowing to just shuddering breaths. Theodore had nodded in response, making a mental note to kill the motherfucker at his earliest convenience.

He helped you up from your spot, collapsed on the floor in the entryway of your home, and led you over to the couch, where he hastily tucked a fluffy blanket around you and all but sprinted to the kitchen to make tea. He came back with a warm mug and an ice pack for you, sitting down on the couch near you—but not next to you, so that you wouldn’t feel trapped or boxed in.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your tea before tugging him over to your spot, untucking part of the blanket so he could climb under it. Theodore wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and sighing comfortably. He kissed the top of your head and whispered in your ear,

“I swear I’ll never lay a hand on you, darling. I promise.”