#How does consensual kidnapping work???

[mythos-night]

Just a Couple Days

TW: Needles, (Consensual?) Kidnapping, Cursing

"For all the times you've gotten angry because I stayed up too late," Villain chucked. "You seem to be awake at such a late hour of the night."

"Why are you in my house?" Hero didn't look up from the paperwork they were filling out.

"You call this a house?" Villain looked around the half-decent apartment the hero agency had assigned to them, mockingly gesturing to the dishwasher that had broken down weeks ago. They had probably just resorted to hand washing. Villain saw the soap on the edges of the sink.

Hero continued writing. "You're avoiding my question."

Villain shrugged. "I just wanted to see you." They murmured, their hand running along the edge of the desk.

"I don't have time to deal with your bullshit."

"This really is a pretty terrible desk." 

"This really is a horrible time for you to come over." 

"Oh, what? Am I interrupting you from your important paperwork?" Villain leaned on the edge of the desk, snatching one of the forms before Hero could respond. Villain took note of that and frowned. "You're reaction time."

Hero slumped into the chair with a huff. "My reaction time is excellent." 

"I had already read half the page by the time you tried to snatch this back." Villain waved it a bit.  "How many hours of sleep did you get? "

"If you came here to kick my ass, just do it already."

"Oh, who's avoiding questions now?" Villain set the paper down in favor of grabbing Hero by the chin, leaning over the desk to make sure Hero couldn't avoid them. "Go to sleep."

Hero scowled. "This is due tomorrow. I don't exactly have time for you-"

"You have time when I say you do." Villain snapped, letting go and pulling a syringe out of their pocket. "Do I need to force you to sleep?"

Hero's demeanor went from irritated to downright fearful. "You wouldn't."

Villain smiled. "Can't finish those papers if you've been kidnapped."

They expected protests, fighting even. But the real shock came when Hero simply tossed the pen down and rubbed their hand over their face. "Please."

Now it was Villain's turn to be shocked. "You want this?" They blurted out.

The nod was hesitant but there. "Just for a couple days." Villain saw the gears turning. "I just need some time to clear my head- no, I could pay if you want- oh God, what am I doing?"

Villain set the shiny syringe down. "No need for payment. I know what your salary is." They busied themselves by searching his pockets for a sack and rope (Hero always teased them about their never-ending pockets).

Hero began to protest. "I'll go willingly, just-"

"Oh, I know you will. But there are security cameras outside the building, and I don't think the Agency will be happy when they see you just walking out of the building."

Hero opened their mouth, then closed it. "No sedative?"

"Oh, darling."

Villain knew how everyone would react if they found out Hero had been awake when kidnapped. How they should've done more to fight. How they should've been better. Villain wondered how Hero could take all the criticism despite everything they've done for the city. This needed to look real. Villain knew Hero would fight out of pure instinct the moment the sack went on.

Hero sighed, defeated. "Just..." Their gaze never left the needle. "A small dosage."

Villain moved swiftly, the needle in Hero's arm before their sluggish brain could comprehend what was happening. "With how much sleep you've gotten?" They murmured as they pushed a little bit of the drug in. "I don't think you're going to wake up soon."

In all honesty, they didn't need to take a full dosage. Hero was out like a light, eyes rolling to the back of their heads as they slumped into the Villain's waiting arms. They chuckled, grabbing the sack.

They wouldn't hurt the Hero. At least not now. There was no fun in fighting your nemesis when they weren't up to your level. Hero needed help, something Villain would be happy to provide.

Villain left the tiny apartment and the now burning stack of papers with Hero slung over their shoulder and the determination to give them the help they deserved.

Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated! :) Hope y'all have an amazing day/night!

[calypso-apologist]

Could you do Hermes and/or Apollo head-cannons if there s/o is like a princess but her father (the king) was both verbally and physically abusing her thx :)

tumblr user arsonist123 really making me reconsider adding the heart after every post's title but i'm commited to the aesthetic

Hermes and Apollo with an abused princess darling ♡

Hermes

Hermes is the type of guy to straight up kidnap you. Consensually, of course. If you'd let him, he would absolutely just pick you up and fly off, giggling loudly.

But of course, you're too kind for this world despite all the suffering and hardships you've endured and you don't want to leave the people in your kingdom with the tyrant king.

It's adorable, of course, but come on, the kidnapping thing would've been so much fun!

Still, Hermes adores your cute self too much to just go against your wishes like that. And so he starts to think of a plan to get you to himself. He might be getting some tips from Athena, but he decides those are too boring. And then he has the brilliant idea to ask Zeus for help.

Because asking Zeus about romance obviously always works well.

Still, no matter who helped, Hermes did come up with a plan! Sort of.

His plan is to quite literally scare your father shitless. He uses his role as the Messenger God and delivers your father a very scary (and very fake) prophecy from Apollo himself. Yes, he got his help to write it. To make it more believable.

And then cashed in a few favors, getting Zeus and Poseidon to cause some nasty storms around your island. Maybe some shitty crops if Demeter agrees to help. And maybe a tiny plague with Apollo's help.

And the "prophecy" clearly states your father has to give up his crown to you and leave the palace to live as a beggar among his people.

And it also includes you making a visit to a certain god's temple to get his blessings and so the curse placed on your land is undone. A temple that belongs to someone who's not afraid to... send a message.

Of course you go to his temple, knowing damn well who the "prophecy" was about. And you confront him about it, flicking his nose.

"You've made the whole prophecy thing up, didn't you, Hermes?"

You only get laughter in response.

Apollo

When he learned that his precious little ray of sunshine is getting hurt, he comes up with a plan.

Now, of course, he'd be delighted to simply shoot your father, but that would put you at risk of being given away to one of your suitors.

The suitors you, of course, keep refusing, absolutely enamored with the God who composes songs and speaks poetry just for your ears each night.

And so, he plans to free you in a way that you'll probably consider very sweet and romantic.

He disguises himself as an artist, a musician, who wishes to work in your father's palace and asks for your hand in marriage.

Of course, while your father laughs at him marrying you, he does enjoy music, so he lets the mysterious man stay and play for him.

He is immediately the only one you care about, sneaking away whenever you can. You're happy! You're just so happy that he's there, always giving you that soft, adoring look as he subtly serenades you, his words so masterful that only you understood, everyone else assuming his songs were about the beauty of nature.

Eventually, even if it takes weeks or maybe even months, he softens your father's heart and asks again to have you as his bride.

It's worth noting that with just how your father has grown to adore the new musician, he's also stopped harming you in any way, easily soothed into sleeping if he was nearby, charmed by Apollo's words.

And then, once the king finally agrees, Apollo reveals himself as the god of music and poetry, taking you away from your father's kingdom...

And then he still shoots him, of course.

[topguncortez]

Set Up For Failure - J. Halstead

whumptober masterlist || previous day

prompt: "I Warned You"

synopsis: Life with Jay had never been easy, and you knew that being with a police officer wasn't going to be easy. But when a newly released criminal starts repeating the same patterns that got him put behind bars, Jay starts to worry about your safety.

warnings: cursing, robbery gone wrong, attempted murder, mentions of large amounts of blood, crime scenes, pregnancy, kidnapping, mentions of a non-consensual c-section.

word count: 2.9k

Being married to a cop wasn’t easy. Being married to a detective that belonged to Hank Voight’s Intelligence department wasn’t easy either. When you first met Jay, he did everything he possibly could to shield you from the life that he lived. In fact, you didn’t even know his name was Jay until about six months into your relationship. It was by accident that you had figured out his name, who he was and what he did for work. 

At first, you were pissed, you didn’t talk to him for about two months, completely cutting him off. How could you be with someone who had lied to you so easily? Who didn’t think you were worthy or trustful enough to tell you what he did every single day? Jay had groveled, showing up at your apartment every day with a bouquet of flowers, begging for you to talk to him. You had got so annoyed that you left a note on the door telling him to take the flowers and donate them to the nursing home. But after the third month of him waiting outside your door, you finally decided to hear him out. 

“I have an explanation,” He started. You crossed your arms over your chest, “Everyone who has been close to me ends up getting hurt or worse. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to you. I have been living in this darkness for so long, and you come and. . . you brought the light back,” Jay shook his head, “I was terrified of what would happen if the light went away.” 

“No more lying,” You said, pointing at him. 

“None, I swear,” Jay said, putting his hands, “Does this mean I am forgiven?” 

“This means you are on probation.” 

Four years later, you were now Mrs. Halstead, and in your final month of pregnancy. Life with Jay had been everything you dreamed of and more. He was attentive and caring, always calling you on his way home from the station, or texting you if it was going to be a late night. He did everything he possibly could to provide for you, buying a small fixer upper house near Hank’s place. Will had accepted you as his sister-in-law almost instantly, loving to have someone on his side during petty arguments with Jay. The whole squad had basically adopted you as one of their own, even though you didn’t have a single thing to do with the police force. You had been a teacher until you got pregnant, and decided to spend the first year of your baby’s life at home. 

"There's been a series of break-ins in the Sunset Hills neighborhood, which has residents on alert. Channel 10 news is-"

The TV had clicked off from behind you, causing you to gasp and look over your shoulder at your husband. You smiled sheepishly before turning back to the pile of baby clothes that you were folding. 

“You’re home early,” You said. 

“Mhm,” Jay answered, crossing his arms over his chest, “What are you doing?” 

“Oh, you know,” You lifted up a pile of folded onesies, “Kid has more clothes than me.” Jay’s eyebrow raised, “And I was just catching up on the local happenings. . . have I told you how much I love you?”

Jay huffed, shaking his head, “I told you to quit reading into that. There’s nothing to worry about.” 

You sighed looking down at the pile of clothes, you had been caught yet again. Ever since the first break-in in the neighborhood, you had been on high alert, even though both Jay and Hank assured you that it was nothing to worry about, but you still felt uneasy every time you were in the house alone, which happened to be a lot. Hank told you that the thieves weren’t hurting anyone or going to houses where they knew people were home. The only thing they were guilty of was breaking in and stealing thousands worth in property. 

“I have the right to know what’s going on,” You crossed your arms over your chest, “I need to know what is going on in case-“ 

“Nothing is going to happen,” Jay walked over towards where you sat on the couch and kneeled down in front of you, “Nothing is going to happen to you. We have the best security system money can buy. We are blocks away from the station, uniforms are doing patrols up and down this street, hell, Hank lives right next door,” You chuckled at that. Jay’s large warm hands landed on your belly, gently rubbing over the stretched skin, “You are safe, I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” He placed a kiss on your forehead, “To both of you.” He then placed a kiss on your belly, earning him a kick in response, “Chill out in there, rambo.” 

“She gets excited when you’re around,” You smiled, “She can hear you.” 

Watching Jay become a father has been your favorite thing in life. From the moment you stood in the door of your shared bedroom, tears running down your face as you told him, you knew he was going to be the best dad ever. The next day he went out and bought as many books as he could on parenting. You had to basically force him to keep his mouth shut from telling the squad, as he wanted to shout from the rooftops he was going to be a dad. Now it was count down mode until his little girl could be in his arms. 

— — — 

“It’s going to be a late night,” Jay huffed out from the other end. You could hear the faint sound of a radio, and knew he was probably sitting in his patrol truck, Hailey next to him, waiting for some movement or clue. 

“This past week have all been late nights,” You sighed, letting the warmth of your bath water seep into your bones. In the past week, it seemed as though your baby was getting ready to make their move to come into this world. Your last appointment your doctor pointed out that your belly had started to drop a bit, which sent Jay into a full on panic. Your back had been killing you, and the only place that seemed to help ease the pain, was the clawfoot bathtub you made Jay put in the bathroom. 

“I know, baby,” Jay sighed. He hated the late nights just as much as you did, especially being so close to your due date. He knew that Natalie and Will were right down the street, and would be over in a flash if you ever needed anything, but Jay hated the fact that he couldn’t be right there. His paternity leave wasn’t set to start until after the baby was born. 

“Just tell me, you’re going to catch whatever bad guy you are after,” Although you still disliked some aspects of Jay’s job, you loved that he was part of keeping the beautiful city safe. 

“Always, baby,” Jay smiled on the other side of the receiver, “I promise I’ll be home as soon as Hank cuts us loose. Tell Rambo she can’t make her appearance tonight.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Quit calling her Rambo.” 

Jay’s smooth laugh filled the air, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound, “I love you, Y/N. I’ll be home soon.” 

You spent probably another half hour, until the bath water had run cold and the candles burnt out before you climbed out of the bath. You grabbed a pair of Jay’s boxers and one of his Chicago PD shirts, which seemed to be all that fit you at this point, and some of the only things that felt comfortable enough to wear. You propped the pillows up behind your back as you climbed into bed. Most nights you would fall asleep in the recliner, sitting up nearly straight felt better than laying in a bed. But for some reason, you felt safer lying in your shared bed than being out in the living room. 

Sleep didn’t come easy to you. Being almost 40 weeks pregnant, moving around trying to get comfortable wasn’t something new to you. But it wasn’t the feeling of your daughter kicking your ribs that kept you awake. You couldn’t turn your mind off, every slight howl of the wind or the creek of the old house had you jumping slightly, and looking around your dark bedroom. At some point you had drifted off to a light, fitful sleep, but were awoken by the sound of smashing glass. 

You gasped, looking around the room, your hand on your pounding heart. You sat still in your bed, straining your ears to hear if maybe it was Jay. But the sound of a groan, had you climbing out of bed, going straight to the safe in the closet. You punched in the code quickly, grabbing the gun and the magazine that Jay kept in there. You had only ever loaded a gun a handful of times, and prayed that you had done it right, as you grabbed your phone, and locked the bedroom door. You dialed 9-1-1 with shaky hands as you heard footsteps and a male grumbling. 

“I’m armed and calling 9-1-1!” You yelled out, hoping to scare off whoever was in your house. The trill of the line seemed to go on forever, until you were met with the sound of a dispatcher. 

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” 

“I think someone broke into my house,” You said, trying your best to keep your voice steady, “I-I’m Detective Halstead’s wife.” 

“Alright Mrs. Halstead,” The operator said, “Can you tell me where you are at?” 

“I’m in my bedroom. I locked the door and hid in the closet.” 

“Are you armed?” 

You looked down at the black gun on the bedroom floor, tears filling your eyes, “Y-Yes. But please hurry, I think-” 

The sound of the bedroom door banging opened caused you to gasp. You clamped a hand over your mouth as the footsteps grew closer to you, and prayed to anyone listening that you were going to make it through this. 

— — — 

Jay felt like he was about ready to fall asleep. The unit had been tasked with trying to find out who was behind a series of break-ins. It wasn’t their normal gig, break-ins were unfortunately common in their district, but the last two break-ins resulted in two homicides. Hank was going to right off the two homicides, saying that they still didn’t catch the eye of the intelligence unit, but the last two crime scenes had similar patterns to a case that Jay had worked several years ago. 

“Have you guys settled on a name?” Hailey asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

Jay shook his head with a smile, “She’s still set on Ophelia. But I think Sammy is better.” 

“Sammy?” Hailey asked, already guessing what Jay’s answer was going to be. 

“For Sammy Sosa!” 

Hailey shook her head, “Yeah, I agree with Y/N on this one.” Jay scoffed, and the silence stretched back across the cab of the truck, “Why do you think this is a revenge thing?” 

“I don’t know if it is a revenge thing, but I have a feeling it is,” Jay sighed, “The pattern just fits. 13 plain home invasions, then two homicides. The writings in blood on the walls of the crime scene? That wasn’t public knowledge.” 

“But why would Roger Sterling wait this long? What has it been, six years?” 

Jay nodded his head. It was one of his first cases in the intelligence units, and Hank was right when he said the first one sticks with you. Jay thought he had the facts right out in front of him. Roger Sterling checked all of the boxes for the home invader turned murderer, except one. The night of the third homicide, Roger had a solid alibi that was backed by his wife. But not having an alibi for two out of three murders was good enough for the jury to convict, and sent Roger to prison for two years. That was, until the conviction was overturned on the grounds of ‘not enough solid evidence’. Roger was let go, but he held a vengeance for Jay. 

“I don’t know,” Jay ran a hand down his face, “I’m guessing he was probably stewing in his anger. He was proven innocent of all the crimes, but that still doesn’t give him a clean bill. He’s probably been angry for years and is now acting out.” 

“It just doesn’t make-” 

“All Units, All Units, we have an active call for a home invasion and the sound of gun fire.” 

Jay cursed, grabbing his radio, “This is 5021 George, what’s the address we’re in route.” 

“Address is three-twelve south Cleveland street.” 

Jay felt like his heart had stopped in his chest, as his radio fell from his hand. The only sound in his ears was the sound of his blood, roaring in his body. Everything had frozen, his hands began to shake and his vision went black. He couldn’t even hear or feel Hailey shaking him out of his trance, trying to get his attention. It was like Jay’s body moved on autopilot, as he pulled the truck out of park and sped towards his house. 

His house. 

The house his wife and child were home alone in. 

The house where there were gunshots fired. 

Jay barely put the truck in park as he arrived on scene, and didn’t even bother to shut the door as he jumped out and ran up the yellow police tape. The bright lights and sounds of sirens were making his head pound as he tried to push his way through to his house. He was brought out of his trance when he felt a hand on his chest, stopping him from approaching. Jay looked down, anger coursing through his bones. 

“Let me fucking go,” He sneered at Hank. 

“I can’t let you do that,” Hank’s gravelly voice sounded out. 

“That’s my wife!” 

“And this is a crime scene,” Hank barked back, “My crime scene.” Jay felt like he was going to throw up, as his knees gave out. Hank quickly wrapped an arm around him, helping him down to the curb. 

“Is she-” 

“She’s alive,” Hank responded, “But barely. They took her straight to Med, I called ahead and told Will to meet her there.” 

Jay felt like he could breathe a little bit better, knowing that his baby brother was going to be in charge of his wife’s care. It was as if Jay’s mind went blank, a factory reset as he looked at the members of his unit jump right into working the scene. 

“I need to see it,” Jay said, his voice lacking any emotion. Hailey, who stood behind him, gave Hank a look, but the older man knew Jay well enough. 

“C’mon,” Hank turned and walked towards the house, Jay hot on his heels. The two of them pushed through the yellow police tape, and Jay felt his heart tick again. 

The perfect house that Y/N had spent so much time on, was destroyed. Pieces of glass from the windows littered the floor, pictures on the wall had been skewed, bloody footprints left on the hardwood floors that took Jay way too long to fix up. 

Jay clenched his jaw, “Where was she?” 

“Perp came in through the back,” Adam explained, pointing to the open back door, “Looted around down here for a little bit, from what we can tell, nothing was taken.” Jay couldn’t even focus on seeing if anything was missing, he was more concerned on how Y/N ended up the victim. “Then he went upstairs,” Adam nodded his head towards the bloody footprints. 

Hank then led him up the stairs, where more uniforms stood around taking pictures, and putting numbered yellow place cards on the blood splatters. Normally, the coppery scent of blood didn’t bother Jay, but this had him feeling sick as he approached his bedroom. 

“The 9-1-1 call was dialed from in here,” Hank said, “Her phone was found in the closet along with a nine mil.” Jay felt some sense of pride that Y/N knew to get the gun from the safe. He could remember the day he had first brought it home and how much she had protested having a weapon in the house. But Jay promised it would be the only weapon they had and it was going to be under lock and key at all times. 

“Did she fire it?” Jay asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Hank nodded, “Bullet embedded in the wall.” 

“She missed,” Jay shook his head, his blue eyes looking down at the huge blood spot on the bedroom floor. “Is th-that her. . .” Hank nodded his head again. Jay let out a shuddering breath as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was as if time had finally stopped, and Jay came to a sickening realization about the blood on the floor, “The baby. . .” His eyes widened as he looked at Hank, who had a grime expression on his face, “Where is my baby?” 

Hank looked at Adam, who stood in the doorway, “We have an amber alert-” 

Jay stood up from the bed immediately, but Hank put a hand on his chest, “Get your fucking hand off of me.” 

“We found this next to her,” Hank handed Jay a note. 

Jay took the yellow piece of notebook paper, which was folded in half and a polaroid picture was in the middle. The picture was of Y/N, and it looked to be taken not that long ago, her round pregnant belly protruding out as she stood in front of the large bay window of the living room. Written in what Jay prayed was red ink were the words: 

“I warned you.”

[casuallyanidiot]

Yantober Day 3

Secret Collection [Yandere M. Hairdresser x Gn.Reader]

Using @ozzgin's Yantober prompt list!

Not my favorite and already way behind 😭Sorry for being gone for like, a week. I got kinda sick and then had to scramble to keep up with my new classes. I should be good for now, and I'll try to work through my asks and more of the yantober prompts for now.

Tipjar :)

Tw! Dead dove Do not Eat! MDNI! Stalking, non consensual photography, implied kidnapping, he's really weird, nsfw themes

Your hair stylist is just the best! He always knows how to keep you coming back almost every week...

1.5k words

Clover knows that what he does isn’t right.

He cuts your hair with diligent practice, every strand memorized with care and sweet tenderness. When your tresses lay by his shifting feet, it takes all within him not to cum on spot. Your scent drives him wild, and he knows that you’re the one for him after you come back a second time.

He collects your hair after he pretends to sweep it up and throw it out, rooting around the dustpan in the back of his storefront like a desperate, mangy animal. He lives just above his small, intimate salon, and he knows that if he can just get you to come up with him, that he can start getting you to fall for him. 

Discount for today only! 75% off hair dyeing, lashes, and nails! Hurry in!

He typed it out and bit his lip as he stared at his screen. There wasn’t any sale going on. Nobody but you was privy to this, of course. Months ago, when Clover first met you, he jumped on the chance to have your phone number. He rambled on and on about how it was standard for most of all his customers to punch it. You could earn points! And exclusive coupons! Of course he was just lying to you. He would just send out a few messages every week or so to try and bait you into coming back. 

Today, he was washing your hair, trying desperately to not whip out his dick and cum all over your sweet, vulnerable face. He ran his hands through your hair, massaging in shampoo and sneakily putting every stray strand of hair that caught on his fingers on a stray napkin. For later, he promises himself with a barely restrained smirk.

“[Name]...” He called softly, watching with affection as your face crinkled before you stared up at him. A shiver ran down his spine. Fuck. If he could have your eyes on him like that at all times, he could die a happy man. He finished up rinsing you off, humming under your attention. “I’m trying to earn my masseuse license… I’m thinking of expanding the services I offer,” He explained while he moved you to a sitting position and placed a towel at your neck. You blinked up at him curiously.

Yes. Just like that. Be lured in by what I can give you.

“More? But Clover,” You laughed, “You already have a lot of things you do here. Plus, it’s only you running this place most of the time,” Your voice was filled with playful ease. He bet that you wouldn’t know what he was doing even if he pressed his throbbing hard on to your lips right the second.

“I have employees, silly,” He teased, flicking a bit of water onto your face. You giggled and wiped it off. On days you had booked him, he would basically clear out his salon of any other customers or employees. He wanted it to just be the two of you, after all.

“Anyways, you know me. I’m always looking to expand my craft,” he hummed and led you over to the vanity chair, pumping up your seat so he was leaning over you jussst right. You couldn’t see the large tent in his pants in the mirror, but he sighed happily. Oh, your neck felt so delicate underneath his fingers. He could feel your pulse thrumming. He would give anything to be able to bottle that sensation and put it up in his little room dedicated to you.

Clover slips a thin paper strip around your neck before draping a cape around you. He’d definitely nick that for later. He has a whole stack of them that he likes to sniff from time to time. He hums a small tune, one he’d seen playing on your phone once, and pulls out his hair tools. With every strand that he collects in his comb, he wets his lips with anticipation. He starts up the blow dryer and watches your lips part and your face scrunch up in mild frustration as the loud noise cuts you off. How cute.

After a moment of him working, massaging his fingers into your scalp with an air of nonchalance, he cuts the offending machine and lets you speak while he trims away at your layers.

“I’m kind of jealous,” you admitted, and he couldn’t help but perk up. “You’re always working to get better, to do more,” your words stroked his ego, and he hoped that you wouldn’t take note of how flushed his face was in the mirror. You finished off with a shrug and a small smile. “I guess I just admire you…”

Clover’s heart jumped in his chest. Oh man… You had no idea. Him admirable? Would you think that still if you saw the room he had dedicated to you?

“Is that a yes to being my guinea pig, then?” He teased and leaned in so his breath fanned over your ear. You blinked for a moment and then relaxed a bit. He tried to not grin. Got you.

“Yeah sure, why not.”

He worked quickly, careful to not mess up your hair as he went along styling it to be just the way you liked. Braiding, blowouts, perms, whatever you requested, he could do it. He knew he was good at what he did, and he knew that with all the discounts he lured you in with couldn’t be beat. He was so excited, practically vibrating with joy. As he finished up, he placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Okay! All done! Now just give me a moment to get everything ready for you,” He said and rushed upstairs, every creak of the wood igniting fire into his heart. In his arms was the hair and some objects you had touched. He wondered if you thought on his actions the way he thought about yours. 

Sometimes, he thinks, he wishes you would find out about how much he loves you. He’s not delusional, but by god does he wish he was. That way he could at least pretend that you would be okay with all of this. He quickly organizes the hair in its respective drawer, and the other in neat little rows that he has labeled. Used wax strips, the nail files he’s used on your hands and feet, old combs, were arranged like precious items among other things you left behind. A half empty tube of chap stick, some receipts that he’s analyzed hundreds of times, old, spat out gum. It was all here, but he needed more. He craved more of you.

Clover locked up that room with much effort. Oh how much he wanted you.

He lit candles, set up the table, heated stones, and brought the various oils and lotions he couldn’t wait to see your body slick with. He heard the creaking on the stairs, and he shuddered. 

“Oh, you got impatient, huh?” He comments, and your footsteps stop abruptly, like you were embarrassed to be caught.

“Yeahhhh,” You said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck as you blushed. He bit his lip, his face hidden by the flickering light. “I just couldn’t stand waiting… you know me.”

He did. He knew you so well. He’s happy the two of you could agree.

“Okay, here’s a robe… Just go behind that curtain over there and then put this on.”

Clover watches with satisfaction while you did as he instructed. You didn’t know, couldn’t know of course, that he had put a camera in the corner. You wouldn’t blame him, right? Not if you didn’t find out. He just couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to get a rare, nude pic of you. After all, he hadn’t been able to get into your home yet.

You slunk out from behind the safety of the partition in that fluffy robe, and he smiled warmly and beckoned you forward. He could practically imagine the amount of new additions he could add to his photo wall. You hopped up onto the table, and he covered you with a sheet. He started a playlist of relaxing music before he rubbed some oil onto his palm before he began kneading the flesh of your legs through the sheet, watching your now relaxed face with an intense gaze. 

Clover loved you. He loved the way you sighed in pleasure as he worked on a particularly stiff knot under your skin. He loved the way you trusted him. He would cherish the robe and the sheet that had touched your pliant form. Everything would be looked after and stored with the utmost care.

Including you.

He smiled, loving and sickeningly sweet as he grabbed a neatly folded, soaked cloth off of the table from its place nestled between decorative flowers. He hovered it over your face as he drank in the sight of your still features. Your nose scrunched, and he bit back the urge to coo. He sighed happily. He wondered if you had caught on that this was the last time you would ever trust him again, that this was the last time you would be anything more than the crowned jewel that he’d been coveting this whole time.

Your eyes fluttered open, his grin stretched wider, and he pressed the cloth down.

[cloversnstrawberries]

YOU LIKE LABYRINTH????? I love love love David bowie since i was little and loveeeeee anything with him with(人´∀`)♪

Please feel free to post anything you feel like about it!!! Imagines or full works or whatever, you wrote jareth so well💔💔💔

Have a good night:D🏝

"metamorphosis" platonic!yandere!jareth & past runner!new fae!preteen!gn!reader [oneshot] ! !

masterlist !

description; You were once a runner of the Labyrinth, one of the many that failed to complete the challenge in time-- but in a desperate plea to save your younger sibling from becoming a Goblin, you volunteered to stay in their stead. Too old to become a Goblin, you became a 'guide' meant to lead runners astray; the Goblin King should've known better to think you would've actually helped him in that way. Of course you'd disobey him, but for some reason, he doesn't seem all that bothered about it.

additional notes; heeey... how ya'll dooinnggg... I accidentally took a bit of a break because i was having seizures and needing to be hospitilized!! whoopsie!! even though i don't post on ao3, the curse still hit me. but i'm better now!!! and i finally finished this!! i hope i did well!!! i also literally lOVE david bowie, i also love 80s, dark fantasy, jim henson & jennifer conneoly and i blame it all on Labyrinth. or most of it at least. YIPPEE

warnings; possessive behavior, jareth being cryptic, jareth is non-human therefore does not abide by human culture/morals nor understand it fully, past kidnapping, reader took the place of their younger sibling after failing to complete their run, non-consensual body modification (reader unknowingly becomes a fae), restraints (reader's wrists/hands are tied), and if there's anymore i miss, please lmk!!! once i write something, i seem to instantly forget it </3

w/c; 4.1k

It was supposed to be a little joke-- you wishing your sibling away to The Goblin King. It was just a story, obviously; you'd said it to scare them, that's all.

You never thought it could actually be real, otherwise you wouldn't have done it. It was just a fairytale--! but you found it rather difficult to cling onto that idea when The Goblin King appeared before you, in the flesh; telling you to either run his Labyrinth or give up right then and there.

Go back to your life without your sibling, that he'd use his magic to fill the gap they left in everyone else's mind. Wipe their chubby little face from family photos, make it seem like their school desk was always empty; their half of the room would be gone, and it'd seem like it was always just your room.

But you'd still know, even if The Goblin King tried to wipe your memory or whatever, you know that, deep down, you'd still feel like something was wrong. A nagging itch in the back of your mind, that there was something missing.

It'd drive you mad, not knowing what that something was. But even more-so, if you did remember them, it'd drive you insane. The idea that you could've saved them from your stupid mistake, but didn't take the chance.

13 hours seemed like plenty of time to get it done; but The Goblin King played dirty. You should've known, that he wouldn't make it easy for you. When the clock chimed 13, appearing in front of your face, a pit formed in your stomach.

In a last ditch effort, as The Goblin King appeared before you once again, stood beside the intricate golden clock-- you begged, pleading that there had to be another way.

By the end of it, you traded places. Your freedom for your younger sibling's, who got to return home under the impression that this was all one big dream. Got to come home to their own room, no traces of you left; got to greet your parents as their only child.

Like it'd always been that way.

Obviously, you weren't so lucky. In place of your little sibling getting turned into a goblin, you were now tasked with being a 'guide' for the new runners.

You were supposed to guide them away from the Labyrinth, convince them that it wasn't worth it to continue on. That whoever they wished away was a lost cause, and there was no point in trying.

The Goblin King should've known better than to think you'd go along with it. You know that he's watching your every move, he has eyes all over-- in form of his subjects, the creatures lining the Labyrinth, his crystal balls, and probably some other means that you aren't yet privy to.

There's no solid way to tell how long you've been here, but you keep track of it by how many runners come and go. Time works strangely here, you're sure of it. Why wouldn't it? The Goblin King was already capable of so much more.

So far, you've encountered 7 runners. 3 of which claimed to be from the past, 2 who didn't speak any language you knew, and one that was from the near future. The 7th was eerily close to you, in a similar spot as you'd been.

Her name was Sarah, and she, by far, had been the one to make it the furthest. From what you've heard, she made it. She did what you couldn't, and saved her little brother at no expense to herself.

You wouldn't know, since you got a bit too bold in your way of helping her; you were 'deactivated', in a way. You just collapsed suddenly, on the groups way to the Goblin city. Fallen into a deep sleep,

One you, realistically, should not have woken up from. You weren't dumb, you knew what happened to those who disobeyed The Goblin King past the point of his own amusement.

And you knew that, at least on some level, he must've known you were helping the other runners. But he must've found your efforts entertaining, didn't see it as a real threat.

Not until you succeeded in what you thought was a pointless kind of endeavor, and actually helped a runner succeed where so many others had failed. You can't take all the credit--

But you're going to take the brunt of the punishment for it, you're certain. Yes, Hoggle had also been a large help to Sarah; so had Ludo, Sir Didymus, and Ambrosius;

In The Goblin King's mind, though, you were different. You were not his subject, you were not a creature of the Labyrinth. Before you arrived, he'd never had any issues like this. With his subjects defecting like they had,

You were the perfect scapegoat, you realize now. Sat in front of The Goblin King's throne, legs criss-cross-apple-sauce and your arms bound behind you with... vines, you believe; you've come to expect the worse.

For a while now, The Goblin King has been sitting in his throne, staring at you. Studying you, like you were the most interesting thing in the world. The throne room was eerily silent, only faint, very faint, sounds from outside could be heard from here.

And for a while, you'd been zoned out. Eyes on The Goblin King, but not looking at him. Eyes glazed over, hardly blinking-- off in another world. A world where you didn't do this to yourself, still living happily with your parents and younger sibling.

"Human's are stubborn little things, aren't they?" Is what broke the silence, and you jolted in place at the suddenness of it. Quickly, you blinked away any residual dryness from your eyes, before casting your eyes to the ground.

It was interesting, the stones were uneven and different colors. Some where more sparkly than others, some were a normal gray while others were fantastical shades of purple, or green, or something of the like.

You weren't here to admire the floor, though.

A few beats of silence passed, before you realized he wanted a response. Voice croaky, throat dry from fear, you quickly agreed "...Yeah." You don't know what he wants from you, in any sense of the word.

He leaned forward in his throne, arms folded and braced atop his knees. On reflex, you look up at him to see how his hair fell around his face, framing it like you imagine a halo would to an angel, in a tangential kind of way.

Which he very much isn't, but he was ethereal like one. That's how Fae used to lure in weary travelers and lost children in the woods, yeah? Their beauty?

He studied you for a few moments more, before suddenly saying "You've began to change." Well that was-- cryptic. And you should knew better than to prod, you really should--

And you do, but that doesn't mean to you heed it.

"How?" Something you couldn't quite name curled deep in your gut, a primal kind of terror that you've never felt before. Not like your are now. The Goblin King didn't respond immediately, and you feared the worse.

You feared that you'd ticked him off even more than you already did, with how you (supposedly) paved the way for a runner to conquer the Labyrinth. Something that didn't happen very often, you've been told.

It should've brought relief, when he opened his mouth to speak-- and didn't seem angry. But you can never tell with him, you think. Fae are tricky like that, or so you've heard. Despite being in his... employ(?) for however long you've been, you don't interact with him much.

This would be your... 4th, maybe 5th if you're being generous, time meeting with him since you failed your run at his Labyrinth. You don't have much to go off of for his behavior, and for all you know, he could be livid right now. Masking it-- you aren't sure.

In a shocking turn of events, he decided against what he was going to say. Instead, he closed his mouth and reached forward-- it took all your energy not to violently flinch back, as he cupped your cheek with his hand.

Tender in a way you didn't think he could be, especially not to you. it's a trick, something in the back of your mind hissed. he's tricking you.

But you can't do anything about it, so you just sit impossibly still-- like a statue, as you try to keep your trembling under check. Staring into the eyes of your inevitable end, like you were, was bound to make you nervous.

Slowly, gentle in the way you'd be gentle with something fragile-- like he was handling a priceless porcelain doll, delicate and easy to crack with one wrong move--, the Goblin King guided your head to the left.

He kept you in place for a bit, studying you-- he had no care to disguise what his intent was, so you caught on rather quickly. You aren't sure how long you two stayed like that, until he gently guided your head to the right.

what's the point? you think to yourself, swallow past the lump in your throat. what is he getting out of this?

The relief you felt when he pulled his hand back was almost crushing in its weight, you felt like you could collapse from it right then and there. But you knew that the worst has yet to pass, as you chance a glance up, and catch the Goblin King looking lost in thought.

Reclining in his throne once again, elbow propped on an arm of the ornate chair, chin propped up against his hand-- he simply stared at you. Hands curling along the hem of your shirt, you dare to ask "What are you going to do with me?"

You reason with yourself, that it can't already get worse than this. The Goblin King despises when people 'talk back to him', when they don't play along with his tricks and games. Acts amiable until you become a disturbance to his ever-important amusement,

But really, you must already be at rock bottom with him. You're a scapegoat, you'd figured that out quite some time ago; the quicker this is over with, the better.

The stone floor wasn't the most comfortable surface to sit on, and your muscles began to ache from sitting in one position for so long. Being as tense as you had been for the last... however long you've been stuck here. Again, not very easy to tell the passage of time in a place like the Goblin King's realm.

And to your blatant shock, the Goblin King didn't immediately snap at you for interrupting his thinking. Instead, he... smiled, and it made your skin crawl. Scared you more than if he'd just straight-up yelled at you, or turned you into a toad or whatever.

"That's what I'm deciding on, little one." He's called you that before, little one, so that's not what caught you off guard. Not as much as the tone he said it in,

Usually, he was mocking about it. Like he couldn't bother to even remember your name, let alone use it; it lent him an air of superiority, the inherent power dynamics to that of an elder and a younger.

It sounded almost fond, not entirely devoid of what you could interpret as mocking, but softened to the point where it could pass for some friendly teasing.

A part of you wanted to push him, to tell him 'well decide faster, i'm getting bored' just to get it over with. The anxiety of it all was awful, waiting for him to come to an agreement with himself. In the end, he was probably well aware of it,

He just wanted to drag your torment out even further. Wring the last few drops of entertainment from you before tossing you aside-- you'd more than ran your course. You were an outsider, something strange between a runner and an inhabitant of the Labyrinth.

But you didn't tell him to get on with it, for one reason or another. You continued to sit there, staring up at him-- hoping he'd come to a conclusion soon. Whatever he did, it wouldn't be pleasant for you.

Execution? Banishment to the Barrens outside of the Labyrinth's walls? Sentencing you to become a punishing bag/training dummy for the Goblin warriors? Leave you to rot in an oubliette?

Really, the options were endless. maybe that's why he was having such a hard time choosing between them.

Suddenly, he broke the silence by cryptically asking "Have you noticed anything different?", and it was far too vague for you to even know where to begin "I... pardon me?"

His laughter sounded like bells, light and airy and chiming-- it felt more like a funeral toll than church bells. Slow and damning, a sentence of your demise in-of-itself. "Ah, excuse me for being so general about it. Allow me to specify,"

Leaning forward from his throne once again, the Goblin King's smile resembled that of a wolf. It took everything in you not to lean back--Jesus, you'd never noticed how sharp his canines were. It was disturbing. Lending him more of an uncanny feel than before,

"Have you felt any different, as of late?" Waving his hand aimlessly by the side of his head, he was begin listing different examples of these 'differences' he was looking for. "Maybe you can see better, you don't need to sleep as much, can go longer without food or water...?"

Cautiously, you nodded your head. But that's just an affect of the Labyrinth, isn't it? Even when you were running it, you didn't feel tired or particularly hungry during it.

Then again, maybe it was the fear of your situation and desperation to reach the castle in time that kept your mind off of those subjects. The human physiology can do funny things under immense and prolonged amounts of stress, you know that much.

Grin stretching impossibly wider, his teeth on full display-- almost like he was baring them, making it even more difficult to stop from shaking under his suffocating presence-- he leaned back into his throne, head thrown back,

And he laughed. The ones he'd done before paled in comparison to this one, like comparing the fire on a matchstick to the one of a forest fire's. Full bodied and winding, almost like a hyenas. Edging on hysterical, like this was the funniest thing he'd ever encountered.

You don't know if that meant something good, or something terribly bad for your fate. On one hand, maybe you were so entertaining he's decided to let you live-- but then again, he could be tricking you.

It's hard to tell with the Goblin King, with any type of Fae, as you've come to learn. Even the lesser sorts, like the little Fairies that reside just outside the wall of the Labyrinth that communicate only in squeaks and other vocalizations-- are tricky sorts of creatures.

Ethereal and beautiful, you'd expect them to be kind and benevolent. Not to take any chance they get to sink their awfully sharp teeth into your palm; not to eat, maybe just to cause needless harm. Giggling about it after the fact, taking joy in the distress they cause.

And you had half the mind to stand and try to run-- your hands were bound, but your legs were not. It's not like that'd make much of a difference, because either way you can't escape whatever the Goblin King has planned.

But still, some part of your pride remained. Made your gut twist in discomfort as he laughed right at you, not a care in the world-- why was he laughing? It irked you, more than if you'd known what exactly he was laughing about.

When he was done with the hysterics, his head tilted down as he delicately wiped a tear from the edge of his eye, you felt something... shift. Practically saw it, in the strange emotion(s) he held in his gaze when he opened his eyes to look at you again.

"Do you know how long you've been here?" And this you can answer completely honestly, shaking your head slowly. Refusing to take your eyes off of him now, afraid that if you do, he'll do something when you aren't looking. Then you'll never see anything again.

"You've been here... hm, I suppose it's been a decade or so by your standards." No-- that can't be it. He's lying! Or-- well, Fae can't lie, but he certainly has to be stretching the truth.

But time works differently in the Labyrinth, so that can't be much cause for concern. Despite that explanation, you can't ease the worry, or the fear curling around every part of your mind.

Leaning forward again-- good god, this man doesn't like to stay still, does he?-- he puts his hand on your head this time. If he noticed your flinch when he did so, he didn't comment on it.

Didn't do anything further, just kept his hand atop your head as he continued speaking "I'm not one to keep track of those sorts of things; but it's odd, now that the fact has come to my attention. You stopped aging shortly after you began your... tenure."

He sounded far too smug, calling your semi-involuntary stay in his realm, under his control-- as a tenure. Like this was some run-of-the-mill office job.

Jackass.

When he doesn't continue, you grow bold as time drags on in silence. Asking in a biting tone "So? The Labyrinth handles time weirdly. That doesn't mean anything." He snorts "My, you act as if you know my Labyrinth better than I do."

You bit your tongue on that one, it felt too much like bait. Like he wanted to coax you into a greater offense, just so he could snap at you for it. But that would be too logical for him, if he wanted to be mad at you, then he would've already done so, yeah?

The Goblin King hummed, his fingers began to card through your hair in what you assume was meant to be a reassuring gesture, but it only put you more on edge.

"But no, it does mean something." You don't know how to feel about it, when he takes his hand away from your head just to stand from his throne. Beginning to pace around the room, you try to follow his movements all the while.

The sly smile on his face let you know that he was more than aware of that fact. He must be basking in it, your unease. Your fear of what was to come "Do you know what it means, since you seem to know so much about my Labyrinth?"

Yeah, he was definitely baiting you-- but for what? Surely not to get mad at you, because, again, if he wanted to do that than he already would have. what was the point of this all? You asked yourself before responding.

Not like you had much choice, either way he'll get what he wants. Whatever that may be, well, you'll just have to wait and see.

"...I'm becoming apart of the Labyrinth?" That made the most sense. it didn't scare you nearly as much as it should, the idea that you're becoming apart of this realm-- because for all intents and purposes, you may as well already be apart of it.

An outsider in technical terms, still far too human to be a formally regarded resident of the realm; but you know you're never going to leave here. Not alive, at least-- and you'll never be back to your actual life.

Becoming apart of Labyrinth might be a blessing in disguise, really. Hopefully you don't lose yourself to madness, though. You'd like to keep as much of your mind as possible.

Maybe he'll spare you because you're becoming one of his subjects. Perhaps he thinks that means you'll have to obey his every whim--

Suddenly, he stops dead in his track-- facing away from you at first, he slowly turns, that wide, wolfish grin still on his face as he tilts his head to the side "Hmm, not quite! Closer than I thought you'd be, though."

Heart pumping faster than it ever had before, your vision blurred as the Goblin stepped forward. The click-click-click of his heeled boots made your heartrate spike, and just as your ears began to ring; your felt his hand tuck itself beneath your chin, pull your head up so you could truly look him in the eye.

"No, darling little nestling." ...Well, that was new! Miraculously, you held back a frown at the, uh, pet name(?). For now, at least. "Something similar, though."

Why does he hate being straight-forward? Does he always have to drag it out like this-- seriously, it was beginning to get on your nerves. It always did, but then again, your meetings with him were never this long, so you were never exposed to it in large increments.

He pouted, overdramatic and obviously fake "Aren't you going to ask me what I mean?" You want to stay quiet for once, not give him what he wants. The way his fingers ever-so-slightly dig into the flesh of your jaw, however, makes you grit out a "What do you mean?"

"Hm." He said, like he was going to comment on the tone you used, but he didn't do anything further like you thought he would. His grip loosened up, but his hand never stopped holding your head in place "The Labyrinth's taken a liking to you, supposes I've been lonely as of late."

You always found it strange, how he speaks about the Labyrinth like it was a living thing. And maybe it was-- you couldn't be sure, of course the Goblin King would know. So it probably is sentient, at least to some degree, but to what degree? You don't know.

There's some other evidence to prove that the Labyrinth isn't entirely inanimate, piecing it together lends truth to the idea that it isn't just some building or piece of land. That it was an entity, one that the goblin King supposedly had a close bond with.

"You have the Goblins?" You couldn't stop yourself from saying it, quickly shutting your mouth after saying it-- like that'd do anything to undo what you just said. Luckily (or maybe unluckily, you can't be too sure), Jareth didn't take it to heart. He just huffed, and raised one brow "And you think they'd make good company?"

"How can you be lonely with so many creatures-- The Goblins are always hanging around you." You're done for-- or maybe not. The Goblin King is so weird, never know if he'll be angered when talked back to, or if he'll find it entertaining and let you off the hook.

He rolled his eyes, before crouching down-- now at eye level, he seemed even more intimidating than before, believe it or not. "None of them are like me, all too simple minded for me to truly consider them company."

"I'm not either. If I was just a bit younger, I would've been a Goblin." You aren't too sure about the cutoff range for a Goblin was, but you'd guess around... 7 or 8 at the oldest. Bit of a reach, 'just a bit younger' was, but it was still kind of true. There was no set meaning for 'just' after all, could mean whatever you wanted in the moment.

His grin faltered for a moment-- you almost missed it, too focused on your throat closing up from fear in the moment, but happened to catch it by pure coincidence. It was reinstated just as quickly as it'd began to fall, but you know you saw something.

"But you aren't. You're becoming a Fae," His hand shifted from holding your chin to cupping the side of your face. Too familiar, too kind-- gentle, warm, like he actually cared for you. "I can't just toss you out after that, can I? It's quite obvious that you'd make a fantastic heir when the time comes."

You're just so lost that you don't even bring up why you were here in the first place-- you helped a runner to the end. If anything, you'd be the worst fit for an.. an heir!

"I'm not--" You try to argue, the Goblin King frowns and scoffs, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, your mouth shuts so quickly that your teeth click together with the force of it. "Hush. Nothing you can say will sway me on this,"

Other hand cupping the other side of your face, he shook your head side-to-side for a moment, grin back on his face as he continued to observe you. "Yes, I think you'd do quite nicely. You'll be the most spoiled child in the realm-- can't have anything less for my heir, now can I? How does that sound?"

awful. you think to yourself, but you find yourself unable to speak against it.

[emotionalmessss]

Hiii! Can I request yandere Chrollo when reader tries to escape? Hc? Fic? If you want 🥰

A/N: I feel like I haven't written anything in so long (school is going to be the death of me I swear). I'm trying to be more active with my writing now that I've officially graduated, I'm sorry for ghosting! Anyways, enjoy Yan!Chrollo :)

Warnings: yandere themes, unhealthy/forced relationship, implied kidnapping, slight mention of violence and non-consensual touching, and psychological abuse. Chrollo is basically a warning himself lol.

Chrollo is always one step ahead. After all, he is the head of the Spider, so if you think you can escape from him--good fucking luck. He is cunning, meticulous, and devoted to having you back where you belong--in his arms. But that doesn't stop you from trying, does it?

Congratulations for managing to slip through his fingers, but it won't stay that way for long. There is nowhere in the world for you to hide from Chrollo, he will hunt you down using whatever means that will ensure his success. So, enjoy the freedom while it lasts, because it won't last very long.

Sure, Chrollo might be slightly ruffled at the fact that you actually managed to escape. But will he let that affect his calm composure? No, definitely not. Chrollo plays the long game, and he does it best. And who's to say that he didn't intentionally let you escape? To give you that brief, sweet taste of freedom, only to rip it away at the last second?

Chrollo’s expression remains impassive as he lounges on the plush couch in the middle of his expansive living room. Reclining comfortably into the cushions, he folds one leg over the other while using one hand to flip through the book in his lap. He is perfectly aware of your absence from the apartment--how could he not notice when the air lacks the usual animosity that only you can bring? 

Despite the apartment lacking its usual vibrancy, Chrollo remains calm and composed, a trait that has always irked you. His composure never slips, even now. He finds it pitifully endearing that you thought you could outsmart him--have you learned nothing? Chrollo doesn’t know if he wants to praise you for your bravery or laugh at your naivety. 

Sighing, he stretches his legs out across the coffee table, idly smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles on his dress shirt. You thought escape was an option? How quaint. His lips curl into a faint, knowing smirk; his predictions had been correct--like always. While Chrollo can’t deny that he finds your actions mildly irritating, they are more entertaining than anything else--not that he’d ever show it.

“It’s intriguing, really, how you thought you could just slip away from me,” Chrollo mutters to himself, his voice measured and almost serene. His big, gray eyes finally look up from the antique book in his lap, drifting towards the large window that offers a view of Yorknew City’s skyline. Somewhere out there, you’re hiding, and he can clearly picture the mixture of relief, fear, and paranoia etched on your pretty face. 

He taps his fingers on the armrest of the couch--the only sign that his mind is working in overdrive. Clicking his tongue thoughtfully, Chrollo tilts his head back down to the book resting on his thighs. Running a hand through his raven locks, he lets out a hollow chuckle, quickly followed by a deep sigh. For now, he’d let you play your little game, but in the end, you would not win.

Just like everything else, Chrollo's response will be chilling and methodical. As the head of the Spider, he'll use all the resources he has to get his love back. But for the time being, he will let you enjoy your little game. He's more than confident you'll be back where you belong. Make sure to keep looking over your shoulder every so often, he won't be far behind.

Chrollo will have you back in his grasp, no matter how much you kick, cry, and scream. He will remain unflinchingly composed, acting as though you were merely a small animal that needed to be handled with gentle care. The entire time, he'll have that small, almost invisible smile tugging at his lips--that smile that you've come to hate and suggests bad things for you.

Once he finds you--if he hasn't already been watching you the entire time--he'll strike when the time is right, and when the circumstances align in his favour. He won't be openly aggressive, definitely not towards you. Chrollo will take a different route, one that involves planning, scheming, and manipulation.

Consequences? Oh, there has to be some consequences for your disobedience. But, Chrollo would never lay a violent hand on you. No, that's not his style. He could never physically hurt his love. He can hurt you in other ways, though. Friends and family? That's a whole other story. Chrollo being Chrollo, will do whatever it takes to ensure you comply. Only if he's pushed to that point.

In Chrollo's twisted mind, he is protecting you from the dangers of the world--like a good lover should. He firmly believes that the only place for you to be happy and safe is by his side. He'll manipulate you into believing that you need him, and that even the thought of escaping is utterly impossible.

You’ve been sprinting through the empty streets of Yorknew City for hours, and no matter how far you run, you can’t seem to shake the terror that threatens to swallow you whole. At this point, your feet sting, your lungs burn, and your mind is a jumbled fucking mess--is this what insanity feels like or has Chrollo corrupted you so much? Neither of those reasonings are favourable, but you’d probably choose insanity over Chrollo. 

Frantically, you examine your surroundings as you come to a stop, panting and keeling over. You sluggishly move towards the corner of a large building, slumping back against the bricks and wipe the glistening sweat from your forehead. This is Hell, isn’t it? Clutching your chest, your mind races with a slew of possibilities; different escape routes, places to hide, and potential consequences should you get caught. 

What would the reincarnation of the Devil himself do to you if he were to catch you? Would he hurt you? The odds of Chrollo physically hurting you are slim, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t harm you in other ways. Despite spending an unwilling amount of time with him, you could never fully understand the bastard. You weren’t entirely sure if that was a blessing or a curse. 

“Get it together, fuck.” Your voice comes out strained and raspy as you forcefully compose yourself, shoving off from the wall to round the corner of the building. Every detail about that man pisses you off--his calculated mannerisms, his unflinching composure, his studying eyes that make you feel like he’s staring into your soul, and that god-awful smile that never looked genuine. 

Just when you soothe your chaotic mind and turn the corner of the building, he appears before you. Your heart plummets, and your feet drag across the pavement as you abruptly halt, completely paralyzed under his scrutinizing gaze. You watch him like a cornered animal, prepared to flee at the slightest sign of malice. But, of course, there is none--perfectly expected from a man like Chrollo. 

“My dear,” Chrollo begins, using the endearing nickname you’ve come to loathe. His voice completely devoid of aggression, showing no hint of the manipulative thoughts that are definitely running through his mind. “Wandering the streets alone at this hour isn’t wise,” he chides gently, his tone tinged with condescension. “Come now, let’s get you back home.” His hand extends towards you, as if he’s giving you a choice. 

You muster up a sliver of self-control, refraining from cussing him out. Instead, you take a cautious step backwards--away from the beast. Noticing this, Chrollo’s lips pull into a slight smile, and his hand returns to his side. He doesn’t move an inch, letting out a resigned sigh that suggests he had anticipated this outcome. His gray eyes never leave yours as the sound of approaching footsteps begins fill the silent street. 

“Please, let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be,” Chrollo continues, his attention focused on you, purposely feigning ignorance of his loyal Spiders who are slowly encircling both of you. He remains the epitome of calm, acting as if your escape attempt was just a minor inconvenience. You stand still, and the Spiders close in, strategically blocking off all paths except for the one leading to Chrollo. 

[mamayan]

🎃 Happy Halloween 🎃

Shigaraki Tomura x Fem! Reader

Good girls should just stay home, lest something goes bump in the night.

cw: NSFW • Implied Murder • Implied Serial Killer • Consensual Non-Consent turned Non-Consensual • Noncon • Dubcon • Abuse • Fingering (F) • Oral (M) • Deep Throating • Rough Sex • Attempted Murder • Hair Pulling • Degradation/Slight Humiliation • Dacryphilia • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • a little OOC • This story possessed me and basically wrote itself • Barely proof read tbh

wc: 7k+

Something must be wrong with you.

Or at least, that’s what you imagine the world would think if anyone knew what you were doing.

The room was dark aside from the blue glow of your computer screen. The black web browser with red lettering almost ominous as your eyes scanned the consent form again. It was a consent form just to access the full website, on the surface serving only as a dating type of situation for the BDSM community. Beneath it though were layers deeper than what the simple description actually provided. You only found out about it through a deep dive into multiple sub-threads of Reddit. It was a basket case of crazy, the majority of information or advice, but you managed to dig up one reliable looking source.

This website you were currently on. L@ce&R0pe.com happened to provide a wide variety of goodies, from sex toys to actual published books on shibari, there wasn’t much you couldn’t find. Except like all websites not swallowed up by the deep web, there was never any section like the one you wanted so desperately.

Except this one, because your mouse didn’t hesitate to shift and hover over the drop down section for MEET, where you could link up with real people for whatever your heart desired really. You trailed down to NEW FRIEND, and clicked. A new tab opened, this one themed differently than the main website. It was light blue and pink, almost like a baby shower, except the only thing on the page was a single drop down menu, and clicking it made your head ache. There were thousands of options, but thankfully it was organized alphabetically, so you could easily scroll mindlessly until you hit the C section.

You found what you wanted, clicking it as your chosen option and hitting GO.

The screen changed, this time it looked similar to a dating profile fillable. You worked quickly, efficiently even, as you typed all your information in.

Not your name or address, nothing silly like that. Just your measurements, your favorite foods or beverages, the color of your eyes, your hair color, your height, and even the style of your nails. It asked if you liked to brush your hair everyday, how often you showered, what shampoo or body wash you like. You answered them all, as invasive as they soon became, you never wavered. What brand of deodorant do you use? How often do you clip or file your nails? To what length? Do you shave your pubic area? How often? What style? How many sexual partners have you had? Where have you had sex? Which hole do you prefer? Are you a crier or a screamer? Does blood turn you on? Do you like physical or mental pain more? Have you ever been raped before?

They got more personal and physiological as you answered. You felt hot and stuffy despite the window being open and the cool autumn air blowing in. You kept answering even as your throat got tighter and unease nestled into your clavicle.

Do you want to know who your new friend will be?

This time you do hesitate. Knowing would make it feel safer. Knowing would give you some semblance of control. Knowing would be the smart choice.

You clicked “no” and submitted the form, sealing your fate as your hands shook and adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You set the date for October 31st. Now all you had to do was wait and show up.

A notification hit his phone, lighting up the screen as cigarette smoke billowed around him in the back alley. A quick glance was all he needed to unlock and fully see the entire screen. The leather of his jacket rubbed against the brick he leaned against.

Halloween was probably the best time for such fun, crime rates skyrocketing and parties being loud and wild really left a big gaping hole for any type of heinous activity to occur. He grinned as the information poured onto his screen. His dick already becoming painfully hard as he read all your supplied information. You liked breath play, having someone spit in your mouth, even being slapped around. He was always amazed by the lack of shortage for sick freaks like you, but then again, he was one of them too. Licking his top lip, tongue piercing flicking out to rub against his cupid’s bow, he clicked “ACCEPT” on the notification. He had all your information, the when and where, and your adorable little comment of “Please don’t degrade me.” What more could he ask for? His smile is sinister in the low light off the neon sign of the bar, casting a purplish hue on his skin as he chuckles and shoves his phone away. Flicking his cigarette butt onto the dirty ground, he cracked his neck and knuckles before going back inside to finish his beer and round of pool with his friends.

He’ll see you on Halloween. He might even dress up a little for the occasion.

It’s cold.

It’s nearly November so you hadn’t expected warm weather necessarily, but it seemed chillier than usual despite your fairly insulated dress.

You dressed up as an angel, the irony not lost on you at all but it felt fitting almost for the occasion. The pristine white looked off in your surroundings. It was nearly midnight, but despite that the sidewalk of the park was filled with a fairly regular crowd of people passing through, on to the next party or home to sleep off all the alcohol. Really, you weren’t too out of place, in your white stockings and black heeled boots, the fluffy ruffled white babydoll dress that barely covered your ass or tits and the wings which were strapped around your shoulders and jutted out behind you. On your head was a slim clip which was attached to a white shiny halo that seemed to float above you, only a thin wire keeping it up. You’d at first felt a little exposed passing children going home for the night after trick or treating, eyes of judgemental families which you ignored boring into you, but now it was time for the adults to have fun. You’d already passed a plethora of college students or older dressed even more scantily than you, making you feel better, safer, out in the park you’d chosen. You’d chosen 0300 as your designated meetup time, but specified you’d be early in case they wanted to start sooner. So here you stood, under a streetlamp that illuminated you in a yellow glow, making you seem even more angelic despite the ominous darkness surrounding you. You were busy playing on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and trying not to appear too excited. Or scared. You figured it was a combination of both, the arousal and fear bleeding into one very specific but unnamed emotion. Tapping your boot to a rhythm only you could hear, the night drew on and another hour passed. The droves of people passing didn’t dwindle, but it was always a group, never a single individual which you hoped was your new friend. It was almost 0130 when you felt watched, goosebumps rising on your skin as you realized someone must be looking at you. A quick glance around showed no one though, and after ten minutes your hope dissolved into disappointment. It seemed your friend wasn’t an early bird.

“Hey,” a raspy, deep voice speaking almost directly into your ear, startling you enough to elicit a yelp. You turned, eyes landing on a dark clothed chest and trailing up to a hooded face you could barely make out through a mess of blue hair. His lips look a bit chapped, a small scar decorating a corner, but his teeth are white and straight as he smiles a grin that causes shivers to shoot down your spine.

…maybe your friend was an early bird, just not as much as you.

You take a step back, stuttering stupidly due to your overactive nerves and the earlier shock of his sudden appearance. “H-hi…um,” the stranger tilts his head, eyes still not visible, dark hoodie baggy on his frame. He looks a bit thin, like he wouldn’t have a lot of strength, his jeans having some strange splattering of fake blood or something on them. You lick your lips, heart ready to leap from your chest but not quite ready for the events to unfold.

Or maybe you were very ready.

“You’ve been standing here for hours,” he comments nonchalantly, hands moving to shove inside the large inner pocket on his hoodie, “Aren’t ya tired of waiting for your boyfriend?” His question is a bit confusing, and when you glance around you, it dawns that there’s no one out right now. When had the crowds dwindled to nothing? “I don’t… have a boyfriend…” you had clearly stated that online too, so he already knew the answer to your relationship status. Was he just teasing? Keeping this as realistic as possible? It made you a bit pleased. You fiddled with the ends of your cute frilly dress, exposing a small portion of your skin and garter belt which kept your thigh high socks up. His eyes tracked the motion, lips pulling up even higher making his smile menacing. Dangerous. “That so?” He asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a reply as he steps closer, his beat up sneakers so silent on the ground it’s a little unnerving. Since he’s playing along so much, it feels wrong for you to not reciprocate.

“What do you think you’re doing, creep? Stay back,” You hope he’s not offended by the name, figuring it wasn’t too mean or odd of a thing to call him. Your firm stance and defiant gaze make him pause, head tilting again but he’s quick to recover and laugh. It’s less of a sexy and deep chuckle like you expected, and more pitched and giggly. It’s almost creepy to hear from a grown man. Like a child from a horror movie laughing. “Creep? Yeah? Guess I am, but you know what?” His head lifts, and since he’s more centered under the tall street lamp, when he looks straight at you, two red eyes flash. “I’m a lot fucking worse than your average dumbass creep,” you jolt when he lunges at you, hand outstretched to grab you. It’s instinctive how quickly you turn and run, adrenaline helping you shoot off into the park where no light but the moon shined down. This is what you wanted, you chant to yourself to stay level headed enough to not truly panic. This was staged and as safe as possible. He’s not actually going to hurt you. You’d be fine, albeit maybe a little sore tomorrow morning. You shut your mind off and focus on running, though your speed wasn’t great in such cheap and unstable boots, roots and random objects on the ground constantly tripping you up.

You looked like the dumb girl in the horror movies, tits practically out of your low cut revealing white dress, strapless white bra damn useless and more for show than any real support or push-up. You huffed, digging in your heels when you heard a few twigs snap behind you, feet carrying you faster as you realized he was gaining on you quickly. He didn’t shout and you didn’t scream. The chase was exhilarating, your mind becoming fuzzy as your lungs burned for more oxygen. You hadn’t planned a chase, really leaving it all up to fate and your new friend, but this was perfect.

Until fingers tangled tight in your hair and yanked you completely off your feet, your shoes and legs going out in front of you as you landed gracelessly on your ass. Then an intense burning in your scalp erupts, a hiss of pain and a whine escaping as you slide over cool damp foliage, senseless grumbling coming from the stranger as he drags you into a deeper more secluded section of the park, away from any and all prying eyes. Not like anyone gave a damn. “I-it hurts!” You feel childish for crying, tears pricking your eyes but the burn was worse than you imagined truly, soft hands coming up to try and pry his fingers off.

He has a grip of iron apparently, not the least bit phased as he sighs, hauling you up and tossing you in front of him. You land weirdly on your left shoulder, a shock of pain numbing your mind as you heave for air and roll over. When you open your eyes, you’re face to face with him. His hood pulled off, shoulder length blue hair now tied back and up into a little bun while some stray pieces frame his face and forehead. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as they take him in.

He’s young, maybe early twenties, with pale skin and dark bags hugging beneath his scarlet eyes. He’s got a beauty mark just below his lip on the right side, the scar you saw earlier on the other. He’s not hard on the eyes, cute even, but the strange air around him makes the close proximity fill you with anxiety. His eyebrows are thin and sparse, but he cocks one with a smirk. “Not gonna scream for help, crybaby?” The nickname makes you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks, you blink them away quickly, shaking your head and trying to find your words again. “I—uh, do you want me to?” Wouldn't screaming just make it more likely for someone to call the police? You figured a little noise was fine, but screaming seemed counter productive.

His eyes widened a bit, confusion painting his features as he crouched down more comfortably on his haunches to get a better look at you.

He’d been watching you since you got to the park. A single party in this sort of place always sticks out like a sore thumb. You looked more ready for a porno than a costume party, from behind the view of your ass indescribably arousing in your short little dress. It was both a slutty and innocent look you pulled off well, at least enough to make him riled up, cock twitching in agreement within his pants. He shamelessly rubbed it through his jeans, caressing the hardening length and letting you watch with glee. Your face made him snort, amusement evident as he chuckles and squints. “You like this, little freak?” You looked like you did, he notes. Your wide pretty eyes, still a little teary and red at the ends, showed your blown out pupils. You looked to be more star struck, not terrified like any normal girl chased through a park and dragged into a little corner between some trees to be out of sight. He watches you swallow hard, lips parting before closing as if you aren’t sure what to say to that question. “Fuck, you’re cute,” he grins, “a cute little slut who stood out at night all alone as if begging for someone to come along and do something nasty.” You release a tiny yelp as he meanly shoves you back, straddling your upper chest with his thighs as he hunches over you, looming ominously above with wild eyes screaming for chaos. “Good thing that I came along, huh? Make all your nasty little fantasies come true.” He watches you gasp as he presses his fingers against your lips, confusion evident on your face but you aren’t really putting up much of a fight as you open and let him slide two in. “Nasty fucking girl, look at you, when you don’t even fucking know me.” He chuckles, and while he’s teasing you mostly, he is amazed. You looked erotic as hell right now, little angel costume all wrinkled and a bit dirty from the earth below, pretty face a bit stained with mascara that had run a little from your earlier tears. You weren’t wearing the waterproof kind it seemed. Lips bitten and chewed on, plump and glossy from whatever glittery shit you swiped on them earlier now wrapped around his digits as he dug around in your warm wet mouth. “Suck on them, slut,” he orders, his smile dropping and face becoming more serious as you hurry to obey, a strange trepidation building in your gut. He groans as he feels your tongue wiggle and swirl, pumping his fingers a bit now and enjoying the little bleats you release when he chokes you a bit with them. “Wonder if you’re soaked down here~” he hums, leaning back a bit and yanking his fingers from your lips, wiping the excess saliva across your cheek and huffing a laugh as your features wrinkle in distaste. His hand moves behind him, easy access to your cunt due to the frilly dress hiked up almost around your waist, revealing cute soaked white cotton panties he growls at the sight of. “You really suck at putting up a fight, crybaby, but I think I heard somewhere that girls get wet when scared too…” those red eyes flick back to your own, "You scared?” He asks, almost softly. He watches you breathe, chest struggling a bit under his weight but your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not pushing him away. “A little…?” Is your shaky response, and he wonders silently if you’re an idiot or just a pervert. You might be both, because when he lets his thumb dig into where your pussy lay poorly hidden, you moan for him and spread your legs wider. You make it even easier to search for his desired location, your swollen bundle of nerves. “O-oh—!” Your head falls back, little halo becoming a bit misshapen as it gets flattened to the ground, he tsks, fixing it with his free hand as he thumbs your little clit and watches you mewl and writhe beneath him, pleasure clearly visible on your face. Your hips buck and wiggle, body pinned beneath his and unable to get away or closer like you desperately want for more friction than he’s providing. “P-please,” you can’t help but beg, hoping your new friend is merciful enough to make you cum and not simply edge you all night.

It’s the pouty expression which makes him nearly feral, his grin spreading wide again as he keeps working his finger on your clit but his face closes the distance between your own. His lips just barely graze yours, and you are all too happy to part your lips and give him a sloppy kiss back, his own tongue finally slipping into your mouth where you suck. The smooth muscle in your mouth and the saliva dripping from it drive you wild, hands now dragging him closer and trying to make him do more for you. The heat spreads slowly however, his pace not changing, and despite his slim build he’s much stronger than you. You aren’t able to take any more than what is given, huffing in exasperation and groaning when he places more force before easing off. “S-stop teasing…” you whine against his lips, which were much softer than they look. He smirks, airy chuckle felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh, “how can I not, you’re such a rare find, I plan to take my time with you.” He kisses you hard to silence whatever whines you planned to release to make him give you more. Instead he forces you into a slow building orgasm that leaves him having to pin your wrists above your head lest your clawing rip his skin open. He works you gently and cruelly into it, loving how you gasp and choke for him, eyes rolling back while you shake almost like you’re possessed and soak through your panties. “There you go, heh, normally I wouldn’t bother to take my time with whiny bitches, but you’re more obedient and sweet than I first assumed.” He whispers into your ear as you come down from the mind blowing high, body limp and pliant like dough now. The insult from him brings out a little whine of protest, teary eyes looking at him with almost something akin to betrayal.

“I-I don’t like being called mean names…I said so online too,” he pulls up finally, the chill of the night attacking full force on your now exposed cunt as he brings your panties up to his nose to inhale. His eyes narrow, almost into slits as he pulls them back and shoves them into his hoodie pocket. “Oh yeah? You post that shit on your social media or something? Sorry, I don’t really use those trash platforms. I have a Twitch stream though,” he acts like this is the time for a regular conversation, even as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, yanking them down his hips to pull his cock free. Your eyes go wide, mind a bit blank and missing something, in favor of looking at him pump his length lazily. A trail of blue curls like on his head travel from his navel to his groin where it spreads out a little, the color a bit darker as it goes lower. He’s not one to shave it seems, but your eyes focus on his cock, average in length but girthy with a tip that curves up almost perfectly. It looks like a cock someone would sell as a dildo at a sex store. It was pretty, admittedly, as a few pearls of pre-cum dotted the tip and spilled over as he slowly worked it above you. “Hungry?” He jokes, but when you nod he grits his teeth and bites back a moan, the night truly more unexpected than he thought. “Open up then, crybaby.” He thankfully didn’t call you a bitch again, crybaby the less of the evils and more acceptable of a petname for your preference as you open your lips and awkwardly lean your head forward. “No need to lean up,” he mumbles, shifting until his knees now rested by your shoulders, tip just in your mouth and his forearms on the earth above your head. He’s looking down at you, and you lay back down as he works his cock in your mouth. He’s going to fuck your mouth, you realize a bit late, the position so easy for him to hit balls deep in your throat and prevent you from running just from his weight alone. You’re pinned to earth, the scent of crisp autumn becoming mingled with the musky masculine odor the stranger had clinging to him. Something smelled of iron too, but it was fainter and didn’t bother you too much, not when he seemed determined to suffocate you with his cock. You jerk a little, teeth accidentally grazing his cock and his hiss of pain alerts you that you’ve hurt him. He pulls up and out of your mouth, glaring ferociously as he looks down at you with contemplation. “Sorry—! I’m not used—,” the words leaving you mouth go unfinished as you’re suddenly looking away and down, confusion wracking your mind before white hot pain erupts across your face and you cry out in agony.

He watches with a cool nonchalance as you whimper and cry, holding your inflamed cheek and looking at him with teary eyes filled with questions. The sight doesn’t help his hardness, your face swelling a bit from the force of the blow already, but it was still arousing how you cried for him so easily. “Don’t bite my fucking dick and I won’t hit you, clear?” He’s grabbing you roughly by the hair again, yanking you up and no longer in the mood for that awkward position as he stands and pulls you to your knees. This position at least gives him a good eye full of your tits, shaking from your little trembling as you’re made to look up at him. His angry reddened cock next to your injured cheek is a sight for him, his hand gripping his shaft and slapping you lightly on the cheek with it, his hand in your hair preventing you from turning away even as you whimper in pain. “Okay, we’ll try this again, crybaby. Open.” You do, even as tears run like waterfalls down your face, mascara smeared and making a pathetic sight for sore eyes of you, you let his cock enter your mouth once more.

Because you’ve never been more aroused.

Your stranger isn’t nice, pushing hard and deep into your throat immediately and gagging you. You’re careful with your teeth, jaw already burning and aching as he locks his arm and hand, strands of hair tearing out as he works his hips into your face at an uneven pace. “Stop fucking moving,” he growls, stepping even closer, blocking any and all exits and forcing you to take it. His cock didn’t seem so scary when he’d pulled it out, but in your throat it was a plug to your oxygen and felt too big for your poor mouth. It hurt, feeling him go too deep and leaving you coughing and sputtering and even still he wouldn’t pull out, groaning and pressing impossibly deep like he truly means to suffocate you. “You got a good little mouth pussy, crybaby. Fuck—take my cock, just like that.” He moans, watching as you struggle on his dick to breathe or swallow, slobber and tears coating his cock as he makes a mess of your pretty face. He doesn’t care that your eyes are starting to roll back, hands which had previously been clawing at his legs going limp at your sides. You acted more like a hole for him to fuck when you were limp like this, and it drove him wild as he grunted like an animal and rutted into your mouth like he held a grudge against you. Both hands dug into your hair, hands pulling you back onto his cock when his hips bucked you away. “Never fucked a—holy shit—ah, mouth so damn good before—, ah fuck, fuck,” he’s getting breathier as time ticks by, his own eyes rolling back as his balls draw up tight. “I’m going to cum, ready for me crybaby? Want it in your tummy or on your face?” He’s being condescending on purpose, but it’s a bit useless considering he’s rendered you nearly unconscious on his dick. He shrugs your lack of response off, pumping his cock down your throat until he sees stars and yanks himself free just before the first spurt misses and hits the grass below, he grips the base, pumping and shooting his next shot right onto your face. He yanks your head against his thigh, delirious face dazed and coughing softly as he finishes on your glitter and mascara run cheeks, using the tip to smear it well into your ruined makeup as he sneers at you from above.

“Hah…” he catches his breath, sucking in oxygen along with you as his gaze turns calculated.

“Wake up, I’m not done with you yet.” He’s more gentle now that he's cum at least once, tapping your uninjured cheek with two fingers as your eyes roll around before opening and looking at him.

He swears, your face making him hard again instantly, blood pooling to his groin at the messy sight of you in your white ruined angel costume. “You really are unlucky I was out tonight, I don’t think I’m gonna let you go.” His dead serious comment caused something cold to hit your veins, chills running through you as you gape in shock.

“W-what…?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out what looked like a foot long serrated hunting blade. He snickers at the blank look of shock on your features.

“What’s wrong, crybaby? No tears for me right now?” You’re shaking, getting paler by the second as you realize no, it’s not a costume, and yes, there is still dried blood on the blade. There’s dried blood all over him, his spree tonight ridiculously fruitful and his body still high on the thrill. Imagine his luck finding you. “T-this wasn’t in my profile, wh-what are you doing?” Now you look alert, now you act like a regular civilian, he notes cooly. “I only con-consented to the sex and stuff, I said I didn’t like—like blades or blood play.” Your eyes are wide as saucers and you have a cold sweat now forming and dotting your skin, shaky like on too much caffeine as your body dumped chemicals to help you run.

His head tilts, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his tie as those red eyes watch you without any emotion in their depths.

“Ah~ I get it now. Are you some kind of freak who links up with people online for this kind of shit?” He laughs, eyes not matching the manic toothy grin. “Sorry to disappoint slut, I ain’t your tinder or whatever match. Did you do it anonymously?” He’s beyond amused, thrilled by the horror dawning on your face as reality sets in. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He sneers, but he’s joyful when you book it, heeled boots caked in mud as they dig into the ground and you take off for real. True intent to get away now because he’s not your new friend, he’s a real stranger and his energy is nothing but malevolent.

You’re going to die.

It’s a sick thought that twists inside you as you push the hardest you’ve ever, scream bubbling up and out as you cry for help now. “HELP! Please! Someone! Anyone!” It’s more broken and hoarse than you want, his earlier abuse to your throat having taken a number on your ability to vocalize.

It’s empty. This damn park is empty.

Not a soul around and you can’t hear him coming for you anymore, and it only makes the tears fall harder as you drive your body to a breaking point. If no one is around you can at least aim for your car, your phone will take too much time to look at and dial the police, you’d be too open and that would mean—

Something—someone—smashes into you, your body thrown sideways by the brute force and flung roughly to the ground where you roll several feet.

It hurts—!

Your body and mind scream as pain lights up your shoulder, a previously dull ache now hounding for your attention so much it left you lightheaded. You twisted your ankle too or maybe broke it, already so regretful for the evening and your life choices that your shoes hardly broke the bank. It all hurt, and yet you still tried to crawl to get away, still eager for another deep breath of air in your lungs even if it hurt to do that too.

“Hck, please, please—help—!,” you’re a sobbing pathetic mess, and he couldn’t be more turned on by the sight. He dusts himself off like he hadn’t tackled you like a linebacker for a major league football team, his lanky form sinewy with muscle and his agility nothing to scoff at. He swirls the enormous daunting blade with a whistle, smiling more genuinely as he strolls towards your shaking form crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, crybaby? I said I wasn’t done with you,” he lands a solid hit to your middle, dirty sneaker smearing mud on your cute little dress, looking less and less white as the night wears on. The blow is not hard enough to damage anything, he’s sure, but you act as if you’ve been disemboweled by how you howl and heave. He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, settling one foot between your shoulder blades and pressing down until you’re left immobilized.

Your vision is blurry, going in and out of focus as you try, and try, and try to get away, cute nail polish chipped and ruined as you claw at the dirt floor for leverage.

He admires your tenacity. “You think you can get away? That anyone is coming to save you?” He brushes a few stray hairs out of his face as he laughs, the urge to gut you strong as he savors your useless little struggle. “Crybaby, look around! No one is coming! I said look,” he grinds out, dropping to one knee while his other leg remains planted on your back, his hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up to see what he meant.

There’s a fence. A metal chain link fence, and it had a sign your vision was too blurry to read through your tears.

“You ran yourself straight into the worst possible area, this is sort of your game over,” He leans down to look at you, yanking your head back and forcing you into an uncomfortable arch. He raises up the blade, fully intending to slit your pretty throat and watch your eyes as the light fades, but you blubber out a sentence which halts him.

“Y-you didn’t finish! E-earlier, hck, earlier you didn’t finish—!” Your eyes squeeze closed in pain as he yanks your head to the side. Confusion burned in him, and curiosity kept you breathing for now.

“Didn’t finish what, crybaby? Fairly certain I finished all over your face, if I remember correctly.” He has a sharp edge in his tone, something metallic fills your mouth and you realize you’ve bitten through your tongue in your panic. A few drops spill past your lips, catching his attention.

“S-shouldn’t you also f-fuck me too? I-it’s why I came out tonight, wh-why I, ah, d-did this,” it’s a long shot by any means, and he’s no fool, but you did make a good point.

He was still hard.

“Smart little crybaby, aren’t you?” He mutters darkly, setting aside his blade in favor of smashing your face into the dirt, keeping your head down as he presses against your back and yanks your hips up. Your knees are skinned from the rough handling, socks torn open and stained with blood and dirt while his calloused hands slip beneath your dress. Your breath hitches. You needed to think of some way out of this, some kind of plan to escape or incapacitate him.

He’s busied himself with your still dripping cunt. Two fingers roughly filling your hole and uncaringly stretching your tight entrance. “You really are a freak, wet even though you’re going to die, crybaby.” He felt a bit strange as you whimper and mewl below, hand slowing as he tried to place the feeling.

He shrugs it off, instead easily yanking down his jeans which were still unbuttoned and pulling out his cock once more, stroking his shaft a few times before he lined himself up with your puffy lips. “Fuck—,” he swears, eyes seeing stars as he pushes just his tip past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, mouth opening as licks his lips and stares down at you. “Never had pussy so good…” he giggles darkly, cracking his neck as he pushes each inch inside of you, stretching you out deliciously until you’re speared on his cock with his hips flush with your ass. “Who knew you’d be the best, crybaby.” He muses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips, your little dress flipped up and over your ass so he can watch it bounce as he leans back on his knees to fuck you deeper. You need to think straight but it’s difficult with how good your body feels, the pain from earlier seeming to go away with a numb buzz as he fills your pussy, hitting perfectly against a spot that has you arching harder for more.

You really are a freak like he says.

You can’t help relaxing further, eyes dumbly looking to the side where your head rests as he pounds into you from behind, the coil in your gut growing tighter by the minute.

The clouds blocking the moon seem to part just for you, the full moon’s light no longer blocked and illuminating the little patch of grass he’d tackled you into. Something gleams, in perfect reach too as your eyes widen.

His knife.

He’d already proven you can’t outrun him, but what if he was injured? There’s a major artery in the thigh, if you hit that, wouldn’t you be able to get away?

He yanks back roughly, moaning as he feels you squeeze even tighter around him, velvet walls massaging his dick while he tries to fuck himself as deep as possible inside of you.

It hit you despite all your intentions not to, because this wasn’t safe and he wants to end your life and everything is wrong, but your body doesn’t listen. You cum with a shaky cry, and with an awkward turn of your head you watch as his head goes back and he moans, eyes closed in bliss as you coat his cock in even more slick.

You’re louder than you intended to be, but your fingers close around the hilt nonetheless, trembling with the heavy weight in your grasp, you use every ounce of energy inside you to swing it back into his thigh.

“Cute,” you scream as he catches your wrist, hand clenching so tight you feel your bones grind together as the knife falls from your grip. He twists your arm around and pins your wrist behind your back, holding it in place while his other hand remains at your hip.

“So fucking cute, crybaby. Did you cum just to distract me or was that because you couldn’t help yourself?” He’s getting a high from this, from fucking you and turning you into nothing but a toy as he bounces you on his cock, hips still but arms pulling you back and forth with ease. Scarlet eyes drink you in with undisguised sick glee, and he’s finally able to place the feeling from earlier.

“A pretty little slut trying to get her rocks off and getting shown why she should’ve been a good girl and stayed home,” he grunts, releasing you and leaning over, pinning you with his weight and nearly knocking the air from your lungs how deeply he hits you inside from this angle. Dirt fills the underbelly of your nails, your fingers digging into the earth just for some semblance of stability.

You had none. It was a sick and horrifying realization. You have no control. You can do nothing to stop this. As deeply as it made your gut sink, another odd emotion rose to the surface.

A bubbly sensation that tore through you as your tears became less from fear and more from overstimulation.

His hips piston in and out of you, bullying your cervix in this position as he ruts into you like a hound, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he moans and grunts.

You break again, spasm and cinch down on his cock like a vice while you wail as if in mourning. Maybe you are, for yourself at least. “Oh fuck—! s’too much—, please, I can’t—, f-feels good, hah,” your nearly incoherent babbling sends him over the edge along with you, his own dull nails finally drawing blood as he holds you for dear life as he releases deep inside you, tip kissing right up against you womb as he cums. You can feel it too, his cock twitching inside as the night seems to still for a moment.

He holds you for a while. Breathing you in, nuzzling his face into your neck and licking you. He holds you until his cock fully softens and it hurt to be gripped so tightly inside your wet heat, regrettably pulling away.

He stands, putting his sticky limp cock away inside his underwear and pulling up his pants, looking down at your ruined figure that had slumped over to the side.

“Y’know, crybaby… you really resemble an angel now,” he smiles, red eyes almost glowing as the moon blankets his back and shadows his face. His hair seems almost white like this, your tired eyes note. You don’t move or even flinch as he grabs his knife and yanks your limp figure up by your hair. Even now you’re still crying, face lax despite the rivers flowing down your dirty swollen cheeks. You make no effort to stop him, having given up completely.

He crouches down again, mostly eye level now as he makes you look at him.

“You got any last words?” He’s being dead serious. He feels strange looking at the almost glazed over look in your eyes.

“W-what…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the night is so quiet he catches it, “what’s your…name?”

An unexpected question.

His eyes gleam, smile ravenous as he puts his lips against your ear and whispers it.

“Tomura, what’s your name, crybaby?” He asks, gently, almost like he’s actually interested.

You hoarsely whisper it, your last time ever saying it after tonight. He hums, like it pleases him, before he brings down the knife swiftly.

Your vision goes dark, the strike mercifully painless. Your last thoughts blur as you drift into soft nothingness.

He releases your hair, grabbing your limp figure up in his arms as he chuckles and sheaths his knife properly on his hip. “Dumb crybaby” his voice almost singing the words as he whistles and walks away, the park dead silent but even if someone had seen you in his arms, he could just play the good boyfriend taking his sweetheart home safely. It’s not entirely a lie either, his eyes glancing down at your unconscious form, pretty neck unmarred but a bruise would likely form on the back where he struck you tomorrow. Tomura had never felt compelled to allow a victim to live, but then again he’s never fucked a victim either, so you’re the first for a lot. He supposed it made you quite special, his legs carrying him in the direction of his car in the parking lot about a mile south. Obsession and possessiveness swirled in those red depths as they looked at your figure.

“Good girls should just stay home…” he continues his sardonic little tune, his smile gruesome and foreboding.

Vibrant blue orbs check his surroundings again, noting once again his friend was a no show. Rolling his eyes, he knew it was too good to be true. Your profile screamed inexperienced and cautious, despite you clicking that you’d like him to remain anonymous beforehand. It didn’t matter, he’d just go enjoy some sorority girl pussy instead, figuring at 0330 that most parties would be winding down. Drunk girls dressed like sluts were his second favorite.

Dabi clicks the notify option on his app, letting the website staff know you never showed up.

Though, he muses if something did happen, the police wouldn’t be notified until it was too late. Halloween weekend after all meant you could be missing for quite a while before anyone noticed.

Not his problem though.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

[iridescentxstars]

can i please request---

Bang Chan, yandere!au,

- You always joked with your extremely hot best friend that you would flirt and fuck your kidnapper because you read a lot of dark romance. So, they decided to make that dream a reality. Oh no, whatever will you do to gain your freedom?

thanks a bunch! ♡

oh wait i forgot the kink sorry! for bang chan yandere request, please add kink: Voyeurism/Exbitionism

yandere!bangchan x fem!reader || prompt: you always joked with your extremely hot best friend that you would flirt and fuck your kidnapper because you read a lot of dark romance. so, they decided to make that dream a reality. oh no, whatever will you do to gain your freedom? || kinks: voyeurism/exhibitionism, roleplay, strip tease || warnings: basically consensual kidnapping, you can tell this was gonna going darker but i pulled back whoops, in my head he fucked her senseless on the hood of that car - just so you know || wc: 1.5k

please remember this is all fictional. this work is NSFW and contains SMUT, if you are under 18+ DO NOT INTERACT

“You would? Really?” Chan asks, raising an eyebrow with his eyebrow arched and you nod, giggling as you can tell he’s silently judging you. “You know that’s certifiably insane, right?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes up at him, giving him a little attitude simply to push his buttons. “Says the morally grey yandere with anger issues.” His eyes darken slightly, the muscles in his jaw tensing in the way that indicates that he’s irked. Only a little, you’re his princess so he’s never actually mad at you. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot – you also have jealous tendencies and this weird thing with ownership.”

You know Chan, you know that while he will never make a move to possess you – he can’t bear the thought of someone else seeing you in the most intimate ways.

Moving past the larger man, you head into the kitchen only for him to follow you, leaning against the bench with his arms folded over his chest as he watches you. Thoughts run through his mind at your confession and how he could possibly play into that fantasy, how he could bring to life something that only you would suggest to life in a way where he had all the control. “Would you really fuck your kidnapper?”

“Would you let me?”

“Not what I asked, princess.” He watches you make something to eat, noticing you are swaying your hips a little too enticingly. “I asked if you would fuck your kidnapper if you got the chance?”

Pausing for a second, you think about how to word it before shrugging, “Depends on who the kidnapper is. He’d have to make sure that you wouldn’t be able to find us because knowing you — you’d ruin all the fun.” There’s a deep growl coming from behind you as Chan grits his teeth. “Oh, calm down big boy. Nobody is kidnapping me! A girl can have fantasies even if they don’t come true.”

A girl can have fantasies even if you think your extremely hot, tattooed and built like a God best friend is too stupid to get the hint and make it a reality.

Or so you think.

Chan might pretend he doesn’t pick up on your hints, your teasings, but he knows. Of course, he does. He dreams about it and fucks his hand wishing it was you when he wakes up. Chan might pretend he doesn’t but that is simply because he doesn’t want to tarnish that sweet innocence that he loves about you.

He’d consume you, smother your purity and choke everything good out of you — preferably with his hand around your throat as you scream his name. What a thought it is, a fantasy of his own, to corrupt his little princess in the one way you so desperately wish he would. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, trust when he says that he does, it’s more about the fact that once he crosses that line, there’s no going back. 

Ever.

Maybe it’s a form of delayed gratification, some weird masochistic thrill he gets out of watching you try and date someone else when you actually want him, but Chan knows that once that door opens — there’s no closing it.

It takes some planning and some working out to make it seem like it’s not so obviously him, but Chan manages to find a way to give you what you want. Should he tell you? Maybe, but if you knew… would it be as fun?

As night falls, the man puts on a mask, pulls the hood over his head to hide any distinguishing features from sight, and makes his way over to you as you come out to put out the trash. He’s stealthy as he sneaks up behind you, your headphones blasting in your ears as you badly sing along to the words until a hand is over your mouth and a strong arm wraps around your body to pull you away from the streetlamp.

Did you not listen to him when he told you to take self-defence? He wonders as he easily drags you towards the car he hired so you can’t trace it to him. Placing you in the trunk, Chan watches as you look up at him with wide eyes filled with fear and confusion, before slowly closing it and trapping you inside. “That was almost too easy…” Chan mutters to himself as he gets in the car and the moment he leaves your place, heading towards a quieter part of town, it dawns on him why you were so silent and didn’t scream.

You know.

You must know it’s him.

There’s no other reason why, right?

… Right?

“Please, don’t hurt me!” You say as soon as Chan opens the trunk and goes to pull you out, “I’ll do anything you want, just let me live!” You try and make it sound like you’re scared but you can’t keep the knowing smile from playing on your lips as he helps you stand. He doesn’t say anything, not right away, but he looks at you with his dark eyes before sighing and taking off the mask and hood. “You were far too gentle to be actually kidnapping me.”

“Well, that’s a first.” He scoffs and helps you adjust your oversized shirt. His shirt. There’s a moment of silence, tension electrifying the air as neither of you decide to bring up the very obvious reason as to why he went along with this stupid plan… why you told him what your fantasy was. Seconds tick by as he watches you, eyes moving slowly over your body, undressing you while your nipples harden and you fold your arms over your chest to keep them hidden from observing eyes. “Roleplay.” He says, finally deciding that he’s sick of not knowing how you taste. “I’ve kidnapped you, you can’t escape and you’ll do anything I want so I’ll let you live.”

Licking your lips, you smile, nodding. “Oh, Mr Kidnapper, what will it take for you to let me go?” You don’t miss a beat, falling right into the role as Chan stands in front of you, observing.

A finger tilts your chin up, thumb running along your bottom lip before it’s pushed into your mouth, encouraging you to suck on it while he thinks about all the possibilities in his head. He’s wanted this for a while, a long time, fucking forever if he’s honest with himself, so what would be the best way to start? 

How can he drag this out for as long as possible?

“Strip.” He says, taking a step back, “strip and then lay on the hood of the car.”

You start off slowly, glad that you were in the most minimal amount of clothing that you could be in at this very moment. You start with your booty shorts and panties, dragging them down your thighs before kicking them away from you and beginning to lift your shirt up. It’s agonising really, how long you take to pull it over your head and you commend Chan for his restraint because if he decided to fuck around and tease you this way – you’d be ripping his hoodie off him. Dropping the shirt in front of you, you cover your chest and repress a giggle as Chan growls at the fact that you’re hiding from him.

“Get on the hood.” He commands, following you around to the front and helping you get up. “Lay on your back, don’t fucking cover your chest otherwise I will grab the rope out and tie you down.”

“Tempting.” You wink as you try and get comfortable but the metal has your entire body tensing. It’s not cold, the car is still running and the hood is warm on your back but… he couldn’t have chosen to take you somewhere with a bed? “Now?”

Chan’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek as he takes in your body, wanting to touch and feel and learn how your body will react to him but he’s promised himself he’s going to take it slow, make this last, enjoy frustrating you by denying you what you want – him. Sure, he’s denying himself too but again, it’s all part of the fun. “I want to see how you touch yourself when you think of me.” Your eyes widen and he takes a step closer, grabbing your ankles and spreading your legs so you can’t hide anymore. “Don’t pretend you’ve never thought about it, we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.” He tilts his head, looking you in the eyes and seeing the confession waiting to be drawn out. “If you can come without me needing to touch you, I’ll reward you.”

You can’t clench your thighs together to give yourself any friction at the idea of being rewarded and by the way your cunt clenches around nothing, it’s obvious to Chan you like it. “How?” You ask as your fingers begin to trace down your body, towards your tingling core.

“By having you come around my fingers next.”

[yanderes-galore]

Oh, Can I ask for a general romantic concept for Marceline from Adventure Time? Thank you!

Sure! I'll try my best to write for her ^^ I just hope this is accurate.

Yandere! Marceline Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Fear of abandonment/loss, Fear of mortality, Isolation, Kidnapping, Biting, Blood/Blood drinking, Clingy behavior, Consensual turned forced relationship.

Honestly, I have a few ideas for how a yandere Marceline could go.

Marceline has had to deal with being immortal and losing the ones she loves a few times in her life.

Her mother, Simon, Bubblegum...

She's been forced into seeing herself as a monster and being independent.

She wants control in her life, she wants to be able to keep those she loves within her life.

Her being part demon and the vampire queen doesn't help.

I unfortunately feel Marceline's past and nature is going to be what affects yandere behavior towards her new obsession.

Marceline would probably first try to scare you away like she's done so many others when you first meet her.

She plays pranks on you just to see your reaction.

Yet soon you try to get close to her or she grows interested.

She feels a bit threatened at first... but when you're determined to befriend her or something like that...

She relents.

Marceline struggles to be vulnerable.

But at the same time she doesn't want to be alone.

So while your first meeting may be rocky... Marceline overall does want companionship.

She doesn't like to be alone.

While Marceline is mostly independent... She bonds through quality time.

She hates it when people don't have time for her.

It reminds her of her past.

So naturally she ends up hovering around you, wanting to be included with whatever you're doing.

Marceline doesn't want to be ignored.

Which means I'd argue Marceline comes off as a clingy yandere at times?

She seems like she'd act like she doesn't need to be around you all the time...

Only to soon be seen watching you from a distance from the shadows.

Honestly, if you tried to ignore her... She seems like she'd somehow force you to give her attention.

Slipping into your home... laying on your lap... dragging you to a party... playing songs and pranks on you...

Anything to make sure you know she's around.

She's affectionate to her partner in a relationship.

She sings songs often about you and often likes to plan sweet pranks to catch your attention.

She gives soft kisses, careful not to nip you too bad.

She doesn't want to turn you.

She works extra hard on planning things to do with you.

She wants all sorts of dates, eager to keep your attention on her.

Sure... alone time is nice... but she's had that for centuries....

She doesn't want to be alone after she met you.

Due to her lineage, I think she'd be possessive and easily jealous.

She probably keeps it under control for the most part... yet over time it slips out.

Marceline doesn't seem to care about morals at times, either.

Morals don't really matter to her as long as she has your love and attention.

Which leads to her often coming across... controlling?

She's jealous at times, often keeping you away from others.

She's worried you'll leave her like others in her life.

So... in her eyes, to prevent that she needs to take up all of your time.

That way you can't be too busy to see her, you won't move on to anyone else...

She may even encourage you to live in her home.

To her, it's like an attempt to cope.

She's not dating you to get back at Bubblegum like with Ash...

You genuinely comfort her... She needs that attention.

She's been alone for so long that she doesn't want to experience that anymore.

She finds herself addicted to you... your kisses, your warmth... it's all pleasant against her cold body.

You wanted to be around her... she clings to that... before you know it, you can't leave either.

Not when she keeps you in her home all the time.

Although... You know what would make things worse?

Her fear of your mortality.

She's immortal... You may not be.

Which would make her need to keep you close worse.

I would not doubt the idea of Marceline biting you to turn you.

She holds off for a long time, convincing herself she doesn't need to...

But being immortal is lonely.

She got along so well with Bubblegum because they were both immortal.

You're not....

Ironically for originally being a vampire slayer... Marceline would probably turn you immortal just to not be alone.

Did you want it...? Probably not....

Yet it's another way she gives herself control in her life... Now you're under her care.

Her control.

She promises to be gentle despite how scared you are.

She actually feels a bit guilty....

"I'm sorry... I'll make it as quick and pleasant as I can...."

Your blood tastes euphoric to her... and she dreads the idea of never tasting it again... so she savors it.

Soon enough you become like her.

With you being a vampire, Marceline would still be possessive.

To her now you both have to be together due to what you are.

It would not surprise me if she lashed out or even killed to keep things this way.

This is a more unhinged version of Marceline... one who has given into the demon side of her.

You can't leave her side... the sun will burn you and she'll catch you quickly.

But she still tries to make sure you love her.

She doesn't want you to hate her.

She still sings songs to you, still plans dates... yet you're kept in her home.

You'll have no freedom... although, you should've known she never really had morals when it comes to getting what she wants.

Making you a vampire and scaring others off was in her nature... even the murders you saw her do felt... expected due to how desperate she becomes.

Now though... She doesn't have to worry.

Now you can be together in undead matrimony... Forever... no mortality to take you away like the others...

She'll never ever be alone again.

[atopvisenyashill]

Is Lyanna really as terrible as some people portray her as?

no, not even a little bit.

the absolute most important thing about lyanna is that when she dies she is only 16. i am someone who works with kids - i work in a library so i spend most of my days cleaning up after tweens and asking teenagers to please stop doing dumb shit- and the first thing anyone who has ever worked with kids and especially teenagers is that they may look like adults but they are NOT. they don’t understand boundaries, they have next to zero impulse control, and every bad thing that happens feels like the worst thing ever because it very likely IS the worst thing they’ve ever experienced bc they have not been alive that long!

and this goes for every single teen & tween character in this series, not just lyanna! shit, i am someone who feels an immense amount of sympathy for joffrey! on one side he’s got his mother telling him he can do anything he wants with no repercussions and on the other he’s got his father hitting him so hard that stannis thought joffrey was going to die. and then he is given unchecked power and told not to abuse it! EYE cannot even guarantee that i wouldn’t use unchecked power to do shady shit and i am a fully grown adult, not a traumatized, irrationally, and deeply vindictive 13 year old boy.

but honestly the most important thing about lyanna is that we have ZERO CONTEXT for what happens between her and Rhaegar. What we have is

Ned’s sparse & guilt ridden thoughts about Lyanna and one (1) comment about Rhaegar

Robert’s angry, entitled, and grief ridden outbursts about Lyanna and Rhaegar

Barristan’s incredibly romanticized, guilt & grief ridden take on their relationship

Meera’s second hand account of Lyanna, told to her by a father who is likely just as guilt & grief ridden as the others, who likely has his own view of Lyanna

What’s important to note is that our view of her is heavily filtered through the eyes of the men that knew her. Robert loves an idealized version of her that never existed. Barristan never actually knew her. Ned is not only viewing her under 200 layers of guilt and grief, but very obviously does not understand his sister, or why she made the choices she did, and struggles constantly with knowing that he will never know her the way he wishes he could, the way he thought he did. Given the way Meera describes Lyanna, I actually think Howland is our most accurate look at her but even that is buried behind years of grief & a fair amount of hero worship and affection (“that’s my fathers man you’re kicking howled the she-wolf” is a line that makes me WEEP for this exact reason; Howland sees Lyanna as his hero above all else!).

All of that to say - we don't even know what Lyanna did that was so terrible! Even if she was a grown woman capable of making rational decisions, we have no idea what her decisions were. She could have been lied to, misled, kidnapped, threatened, just as surely as she could have walked into the situation with open eyes. Even in the show, with a slightly aged up Lyanna - we get, what, just Sam's opinion on Rhaegar and Lyanna being in love because they got hitched? Completely ignoring the fact that we had several women in this series get married not because they were in love or willing but because someone more powerful decided on it and that was that, so there's still no evidence that Lyanna had enough information about the situation to make any sort of informed, consensual decision.

so no, i do not hold lyanna responsible for anything at all that happened regardless of how it happened because she was not mentally mature enough to understand what the hell was going on. a 15 year old is just not mature enough to think “if i run off with this married man, it’s going to cause a cascade of political issues that could have disastrous consequences.” what she’s probably thinking is “this man says he can help me and i am fucking miserable and no one else will listen.” it’s why we don’t throw 15 year olds who run away to meet up with old dudes they met online in jail when they’re caught (or theoretically why we don’t punish them at any rate). There is one person and one person only who is responsible for the massive fuck up that is the Elia-Rhaenys-Aegon-Lyanna-Jon mess and that is RHAEGAR, the person with the most amount of power who used it in the dumbest way imaginable and got himself, most of his heirs, his wife, and his teenaged mistress killed. The only other people responsible are the Kingsguard who kept Lyanna under lock and key while she lay dying and pleading for her brother to come save her.

[madwomansapologist]

like a virgin, like a prayer | shan yu

Navigation | More Shan Yu | AO3

synopsis: It's been months since you had agreed upon being his lover, and weeks since you truly became it. Now all you can think is about how much you want Shan Yu. All the time, in every way. And so does he.

warnings: smut. consensual/non consensual voyeurim. strip tease. exhibitionism. public nudity. public/non public masturbation. loss of virginity. gentle sex. oral sex. blood. size kink. shan "i will make it fit" yu. praise kink. creampie. age gap. kidnapping. shan yu (i need to respect my wife) x reader (just fuck me already, please). yandere!shan yu. female!reader. in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020).

A bird of prey. That's what he truly is. More than a warrior, than a strategist: Shan Yu is a watcher. He analyzes, observes. And when he find a focal point, he don't let it be. Just like his falcone, it's on his nature to watch when no one knows they're being watched.

And you're the object of his desires and curiosities. You're the mistery he can't seem to unravel. Every little thing you do, from the way you look at people to the things you say when you're alone with yourself, facinastes him.

After all, that's how he meet you. Watching you when you thought you were alone. That's how he fell in love. Watching your soul echoing through the woods. Apparently what people say is true. Old habits die hard.

Shan Yu wanted to get drunk on every aspect of you. The way you walk like you don't have time to waste. How you do your hair on the mornings. Which clothes can steal your interest when you're walking on a village. How sometimes you will randomly look at this sky, breath in, and come back to your routine.

He likes to know who you're when there is no one else around. Your reaction to the book you're reading when you're alone bellow an ash tree, how silence seems to restore your energy, how you can be really mad over little, insignificant things. Shan Yu wants to see you with no filters.

It's not his fault that he wants you whole.

Even thought you're his prisoner — now you wholeheartly agreed to be his bride —, you're a free spirit. He can see that by the way nature works on you. Shan Yu can take you from others, if it was on him no one would ever deserve the privilege of your presence, but there is a limit for the things he can take from you. And he would never take swimming away from you.

After your classes for war strategic, his guards make sure that you won't be bothered by anyone feeling stupid enough to mess with what belong to Shan Yu. You can have your fun for how long you desires, the only thing he asks is for you to eat from time to time. So for a couple of hours, is just you and the freedom water gives you.

And him, of course.

Watching from afar. It's like you're a deity. Shan Yu is on his way to conquer China, but if you asked him to conquer the sea it would be yours. It already is. He will just make others surrender to you.

The thing is that now you're aware of him.

Maybe at the beginning you weren't, but now you're familiar enough with the weight of his careful gaze. You can feel it burning your skin. Instead of being the object of his gaze, you feel like the watcher. Shan Yu observes you, just as you observe him. You like to play a little game: you put yourself on his place, and imagine what he's thinking about.

When you take care of your skin and he is so quietly doing nothing on the other side of the room, you like to imagine Shan Yu is trying to learn what to do if you ever ask him to help you. When you choose new clothes and you feel his eyes lingering on you from other side of the path, you like to pretend he's picturing you on them. When you read and he's hidden into the woods, you imagine him taking notes of what book he should gift you next. And when you're on a lake, you want Shan Yu to imagine you naked again.

Just as when he first meet you.

You don't swim without your clothes anymore, and you do it to make sure that his imagination will work on your favor. You ain't sure why, but him imagining you is way more interesting than him seeing you. To picture him picturing you is your little, constant sin.

But you would prefer if he joined you.

You miss his touch. Don't matter how long it have been since you were next to him, you miss Shan Yu. You always want him close to you. And when you miss him, the memories of your first kiss comes to haunt you.

It was an trap, one that his army fell right into. Usually the Hun army travels to battle, but this time it happened inside the camp. Kids, old people, workers that have nothing to do with that war: everyone was in danger.

Shan Yu knows you can fight, you train with his army, but that doesn't mean he will let you go with him to any battle. The thing is that this time he couldn't control the situation.

You wandered towards him, a sword in your hand and courage on your chest, knowing that he was doing the same.

Shan Yu kicked a man's legs, breaking it. His sword cut his throat open, but a scream came to his ears. When he turned, Shan Yu saw your sword passing throught a open chest. With blood staining your face, you let the body fall and looked at Shan Yu. "You're hurt?"

Shan Yu marched towards you, the world burning behind him, and pulled you by your waist. He almost took you off the ground, you supported yourself on him, and brushed the blood on your face. When he kissed you, it was like there were only you two in the world.

You felt his.

And now you want to be his. In every way. You'll never think that way if Shan Yu was a man from your village. You'll never be respected if you layed with someone before wedding them, don't matter how much you love one another or how bad you need to do that. That would never, ever happen.

But he isn't a man from your village. You're not there anymore. And you don't want to wait any longer.

When the camp was set close to a region filled with thermal water, you had an idea. Ond that you were too eager to ignore. Too hungry to not consider.

The guards walk you to a certain point, warning you that when the ring beels you'll have ten minutes to get there before they went looking for you. Feeling his gaze burning your skin, you did the rest of the path.

First you took your shoes off. You touched the water, it was so warm. So perfect. You carefully held the hem of your dress, pulling it out slowly. Step by step you dive into the water. With water brushing against your collarbone, you sat facing where you knew he was.

That was your invitation for Shan Yu to join you.

So you waited.

And waited.

But nothing happened.

Frustrated, you imagine what else would made him get of his secret place and just do something already. You closed your eyes, bite your lips, and then you found a answer.

Shan Yu makes you feel shiny and new. Free, but also owned. In control, and also controled. Shan Yu makes you fell like you have nothing to hide. So you didn't.

You weren't sure if he could see your fingers from so far away, so you made sure to keep your face still. You wanted him to see every fraction of a different expression. As your fingers pressed against your clit, for a second you felt like your moans could echo throught the whole wood.

After you came, your body shaking from pleasure and adrenaline, you dive into the water. You felt suddenly so embarrassed. Embarrassed for liking it so much. Embarrassed for not being even a little bit ashamed of what you just done.

You set a trap for him. Now it's with Shan Yu.

At dinner, you finally saw him. In a tent with all his generals, even when discussing important matters you could sense his eyes lingering on your skin.

"How long will we stay here?" You took a sip from your glass. "In this village."

Shan Yu breathe in before answering you. "Three more days."

You pouted. "What a shame. I liked this place. The woods here are so calm. And so lonely."

Shan Yu suddenly stand up, not worrying about excusing himself. You said something to the generals and asked one of his adivisors to take care for the rest of the night. Shan Yu was faster than you, but you saw him heading towards your shared carriage.

"Hey," you closed and locked the door. Shan Yu stopped in the middle of the room, his hands pressing against his head. Behind him, you put your hands on Shan Yu's shoulders, massaging his skin. "You're feeling unwell?"

Shan Yu sighed. You could feel his determination melting into your touching. It was a key to make him act as you wanted. All he wants is to be loved by you, and if you show him this love... "If only you knew the things you do to me."

You bit your lips, controling the smirk. "Are you mad at me, my sun?" You practically purred.

Shan Yu turned to you, his long hands holding your face. You felt so safe. So perfectly fine around him. "No, my moon," Shan Yu kissed your forehead. You almost felt guilty by teasing him so bad. "Never at you."

"Then I don't understand," you put your hands on his. "Why are acting this way? Maybe I can help you."

Shan Yu touched your forehead with his, and you closed your eyes. His breath was warm against your skin. You kissed his thumb.

"Drink with me."

You didn't knew if Shan Yu was asking or demanding. Either way, you nodded. You sat on your shared bed, and watched him serve you both from his personal wine.

"You told once me about a bad experience with a matchmaker," Shan Yu opened the bottle. He gazed over you for a second, then went back to the wine. "That made me wonder."

"About what?"

Shan Yu may be a lot of things, but he isn't a coward. He didn't fear your answer or your reaction, he wanted to hear the truth. So he asked for it. "You we're promised to someone?"

That wasn't what you were expecting to hear. "Yes," you admitted. "When I got old enough, my parents made a deal with his. We didn't got married because he was called to serve the emperor."

Shan Yu sat in front of you, handing you a glass. You took a sip of it, and hated the taste. Shan Yu like his drinks strong, but you prefer them sweet.

He caressed your feet, resting close to his thights. "Have you laid down with him?"

You tried the wine again. It was horrible still, but at least it had alcohol in it anyway. "Not with him," his fingers brushed against your legs. "Not with anyone else."

Shan Yu squeezed your skin lightly. "It's my duty to honor you, my moon." There were a different fire on his eyes. Something almost palpable. "Just as it's my duty to satisfy you."

"What you mean by that?" You knew exatcly what he meant.

"You're so young. It's normal for you to have needs. Desires," his cold fingers made to the sensitive spot behind your knees. "For you to want more from me."

"Is that why you are so nervous?" You drank the rest of the wine and put the glass on the floor. "Because you want more from me?"

Don't matter what, your words keep on surprising Shan Yu. You will never stop to amaze him. "Yes, my moon."

"If you want it so bad," you smiled. "Then take it."

Holding your legs, Shan Yu pulled you closer. He carressed your face, his fingers so cold against your skin. When he kissed you, all your worries and fears just disappeared. It was impossible to feel anything but love and lust.

His kiss moved to your chin, your cheeks, your earlobe. When you flinched, you felt his smile against your skin. Shan Yu kissed your neck, your shoulders, your hands.

Looking at you, glaring deep into your soul, Shan Yu made something burn inside you. You looked away, so he held you by your chin.

"Don't do that," Shan Yu brushed his fingers against your lips. "Let me see you."

"I don't know what to do," you revealed.

"You don't need to anything." Shan Yu carressed your face. "Come here," he tapped his thights. "Let me take care of you."

You crawled towards him, sitting on his lap. You supported yourself on your knees, your hands on his chest, not wanting to put all your weight on him.

Shan Yu grabbed your waist and pulled you down. He came back to kissing you, this time his hands wandering throught your body. One found a home on your hair, the other squeezed your waist. You put your arms around him, letting he get deeper into your mouth.

Shan Yu pulled the string of your clothes, revealing your body once again for him. His fingers brushed against your collarbones, circled your tits, held your hips. "The gods must envy your beauty," he whispered into your mouth.

He laid you down on the mattress. You felt weighless. So small in comparison to him. His hands went down your spine, nails scretching your skin lightly, and grabbed both of your legs. He opened them, and you never felt so exposed before.

One thing was to undress for him. Other was for him to undress you.

"Breath in," you did as he said. Shan Yu kneeled between your legs, and it was almost impossible to think. "Breath out," once again you behaved.

As his face got near your sex, his breath made you close your legs. He hold them, opening you for him again. He warned you with his yellow eyes.

Shan Yu licked you slowly. You trembled bellow him. His nose brushed against your lips, and you bite your fingers. He was so calm, so patient. His licked your lips, sucked your clit, used his tongue to stimulate you whole.

When you whimpered, Shan Yu got eager. He pulled you by your hips, getting you even closer, and his hands went up to your breasts. You moaned his name, and for a second he almost lost control.

He bite your inner thights, and then licked it. Your breath was already a mess. His tongue wandered through your tummy, your chest, your breasts. Shan Yu grabbed your hand, taking it off your mouth.

"I will hear you," he demanded. "Don't hide yourself."

You held him by his forearm. "I want you," you moaned. "Please."

Shan Yu could've cum just by the look on your face. "It will hurt," he said. As if you didn't knew. "You don't need to."

He closed his eyes, trying to regain control over himself. To feel your taste on his tongue, your smell on his upper lip, the warmth of you bellow him. Shan Yu felt like a starving man being welcomed home with a full supper.

But you are no something he wants to consume. Shan Yu wants to devour you, to know every inch of your skin and all that things that make your body tremble. But Shan Yu don't want to take from you something he will never be able to give you back just because he wants to. He needs you, but you need to be the one chosing to do this.

"I'll stop," he moved away from you. You felt incomplete without his weight upon you. "I must stop."

You put your legs around his hips, locking him with you. "Make me feel yours," you purred. Don't matter what you sounded like: were the one demanding now. You stroked his forearms, trying your best to find the words you need. "I'm starving. Don't go."

You had seem him shirtless before. At training, after a battle when blood stained his body, when he went to sleep. But to see him whole... that made you lick your lips.

He was big. So big. You almost regret ever doing that. But his cock also made you salivate, so you pretend that you weren't scared. You wanted him inside you. You wanted Shan Yu to make you whole.

Even if it hurts.

Shan Yu slid his cock on your lips, and you felt yourself getting wetter. So warm. It twitched against you. When he started to enter you, you closed your eyes. This time Shan Yu let it pass.

It burned. Your insides ache, and it's been just the beginning. He was so thick. After a few seconds without moving, Shan Yu tried again.

This time you whimpered. "Fuck," you cried. "Wait, I..."

"As you... wish," Shan Yu moaned against your neck. You were so tight. So warm. You would be the end of him. "Stop squirming."

"I'm sorry," you cried. You tried to move away from him, but Shan Yu held you in place. "I hurted you?"

He groaned. "No, my moon," he whispered. Shan Yu strucked the skin of your hips, trying to calm you down. He could already smell the blood. "Far from it."

You held his hands, trying to not get lost on your mind. "I don't think it will fit," you whimpered. "It's too big."

You really were trying to made him go crazy, weren't you? "I will make it fit."

After a few seconds, you nodded. Slowly, Shan Yu did as he said. He made it fit. And by doing that, he reached a point that even through all that pain made you roll your eyes. You tried to forget about that burning pain and focus on his cock pressing against that sweet point.

When his fingers brushed against your clit, you held him closer. Your nails digged into his back, and your teeths into his shoulders. Shan Yu didn't care about the pain. All he did was to hold your head as he moved slowly.

"I think I..." You couldn't do anything but to feel, and you felt so much. You were drooling. "Fuck, Shan Yu..."

"You were made for me," Shan Yu whispered into your ears. "Made for me to love, for me to fuck you."

Not a word he said made to your brain. You couldn't hear him. You couldn't do anything but to feel tortured by how he kept on hitting that spot again and again. If you cry, it won't because of the pain.

When you trembled, it was like you died for a second. The pleasure hit you in waves so much stronger than you. Maybe you cried his name. Maybe you screamed it. Maybe you bit your lips until they bleed. You don't know. All you know is that it was so good.

With you shaking bellow him, Shan Yu came inside you. He groaned like an animal, and maybe at that moment he really were one.

"I think I drooled all over you," you chuckled as you cleaned his shoulders with your hand.

Shan Yu held your hands and kissed them, looking deep into your eyes. "What do you need?"

"A bath," you carressed his lips.

Shan Yu watched as his cum covered your lips. Your used cunt glowed. Such a pretty sight.

He took you into his arms, your legs around his hips, and lift you from bed. You giggled, once again feeling so weighless around him.

"Then I shall bath you," he said softly.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[xfgpng]

“𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞”

— : [nsfw] slight angst, smut, fluff, pet names, fingering + getting together

(tw.// kidnapping and auctioning of real people as a plot device.)

— : [ wc ] : 6.1k

a/n :: this is not stockholm syndrome at all. their relationship is and will be 100% consensual. i think it’s pretty obvious that it isn’t but it’s better to just address that.

she has always made sure to do right by her father. y/n knew his career was important and while her mother was out the country on vacation with her girls, he insisted y/n join him for a fancy dinner party.

she had to dress up and look good so she didn’t embarrass him or their family name. it was a simple matter and she enjoyed the new clothing.

this time it was a beautiful silk red dress that stopped at her ankles with a slit up the right side.

“you don’t look all that excited for this party” yuzuha sighs but she helps her fix your outfit and makeup.

“he parades me around like some .. trophy” she scoffs, “father feels the need to brag to everyone about me but he forgets that he was barely around, too busy with work”

“i wish you’d move in with me” yuzuha says gently, “hakkai has moved in with mitsuya now so i have the extra space”

“yuzu—”

“y/n you’re 21 now” she says, “you don’t have to do everything they tell you to do. you need to live for yourself”

y/n knew she was right but there was no arguing against whatever her parents wanted. they could’ve abandoned her but at least she had her nannies and everything she could’ve dreamed of.

she felt that she owed them this much.

“think about it okay?” yuzuha smiles, “and please, chifuyu really worries about you so don’t ignore his texts”

y/n grin up at her as she reaches for the lipgloss to finish up her makeup.

“maybe i like playing hard to get” y/n tease and yuzuha laughs, flicking her forehead.

going to these parties were never really her thing but this one was different, he made sure to remind her just how important this night was for him and their families entire fortune.

the limo was parked right out front and he slowly helped her get in, which was good because she felt her arm catch onto something. a tiny pin prick could be felt as she made her way inside and then everything went black.

the sounds of people talking outside jostled her into consciousness. she’s still in the limo, she doesn’t even remember falling asleep but the slight pain on her side had her much more aware now.

“dad?” she call out, stumbling out the car. she hated the stupid dress she wore because it felt shorter now and the heels were uncomfortable against the gravel.

“why are we at the back?” y/n ask, confused. “the entrance is—”

“take her inside and make sure she doesn’t make too much of a scene” her father tells one of the bodyguards

she look at him in confusion and the grip on her arm is almost bruising.

“dad? what’s going on?” she tries to pull away but the taller, much larger man pulls her along and she sees the sad look on her fathers face and she knows this isn’t a regular dinner party.

there are other women around her age, looking as beautiful as she does but even more afraid. they’re all dressed up like they were attending a fancy dinner party but they all had the same black collar around their necks with a colour in the middle.

“what the fuck is going on?” y/n ask, eyes widening when the men in the room force them all into pretty glass boxes. as if they were about to be put on display.

“if you don’t want to be sedated, you’d better behave and do as they tell you” a girl whispers. she looks younger than y/n is, meaning she could be 19 and y/n feel an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

her own father was about to sell her off. it had to be a nightmare and maybe she was still in the limo, passed out from the lack of sleep from all the school work at college.

the lights dim and then the curtains are drawn. there are women and men all around the room, rich people with money to waste and she felt dirty as she felt eyes on her.

“oh” sanzu chuckles, leaning back as he grabs another flute of champagne, “they have new faces”

“how sickening” ran rolls his eyes. he had no reason to be here but rindou was getting restless and mikey suggested they follow a lead on their recent customer who owed them a lot of money.

“he’s in the front” rindou nods, “he’s not with his wife so perhaps his here to buy”

“not quite” sanzu smirks, “look towards the stage”


mikey clenches his jaw as he sees what sanzu is talking about. none of them could be considered good people with morals but family was important and so was loyalty.

“what am i missing?” ran asks dryly

“pretty little thing in red” sanzu sighs

rindou grins when he sees her. she’s the prettiest one on stage, the red bringing out her eyes even from the distance. she didn’t look scared like the other women were. she looked angry and hurt?

his smile drops when he realises what’s going on.

“that’s his daughter” rindou says

“she is” sanzu shakes his head, “disgusting pig will do anything for money, even going this far”

“is he planning to use this money to pay us back?” ran asks

“i want her” rindou says

“rin you—”

“i want her” he says more firmly, eyes never leaving her as she stands uncomfortably on stage behind the pretty glass.

he has always had a special kind of love for dolls, porcelain was his most precious treasure but he needed to have her.

“he’ll owe us” sanzu smirks, “he doesn’t know we’re here so i say we make him squirm a little”

“do your worst” mikey says dryly and leaves with ran out the back.

ran isn’t sure he wants to leave his younger brother in a room with beautiful women in glass cases but he’s never really collected humans before. perhaps he was playing around .

“number 4!” the host calls out and she feels her blood run cold. this wasn’t a nightmare. her own father was really auctioning her off to a bunch of rich people who wouldn’t even see her as a person.

she felt sick and resisted the urge to run, she knew she wouldn’t get far with the amount of guards surrounding the place and she could see a weird looking man standing nearby with a briefcase. she had a feeling there was something in there that would be used on her if she didn’t cooperate.

everything feels like a blur as the host introduces her. she can hear him speaking about her achievements, her family and where she comes from. they have no shame admitting who her father is and the old bastard has the nerve to look smug as the people in the room cheer for him.

she felt like throwing up, head a little dizzy and she realises then that he had drugged her on her way into the limo. she forces her poker face and looks straight ahead. she would not cry in front of these people and she’d never give him the satisfaction.

did her mother know what he was doing? did she go away on purpose?

she sees two men approaching her father, one with pink hair and pretty scars and another much more stoic man, his purple hair catching her eye before she looks away again.

“good evening” sanzu grins

“what—”

“don’t try anything stupid or we’ll shoot you” sanzu warns, smiling brightly.

“you sell your own child?” rindou asks, “do you have any shame?”

“it’s not what—”

“here’s what i think happened” rindou cuts him off, “you thought you’d made some money tonight, have someone have their way with her and then when you’re done paying mikey off, you get her back and act like nothing happened?”

“rich people love to throw their kids in therapy anyway, isn’t that right?” sanzu adds

“well tonight, things are going to go very differently” sanzu pats his back, “we are going to put in the highest bid for her”

“no please don’t do this” he begs, “she’s my only child you don’t understand”

“i didn’t ask” sanzu scoffs, “you’re just another sorry motherfucker”

“you better find another way to get the boss his money or it’s not gonna end well for your sweet little girl or your wife” sanzu whispers, “she’s in macau isn’t she?”

he swallows hard and tries his best to smile when he sees another couple walk by and greet him.

“this is what happens to people like you” rindou downs the last of his whiskey and walks towards the host.

they knew who bonten was and no one would try and outbid them.

she looked scared now that she was alone with them. she kept trying to pull her dress up despite it not revealing too much. sanzu found her to be very pretty but rindou couldn’t stop looking at her pretty brown eyes.

“what’s your name pretty girl?” rindou asks, “we’re not going to hurt you”

“y/n” she says, “why did you—”

“buy you?” sanzu asks from the drivers seat

“your father is a very bad man y/n” rindou explains, “he owes us a lot of money and tonight, he was here to sell you off to pay his debts”

her eyes widen and she allows herself to cry, covering her face as she leans against the car door. she didn’t even feel like she was in her body.

“my name is sanzu” sanzu says, “and that’s rindou, he really liked you”

“do you always do this?” she asks

“no” rindou says immediately, “in our line of work, we have different departments and we don’t deal with these things”

“but you do” y/n says, scoffing as she holds her arms around herself.

“the women who choose to work for us come on their own” sanzu says, “it’s easier than having a pimp on the streets”

“am I going to be like that?” she asks softly

“never” rindou takes her hand, “no, that’s not why you’re here”

“you’ll stay with rin for now” sanzu pulls up in front of a huge house, “his maids will assist you with whatever you need while we do our jobs”

“are you going to kill him?” she looks at rindou, “my father”

“he knew what he was getting into” rindou explains, “it’s not up to me what happens”

“it’s been a long day” sanzu yawns, “go inside and sleep it off”

“what about my cell phone?” she asks, “or my bag?”

“it’s here” rindou says, “i’ll be keeping it for now”

“as long as you behave, there’s no reason to be scared” he adds and she doesn’t say anything. she can see they both have guns and she’d rather not try her luck and when she didn’t even know where she was.

his house is huge, filled with paintings and it was almost haunting. he guides her through the house and into a large bedroom.


she feels scared and can’t help but start crying again. she didn’t want this and she didn’t want him to touch her either.

“this isn’t my room” he says, “you’ll stay here and if you need something, you’ll call for me and no one else”

“you’re not —”

“despite what people think, we’re not disgusting enough to sleep with women against their consent, go to sleep”


she’s too stunned to say anything as she walks out and locks the door. she knows her friends will be worried about her and she doesn’t even know what she’ll say to them.

she couldn’t tell them the truth, it was far too scary but she swore she saw a familiar face last night. he looked shocked to see her there.

there’s no doubt he would tell yuzuha, their relationship had improved over the years. maybe they could help her?

she cried herself to sleep that night, dreaming of running away from home, far away from the city and far away from the family she thought she knew.

“are you sure you saw her there?” yuzuha is pacing the kitchen, “this can’t be right”

“can’t we go to the police?” hakkai asks

“no” taiju says, “she wasn’t bought by some random rich guy”

“rindou won the auction” he adds and that has yuzuha panicking even more. what business did her best friend have with bonten?

“calm down” taiju says, “last night her old man sold her off, i heard he did some shady business with bonten and ran with their money.. she’s safe for now, just let me find out more before you try anything stupid”

“what will they do to her?” yuzuha asks, she’s trying to not cry but she can’t imagine anything good coming from this.

“nothing” taiju says, “they’ve never done any shit like this before, they’re playing a game and unfortunately her father got her involved”

“are you going to see them today?” hakkai asks, “maybe you could at least find out where she is”

“no promises but i can try” he sighs, “this is a lot bigger than any of us because no one crosses mikey and gets a slap on the wrist”

“he has to make an example” hakkai whispers, “even if it’s at her expense”

“I can’t promise that i’ll find anything out but trust that they won’t hurt her and y/n isn’t weak” taiju says, “let me handle this”


yuzuha nods, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do anything even if she tried to.

she wakes up a little disoriented, having fallen asleep in the red dress from the night before. she tries to remember where she is when the memories come crashing back like a wave.

she sits up fast, glancing around the otherwise empty room. the bed is huge but she can tell this room has never been used before. she doesn’t know if that makes her feel better.

the door opens and rindou enters. he’s changed from the night before and he hands her a bag with clothing and a towel.

“you can take a shower and change into something more comfortable” he says and when she finally stands, she notices the glass case to the side of the room.

“are those—”

“antiques” he grins, “i’m a .. collector”

she doesn’t know what he means by that but she can appreciate the fine china though she doesn’t know why he’d keep the tea sets locked up in a bedroom.

“you’ll come have breakfast with me once you’re ready” he says and she can tell it’s not a question.

“my phone” she says softly, “please, my friends they’ll worry”

“if you do as you’re told, you’ll get your phone back” rindou explains gently, “i don’t intend to keep you as a prisoner though you’d look beautiful all dolled up”

y/n doesn’t ask what he means by that, following him into the on suite bathroom.

“this is your bathroom” rindou smiles, “you’ll be able to get new clothes and whatever else you may need but try and run from me and i won’t be so nice”

she nods and waits for him to leave before she takes a deep breath, staring at her reflection in the mirror. her face is puffy from crying herself to sleep.

the entire night still doesn’t feel real but she can’t get the look of her fathers face out her head. her was willing to sell her off to anyone that would pay a high price to pay off his own debts. she was starting to realise she never really knew her own father.

the warm water relaxes her enough to let her guard down and she allows herself a moment to think about rindou. she didn’t understand what the man wanted from her. he didn’t want to sleep with her or maybe he did but he wasn’t going to push her.


he was being nice when he didn’t have to be. she supposes this might just be a lesson for her father or whoever else tried to cross bonten.

if she really thought about it, it might’ve been effective if she didn’t know all about bonten and the rumours she’s heard even at college.

she swallows hard. would she be able to go back to school after all this? she was sure some of the people there last night could’ve easily been parents to kids at her college and the thought has her running out the shower to throw up. her stomach was empty anyway.

“you can text your friends” rindou hands her the phone, “i don’t know what you’ll say but be careful, i don’t want to have to make an example out of your friends”

“that won’t be necessary” she says quickly, “thank you”

there are over 50 missed calls from Yuzuha alone and when she opens her text messages, she realises she doesn’t have to say a thing.

taiju was there and he told her.

she feels a knot in her stomach as she sends a quick message promising that she was fine and that she’d call whenever she could.

“what did he do?” y/n asks when she’s done drinking her juice, “my father…”

rindou sighs.

“you don’t think your father could run his business that successfully all these years without making some deal?” rindou asks, “do you remember when his business started getting successful?”

“he’s always been successful” y/n frowns, “but last year, he gave almost every single employee a bonus”

“which would’ve been bad for business if he couldn’t afford it right?” he asks and she nods slowly

“last year a friend of your fathers introduced him to my boss” rindou shrugs, “your old man had other interests outside finance”

“what do you mean?” y/n asks

“women” rindou grins

“no” she immediately shakes her head, “he wouldn’t”

“no?” rindou laughs, “and yet look where you are right now sweetheart”

she looks down at her empty plate and feels like crying again. she wasn’t sure how much more she could take before she really had a breakdown.

“don’t look so sad baby” rindou pats her head as he walks behind her, “you’re far better off with me than that old man of yours”

she doesn’t know what to believe right now but she feels too tired to argue. she just sighs and stands to take her plate but he stops her.

“how about we go for a drive hm?” he says softly, “i have some things to do for my boss but i’m all yours”

she doesn’t want to think about the shiver that runs up her spine at his words or the way he smells so good from being this close.

“okay” she finds herself agreeing. it’s not like she has anything else to do because she was off from college for a while anyway and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go back to her old life.

a life that seemed so distant now.

“where’s my daughter” he asks, slamming his hands on the table as ran lazes in his chair.

kakucho smirks as he watches the old bastard throw a fit.

“you weren’t this concerned about her last night” ran scoffs

“i had everything under control!” he says, “i knew the buyer-”

“you’re a sick fucking man” kakucho cuts him off, “selling your kid for a night for what? so you could pay off your debts?”

“i do what i have to for my family” he says angrily

“no, you do what you have to for yourself” ran rolls his eyes, “you’ll never see her again so you better just focus on getting mikey his money or your wife won’t be getting on that plane home tomorrow night”

“she’s just starting her life” he begs, “please,i’ll do anything”

“you should’ve thought about that before you paraded her around like some pretty little prize” kakucho moves from where he had been standing.

“we’re done here” ran says dryly, “see yourself out”

“i’ll go to the cops” he threatens but they just laugh at him. they were used to empty threats.

the drive seemed to make her feel less uneasy around rindou. he wasn’t very talkative but she liked the quite anyway. she didn’t feel like talking either and when they arrived home.

he still had business to do so she found herself walking around the house. it was beautiful but she wondered how he stayed by himself aside from his maids. it felt too big and cold for just one person.

at the end of the hallway, she stumbled upon a large oakwood door. it was bigger than all the other doors. she hated how curious she was as she slowly pushed the door open.

the room was covered from top to bottom in glass. it felt as though she was intruding but she slowly entered, eyes widening in shock when she saw all the dolls.

porcelain dolls of all shapes and sizes in beautiful glass cases. she gasped when she felt someone stand behind her, her back pressed firmly against his chest.

“i see you’ve found this room” he chuckles, “beautiful isn’t it?”

she wasn’t sure she’d call it beautiful. it was a lot more scary than she’d like to admit but she was also fascinated by it all.

“why—”

“i’ve told you before, i liked to collect pretty things” he gently places a hand on her waist

“like me?” she finds herself asking despite herself.

“i’ve never collected humans if that’s what you’re asking” he laughs, “though you are very pretty and i guess last night, i found myself wanting to keep you too”

“what about now?” she turns to face him

“i don’t want to see you the same way i see these antiques” he cups the side of her face, “if your father complies, you’ll be free to go”

“and if he doesn’t?” she whispers

he just chuckles, lightly patting her cheek.

“i have to go see mikey” he smiles, “behave yourself”

“are you going to lock me in the room again?” she asks and he sighs

“no” he shakes his head, “you���re free to roam, just don’t run from me because i will find you”

“i want to see my friends” y/n says

he runs his hands through his hair.

“okay” he agrees, “but remember what i said”

“thank you” she says, sounding relieved.

“and keep your phone on” he adds and she nods

yuzuha nearly drops her glass in the sink when y/n walks into the kitchen.

“y/n?!” she grabs her into a tight hug and y/n laughs, a little startled.

“what’s going on?” yuzuha asks, “how did you—”

“you’re squeezing me” y/n pats her arm, “i’m fine, let me go so i can explain”

“is it true?” yuzuha asks, “did he do anything to you?”

“he didn’t do anything to me” y/n promises, “he let me come see you so maybe this isn’t even about me right now”

“your dad… he really did that shit?” yuzuha takes a hold of y/n’s hand

“yeah” she laughs bitterly, “it feels like a horrible joke”

“so you’re just gonna … stay?” yuzuha asks

“for now, yeah” y/n shrugs, “i think it’s better to just do what he asks”

“did you … meet them all?” yuzuha asks after a while, handing y/n a glass of water.

“no” she shakes her head, “just the brothers, their boss and sanzu”

“he gave you one of his cars?” yuzuha looks outside

“it’s probably because it’ll be easy to track me” y/n laughs, “i could still technically escape”

“so why don’t you?” yuzuha can’t help but ask

y/n doesn’t know how to answer that question so she looks down at the glass in her hands. was it weird that she felt safer in rindou’s house than her own?

“i can’t go home and he knows to look for me here” y/n shakes her head, “word would get out that i escaped and he’ll come here first”

“i also don’t know if my mother is involved or not so they could easily get her too” she adds, “it’s just better to stay with rindou, at least he’s nice”

“nice?” yuzuha huffs, “y/n don’t tell me you’re crushing”

“crushing?” y/n scoffs, “i met the guy at an auction where i was one of the prizes, it’s not exactly a meet cute situation”

yuzuha laughs. at least y/n could make light of a serious situation.

“you came back” rindou says and she’s surprised at how shocked he seems to be.

“did you think i’d run?” she asks, giving him his keys back.

“i gave you an out” he admits, “this has nothing to do with you”

“i don’t..want to go back there” she says, “my fat— that man, auctioned me off like a piece of meat.. he could do that again without hesitation”

“hey it’s okay” rindou says gently, “can i?”


she nods and he pulls her in for a hug. he pats her head gently. he wasn’t sure what he was meant to be doing. he never had this kind of intimacy with his past relationships. it was always about the sex or business, nothing more and yet here he stood comforting the daughter of the man that crossed them.

“take a nap if you need to” he tells her, “dinner will be ready later”

“thank you” she sighs

“do you want to let her go now?” sanzu smirks, “that’s interesting”

“i don’t” rindou admits, “but i didn’t think it would get like this”

sanzu laughs. it was fun seeing rindou like this. the man was never girl crazy but he had his fair share of fun but rindou haitani didn’t care for anything other than his brother and work.

“word on the street is her father hired some low life gang bangers” sanzu grins, “think he’s trying to get her back by kidnap”

“what does mikey want to do?” rindou asks

“nothing” sanzu shrugs, “we’ll wait and see what the old fucker does”

“hm” rindou nods, reaching for his drink.

“isn’t glass dolls so much easier to deal with?” sanzu asks, “they can’t talk back and they don’t cause you to feel anything”

“and you have complete ownership” he adds

“i don’t want to own her” rindou scoffs, “not in the way you think”

“you have a soft spot for the girl” sanzu laughs loudly, tipping his head back.

rindou thinks his friends is so much prettier with his mouth shut.

y/n finds it harder and harder to sleep. a week has gone by but it feels longer and there’s been no calls or texts from her mother either. she’s starting to realise they must’ve been planning this for a very long time.

how else would her father know about that type of auctions? he had to be apart of it. she feels sick to her stomach that laying down only makes her feel dizzy and nauseous.

“you’re still awake” rindou says when he sees her in the kitchen. she startles and he grins, standing next to her as she pours him a glass of wine as well.

he likes how comfortable she seems to be in his space and that could pose as a problem because how would he be fine with her leaving?

he leans closer and if she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“you haven’t been sleeping well” he says and she sighs. it wasn’t like she could deny it.

“would you like me to keep you company?” rindou asks

“rin—”

“i’ll just lay with you until you fall asleep” he adds, “i meant what i said, i won’t touch you unless it’s what you want”

“okay” y/n nods and lets him take her hand, leading her to the room she’s been staying in.

“just close your eyes for me darling” he smiles, “you’re safe with me”

she finds that she believes him. his warm next to her and she falls asleep.

“he gave you his card to go shopping?” yuzuha laughs, “oh my”

“it’s not like that” y/n says, “i don’t have anything of my own and i don’t think i’ll get it right now”

“have you spoken to chifuyu?” yuzuha asks, “he’s been asking about you”

“i texted him this morning” y/n shrugs, “i don’t want anyone making a big deal about this right now”

y/n walks around the clothing isle to look at dresses when she feels 2 men come up behind her.

“you scream and I’ll shoot your friend” he says, “walk forward and don’t make a scene”

she swallows hard and nods quickly. she doesn’t know what’s going on, was this bonten? was this rindou’s plan all along?

she wills herself not to cry as she walks out the store, she doesn’t look back even when she hears yuzuha call after her.

her phone vibrates in her pocket but she knows she can’t reach for it. none of this feels real.

“your fathers been expecting you y/n” the other man says, “get into the car”

father?

when she gets inside the black suv, she feels like throwing up. her father looks far too pleased to see her and he takes her hand and squeezes.

“you’re safe now dear, don’t cry anymore”

she hates him.

“i didn’t know who else to call” yuzuha cries, “one moment we were shopping the next she’s walking out the store with two men dressed in black suits”

taiju looks over at mikey who clenches his jaw. he looks angry, this wasn’t them.

“what’s going on?” yuzuha asks, “is this her father?”

“i’ll handle it” rindou says

“rindou” mikey says but rindou ignores him

“i said i’ll handle it” rindou walks out with ran following close behind.

“you aren’t hurt, are you?” her father asks but she doesn’t answer him. she won’t even look at him as the guards force her to sit down in his office.

he dismisses them and he sighs.

“you need to understand that i do what i must to take care of our family” he says

“you do what you must to take care of yourself” y/n scoffs, “you’re disgusting”

“you say that but i did everything for you” he laughs, “how else would you have everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“your mother was too soft on you” he adds dryly, “this was character building and you’ll do right to remember everything i do for you”

“what—”

“you’ll do as you’re told” he cuts her off, “i have spoken to a friend in italy and his son is around your age”

“excuse me?” y/n widens her eyes, “you’re still trying to sell me off?”

“don’t be so dramatic” he rolls his eyes, “it’ll be a legal marriage”

“i hate you” y/n stands and tries to leave but he grabs her arm.

before she can yank her arm away or scream, the sound of gun shots rings loud outside. she can hear the commotion and shouting before her father knocks her out.

the last thing she hears is the sound of the door opening and another gunshot.

her head is spinning when she opens her eyes. she feels the softness of her pillows and she’s got a cold cloth on her forehead.

“y/n?” rindou whispers

he dims the lights when she squints, sitting up slowly. she looks around the room and she feels herself crying.

“hey, it’s okay baby it’s just me” rindou sits beside her and she moves closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“it’s okay, you’re okay now” he says softly, “he’ll never hurt you again”

“did you…” she trails off

“i wanted to but i didn’t” rindou admits, wrapping his arms around her, “i did shoot him in the arm but he’ll be fine”

“he wanted to send me to italy” she sniffs, “he was never worried about me”

“i’m sorry” rindou says because he doesn’t know what else to say. he wasn’t good at comforting people but he’d try for her.

“do you want —”

“please just… kiss me” she says, “i want to be distracted for a while”

“your adrenaline is high” he pats her head, kissing her cheek, “you don’t want this”

“rindou i’m not a child” she frowns, “i want this”

“how long?” he asks

“when you stayed with me the other night” she says, “i think i started liking you before then but i do”

“this situation isn’t exactly ideal” he sighs

“i don’t remember a time where a situation was ideal in my life” she scoffs, “especially after everything he said to me”

she did feel like her life was a lie, everything until now.

“rin” she whispers and he caves, leaning in to kiss her softly. he’s been thinking about this since the first night he saw her but it was so much better.

her tiny gasps and the way she wraps her arms around his neck makes him feel dizzy.

he pushes her gently onto the bed and she’s never been more happier to be wearing a skirt. it’s a pretty skirt that rindou had complimented her on.

“so fucking beautiful” he groans, spreading her legs further to fit himself in the middle.

she was far pretty than any doll he’s ever collected and her skin was soft and warm. she was real and all his.

“tell me what you want baby” he grins, “I’ll give you whatever you want”

“i just want you” she smiles shyly up at him and he’s imagined this moment far too often to ruin it.

“you have me” he smirks, running his fingers up her thigh before he reaches her panties.

“lift your hips” he playfully hits her thigh, “i’ll make you feel real good”

she does as she’s told and the next moment she finds herself flipped over onto her stomach. he doesn’t give her a moment to breathe before he slips his middle finger into her pussy.

she whines and he bites back a loud groan. she was so tight and wet, he needed to keep his composure because he had no desire to hurt her.

not unless it’s what she wanted and since this would be the first of many, he planned to make her remember this moment forever.

“so good” y/n moaned when she felt him add a second finger. he leaned down to bite down on her ass before kissing his way between her pretty legs.

“such a pretty pussy” he moans before he slips his tongue between his fingers.

she cries out, arching her back and he uses his free hand to spank her. he then grips her firmly so she can’t move away and begins a slow rhythm of eating her out and fingering her open.

“want more rin” she slurs, “please”

she's never been this open during sex, has never felt this good before and she knows she doesn’t want the feeling to go.

“so impatient” he chuckles but he’s already undressing. he wants to take his time with her but he can feel how hard he is and he knew he’d have enough time to explore.

right now, she wanted him and he’d be the perfect distraction for her.

“spread your legs a little more sweetheart” he says, rubbing his tip through her folds before pressing into her.

she bites down onto the pillow and he smirks. he knew he was big and thicker than most. this wasn’t the first time he’s had sex but he’s never had feelings for anyone before now and he feels lightheaded when he finally bottoms out.

“fuck” he grunts, “shit baby, keep still for me”

he could use the excuse that he just wants her to get used to the feeling but he’s the one that needs a moment. he didn’t want to embarrass himself but she felt so good around him that he couldn’t resist thrusting forward.

her moans are so pretty and she’s not shy to call his name over and over again.

“that’s it pretty girl” he says, “it’s all yours”

he feels her squeezing and clenching around him and it’s so hot and sticky that he can’t help but pull back a little to stare down at where he’s fucking into her.

they needed to be careful and they did have a lot to talk about but that could all wait.

“god baby, fuck yourself back on my dick” he groans, throwing his head back.

talking could wait, he wanted to focus on her and only her.

[azurlily]

Guess whose not dead?!

(This is an actual post with a character, just scroll down to the pink bow if you don't want to read this.)

I was in and out of the hospital for a long time. I'm sorry I haven't been writing, but I'm doing so much better. I've closed requests so I can catch up on the ones I currently need to do.

I also wanted to mention some of the newer works(that AREN'T being requested) that I plan to make will probably be either smut or darker stuff. It's a way for me to cope and I enjoy writing altogether.

Yandere!CEO x Fem!Reader

Morena(yan!ceo) x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're a young woman working in the tech industry, you know people(mostly men) don't take you seriously. Due to the constant stress of needing to be better (just to be considered good) you are constantly anxious and jittery, you've also developed a depressive mindset and you consistently struggle with taking your medication.

You just got a new job by a large, female owned, tech company! You thought you'd feel better and you wouldn't have to deal with a toxic environment. You were dead wrong; your boss is a bitch and expects constant perfection and no less. You were just barely able to make it under her radar, until she starts going through files- and you find yourself in her office with a deal you just aren't allowed to refuse.

Not like you can refuse a demon after all?

TW: Non-consensual kissing and physical touch, somewhat mentions future kidnapping.

The reader is kissed(while under a spell that takes away will-power from their body) and is forced to sign a contract against their wishes.

You stand quietly, with your hands in front of you- clasped together so tightly you'd think you were about to get in your knees and pray. But no, instead you were ready to beg to not be fired.

That's what this was right? You were getting fired and your horrible, asshole, bitch-faced boss wanted to say it to your face. You could cry, you almost did on the way here.

Yet as much as you wish you weren't in this situation, as much as you wish you could repent for whatever you did; you genuinely have no idea why you've been called here. You've never gotten a write up, all your reports are clean and bug free, and you work well with seemingly everyone.

You stand face forward, staring at the woman who decides wether you get to eat for the next month. The same woman who while you hate her, you can't -no you won't- deny her beauty. You-

"Hello?! Do you hear me or are you too busy pissing yourself to pay attention?"

You look down, wondering if you genuinely did pee yourself, only to see dry pants and floor. You look back up at her and she gives you the look of someone who both wants to laugh and yell(not in the good way).

You wondered if there was something who had tried to sue her for how rude she was. I'm sure there could be some sort of case, as long as there was proof. Hell, even witnesses would do.

"Sorry, ma'am. What exactly is it you called me for? Has my team done something wrong, did we miss some meeting, or did-"

She stands up, slamming her hand on the desk so loudly it echoes. You nearly jump out of your skin- was she going to hit you?!

"Be quiet. I can't handle you prattling on like a cow. I'm not firing you, nor am I firing anyone on your team. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Oh and please- call me Miss Morena. Thank you."

Oh she is definitely a condescending bitch.

You thought for a moment, 'quite the opposite'. So you aren't getting fired, hell you may be getting a raise! Maybe Morena wasn't so bad of a boss. Maybe she just likes hard workers.

"Thank you, ma- Miss Morena. If I may ask: does this mean I'm getting a promotion?"

Morena smiles, not the smile you give someone when they're right about something. The smile you give when you're a fox, and you've just cornered the bunny you've been trying to catch.

"Yes, a promotion of sorts. I actually have a contract for you, but I can give you the gist and read the rest to you later."

Morena pulls an inch thick stack of papers from the desk. She sets them aside with a pen and slowly steps out from the desk. Morena signals you to come closer, but you only take a few steps forward. You could practically feel how badly this situation was going to go.

As Morena got closer, you began to feel more compelled to make eye contact with her. Like someone was whispering into the back of you mind, telling you to look up. To look into the beautiful blue eyes that Miss Morena holds. To never look away; keep your eyes on hers.

Don't look away from me. I always get what I want and that isn't changing anytime soon, little rabbit.

"Well I've been looking over employee information and I noticed you moved from very, very many jobs before you got to this one. Never staying in one place. I never really liked people like that, and from what I've seen, people like that have done the same with my company. Now I hope -very strong word here- that someone with skills like yours wouldn't do something to this company. I hope that you'd stay, willingly of course. You would stay willingly, right?"

Of course you would, you never had any interest in leaving. You planned to stay past the one year mark, past the time where everyone would get raises in order to ensure you were getting a that this place was a good opportunity. You loved it here, you loved you teammates, your boss, you loved the office building itself.

"Of course I'm staying, Miss Morena. I would never leave."

The words coming out of your mouth felt robotic, they felt like you were lying to yourself and others. Like you were in your body, but you weren't the one speaking.

"Good girl, now go over to my desk and sign you name on all of those papers. Don't read them, you don't need to. You can put all your trust in me."

You did exactly as you were told, you signed every paper with you signature. You didn't even think, your body was moving like second nature. You had this warm feeling in your gut, this safe and controlled feeling. You like feeling like this- don't you?

You hear some shuffling behind you and yet you can't turn around to see what's going on. You only hear a voice.

"You know while your under I guess I can explain. You can't really yell at me or try to run away, so I can speak my peace. You're going to be the newest human I suck the life out of! But hey, for the next few months you'll get to live lavishly and without fear of anything. Other than me of course!"

Your brain registered what she was saying, but you couldn't respond. What were you doing to do? What could you do?

"Come here bunny."

You turn around and walk straight into Morena's arms. She gently grabs your face, you just noticed three of her fingers on her left hand have been filed down. Meanwhile the nails on her right hand, as well as her pinky and thumb on her left, are long and colorful.

Morena pulls you closer to her, her lips ghosting over your mouth. You feel her press her lips to yours and you get an overwhelming feeling of disgust wash over you. You feel nothing but utterly dirty as she kisses you, you feel like someone's just stabbed you and is trying to clean the wound to make themselves feel better about the act.

Your eyes are wide open the entire time, so you watch Morena go from kissing you deeply to pulling back in what looks to be shock. Her pupils dilate slowly, her eyes relaxing and you see nothing but black take over.

"Oh...oh you're much too sweet to kill."

Morena gently moves you head to the side pressing her tounge against your neck. You feel her shiver and watch as she pulls back with a dark smile on her face.

"I take back what I said about you enjoying these next couple of months. . . You'll get to enjoy such pleasures for the rest of your life. With me."

You let your body process her words this time, you don't know how to react. Instead you feel your eyes wet themselves, your expression hadn't even changed. And yet, you were crying. Morena notices almost immediately and you watch her face distort itself into a disdainful look of annoyance, until it twists into one of sadistic pity.

"Oh, shh, bunny. Hush now, stop those tears. I'll take the spell down once were home, in my home you wont be able to run away. So you can have a tantrum all you want there. I know you don't like me right now, you maybe even hate me, but give it some time. You'll realise you need someone, and I'm the best you'll be getting for the rest of your pathetic human life."

Everything goes black after that.

[mask-of-the-freak-circus]

The Freak Circus

Hello again everyone! Here's the second part of the fanfic I wrote since otherwise it would have been a bit too long to read even under a read-more.

So when you get towards the end, you'll see I added two routes: the one where you accept meeting with Pierrot's invitation to return tomorrow, and one where you reject him. Since I have no idea what the next chapter is going to entail and I want to try and push my creativity with horror themes, I've left both options there for myself to reference back to so I can make a decision later. 😅

So notes before we continue: due to the limited information we have on the circus and the staff working there (besides the primary cast we'll be dealing with), I had to be a tiny bit creative based on some comments from the creator and the asks they answered to flesh it out more.

I really had a lot of fun trying to figure out how to write acrobatic scenes and the like, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: Blood, death, murder, stalking, kidnapping, allusions to cannibalism, non-consensual use of drugs (using the content warnings from the game itself to be on the safe side. If I missed any tags on the post, please let me know so I can adjust it!)

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

Chapter 2: Decisions, Decisions at the Circus…

Lauren shot up in bed, heart pounding in her chest as she glanced around the room. Winter birds chirped outside her window, bright light streaming in through the curtains. “…jeez louise. Hadn’t had a nightmare in a while,” she uttered as she flopped back into bed, rubbing her tired eyes as she tried to recall the details. Yet they never came. All she could see was a monstrous shadow with golden eyes looming over her.

…wait…why was it so quiet?

She sat up and looked at her CD player. She’d set it to play the whole CD on loop throughout the night. Did she accidentally turn it off? No…it’s too far away for her to reach unless she sat up. Maybe she forgot to set the loop?

That’s when she noticed something odd. “Why does my mouth taste funny?” she uttered, face scrunching at the strange flavor lingering on her tongue and teeth. She reached for the water to take a drink and rinse her mouth—when she spotted the clock reading 11:00. “Crap! I overslept!!”

It was a mad scramble before she managed to get out of her apartment, all but charging down the street with her purse in hand. By the time she was halfway down the street, she realized she’d forgotten to grab her lunch from the fridge and sighed.

“Guess I’m buying lunch today,” she uttered, pulling her jacket tighter. It felt colder than it had yesterday, her breath starting to come out in puffs.  She managed to slow her pace when she realized she was making good time, thinking of what needed to be done today as she finished tying her hair up in a bun. ‘Maybe I can ask Mr. Tucker if I can head out a little early today,’ she thought, looking around at the people looking at the latest set of flyers scattered about. She wondered if she’d see Pierrot again toda-

“Care to visit the circus?” a new, low voice asked as a paper flashed in front of her face, startling her as she jumped back with a squeak. Looking up, she realized this was one of the other performers wearing a green, black, and gold outfit. He looked…sharper than Pierrot did, a snake coming to mind when she looked at his mask. With a grin that looked far pointier than normal, he said, “I bet you’ll be surprised with what you see~! Here, take a flyer!”

“I’m good, thank you,” she said, ducking around him with a polite smile as she continued walking. “I’ve got a ticket already.”

“Oh, wonderful! I’m so glad to hear it,” he replied. Instead of leaving her alone, however, he seemed to follow along, keeping pace with a mischievous glint in his green eyes as he leaned in. “It wouldn’t happen to have been a pink one, would it?”

She stopped, staring at him in confusion as he stood there with a gleeful grin. “I thought the pink ones were fake?” she asked.

“Fake?” he repeated, his mask somehow looking like he was raising an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

“One of your coworkers,” she said, eyeing him warily.

“I see,” he uttered, tapping a finger to his chin in thought as he moved to stand in front of her—effectively blocking her path. “If it’s not pink or yellow, then what color ticket do you have, madam?”

“…red.”

His eyes grew wide, a mix between a laugh and a scoff escaping as he tilted his head and said, “A red one??”

Not feeling comfortable around him but not understanding what was going on, she said, “Sorry, but I’m in a hurry. I don’t want to be late for work.”

Thankfully he stepped aside, gesturing with a bow for her to proceed. Yet even as she kept walking, he continued following. “A red one, huh,” he said more than asked. “So, that Pierrot gave it to you, then? How interesting.” Tipping his head in a bow, he said, “I am the Harlequin, madam.”

‘Oh, isn’t he the one that Pierrot doesn’t get along with?’ she thought, smiling politely and saying, “Nice to meet you, Harlequin.”

His emerald green eyes brightened, as though struck with brilliance as he said, “Ah, I’ve got an idea! How about we do a little trade? I give you mine-” with a flick of his wrist, he produced a dark green ticket, “and you give me the red one. How does that sound?”

“Is there much of a difference?” she asked, looking between him and the ticket as they stopped at a cross-section.

“But of course. I…” He stopped, looking over her head as his smile faltered in annoyance. She followed his gaze, tilting her head back to see Pierrot hovering behind her like a shadow with a dark expression. “Oh my. Speak of the devil.”

Pierrot leaned over her shoulder and snatched the green ticket out of his hand, looking ready to throttle him as his fist trembled. She could see he wanted to say something, but he refrained in favor of glaring. Yet Harlequin seemed unbothered. In fact, he seemed almost…amused, sighing almost as though he were bored already.

She glanced at them both, realizing that she was almost sandwiched between them save for the slight bit of space giving her breathing room. Had she walked in on some sort of improv act, or was this normal?...did she even have time to deal with this?

“Such a shame you don’t have a voice, huh, Pierrot?” Harlequin said, his tone mocking as he chuckled as she slowly sidestepped away. “Guess you can’t say all those nasty things you’re thinking~!” She kept backing away, taking small steps and barely moving as she faintly heard him say, “Just wait ‘til the Jester hears about this, heh!”

Once she was sure she was a safe distance away, she quickly darted down the street and headed to work. Whatever that was, she didn’t want to be in the middle of it and be even later to work.

/--------/

“Carol didn’t come home last night. Looks like she ran away.”

Lauren stared at Mr. Tucker, stunned to hear the news. Somehow she’d managed to make it to work on time, only to find him speaking with a police officer. At first she thought there’d been a break-in, but to hear it was about a disappearance…with her coworker no less…

“I…I know she had some family issues,” she began, trying to find the words as she thought back on every interaction they’d ever had. “But…she’d never run away! She never showed any signs that she was trying to leave.”

“She may have her reasons,” he said, though he didn’t look too convinced either. “Either way, if she shows up here, we’re supposed to notify the police immediately. Carol’s…probably not in a good state of mind.” Shaking his head, he said, “Until then, I’m going to start looking for a new temp employee to get us through the season. I’ll be in the back doing interviews for a few hours. Can you handle the shop for a while?”

“Oh…sure, I can do that,” she answered. As she started working on her tasks, however, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering. In the short time she’d known the other woman, she never imagined she’d ever pull a stunt like this…but then again, maybe she didn’t know her as well as she’d thought. ‘She was always so cheerful at work and responsible. She’d told me she really needed this job…she wouldn’t just leave without saying anything…would she?’

Her thoughts scattered to the wind as the door chimed, signaling a new customer had entered.

“Welcome! Oh! Hi, Pierrot!” she said when she realized it was him. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to say hi earlier. Did you want to order something, or did you just want to come say hi?”

He nodded, holding up his hand for a moment before holding out her containers from last night.

“Oh! You finished all the cookies already?” she asked, earning another more enthusiastic nod as she accepted and placed them behind the counter. “Thank you for bringing these back!”

Grinning, he took the drink menu and scanned the page, turning it so she could see as he tapped the pink and brown milkshake picture.

“Kinda cold for a milkshake today. But then again, you are wearing a costume,” she said, smiling as she moved to the freezer for the ice cream. “You guys probably get hot running around in those things all day long. Have a seat and chill for a bit!”

His expression contorted into a crooked smile as he covered his face, and she faintly caught the sound of a muffled wheeze before he turned and walked away. As she dug around the containers to find the strawberry flavor, she felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up to see Mr. Tucker standing there with a serious expression on his face. “Did he buy anything, Lauren?” he asked, subtly motioning his head towards Pierrot sitting across the way.

“Yeah, he ordered a milkshake.”

“Good. I don’t want those guys hanging around here without buying anything. Let him know we don’t allow flyers inside—or outside—the café.”

“Will do.” Digging the scoop into the rock hard ice cream, she managed to scrape out one large chunk to put in the metal cup before turning to get the milkshake cup—and jumping at the sight of Pierrot standing extremely close to her. “Jeez louise! How did you get over here so fast?!”

Her heart jumped as he grabbed her arm, feeling the tips of his clawed gloves digging into her sleeve as he beckoned her closer. “Is he…being mean to you, my lady?” he whispered in her ear when she leaned in.

“Who, Mr. Tucker?” she uttered. “No, he’s not. He’s just reminding me of a few ground rules, that’s all.” Though it wasn’t crowded, she thought it was weird how he was all but leaning over the counter whispering in her ear.

His eyes narrowed, though whether he believed her or not was hard to say with the smile he kept plastered over his face. “Will you…come tonight?”

“To the circus…? Sure.”

His eyes curved upwards in a smile, looking pleased with this response. “That makes me happy, Lauren…will you promise to use my ticket tonight, my lady?”

“I will.” Patting her breast pocket with her free hand, she said, “I’ve got it right here.” The motion itself made his eyes brighten, his hand tightening around her arm as she winced. “…just how sharp are those claws?” she asked, giving them a wary look.

Instead of answering, he simply let go, leaning back and giving her a silly expression. He seemed…apologetic?

“Hm…you know,” she started, grabbing the milkshake glass and preparing it for the mix. “What do the colors of each ticket mean? Is there something special about the red and green ones?” Raising an eyebrow, she added, “Or the fact that your coworker said the pink ones are supposedly valid?”

A dangerous flash flickered in his eyes at the last part, but it vanished the moment the door opened and a little girl squealed. “Auntie La-la!!”

“There’s my sweet girl!!” she squealed the moment it clicked who it was, setting the tools down and rushing around the counter to meet the charging toddler. Instead of scooping her into a hug, however, the two stopped a few feet apart and began jumping in place.

“Sunshine, sunshine, ladybugs awake,” the two sang, hunching down to cover their eyes and peek at each other. Clapping their hands together and shaking their hips, they sang, “Clap your hands and do a little shake~!”

“Up, up, up!” the toddler said, a gap-toothed smile on her face as she bounced on her toes. “Pick me up, Auntie!”

“Uppsie-daisies~!” she said, making a whoosh sound that made the little girl squeal in joy as she clung to her neck. “Oof! You’re getting so big, Zoe! At this rate, you’ll be bigger than me!”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pierrot placing his hands on his chest, leaning back dramatically before he formed a heart shape with his hands and smiled with a blush.

“I swear, you’re the only one who can ever get her to sit still,” Zoe’s mom said as she approached with a sigh. “Teach me your secrets.”

“Would if I could,” she responded, adjusting her grip so Zoe was on her hip. “But then again, if I did tell you, then I wouldn’t have a reason to visit, right Mrs. Chambers?”

“True! You’ve been such a lifesaver lately.” Taking notice of Pierrot, who was watching curiously, she said, “Oh? Well, who’s this dapper fellow?”

Zoe looked up and gasped, squealing as she said, “Mommy, it’s a clown!”

“He’s called ‘Pierrot’,” Lauren said, giving him a ‘you got lucky’ look that he returned with a wink and a ‘hush’ sign. “He’s not supposed to speak, but he’s really sweet.”

“Mommy! Can we go to the circus?”

“I’m afraid not, honey. This circus isn’t for children. It’ll give you nightmares!”

“But I wanna see Pie-ro…ro…Mr. Pyro do circus things!” Zoe whined. Looking up at her with puppy eyes, Zoe said, “Auntie La-la, will you take me to the circus? Pleeeeease?”

“Sorry, those puppy eyes won’t work on me, Zo-zo,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “You heard your mom: no circus until you’re older.” When Zoe’s pout intensified, she smiled and said, “You’d better turn that frown upside down, or you-know-what will appear.”

Her eyes widened in confusion, asking, “Who?”

“The…Tickle Monster!”

Childish laughter filled the café as she tickled Zoe, the toddler squealing and giggling as she squirmed in her arms. “Eeeee!! Nooooo, not the tickle monster!!”

“Goochie-goochie-goo! Rawr! The tickle monster demands happy smiles!”

“A-hem!”

Lauren froze, Zoe’s arms wrapping around her neck as they both looked up at an intimidating woman wearing a suit. “Oh, uh…good afternoon, ma’am!”

“Is this the kind of professionalism you exhibit in the work place?” she retorted coldly. “Playing with children instead of serving your customers?”

“We’re customers too, ma’am,” Mrs. Chambers said with a frown. “We were just trying to say hello to our neighbor-”

“Oh, spare me the excuses. Can’t you see I’m standing here waiting to place my order?” Smacking her hand on the counter, she barked out, “Bring me my coffee—no sugar! You stupid lazy girl!”

She frowned before turning to set Zoe down, offering a smile as she said, “Sorry, Zo-zo. I’ve gotta get to work now, but I promise when I have time and your mom’s okay with it, we can go and play at the park. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Turning to face the woman, she said, “Sorry ma’am, but I have to finish another order before I can get to your coffee. I can offer you a brownie for your wait if you’d like?”

Scoffing, the woman said, “Hurry up. I don’t have all day!”

Internally sighing, she put on a fake customer service smile and rushed to complete the milkshake. Thankfully the ice cream had warmed up enough to make it easier to scoop, and in a short time she’d completed the milkshake and slid it over to Pierrot. “Here you go! One strawberry mocha milkshake with extra whipped cream and sprinkles~!” she announced.

He clapped happily, nodding his thanks even as the woman huffed and checked her watch, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Sorry, ma’am! I’ll get right on your order. Coffee, no sugar, right?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it? Are you deaf too?” she snapped, Lauren fighting every urge in her body to frown yet feeling the corner of her mouth twitch.

Before she could get started, however, Pierrot grabbed her hand and carefully placed the cash in her hand…along with a small chocolate bar. “Oh,” she uttered, holding it up and genuinely smiling at him. “Thank you!”

He nodded, waving goodbye as he took the milkshake and walked away. As she was pouring the coffee and warming the brownie, she couldn’t help but think more about her strange companion. Even though she’d started to enjoy his presence, there was something…odd about him she couldn’t quite place. He had a habit of appearing where she least expected him to, though the way he greeted and brought her gifts like a cat was…charming. Cute almost.

“Here you go, ma’am,” she said, sliding the to-go cup and container with the brownie over to the woman. “Apologies for the wait. Can I get you anything else?” Out of the corner of her eye, she’d noticed that Pierrot was nowhere to be seen. Had he left already? With the dishware??

Before she could begin to question that, the woman made a disgusted sound as she glowered at her drink. “This coffee’s just as awful as the service,” she said, sneering at her as though she were dirt under her heels. “I’m never coming back to this dump!”

“So sorry we couldn’t meet your expectations, ma’am,” she replied, though internally she was hoping this was a promise. “Maybe you can find a coffee place that’s closer to your work so you can make it to all those important meetings that you’ll be late to?”

They stared each other down, the woman’s expression befuddled while Lauren’s smile never wavered, calm as can be as she tilted her head. Finally, the woman turned away with a huff, muttering under her breath.

“Do you have to deal with customers like her every day?” Mrs. Chambers asked as she set Zoe on the bar stool.

“No, not every day. But I’ve dealt with enough of them to know how to deal with the rude ones. Anyway! What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a latte and a small hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate!” Zoe cheered, slapping her hands on the counter just as the door jingled.

“Oh! So, this is where you work, madam?”

Her heart dropped the moment she saw Harlequin walk in, mentally cursing herself for not being more careful with her escape earlier. “Good afternoon, Harlequin,” she greeted instead, plastering her normal customer service smile on her face. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Of course! I’ll take an iced coffee.”

“Coming right up! Just let me finish their order real quick.”

“Take your time, dear,” he said, sliding into the seat closest to her.

“Auntie?” Zoe called out, peeking over the edge of the counter as though trying to seem smaller. She seemed to be glancing between her and Harlequin, who was watching her with a curious tilt of his head.

“Yes, hun?”

“Why does Mr. Harley-man talk but not Mr. Pyro?”

“That’s just part of his role, Zo-zo. Think of it as part of a play, like the one you did last year where one of your classmates was dressed like a tree while you were a kitty cat.”

“Oooooh…”

Harlequin chuckled, the sound causing Zoe to duck a little. “Such an adorable little one, aren’t you?” he said, though unlike his previous seductive tone, he sounded pleasant. Casual even. “You’ll have to wait a few years before you can see any of my plays though.”

“Awww…do you get to do lots of cool tricks? Do you juggle? Can you walk on a tightrope??”

Lauren was thankful for Zoe’s rapid-fire questions, only half-listening to his answers as she worked on making the first two drinks. When she’d finished, she slid them across the table and said, “Here you go: one latte and one hot chocolate, extra marshmallow-y goodness. Careful, it’s hot!”

“Thank you. We’ll get out of your hair then,” Mrs. Chambers said as she paid and took the drinks, Zoe hopping down from the stool chanting for her hot chocolate. “Come by for dinner one of these days, alright?”

“I will, Mrs. Chambers. Have a good day!”

Once they were gone, Harlequin looked at her and said, “Oddly formal of you to call your sister by her last name.”

“She’s my neighbor, actually,” she answered, turning to get started on his drink next. “I watch her kid sometimes, and she just started calling me Auntie one day. Kinda stuck after a while, but I don’t mind.”

“I see.” He said nothing for a bit, though she could feel his gaze on her as she worked. When he spoke again, he asked, “Sooooo…are you finally gonna accept my ticket?”

“Sorry, not interested in a trade. I already promised someone I’d use it.”

“You sure? It’d be so much more fun if you used mine,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“How so?”

Winking, he held a finger to his lips and said, “That’s a secret.”

‘I’m not gonna win with either of these two, am I?’ she thought, sliding the drink in front of him with a smile. “Here’s your iced coffee.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, waving his hands in a placating gesture. Yet there was still a mischievous grin on his face as he dug around under his cape, saying, “In that case…a little something for you. I’d love for you to wear it.” It was a small enamel pin, a green heart wrapped in gold that seemed far too small between his fingers. “Here, let me put it on for you.”

Before she could react or back away, he’d already managed to take hold of her shirt collar and began fiddling with the pin. He wasn’t as tall as Pierrot was, but he was still tall enough he had to bend down to reach her. ‘Is gift-giving how they make friends or something?’ she wondered, tilting her head down and staring at the green pin shining in the light.

He tapped a sharp claw against the metal, chuckling under his breath as he said, “I’m going to take you from him.”

“Wait, what??” she stammered, looking up and realizing just how terrifyingly close he was to the point she could smell the strong perfume on him.

“You’ll see,” was all he said as he straightened up. “Anyway, here’s the payment. See you tonight, madam.” With a flourishing bow as he swiped his cup, he said, “Be sure not to miss my show, alright?”

“Hey, wait! What did you mean by-?” she started, only to trail off as he vanished out the door. Slumping with a sigh, she shook her head and grumbled, “What in the world have I just gotten myself into…”

Several hours passed as she continued to work, trying to shake off the weirdness by focusing on serving customers and keeping the café clean. Thankfully it was uneventful, allowing her to keep pace with everything as she multi-tasked.

“Thank you for coming!” she called out as a couple walked out, carrying their sleepy toddler out the door. “Have a good night, and stay safe!”

“Good work today, Lauren,” her boss said as he entered, setting a box on the counter and unpacking a few bags of coffee beans and syrup mixes. “I’ll be keeping the shop open for another hour, so you can head home early today.”

“Are we closing early today?”

“Until we can hire someone new, I’ll have to cut back on the hours a bit. We’re already busy enough with the cold weather, and once our busy season hits? It’ll be too much for just the two of us to handle.”

“Right. That makes se-” Her eyes widened in shock as she asked, “Wait, what happened to your arm?!”

There were three long gashes on his tattooed arm, the sight sending chills down the back of her legs. Yet he seemed unbothered by this as he looked down and said, “Oh, this? Something scratched me out back. Pretty sure it was a huge cat or something.”

“More like a puma,” she commented, eyeing the size of the gashes as she checked it. “Did you at least clean it thoroughly?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing serious.” Giving her a look, he said, “I know you like animals, but trust me, if you’d seen the size of this thing? You wouldn’t think it was weird…or a puma.”

Sighing, she let it go and said, “Well, just make sure to keep it clean, okay? Don’t need you going to the hospital just because it got infected.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” Waving his hand, he said, “Go ahead and finish up before you clock out. I can take it from here.”

“Okay. Guess I’ll have time to make it to the circus tonight!”

“Sounds fun. Tell me how it was later, and maybe I’ll check it out myself at some point.”

“Will do. Thanks!”

/----------/

…how did she let herself get talked into this?

She barely caught herself from stumbling as someone bumped into her, her small frame barely managing to dodge and weave around the crowd of people funneling to the entrance. There were far more people than she anticipated, her ears ringing from the din of people chatting excitedly. ‘Guess they’ve been drawing a pretty big crowd lately,’ she thought, barely able to see the tops of the tents and the lights up ahead. It was a moonless night, the sky devoid of even starlight adding more to the eerie air that surrounded the area.

By the time she’d managed to make it to the entrance, she was greeted by a man wearing a blue and orange suit. He wore a mask like Pierrot and Harlequin, but this one was black and white. “Hello there, visitor!” he greeted, his voice loud yet inviting as he tipped his hat in greeting. “May I punch your ticket?”

“Sure, here you go!”

With a barely audible click amid the din of chattering people going through the line, the ticket taker nodded with an impressed sound as he said, “Oh, a special ticket! Be sure to keep it safe, alright? You’ll need to show it at the attractions before you can see the shows.”

“I will, thank you,” she said, taking it back and tucking it safely in her breast pocket. “But…could you tell me what a special ticket does? I haven’t been able to get a straight answer from anyone.”

“Hm? It simply means you’ve got front row seats to every show.” Then, with a tilt of his head like he was sharing a secret, he added, “And perhaps a chance to meet with the crew itself. Wouldn’t that be quite the treat!”

“Oh wow, thank you!” she said, thinking it was best to not mention she’d met two of them already. “Have a good night, sir!”

“Enjoy the show, my dear!”

As she entered the thankfully open entrance, she glanced around the area to see what all was there. True to what she’d assumed, there were game stands with prizes and food stalls. Unlike any other circus, however, there was a more macabre vibe to the decorations and music that sent goosebumps down her arms. She could hear screams of delight and fear alike as people were startled by costumed performers, none of them resembling Pierrot or Harlequin. Signs pointed guests towards haunted mazes, where shrieks and haunting laughter could be heard.

FWOOSH!!!

“Eek!” she squeaked as a stream of fire erupted nearby, her eyes wide as she stared up at the performer while other guests nearby screamed and laughed. How was she barely twenty feet from the entrance and already she was getting jumpscared?? ‘Then again, this is a horror circus, so it makes sense to not anticipate when they jump out like that…’

Passing by one of the game stalls, she paused and gasped in delight at the sight of a large stuffed animal hanging from one of the hooks above. It looked like a quilled lion with small black horns, its fur red and black while its eyes were gold-orange buttons. It was oddly adorable for a macabre place, but at the same time she couldn’t help but want to squeeze it tight.

‘No, no…control yourself,’ she thought, thinking about all the other plush toys she had in her room and how these games tend to be rigged. ‘…no matter how much you want it, you don’t exactly have the skill to win something that big and adorable…especially at darts.’

“Dude, this place is so creepy!” someone said nearby. “How did they make the costumes look so realistic?”

“I dunno, man. Let’s check out the food stalls! Bet there’s some good grub we can get over there.”

“Seriously dude, didn’t you see the news? We gotta be careful. Some of these food stalls aren’t part of the carnival and were shut down. We might get food poisoning or something worse!”

‘Really? Huh…well, guess you have opportunistic jerks no matter where you go,’ she thought, looking around at the different stalls and the signs listing show times. Did she have time to play any games before Pierrot’s show? ‘Looks like it,’ she thought, glancing at her watch and realizing that the purple tent had just finished performing earlier. ‘Do I want to play a game until it starts?’ She felt her stomach grumble, frowning when she remembered she’d forgotten her lunch. Yet the thought of eating right now made her feel nauseous, the eerie atmosphere setting her nerves on edge. ‘…maybe I’ll grab something later. There’s a lot going on. Which means…’

Only one other show was about to start, and she mentally sighed as she made her way to the green tent.

By now most of the people had already filtered into the tent, the ticket taker—who suspiciously looked similar to the one at the entrance—gesturing for her to follow him inside. He led her to a row of empty seats near the front, where she could clearly see all around the stage. The lights dimmed just as she sat down, slipping off her coat in the warm space as a familiar green, black, and gold figure appeared in the center.

“Good evening, my dear monsters,” he said, his voice carrying through the tent as he made a grand, sweeping bow. “Thank you all for coming. Please, enjoy the show!”

People clapped and cheered as the lights flicked off, appearing further away where she could clearly see a large stage. How she’d missed that she hadn’t a clue, the art on the background a simple forest. Harlequin stood at the top, and with a wave of his hands several large shadowy cutouts were dropped from the top of the stage. Even without her glasses she could make out faint details, the monstrous shapes unique with the only sign of color being their eyes.

“Long ago, far from where God’s eyes cannot reach, lived the monsters,” Harlequin began, his low, eerie voice silencing the crowd as music began to play. “Lost. Forgotten. Silent. Hungry…” A new cutout—this one blue wearing a distinctly white smiling mask—walked in from off stage, his hand out to the creatures in a kind gesture. From above, a white tent descended, covering the monsters as though to shield them from a storm. “Until one day, a man appeared. He raised a tent upon the dead earth and struck a deal with the monsters: Work for me, you hideous little creatures, and I shall feed you as much as you desire.

“How wonderful, thought the monsters. And so they obeyed, the man bringing large crowds to the tent for the monsters to perform for.” The speakers played circus music, the cutouts moving and dancing across the stage as the sound of people laughing and cheering mixed with the soundtrack.  And every night, the man would feed them as promised. But soon the man would bring more men. More, and more, and more…”

The scene changed, the monsters surrounded by smiling and laughing masks from a mass of shadows. The scene was cruel, her heart aching at the sight and echoes of cruel, warped laughter playing from the speakers.

“They laughed at the monsters,” he said, his voice a low hiss that still carried across the crowd and sent chills down her spine. “They applauded their pain, mocked their shame for being no better than obedient dogs. And yet, it seemed not enough for the man. The man wanted more—always more than what the monsters could give. What if I charged others to watch? he mused, seeing how the crowd loved it so. He decided he would feed them less. This way they’ll be weak. Harmless even. He laughed, leaving the monsters in the darkness to rot in their cages.”

This time the man and the crowd were gone, the music fading away to drops of water to signify the squalid condition of the monster’s ‘home’. Even the backdrop had changed to one almost completely black, yet somehow the cutouts stood out clear as day.

“And then the monsters had a thought: What if we became human? one suggested. We could eat as much as we want, another said. No one would hurt us ever again, another said. Such a dream they had, imagining the day they might be free. And on a moonless night, when the sky seemed dead…” The pink-eyed monster moved to the center, spinning around before stopping, soft, gentle music playing now. This time, however, a pair of wings appeared on their back, though they seemed…stitched on. “The monsters realized there was an angel among them!”

‘The monsters realized a sacrifice would be necessary,’ came a stray thought, Lauren blinking and shaking her head when the scene changed from one of calm serenity to the pink-eyed puppet covered in blood, surrounded by all but one of their companions. In an instant the image was gone, leaving her wondering if she’d imagined it. Yet that voice…it didn’t sound like her own thought.

“I can feed you, the angel said. I give you my strength, so you may grow strong enough to become human. To build a home for us.”

‘Please no!’

‘We have no choice…’

‘She is the weakest of us.’

‘You will give us the strength to go on.’

Why…was she hearing something different? Why were the sounds—the thoughts in her mind—warping?

‘PLEASE, HELP ME!’ A flash appeared in her mind, flicking between a crying woman and a bloody corpse surrounded in blood. ‘I DON’T WANT TO DIE!’

A quiet gasp escaped, heart hammering in her chest as she gripped her shirt and looked around. A few people glanced her way, shooting her disapproving glares before turning their attention back to the show. What was that? This…wasn’t part of the show, was it? A sense of dread and unease gripped her chest, yet she couldn’t bring herself to question any further as he continued to speak.

“And then,” Harlequin continued, the pink-eyed monster rising up to the stage rafters with him while the remaining monsters appeared to be crying, “as if she had never existed, she vanished with the wind. Our little miracle…”

‘Our little sacrifice.’

The music changed again as the paper man soon arrived, standing in the middle of the monsters. “The next morning, the man returned to laugh…but the monsters’ eyes had changed.” The paper man quaked in place, as though terrified at the sight of the monsters he once cruelly mocked. The music began to grow darker, eerier and creepier. As though a beast were lurking closer and closer, making her heart race in her chest. “They were free…and they were hungry.”

The lights cut out, several people screaming in panic.

“And that’s the story of how the monsters became human!” The lights faded back in, revealing the monsters looming over a bloody mask where the man had once stood. Yet now the monsters too looked different, still retaining their shapes yet wearing similar smiling masks as the man. “Oh, what happens next, you may be asking? Fret not, my little monsters~! After they gained their newfound freedom, the new humans took their home and began to travel together, searching for a place to build it again and live happily…just as the angel wished.”

When the lights turned on for the whole tent, the crowd began to cheer. Unnerved by the strange experience during the story, Lauren clapped along while trying to see if anyone else had heard the same things she had and found none. Had she simply imagined it all?

“Thank you! Thank you, my little monsters! Be sure to return next time for another story~!”

‘Finally,’ she thought, wanting to get out of the tent as soon as she could and get some fresh air.

Despite being in the front row, however, she was forced to wait as people kept pushing through. She tightened her grip on her jacket as she finally found an opening, keeping her head low as she followed in the back…when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

“Ah, there you are!” Harlequin said, chuckling as she jumped and whirled around to face him. “My apologies for the fright, madam. I was simply so glad to see you come to my show! I was hoping you’d be watching.”

“Oh, uh…yeah! That story was…definitely not like anything I’d heard before,” she admitted, not wanting to bring up the strange phantom voice/images that had plagued her during the show. “A little bit gruesome, but considering what the man did to the monsters? I think he got what he deserved.”

There was a strange glint in his eyes for the briefest moment before it vanished, replaced with a casual smile as he said, “Yeah, it’s a pretty old story from the circus. It’s a tradition to tell it on certain nights.”

“A moonless night, right? Like in the story?”

“Indeed…oh!” He leaned in closer, green eyes glinting with something she didn’t recognize as he said, “I see you’re wearing my gift! That makes me so excited!”

Gift? What was he…

‘Crap! Work was so busy I forgot to take the pin off,’ she thought, glancing down at the pin before looking at him. He was leaning in much closer than before, and it became clear to her that they were the only two left in the tent.

“It looks good on you,” he whispered, his low voice sending shivers down her spine. “Almost too…intimate. Did you like it? Or are you trying to tease me?”

Her mind blanked, feeling goosebumps crawl all over her body as she struggled to find the words.

The smile on his face grew sharper, taking an almost predatory look as he hummed softly. “I love that,” he said, voice lower than ever as he stepped closer and closer. Each step forced her to take one back, trying to keep her distance as he loomed over her like a green shadow. “I love seeing my green mark so close to your skin…like a quiet, forbidden kiss.”

‘He’s way too close. I need to-’

Cold cloth met her back as she dropped her jacket in surprise, realizing too late that she’d been backed against the tent’s wall far away from the exit. Before she could react, she gasped as he braced his arms on either side of her, barring her escape and leaning so close she could smell something…coppery on his breath.

“Running away, are we?” he teased, clearly enjoying this game of his. “Scared? Or…” He leaned in close to her ear, whispering in a deep, sultry voice, “perhaps…secretly enjoying it?”

Lauren’s heart hammered in her chest as his words sent more shivers down her spine, hating the fact that her face was burning. That, however, seemed to encourage him, the grin on his face growing wider.

“No need to say a word,” he uttered, claw trailing over her arm and shoulder before using the tip to tilt her chin to face him. “I can read you. Your silent screams…your unspoken desires…” Chuckling, he shook his head and said, “Red doesn’t suit you, darling. That intoxicating green…fits you better.”

‘What is he talking about? Why…why the hell can’t I think straight?!’ she thought, mind swirling like frantic birds as she tried to understand why she was feeling so weak to his voice and that look. She should not be feeling any of this in the first place! This—this has never happened to her before—no one has ever flirted with her to such a degree.

His smile grew smug, as though satisfied in the state of chaos he’d left her heart and mind in before finally stepping away, his strong perfume fading as she shook her head. “I want to give you another gift,” he said, reaching under his cape and presenting a bright red apple on a stick. “What do you say?”

“A…candy apple?”

“Yes. We call it a ‘Love Apple’, or ‘Maçã do amor’. But don’t get the wrong idea—it’s still just an apple.”

“…well…” She’d never had one before, and while she didn’t know what to think about him anymore…it’s not like he’d actually hurt her or anything. Just some…a lot…of flirtatious teasing.

Just as she reached for the stick, a flash of silver shot through the air before striking the apple. Harlequin’s face contorted to one of nervous annoyance, his eyes darting to the side. Following his gaze, she caught sight of a shadowy figure wielding knives standing near the tent flap before vanishing.

“What the hell was that?!” she sputtered as he straightened up, looking between him and where the shadow had been.

“Hah…always so dramatic,” he muttered under his breath, her ears barely catching the words before he shrugged and said, “I guess someone around here really hates apples.”

“…does…this kind of thing happen often around here?” she asked, trying to look at the knife.

Immediately he yanked it out and tossed the apple aside, giving a playful bow as she glimpsed him sliding it under his cape. “No need to worry, madam,” he said reassuringly, sweeping up her fallen jacket and holding it open for her. “I’m sure it was just a little joke. Looks like I’ll have to wait to give you a new one then.”

“…right,” she uttered, still shaken as she reluctantly slipped her arms through and shrugged the coat on.

She squeaked when he gripped her shoulders, his breath hot against her ear as he hissed, “Come visit again after his show…and I’ll show you the exclusive parts of the circus.”

Face burning and heart hammering, she quickly pulled away and turned, a nervous smile on her face as she said, “I-I should get going then! Lots to see, lots to do, you know how it is, right? Gotta go, bye!”

“Have fun, madam,” he called out after her as she all but ran out of the tent.

Never had she felt relieved to be surrounded by people, grateful for the cold night air chilling her heated face. “That…was a little too intense,” she uttered, focusing on her breathing to calm her heart.

First Pierrot set her heart aflutter yesterday, now Harlequin? What was going on? She’d rarely gotten this much flirtatious attention from her first boyfriend in college, now she had circus clowns flirting with her?!

‘This is crazy,’ she thought, shivering as she looked around the grounds as she mulled over his words. They were effectively strangers, yet he locked on to her as though she were some prize to win. ‘He said he’d take me from him…and he mentioned the color red just now. So why……’

She froze mid-step, staring at the red tent up ahead. He only seemed invested in her right after hearing about her having a red ticket, kept trying to trade it with his own. Tickets that she hadn’t seen or heard anyone else attending the circus having. The ticket taker had said they meant she had front row seats and could meet with the cast. But…if that were the case, why would it matter which one she used unless…unless…

‘……wait…was he saying……’ she thought, a sense of dawning realization hitting her.‘Pierrot…likes me???’

The more she thought about it, the more things started to click. Him bringing her gifts, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to snatch Harlequin’s ticket away, and offering her something that no one else seemed to have? As strange as it was in her mind for someone to like her so quickly when they’d only met just yesterday, she didn’t have any other explanation.

‘…I think I need to talk to him about this,’ she thought, glancing at her watch and noticing that the next show was going to start soon. As she made her way to the tent, part of her hoped it was just a big misunderstanding and he was simply repaying her kindness.

Just like before, the staff member led her to a seat in the front row. The crowd was abuzz with activity as she sat, many whispering and chatting with one another in anticipation. She kept her jacket in her lap, looking around for any sign of Pierrot just as the lights dimmed.

A spotlight appeared, sweeping across the ground before rising up into the air, haunting circus music playing on the speakers. Looking up, her eyes grew wide as she saw Pierrot standing on a platform high above the crowd. Arms stretched above his head, the audience gasped in shock and terror as he launched himself forward, the music rising in tempo as he caught a bar hanging from near-invisible wires. She felt her heart skip a beat as he swung through the air, flipping and spinning high above the ring. Mid-swing towards the center, he let go—a cry of panic escaping her as she and the audience watched in horror as he spun in the air to a crescendo of drums.

And yet, he somehow landed in the center with barely a sound, rising up with arms outstretched and a grin on his face. The audience erupted into applause, the tent filled with noise as he bowed. ‘Oh my gosh, that was terrifying,’ she thought, smiling in relief as she clapped along.

The music changed, an eerie orchestra erupting as he shifted into a more menacing pose. His smile—the one she’d grown so familiar with—had changed, looking sharper and more sinister than she’d ever imagined. He began to dance, unable to tear her eyes away from the hypnotic movements in the dim lighting. With each step it looked as though his shadow was dancing with him, strangely moving in the opposite direction of his body with each twist and turn. He looked nothing like the man she knew, as though the stage had transformed him into some otherworldly figure.

Lights flicked and pulsed like a heartbeat, and on the second pulse a tall wooden board appeared in the center. A woman wearing a mask and dressed in a pink dress was tied to the frame, Pierrot gesturing to her with both arms. She knew how tall he was compared to her, but to see him standing next to the woman, it became all too clear that he was massive.

A glint caught her eye as something sharp appeared in his hands, a wickedly gleeful smile on his face as she realized they were knives. The woman’s movements were sluggish, looking like she was trying to lift herself up while Pierrot sprang away to the other side of the ring and aimed.

Thunk!

Thunk!

One by one the knives began to appear on the board, flashing through the air faster than she could blink as they narrowly avoided hitting the assistant.

“Hit her!” someone in the crowd called out.

“Aim lower!”

“No, aim higher!” someone near her shouted, making her frown as others voiced their agreements.

‘It’s okay…it’s all just an act,’ she thought, unable to bring herself to look away. ‘Just an act and some really crazy people here…’

Thunk!

‘Those knives are getting closer…he might-’

Shink!

Her hands shot up to cover her mouth, her heart sinking as the woman’s head—knife jutting from her forehead—slumped forward. As though it were in slow motion, half of the mask cracked, slipping away to reveal the woman’s face…

And the blood trailing from the knife.

Yet instead of screams of terror, the crowd erupted into cheers as they stood. Her eyes darted around, horrified at the fact that no one seemed the least bit concerned. This wasn’t real…this couldn’t be real. It was all just an act! It had to be an act! There was no way that there was actual…blood…that the woman hadn’t…slumped like a…a…

Corpse.

‘I need to get out,’ she thought, feeling her lungs struggle to gasp for air. Somehow, she’d managed to slip through the audience, fighting the panic gripping her chest as she stumbled out of one of the exits as she stumbled over to a bench. ‘Air…I need air!’

The smell of food made her feel nauseous, her stomach doing flips as she became aware of the night chill without her jacket.

“Just a show…it’s just a horror show,” she whispered, not sure if she was shaking from the cold or from nerves. “You’re overthinking things. They keep the lights low for a reason—to scare you. Make you feel that rush…there’s nothing to be scared of. Nothing at a-”

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, a startled screech escaping as she whirled around.

Pierrot stood there, his expression looking just as panicked as hers as he held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Oh jeez, it’s just you,” she said, a wave of relief crashing over her as she braced herself on the bench’s arm. He smiled, looking just like he had this morning instead of the terrifying performer a few minutes ago. “Jeez louise, how are you so damn quiet wearing all those bells?”

He made a giggling motion, winking at her—before his expression turned menacing.

“P…Pierrot? What are you…?” she stammered, feeling her blood run cold as he leaned in close with a blank expression. He raised his hand, hesitating for a moment before he touched the tip of his claw to the pin on her collar. He looked…furious, but not at her. “Oh…that…your um…friend…Harlequin? He…gave it to me shortly after you left the café.”

She could feel his hand tighten around her collar, feeling the heat radiating from him as he leaned in closer than ever.

“…Pierrot?” He didn’t respond. Then…he smiled, looking cheerful once more as she heard his claw click against something metal. Looking down, Lauren spotted a new gold star pin sitting just above the green heart. “Oh…thank you?” Wrapping her arms around her, she shivered as the full weight of the cold air began to seep in. “Jeez it’s cold…I think I dropped my jacket in there.”

With a tilt of his head, he stepped back and held out his hands. He waved them around, pretending to open his sleeves as though performing a magic trick before flicking his hands—and holding her violet jacket between his fingers.

“My jacket! You found it!” she said, gratefully sliding her arms through it as he helped her shrug it on again. Sighing in content, she smiled up at him and said, “Thank you. But…how’d you even know this was mine in the first place?”

He made the ‘shh’ gesture—just as he always did when he didn’t want to reveal his secrets. Then, he leaned in and whispered, “Did you like my show?”

Remembering what had happened, she gave a nervous smile and said, “Uh, y…yeah, it was…kinda terrifying if I’m being honest. Between the acrobatics, the dancing—which was really cool by the way—and the knife throwing? It was…intense! And the part with the assistant…it looked so real.” Flashes of the woman’s blood-covered face flickered through her mind as she shivered, tucking her face into her coat collar. “How’d you manage to do that? Make it look like she’d…died?”

Once more he made the same gesture, another secret he wasn’t willing to share. Then, he whispered, “Why don’t you stay a little longer? I could show you the rest of the circus.”

“…actually, I’d better head home. It’s getting late, and I’d rather not be wandering the streets this late at night.”

There was a subtle shift in his expression, a look that seemed all too eager. “Shall I escort you, my lady? If you’re frightened, I can ensure you reach safety.”

“That’s okay, I appreciate it! I wouldn’t want to bother you while you’re still working.”

“Then may I see you again tomorrow?”

((Route 1: Accept))

She hesitated, looking at his golden eyes that seemed to burrow deep into her soul. She wanted to say no—to listen to the voice in the back of her mind screaming at her to run away as far as she can and never look back. Yet the hopeful, almost pleading tone in his voice…

“I…think I can work with that,” she relented, offering a small yet tired smile. “It’d be nice to see you again.”

As though she’d just said the magic words, his eyes grew so wide and bright that they looked like mini suns. She yelped when he grabbed her hands, threading their fingers together as he swung her around in a playful dance. It was so unexpected and goofy that she couldn’t help the snort and laughter that escaped. “I look forward to it, my lady,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

Giggling, she said, “Sounds good. See you tomorrow morning maybe?”

“Of course!” he said. Then, as though remembering something, he made a ‘wait’ gesture and hurried over to a nearby stand. When he returned, his arms were holding something large behind his back. “I have but one more gift for you—a little something to end the night perfectly, my lady.”

“What is it?” she asked. When he pulled it out, a sharp gasp escaped. “It’s the plushie from the dart game!”

“Indeed, it is!” he said, beaming with pride as he pressed the red and black monster plush into her arms. It was the size of her torso, its fur softer than anything she’d imagined and body firm yet huggable as she squeezed it with all her might. “Since it was your first time at the circus, I wanted you to have a little something to…remember it by.”

“He’s adorable! I love him!” she said, nuzzling her face against the monster’s cheek. Setting it on the bench for a moment, she reached up to give Pierrot a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She could feel him tense for a brief moment before returning the hug. “I’m so glad you’re happy with my gifts.” Just as she pulled away, he held her hands and leaned down, her face growing warm as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Until tomorrow, Lauren,” he said, forehead pressed against her own, “my dearest lady.”

/------------/

By the time she finally managed to make it home, Lauren all but slumped against her door in exhaustion. “Well…guess I got an answer to the question I forgot to ask him,” she uttered, the plush toy dangling from her arms. What would she have said if he had answered her? Would he have accepted if she hadn’t returned his feelings?

It was hard to say for sure as her feet dragged across the floor, barely mustering the energy to make herself a slice of peanut butter bread to quell her empty stomach. She could barely see straight now, stumbling to bed after changing and curling up around her new plush companion.

“Guess I’ll have more time to think about it tomorrow,” she uttered, staring into the toy’s button eyes. The covers were barely over her feet, though sleep weighed down on her limbs to even pull them up as her eyes slowly fluttered shut in the darkness. With a tired sigh, she finally drifted off to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The room was silent and still, her breathing slow and steady. A faint thunk hit the sliding glass door, a hand print trailing down before the tall figure leaned in. The lock—broken since yesterday—easily gave way as the intruder slowly slid the door open, the security bar leaning against the wall hidden by the curtain. Golden eyes fell on her slumbering form, a grin spreading slowly across his face.

“We can take it slow then, my lady,” he whispered softly, voice warm and tender as he silently approached. He raised her arm off of the plush toy, letting it fall to the floor as he carefully slid into its place. She shivered from the cold, unconsciously huddling closer to his warm body until he pulled the covers over them. Her trembling eased, her head tucked under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her small frame. “I can be patient…I can smile at you and pretend I’m not burning inside.”

Without the music she’d played last night, he could clearly hear her soft breaths. The quiet snores so soft and adorable he’d almost missed it the first time. Her hand clutched at his tulle, his heart pounding in his chest as he carefully rubbed circles into the small of her back.

“I can pretend…I’m not imagining you breathless,” he uttered, eyes narrowing into slits, “trembling beneath my touch…just look at what you’re doing to me…this love…it’s growing. Twisting. Taking shapes that might scare you if I showed you now.”

Her face contorted into one of discomfort, a soft whimper escaping as she trembled in his arms. A bad dream, perhaps? Oh no, this wouldn’t do. He couldn’t have her waking up so soon.

Raising his hand to her head, he gently raked the tips of his claws over her scalp, combing her thick straight hair that had waves from the bun she’d kept it in. Slowly but surely the whimpers ceased, her expression growing calm and peaceful now.

“But that’s alright,” he uttered in a sweet voice, a slight edge in his voice as he continued the motion. “I can keep it hidden…for now.”

They lay there in silence, his golden eyes watching over her like the silent protector he swore he’d become for her. He would always step in to protect her—whether it was from Harlequin or from awful people like the woman at the café. Anyone who would dare take away even a fraction of her smile for a second…

“…that sweet demeanor,” he whispered. “That gaze that teases me without even knowing it…as if you weren’t aware that you were poisoning me with love in every gesture. But that’s all right, my lady…because when I have you, it won’t be gentle. I want it to be…but I know it won’t. I’ll leave my mark on you…from the inside out. Until your body knows my name better than it knows your own.” His eyes grew wider, an almost wild, manic intensity to them. “Until your skin burns at the touch of anyone who isn’t me. You’ll cry, tremble, beg…but not from pain…” He paused for a moment, a hint of playfulness in his tone as he uttered, “Well…unless that’s what you want~!”

His arms tightened around her body, all but trapping her against his own yet not constricting her movements.

“I’ll always be here for you—hungry—yet gentle. That’s how you like it, isn’t it? But if it’s not…I can change. I can move to your rhythm, in whatever way you desire. In whatever way makes you mine. I can remake myself for you. Shape myself to fit the image you hold of me. Do you want me gentle? Affectionate? Shy? Or perhaps…bold? Do you want a hunter, chasing you with relentless passion? Do you want me rough? It’s alright. I’ll learn what takes your breath away. I’ll learn the intensity that makes your soul—and your body—tremble for me. Because I love you, my dear lady.”

Just as he had earlier, he pressed a gentle, tender kiss to her forehead.

“And for you…I can be everything.”

((Route 2: Rejection)) (WARNING: Non-Consensual Drugging and Kidnapping in this scene!)

She hesitated, thinking back to everything that’s happened so far and realizing…she didn’t feel safe. Everything that she’d seen in the circus so far, how terrifyingly real everything felt…none of it felt safe. None of it felt right. If she didn’t stop this right now…

“I…think it’s better if I don’t.”

Pierrot’s face fell, his eyes growing wide and smile gone as he straightened up. “B…but…why?” he stammered, voice wavering. “Did I do something wrong, my lady?”

“I’m just…not so sure about all this,” she told him, barely managing to stop herself from taking a step back o seeing the terrifying face on his mask. “I’m just a little overwhelmed right now…t-too much happening all at once.”

He was silent, his eyes pinpricks of gold as he stared at her with such intensity, she couldn’t stop the sense of unease gripping her chest.

Finally, she took a step back, wanting to get out of there as soon as she could. “Sorry, Pierrot…but I can’t stay. Have a good night…”

“Wait!” he started, a nervous smile on his face as he held his hands out. “S-since I won’t get to see you tomorrow…may I give you one last gift?”

“I really shouldn’t-”

“You must be starving!” he interrupted, clasping his hands together with a nervous yet desperate look in his eyes. “You haven’t eaten anything all day, have you, my lady?”

‘How did he-?’ she thought, but at the mention of food her stomach gave a loud growl of betrayal. Dammit…why didn’t she eat anything before leaving the café when she forgot her lunch? “…I guess,” she finally admitted aloud. “But I’ve got food back home.”

“But it’s certainly a ways away! It’ll be too late by the time you get home to make anything, won’t it?” he said, holding his hands up in a ‘wait’ gesture. Whether it was curiosity or politeness, she waited, watching him rush over to one of the nearby stalls. He returned with a slice of cake on a plate, holding it out as though it were a fragile piece of glass. “I made this earlier, just for you. Please…try it and tell me if you like it.”

The cake was pink, a mix of red jelly and white icing layered on it with a smiling heart peering up at her. “You…made this for me?” she repeated.

He nodded, smiling as he said, “For the milkshake. It was the best I’d tasted…so I wished to make you a delicious treat in return.”

Part of her knew she should turn him down, but the other part…the other part felt guilty seeing the dismay on his face. Outside of the circus performances, he had been polite to her…had been sweet. She hadn’t felt unsafe around him before tonight, and he wouldn’t do something that would compromise the circus…would he?

“I…guess a bite wouldn’t hurt,” she finally said, accepting the offering and sitting on the bench. There was a brief flash of relief on his mask before Pierrot smiled, sitting next to her but keeping just enough distance to not make her uncomfortable. ‘Huh…he used strawberry cake mix. I love strawberry,’ she thought, taking a bite of the rich, sweet cake. Before she knew it, she’d taken another bite. And another.

Her hunger got the better of her, a slight hum escaping as she started feeling satisfied. A quick glance up at Pierrot though, and she noticed him watching her closely, strangely calm compared to earlier. Did he really just want to give her a sweet treat? It seemed too…convenient. Though she couldn’t place why.

Once she’d finished every last bite, she accepted the napkin he offered her and smiled. “Thank you. That was delicious, Pierrot,” she said. “I…”

……something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked, though his voice sounded off as it took a second for her to realize he’d leaned in uncomfortably close. “Are you thirsty?”

“Y…yes. No…? I…” Why was it getting so hard to think? Why…was her vision swimming? Why was there a pink…fuzziness? “Something’s wrong…I don’t feel so…”

The plate slipped from her hand as her world tipped sideways, feeling someone’s arms catch her before she could fall far. Her body felt weightless, her mind faintly registering the sway of movement and the sensation of something warm and soft pressing against the side of her head.

“T-that was close…”

Pierrot…?

“I almost…almost lost you, my lady.” His voice was nervous, almost terrified. “I saw it in your eyes…you were going to leave me…weren’t you?” He took a deep, shuddering breath, the sensation sending vibrations through her head. “For a second…I thought I’d have to…”

Through the pink haze in her mind she tried to cling to his voice, fighting to remain conscious as she forced her eyes to open. Pierrot’s face was overhead, his mask devoid of anything as he stared at an unseen goal ahead.

“N-no…it’s all right now,” he uttered, though whether to himself or to her she couldn’t tell. “Everything’s fine. You just needed…to stop fighting me. M-maybe this was all a little game of pretend? Maybe you wanted me to chase you?”

Pretend? Chase?

His voice softened now, sounding uncertain as he uttered, “Or…maybe I moved too fast. You said you were overwhelmed…too much happened too soon. I should’ve been more patient…more gentle. I…I scared you, didn’t I?”

It was getting harder and harder for her to keep her eyes open, her eyes closing for a brief second before she forced them open. What greeted her next was his eye looking down at her, a wicked sharp-toothed grin stretching unnaturally wide across his face.

“No matter then. I’ll take good care of you. I promise,” he said, his voice low. “Even if you try to run again…even if you look at me like that again…I’ll gently remind you that you need me. With kindness, patience…” The grin seemed to grow even wider than ever, sharp teeth gleaming in the darkness around them as he whispered, “or with another dose.”

She knew she should be terrified, should be fighting tooth and nail to get away from him. Yet her body refused to cooperate, her arms and legs dangling uselessly. A faint sound reached her ears, only to realize it was her own voice whimpering.

“Shhhh…it’ll be all right, my lady,” he said, turning to face her with wide, almost manic eyes as he pulled her closer to him. “Because I love you.” She wanted to recoil the moment he leaned his head in to touch their foreheads together, but her body refused to move. “My sweet angel…” Then, in a voice that sounded inhuman, he said, “Don’t make me devour you too.”

‘No…l…let me…go…’ Her thoughts were sluggish as her eyes finally closed, barely clinging to the last bits of consciousness as she felt him lay her on a soft surface. The last thing she heard was the clinking of metal pieces and a loud click…and she knew no more.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Could I request a sweet reader who was originally kidnapped/hypnotized by Poison Ivy to be a test subject for the effects of her specialized lipstick, but now willingly lives with Harley and Ivy as their Alfred and gets paid by getting bunches of lipstick kisses from them on a daily basis?

Most may assume reader is a perv or a mindless thrall of Ivy, but they've just found happiness in being a housekeeper and the kisses of pretty women.

"Venus Fly Trap" Poison Ivy x Harley Queen x Reader

Okay, I can see this in my minds eye.

TW: Hypnotism and thrall, non-consensual kissing, human experimentation

It was so simple to capture them under her gaze. They'd been polite, listless, giving far too much information that indicated people would have a harder time finding them if they went missing. If they'd been someone awful, Pamela would have had a very different fate for them in mind. No, instead she pumped up the charm (read: pheromones) and kissed them first on the cheek- then on the lips and asked them to walk her home.

Harley had mixed feelings at the time. It felt wrong to keep this person underneath a drug-like haze just to clean the apartment! Pamela had to remind her it was also in the interest of science. She couldn't keep testing her lipsticks on Harley because if there's an adverse effect? Harley points out that this does nothing to argue the morality of the situation.

There was a certain cruelty in it at first. Seeing the fluttering of their eyelids when they were dosed- the weak way their hands came up to her arms as if to register what was happening as she kissed them. Her callous little whispers that there was nothing they could do to escape her. Smiling as her subject agreed even as their face displayed distress.

And one day something changed. From the outside, no one was sure what. The glazed over look in the person's eyes had faded. They laughed. They didn't speak in the stuttered monotone of a script. They seemed... comfortable and at ease. It would seem at some point the induced state was no longer needed for the subject to remain in their position. The first assumption was it turned into a kink scenario over time. Perhaps the lipstick had been perfected. Maybe Stockholm's.

Batman had to get involved. No one could blame him for the misunderstanding, really. Not with the way things had began. So when he'd broken in while the two villainous were out- He was surprised to find the supposed victim watching TV while pouring over paperwork. They had a home-made face mask on that Ivy created herself (no hypnotism involved!).

A conversation had occurred in a moment of lucidity. The lipstick was working but... perhaps it would be okay if they didn't need that to stick around? Harley begged in that sad puppy dog way. Pamela hesitantly agreed on conditions- mostly surrounding loyalty. True affection bloomed over time.

A brief test for Poison Ivy toxins and a signed document declaring that they were in fact here of their own free will... Batman told them he would be watching and gave a warning not to get involved in their criminal activities. As far as he could tell, the former test subject had been completely in sound mind and they recognized that, while the original situation was... very illegal, it was water under the bridge.

He gave them his card in case.

Harleen gave a sad smile at it. It was good the bat was lookin' out. Just in case. It was good someone was concerned about you, sugarpop. Shows even more people care! Say... Why doesn't she show you right now how much she cares...?

Poison Ivy comes back to giggling and her endearing partners cuddling in bed. The former test subject was almost dizzy and covered in red and black lipstick marks. She scoffed- the point of the mask had been for cleansing pores and now they were going to be caked in makeup. Good job, Harley.

"Aw, be quiet and get in here!" is all Harley can say before Pamela sheds her outerwear to slink comfortably beside the subject. Her hand in their hair as she adds to the lipstick marks. She doesn't know why yet, but she recognizes when her darling little "thrall" deserves their payment.

She reminds them that she cares for them. She truly does.

[howdyjourney]

down bad 🥀 | chapter 2

who: dark!Billy the Kid x Original Female Character

rating: E

genre: western gothic longfic (dark!AU)

word count: 9, 507

preacher’s daughter | kidnapped by William H. Bonney | meant to be handed over to Jesse Evans like a prize | but billy touches her once | then again | then he won’t give her back

previous chapter | next chapter

Please Read Before Proceeding

This story contains dark and potentially disturbing content, including but not limited to: non-consensual sexual acts (rape), violent sex, kidnapping, emotional and physical abuse, coercion, and various explicit kinks. It is firmly in the realm of fictional, dead dove: do not eat storytelling.

If any of these themes are triggering, upsetting, or not something you wish to engage with, please take care of yourself and do not cotinue reading. Your well-being matters more than any piece of fiction.

This work does not romanticize or condone abusive behavior in real life. It is an exploration of dark themes through a fictional lens, created for adult audiences who understand the difference between fantasy and reality. If you're here for the ride, you know what that means.

Consume media responsibly. Check in with yourself, know your limits, and remember that fiction can safely explore what real life must never allow.

You have been warned. | Read at your own discretion.

this chapter: blood (kink, play, all in between) • non-con kissing • biting • dry humping • physical abuse • restraint • hurt/no comfort • grinding • power imbalance • humiliation kink

The room had the look of a place left too long in heat and silence. Walls once papered in yellow roses had faded to the color of spoiled butter, the pattern curled at the corners and peeling in long strips like dead bark. The wood beneath it sweated pitch in the worst of the summer months and stank faintly of rot, no matter how often the windows were opened. The floorboards underfoot were warped, bowed in the middle where years of boots had passed over them, each step wearing the grain smoother than the last.

Light slanted in from the open doorway, hard and unflinching. It cut a straight path across the room, illuminating the dust that hung in the air like ash after a fire. Through the crooked window, the dry yard buzzed with flies, the fence posts leaning inward. The wind blew hot through the screen door, and every few minutes it banged back against the frame with a sharp clap, as if demanding attention it hadn’t earned.

The girl sat just to the left of that doorframe, her back was pressed to a support beam that split the room in two. Her wrists were tied behind her, bound to the beam with a length of coarse rope that had been knotted fast but without urgency—defeated. There was enough slack for her to shift, but not enough to run. One ankle—her right—was mottled with bruise, purple and yellow bleeding together beneath the skin, the result of her last failed attempt to kick free and bolt. The rope had caught her before the door did. Or Jesse.

Her dress hung crooked on her frame, dried in places where sweat and blood had stiffened the fabric. The neckline sagged unevenly, a torn strap barely holding to one shoulder. Straw clung to her hem and thighs, some caught in the weave, some ground into the skin. Her hair was a mat of dried salt and blood, twisted into snarls by fingers not her own, the weight of it dragging down her neck and sticking to the sides of her face. A streak of filth ran from her temple to her jaw, the shape of it smeared like a thumbprint wiped across a page.

She promised herself not to speak or look at either man yet, but her eyes were open and alert, watching the dust float through the light with the flat, fixed focus of a horse that had been worked near to death but still felt the pull of the bit.

The room creaked faintly underfoot, not from her, but from the slow pacing of boots nearby. Heavy tread.

Too measured. One of them—probably Jesse—walking the boards like he was tracing the outline of a fire he meant to start. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was constant, and it filled the space between the door slamming and the flies buzzing and the slow breath she forced through her nose. She didn’t want to admit how much it terrified her, how each of his steps reminded her of the torment from the night before; the unwanted love bites down her collarbone, the whiskey-tainted breath in her throat, the sinful prodding at her tender parts, and the pain—sandpaper-like, scratching, tearing, bleeding, filled. Final.

The tension in the room was like dry timber stacked beneath a hanging lantern. Everything waiting and painfully ready. All it needed now was a word, a spark or simply morning glory. That was what happened to men naturally, wasn’t it?

Jesse’s boots moved slow across the boards, back and forth like he was dragging a rut through the room on purpose. The sound of his pacing had gone from idle to deliberate, each step louder than the last, a rhythm building toward no tune at all. His shirt hung loose around his shoulders, soaked through at the collar with last night’s sweat. His hair was matted at the crown from where he’d slept on it wrong, and he kept scratching the back of his neck like there was a splinter stuck under his skin he couldn’t dig out.

There was a bottle in his hand, glass gone warm from being held too long. He swirled what little was left inside, sniffed it like he might get lucky and find more than a swallow, then drained it in one long, loud gulp. After that he stared at the bottle for a second—maybe deciding whether it was worth keeping—then flung it sidearm across the room.

It shattered against the far wall, sharp and sudden, glass bouncing off the wood like teeth from a split jaw. The girl didn’t startle, and Billy—standing by the window—didn’t move. The only thing that jumped was the screen door, slapping once in protest against the wind.

Jesse wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kept pacing. His words came muttered and mean, tossed into the air without shape, meant more to fill the space than to make sense.

“Real quiet now, ain’t she?”

“Got a mouth like a preacher’s whore and less to show for it.”

“Should’ve cut that tongue out first thing. Don’t need it to take what matters.”

He circled behind her, not quite close, not quite far, and leaned in like he was smelling her just to remind her he could. His breath was sour with liquor and sweat, and when he laughed, it came out like a cough choked off too late.

She reminded herself to remain motionless, waiting for the worst to come. Would they take turns bedding her now? Would the quiet one be meaner? Softer? Harder? Was there any point in wondering whether or not she’d survive the torture? She’d been ruined already; for any man willing to touch her, marry her, couple with her in the future—provided she still had any. She fought back the tears gathering under her eyelids—stupid, useless drops—and let out a short, dry breath that might’ve been mistaken for a laugh if it weren’t so empty.

When she spoke, her voice was ragged but strong, pitched just loud enough to carry.

“Only thing you ever finish quick is a bottle.”

It landed clean and made Jesse freeze mid-step. The air around him stopped moving. Even the wind outside seemed to hold still for a beat, like the world was waiting to see what he’d do with it.

She kept her chin lifted, not high, but steady. Her wrists twitched against the rope behind her like they wanted to swing. Her mouth curled just a little, not in a smile, but colder. Victory, maybe. Maybe suicide. The line between the two was wearing thin.

She turned her head slow, the bones in her neck tight from strain, and soon her spit landed between Jesse’s boots with a thick, wet smack. It spread in the dust like oil, darkening the floor where it soaked. Her chin lifted after, sharp and proud, jaw clenched to keep it steady, eyes hot with fury and fixed on his face like the barrel of a cocked gun. It wasn’t a scream or a plea, or even a sign of rebellion. It was invitation, she figured—the sooner the better.

Jesse looked down at the spit—just for a second—and when he looked up again, his face was already twisted. His mouth pulled back in a grimace that showed his teeth, canines yellow from tobacco, the set of his jaw all wrong. Rage didn’t rise in him like in most men. It erupted, sudden and graceless, no warning, no grace to it. His boots hammered the floor as he turned, the sound of his heel catching on a loose board ringing louder than it should’ve.

He closed the distance in two strides, and the back of his hand lifted as he came—shoulder cocked, fingers splayed wide, the weight of the blow already built in his spine. His eyes burned down at her, wild and glassy, like a dog that’d been chained too long and didn’t care who bled first.

“Say that again,” he snarled, voice ragged with drink and spit, “and I’ll split your fuckin’ nose open for real.”

His chest heaved heavily, but his arm didn’t drop. The heat in the room surged around him, thick and pressing, the kind that made sweat form at the back of the knees. Light from the open door cut across the floor and hit the girl’s shoulder, painting it in gold while the rest of her stayed in shadow.

Her breath caught—but only once. Her wrists stayed where they were, tied behind her, but her body leaned forward, just a fraction, like she wanted him to hit her. Not because she thought she’d win, or even because she thought she deserved it. She simply needed to know he’d do it. She needed to see how far he’d go when he stopped pretending to be a man and started acting like what he really was. A part of her wanted him to kill her already, do her in, rid of her and put her out of her misery. She didn’t find him merciful, but prone to anger just the right amount to be able to use it on her shamelessly, furiously, and succeed.

Her mouth bled again where her lip had cracked, and she smiled without showing her teeth. A hard, cruel thing.

“Don’t.”

The word landed low, flat, and iron-heavy in the space between them. It wasn’t shouted, but cut clean through the heat and dust and Jesse’s boiling breath, the way a knife might move through fat—slow, with weight behind it.

Jesse froze mid-swing, arm still raised, hand poised in that ugly shape made for breaking mouths and knocking out teeth. His knuckles twitched, his jaw worked side to side like he was trying to chew the word and spit it out again.

Billy stood closer now, half in shadow, one hand hooked on the corner of his belt like he’d been watching a while and finally decided to speak. His other hand rested near his side, fingers curled near the leather of his holster—not on it, not near enough to threaten, but there all the same. His stance was loose, almost idle, like a man waiting his turn at cards. But the stillness in him was sharp, and it bled into the room. Light from the doorway outlined the edge of his shoulder and jaw, catching on the stubble along his throat, the blood-crusted scratch just beneath his eye, left from yesterday’s handling. His eyes weren’t wide or even angry. They remained locked steady on Jesse like he was staring down a dog with a bone it didn’t have the right to chew.

Jesse turned toward him fully now, chest heaving, red-faced, his fist still half-cocked. There was no respect in his voice when he spit out, “She ain’t yours.”

That did it. It was the way Jesse uttered those words—like he meant to shame, like he meant to stake his own claim in the dirt, that made the room shrink just a little. His boots thudded loud against the warped floorboards as he squared off. His breath came through his nose in short bursts, eyes bloodshot and gleaming. His lip curled in a sneer that didn’t quite reach confidence. Billy had that effect on people, even the dangerous, deranged kind, and Jesse qualified as both.

“Ain’t yours neither.”

The words didn’t thunder, but they filled every damn inch of the room. Quiet as they came, they weighed more than Jesse’s bottle had when it shattered against the wall. They hung in the air like the threat of rain that never quite falls—dense and still and close.

Neither man moved.

The girl stayed silent, breath caught low in her chest. Her eyes darted between them, watching out of calculation. One of them would break first and she didn’t know which one she’d love to see bleed out on the floor more.

Jesse’s jaw jumped. He looked from Billy to the girl, then back again. His boots shifted once on the floor—half a step forward, half a warning. He opened his mouth like he might answer, but nothing came out but breath.

Billy didn’t blink for too long, it seemed.

That silence stretched longer than it had a right to. And when Jesse finally backed off, it wasn’t because he wanted to, but because he understood the cost of finding out what would happen if he didn’t. Billy might’ve been the quiet kind, but the other outlaw knew those were tricky. The unspoken rule was that no one ever wanted to be around them once the silence ended, and they were right.

Jesse stood there a moment longer, like a man doing the math on a gunfight he knew he wouldn’t win. His chest rose and fell, breath sharp through his nose, the kind of breathing a man did to keep from spitting blood or words he’d regret. His fingers were still twitching like they hadn’t got the message his pride had just received.

The girl had already drawn blood with her mouth, not her fists, and now the silence was hers, too. She watched him like a buzzard waiting for a horse to stumble.

Jesse’s eyes moved to her—just for a beat—and darkened. She wasn’t afraid of him now, and he hated her for it. Not because she challenged him, but she’d lived through it. That was worse. That was permanent. The pretty little thing was no more.

He turned fast, disappointed and bitter, jerking his coat from the nail near the door with a sound like canvas tearing. The motion sent dust into the air, where it floated between them, catching the light like ash in a furnace. He muttered under his breath as he shrugged the coat on, words too slurred to carry, though one could’ve sworn “bitch” was in there somewhere. Maybe more. Maybe less. Didn’t matter.

Then his boot caught a chair—an old pine thing with one leg shorter than the rest—and kicked it hard enough to send it clattering sideways into the wall. It hit with a crack, a corner splintering where it struck the floor. The noise echoed sharp, like a shot fired too close to the ear. Jesse didn’t look back at it.

At the threshold, he paused and turned to glance back over his shoulder—first at her, cold and quick, like he was measuring the size of the bruise he’d put there next time, if there was a next time. Then his gaze moved to Billy, slower and meaner. That look stayed long enough to say everything his mouth hadn’t. It wasn’t anger anymore, but rather—a promise.

Then he was gone. The door creaked shut behind him, soft as a warning. The screen banged once, a heartbeat later, and the dust he left behind still hung in the air like smoke waiting to settle.

The tension in the room didn’t loosen. If anything, it got tighter, the air thick with the kind of stillness that only shows up after a man walks out angry but not empty-handed. There was no sound except the settling groan of the chair he’d kicked, the slow creak of a flytrap swaying in the window, and the wind moaning against the boards outside like it wanted in but thought better of it.

Billy stood with his arms at his sides, gaze fixed on the door like he expected it to open again or for to Jesse come back in just to finish what he started. His hat cast a shadow across his cheek, hiding the scratch along his jaw, the bruise purpling beneath it. The light from the window caught the edge of his boot and the dust on the toe.

Behind him, the rope gave a dry tug as the girl shifted on the stool. It wasn’t a struggle, more a flex of sore shoulders and stiff wrists, the kind of motion a tied thing makes not to escape but to remind the room it ain’t dead yet. The coarse hemp scraped the back of her skin, pulling blood from where the knot had rubbed raw.

Her mouth bled again, too. Just a trickle, welling fresh from the spot where her lip had cracked open when she grinned at Jesse. The blood painted the corner of her lips a dark red-black and slipped down to her chin, slow as honey. She didn’t lick it away or wipe at it. Instead, she smirked through it like a madwoman, chin tipped upward, one eye slightly narrowed like she was still tasting the last word and finding it sweet.

Billy didn’t dare look at her, but his jaw was tight. You could see it in the way the muscle jumped when he swallowed. The room held his breath like it held hers—tight in the lungs, waiting to see who’d move first.

She watched him. What was he waiting for? She was breathing harder now, chest rising faster under the torn fabric of her dress, a clear sign of the come-down from defiance. That slow, shuddering burn after you stare a man in the eye and dare him to try again. Her shoulders trembled faintly while her knuckles had gone pale behind her back. Just beneath the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her throat one could notice the stiffness, the steadiness that spoke volumes when she didn’t have to. A recognition, maybe. Or a warning. It hadn’t yet decided which it wanted to be.

The sun shifted in the window, climbing slow across the floor. Its light moved higher up her bare shin, over her knee, onto the rough edge of her dress. Her skin gleamed faintly with sweat, a smear of grit still clinging to her thigh from the last time they dragged her through the dirt.

Billy finally turned.

The sound of his coat rustling was soft, but it felt loud in the silence. His face came into the light just enough to show the hollows under his piercing blue eyes, the soft line of his mouth, the tightness drawn like wire across his brow. He looked at her and their eyes met in an instant. They stared at each other across the wreckage of heat and spit and blood, and the weight of it said plain: whatever comes next, it ain’t forgiveness. The girl was trouble, a burden heavier than either Billy or Jesse had truly thought through, a promise of as set of bounty posters hanging in nearby towns at best, a possibility of discord, a feud—even, between the two men who’d eaten a bushel or two of salt together, but never before had fought over a girl—if she even was one still.

Billy walked slow, boots shifting dust with each step, the sound low and steady like distant thunder too far off to worry cattle yet. The door behind him had already swung half shut, the last sunbeam sliding crooked across the floor, catching the broken rim of the chair Jesse kicked, the oil-dark smear of spit still drying near her boot. Billy didn’t glance at either. His hand hovered near the low sweep of his belt, thumb hooking the leather like habit alone kept it there. He didn’t reach for his gun.

His face gave nothing away. The lines around his mouth were set hard, drawn tight in the way of men used to swallowing what should be spoken out loud—by gentlemen, at least, the decent kind. The blood that ran down his cheek earlier had dried now, rusty at the edge, crusted into the stubble along his jaw. He hadn't wiped it off or acknowledged it. It clung to him like all the rest—dirt, sweat, resentment. And still, he came forward, slow and straight, eyes serious under the brim of his hat.

She tracked him with the kind of stare that cut. Her head turned only slightly, just enough to keep him in view as he moved. Her shoulders were stiff, her back pulled too straight for ease, but her body vibrated faintly in its posture—like a held-in scream, like lightning waiting for a tree to split. Her breath was louder now, harsher through her nose, as if every inhale had to fight its way in past rage and rope. Her ribs moved fast beneath the torn dress, and though her hands were tied behind her—twisted into some aching shape that cut deep—there was no give in her. She looked at him like a trapped wolf looks at the hunter too stupid to bring a second bullet.

Billy’s boots creaked the boards, the only sound in the room besides the wet buzz of a fly too slow to leave. He stopped short of her—close enough she could smell the salt of his skin, the metal tang of old blood still clinging to his collar, the faint whiff of gun oil. He didn’t reach for her, but stood there a moment, studying the ropes at her back, the raw skin at her wrists, the set of her mouth. The stillness in him wasn’t peace.

His intention hung there, half-formed, unsaid. Maybe he’d come to loosen the rope, she figured. Maybe to see if she’d calm down, to feed her another order in that deadpan voice of his, or to take what he hadn’t yet. He slowed, hesitated.

She didn’t—not a breath off-rhythm. She watched him like she meant to burn a hole straight through his ribs. Her heart was still climbing, and the rest of her hadn’t caught up—but her eyes had already chosen war.

She moved before he finished stepping in without a warning or a single word. Just the sudden forward lurch of a body kept too long in stillness, the kind of motion that didn’t ask permission from the mind before it took the hands. Her arms shot out—bound, but not tight enough to keep her from reaching. Her shoulders strained with the effort, the rope biting into raw skin, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Her fingers caught the front of his shirt—twisted in the fabric hard, quick—jerking him down and toward her with the brute force of surprise.

Billy stumbled, boot dragging rough against the warped plank floor, hip tilting backward. His hand came out reflexively, reaching for balance that wasn’t there. The tension left his shoulders in a snap as his body tilted with hers, off rhythm, off guard. His coat shifted, one side slipping down his arm, the loose weight of it tugging him further.

And before he could right himself, before a single breath passed between them—

Her hand came up—fast and sharp—full of all the rage that hadn’t yet found voice. She clawed his face like a wildcat in heat.

Fingernails raked from the high edge of his cheekbone down to the line of his jaw, not a slap but a tearing—deliberate and deep. The sound was more felt than heard, like fabric ripping, but it echoed in her throat as a hiss or a curse without words. Her teeth were clenched, breath rushing between them like steam escaping a cracked valve. Her whole body shook with the motion, rope digging deeper as her weight pulled forward.

Three angry grooves opened in his skin, red rising fast. One of them—just beneath his eye—split wide enough that blood bloomed in a thick, immediate line. It ran crooked down his face, slid fast into the corner of his mouth. He didn’t cry out, and the girl didn’t look away.

The strike hadn’t been precise—no skill or strategy to it. It was need and the first chance she’d had to hurt anything back, and she took it without hesitation. The heat in her chest spilled out through her fingernails. She scratched like an animal backed into a corner, not thinking, just burning.

Her breath came ragged now, fast and furious. She leaned in, shoulders trembling, ropes fraying behind her. Blood dotted her fingertips, dark and wet. Her mouth hung open just a little, not from fear, but from effort—like her body still wanted to bite, to claw, to break, and hadn’t yet figured out how to stop.

Billy moved before the pain even landed. His body snapped forward on instinct alone—no thought, no warning, no weight of decision. Just reaction, pure and unfiltered, like a rifle that fires the second it’s cocked. His hand shot out and caught both her wrists in one hard grip, fingers locking over the raw rope and bruised skin, uncaring of the strain already there. His palm swallowed her bones. He didn’t give her room to jerk back or scream. He didn’t even give her the air before he twisted.

Her body went with it—dragged upward and sideways in one brutal turn, feet scraping the floor, knees buckling as he forced her off balance. She didn’t cry out, not exactly. The sound that came out of her was sharp and breathless, more shock than pain, a noise snatched from the lungs too fast to name. Then her back hit the wall, hard.

The wooden boards groaned behind her spine. The impact landed with a flat, brutal thud that echoed in the cramped space. A rickety shelf nearby shuddered against its nails, and the glass on the kerosene lamp gave a thin, high chime as it vibrated in place. Dust stirred from the seam between wall and floor, and the smell of old varnish and blood thickened in the room.

The rope at her wrists, already rough, bit in deeper now with her arms twisted high above her head, shoulders lifted awkwardly. One loop cut the skin where it had already rubbed raw, the friction opening it fresh. Her knees knocked into the wall, dress hitching high over her thighs as she fought for footing, but Billy didn’t let her fall.

He pressed into her—far from anything tender—but with weight, with heat, with the kind of angry steadiness that only came from a man who knew he wouldn’t be moved. His chest crushed against hers, his breath ragged against the side of her face. He didn’t shake or shout, only braced.

His boot slid forward, pinning her foot under his. His thigh wedged between her knees—prying and anchoring both. His free hand slammed flat against the wall beside her head, steadying them both. The other arm strained with the grip he had on her wrists, holding them pinned just above the crown of her head, rope stretched taut between flesh and beam. The tendons in his forearm bulged with effort. He didn’t ease up at the sight of it.

Their breath mingled between them, hot and close, stinking of sweat and blood and dust. Her chest rose fast under his, heart hammering like it wanted to kick free of her ribs. Her hair had fallen across her face in the scuffle, clinging wet to her cheek, hiding one eye behind a curtain of grit and tangle, but the other eye stayed fixed on him. Her pupils were wide, and her lips slightly parted, blood darkening one corner. She watched him—that bad, beautiful bastard pinning her hard—breath hissing through her teeth, jaw clenched tight, as if still daring him to follow through and knowing he just might.

Billy’s breath dragged in hard through his nose, sharp and uneven, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. His chest moved with each pull, pressed tight against hers, the movement shallow and fast. His jaw was clenched, teeth locked beneath the muscle twitching in his cheek, that single nerve pulsing just above the edge of his jaw. His shoulders squared and stayed that way—locked, rigid, immovable—as if letting a single inch of slack would invite collapse.

The gash along his face was bleeding more now. The deeper of the three had split clean near the cheekbone, and the blood ran freely—slow and thick, already drying at the edges. It traveled crooked from the socket down to the hollow of his throat, soaking into the collar of his shirt and leaving a fresh smear across the skin just above his collarbone. A drop slipped from his jaw and fell onto her chest, soaking into the torn bodice of her dress like ink on paper.

He was braced against her like he’d been carved into that position, every part of him set with purpose, with fury, with control that cost more than it looked. The weight of him pinned her flat, but it was the silence that kept her there, and the pressure of it. Tension so thick it swelled the air between them.

His hand stayed firm around her wrists, knuckles pale now, the tendons in his arm raised like wire drawn too tight. He didn’t squeeze to hurt, not necessarily, but he let the pressure build—just a fraction more than before—just enough to remind the little tigress whose strength was winning out. Her pulse throbbed beneath his grip, fast and furious.

Their faces were too close now. Any closer and there’d be nothing left to measure. Her forehead nearly touched his chin. His breath dragged over her cheek when he exhaled, humid and sharp. The air between their mouths was heat and grit, the dry sting of blood and smoke and anger blending into one breathless mix neither of them could escape.

She had nowhere to look but him.

His eyes weren’t soft. They weren’t angry either, rather fixed—flat and relentless, not asking, not judging, just taking her in. Her defiance, her breathing, the way her jaw tensed under the blood crusting at the edge of her mouth. He watched her like a man watching fire rise—unafraid of being burned but interested in how high it’d climb before it collapsed under its own weight.

Her chest brushed his with every breath she drew—fast and shallow, fabric scraping against the buttons of his shirt. She hadn’t stopped trembling, not from fear, but from the rush of it, the rawness, the strain. She smelled him now—closer than she’d ever wanted. Blood first. Then the dry scent of dirt caked into wool. Smoke, too, old and clinging, the kind that lived in clothes long after the fire was out. Beneath it, sweat, not fresh or rank Just real and indisputably manly, baked into the seams of a man who hadn’t rested in days.

He smelled her too. Even now, all angry and braced.

She smelled like heat and filth and rope, all salt from her skin and iron from her blood. And beneath all that, fight. That smell of fury still burning in a woman who wasn’t supposed to bite back anymore. Defiance and dust and the kind of desperate courage that made men either worship or destroy.

And Billy—he hadn’t yet decided which one he was more eager to implement.

What astounded him was that she didn’t stop fighting, motionless. Not when the blood hit her collarbone or even when his grip tightened. Not when her body was pinned so tight to the wall she could feel the beat of his heart through the bones of her chest, its rhythm clear and maddening.

Her wrists burned where the rope dug in, but she didn’t cry out. Her eyes were bright now, glassy not from tears but fury—a clean, scorching heat that hadn't dimmed, only sharpened.

She thrashed once, a violent twist of shoulder and hip that knocked his arm off balance for a breath, but not enough to shake him loose. He held steady, but the pretty little thing had made her point: she wasn’t done. Her lip curled back from her teeth, the snarl half-silent, half-breathed, more instinct than expression, the quiet before the storm, as soon enough—

-she bit him.

Her head snapped sideways with the kind of control born from purpose. She turned her face into the crook of his neck, her mouth finding that soft seam where collar met skin, where the throb of a pulse pressed just beneath the surface, and she sank her teeth in hard—not a nip or desperation, but punishment.

The bite tore through Billy’s skin and into muscle. Her jaw locked and her lips stretched wide. It was ugly and deep, the kind of bite meant to mark, not just hurt. Her teeth ground in through wool and flesh, through sweat-soaked cotton, and the skin beneath gave with a sickening ease.

Billy’s body bucked hard. His breath caught, sharp and involuntary, breaking through clenched teeth in a low, guttural sound that sat somewhere between a growl and a curse—like a man who just took a bullet but wasn’t ready to fall. His grip faltered for a fraction of a second while his hand on the wall curled into a fist. He didn’t strike or shove her off.

The blood came fast. It soaked his shirt at the shoulder, blooming hot and wet beneath her mouth. The fabric went dark in an instant, and the smell of it thickened the air—iron and salt and heat. It ran down his back, spread under his collar, seeped into the waistband of his trousers. It didn’t matter. Nothing else in the world existed but her teeth in his flesh.

And then—only then—she let go. The wet pull of her mouth unlatching, the whisper of spit and blood parting skin. A string of red connected her lips to his neck for a heartbeat before it snapped. Her breath came hard, and her mouth was stained. She looked up at him like a predator who’d finally drawn blood and found it didn’t taste too bad.

Billy’s breath came in shallow pulls, each one catching just before it finished, like his ribs were braced too tight to let anything go. The cord of muscle at his neck flexed with each heartbeat. His shoulders shook once, small and sharp, not yet defeated.

She was panting now, the heat of her breath brushing up his throat in bursts. Her bloodstained mouth didn’t tremble any more, but curled, just barely, cruel and unafraid. Her eyes, wild and wide beneath the tangle of her hair, didn’t shy away. They dared. She looked at him like a prisoner who’d drawn blood and was waiting to see if the guard had the balls to bleed more.

And that—that—was what broke him. The look she gave him, the way she breathed through clenched teeth like she hadn’t lost yet. Like the ropes meant less than the fire in her mouth. He stared at her for a long, suspended second. His face didn’t change, nor did his body shift a fraction.

But inside, something came loose, loud and hot and final.

He growled low and deep. A sound that didn’t belong to a man, not really, not anymore. It came from a place behind the ribs, from where instinct lived when logic failed. A sound of need, not rage. A sound like a dog pushed too far—cornered, beaten, bloody—and now too sick of waiting to do anything but lunge.

It wasn’t a word or a threat.

It was hunger.

It was yes.

No thought followed it, no pause. No sense of what this meant or where it led. There was no calculation in Billy now, no line to check for, no rule to remember. The blood on his neck, the blood in her mouth, the way she was staring at him like she still had teeth left to use—it all blurred together into fire and breath and pressure.

The line between fury and want didn’t bend but snapped.

He didn’t lean in like a lover would, didn’t draw breath or search her eyes or falter at the edge of what came next. Instead, he crashed into her.

His mouth slammed against hers with no grace, no angle, no thought of comfort. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim—brutal, breathless, bleeding.

His full lips didn’t mold to hers; they pressed down, hard and unyielding, mashing open the split already raw at the corner of her mouth. Their teeth met first, sharp and jarring, scraping, catching. His mouth was heat and spit and weight, and he forced it onto hers like a man trying to smother fire with his bare hands.

The girl grunted against it, a muffled cry of fury and recoil. Her head jerked to the side, fast, desperate, but she had nowhere to go. The wall gave no room, and his body gave even less. He pressed closer, crushing the space between them with his chest, his hips, the thick of his thigh still wedged against hers. He was a wall of flesh and heat and pressure, and he kept coming.

Her breath wheezed through her nose, sharp and panicked, as he leaned harder, mouth still fused to hers in a clash of blood and salt. Her shoulders twisted, but he lifted her wrists higher, dragging her arms up until her back arched and her joints burned. The rope bit deep into the skin already scraped raw, and she gasped against his mouth, the pain spiking her breath. She had no choice but to bite again, hard.

Billy was shocked to feel her jaw suddenly snap shut like a trap—just a twist of her head, fast and vicious. Her teeth caught the corner of his lower lip, or maybe his tongue, or both at once. The flesh gave with a wet rip. He stirred but didn’t pull away. Blood bloomed between their mouths now, fast and metallic, sharp on her tongue.

It tasted like rust and old copper, like sweat pooled under collarbones, like everything she hated. Like him.

But he didn’t stop, because the truth was—he liked it.

The kiss—if it could be called that—deepened, not in any tender way, but in sheer force. Their mouths stayed locked, gasping and tangled, open and feral. His breath came in huffs, hot against her cheek when their mouths slipped apart for half a second before crashing back together. There was no rhythm, no real give and take—only breath and heat and teeth.

His stubble raked her chin, left red scrapes across the side of her face. Her lip tore more—she could feel the skin peeling, blood trickling over the curve of her mouth. His teeth knocked hers again, bruising the soft flesh inside her cheek. But still—he didn’t let up, and she didn’t go limp.

It was a war fought through mouths, through pressure, through defiance. It was need with no name, only contact. It was two people who didn’t know how to stop fighting, even when their mouths were full of each other.

Billy’s mouth stayed fused to hers—still bleeding, still brutal, still carrying the taste of everything that had passed between them, and none of it sweet. His body bore down like a closing gate, and when his hand dropped, it did so with the same intent as a falling hammer—deliberate, final, sure of the damage it meant to leave behind.

It dragged down her side without care or caution, the callused pads of his fingers grazing over ribs still sore from where he'd pinned her earlier. He didn’t trace the slope of her waist like a lover would. He didn’t slow to feel the rise and fall of her breath.

He just pushed, palm open and hard, flattening every inch of her against the wood behind her, like he could force her back into the wall if he pressed long enough. The fabric bunched beneath his hand—cotton stiff with dried sweat, stained with her blood and his. He didn’t mind the mess. His grip only tightened.

When he reached her breasts, he didn’t linger for effect. He didn’t test the edge of pleasure or weigh the difference between rough and cruel. His hand landed full across her chest and pressed, heel of his palm grinding in deep like he was pinning a snake to the dirt. The weight was unforgiving—heavy, punishing. He didn’t knead or stroke or cup. Instead, he pressed until she gasped into his mouth and her spine arched, not from want, but recoil. He kept it there, the pressure notching up until it bordered pain, until she shifted beneath it—not in surrender, but in resistance. And only then did he let go.

But not for long.

His hand dropped lower, sliding over the wrecked seam of her bodice and down across her belly where the fabric grew thicker, heavier, stitched double for the hard work of daily wear. His knuckles bumped her belt, and he didn’t pause to undo it. There was no interest in undoing. No need to unravel. He shoved straight through, grabbed hold of her skirt where it clung to her thigh, and fisted it like he meant to rip the shape of her out from under the cloth.

The dress didn’t tear, but it pulled tight across her legs, molded to the outline of her body under his grip, and Billy’s hand—broad, rough, unrelenting—dug into the line where her leg joined her hip. He didn’t seek skin, nor did he part the layers of fabric or try to find softness underneath. He just shoved the heel of his palm in hard, a deep, blunt pressure meant to punish, not please. It landed square between her soft thighs, and her body jerked with the force of it, a sharp buck that rattled her teeth against his. The rope burned at her wrists again, arms yanked high, chest lifted and forced to bow. Her breath escaped in a sharp wheeze, but still—she didn’t cry out.

He pressed again. Harder.

His mouth never left hers. The kiss was a grim, wet tangle of teeth and spit and open wounds. Their breaths came in staggered bursts, chests heaving together, every scrape of fabric loud between them. Her head twisted, desperate for a sliver of air, but he followed, merciless. His tongue chased blood, hers and his. His lip split wider against her teeth. Still, he kissed like it was a fight—like the only way to keep her was to smother what she hated most.

And all the while, his hand moved further. From thigh to hip, dragging fabric with it, yanking folds and seams until they pulled taut across her skin. Then he clutched the meat of her leg—hard muscle from a life spent working, not preening—and he squeezed, not like a husband savoring his wife, but more like a man measuring. Like a man holding a rope he meant to cut if it didn’t hold weight.

The grip burned. Billy’s fingers dug deep, hard enough to leave marks through the cloth, hard enough she’d feel it when she sat, when she walked, when she breathed deep enough to remember, when she finally got fucked stupid—later. He didn’t mark her to keep her. He did so to prove she wasn’t untouched, not by him. He figured he’d deal with Jesse later.

He didn’t want her to soften; wanted her caught as feral as she seemed. And under his hand, under the grime and the blood and the days-old dress she’d nearly died in, she was.

Her breath hitched—sudden and sharp, not from fury this time but from the crackling jolt that followed his hand when it pressed deep through the folds of her skirt. It wasn’t panic that caught in her throat, but—surprisingly—heat. Real, coarse and unbidden. Her whole body pulled taut, shoulders curling forward as though she could fold herself in half and trap the sensation between muscle and bone before it spread any farther. But it was too late. The spark was already crawling—down her belly, across her thighs, up the back of her neck like a lit fuse.

She trembled, and it wasn’t subtle or dignified, like a modest girl would, once her wedding night came—ideally. Her legs went first, knees unsteady beneath the drag of Billy’s grip, her weight buckling a fraction into the wall behind her. Then her stomach, clenching and hollowing out as though struck from within. Even her shoulders trembled, the bones drawn up and hunched against the rope, the fibers groaning where they held her wrists high. She was shaking now—undeniably, uncontrollably. A shiver that started in her limbs and worked inward, turning heat to ache, rage to breathlessness.

She snarled again, teeth bared in defiance. Her face twisted, all hate and blood and fury—but it didn’t matter. Her hips, her loins betrayed her, arching forward, not in surrender, but with a reflex she couldn’t stop. Just a tilt. Barely a roll of her pelvis. But it was there—the contact, the unmistakable grind that came with pure desire. Her thighs flexed around his hand, not to fight him off, but to keep him there. Flesh tightening around pressure, not from pleasure—no, never that—but from the terrible necessity of it. Of him. She needed the contact even as she hated it. Even as her brain howled no, her body kept him close, anchored to the heat he’d lit beneath her skin.

She then kicked, wild and clumsy, a jerk of her heel against his shin, but it barely landed. Her balance was gone, rattled loose by the weight of his palm and the heat it stirred. Her wrists twisted hard in the rope—skin peeling against the fibers, blood blooming where she pulled too fast—but she didn’t stop. Not because she believed it would free her, but because she needed to move, to flail, to do anything to fight the part of herself that had started to move with him.

And still, her legs stayed parted just wide enough to keep him there. Her thighs closed in again, taut and trembling, the muscle clenching around his fingers like she couldn’t decide whether to shove it away or drag it in deeper.

Then her head hit the wall. A crack—short and hard—the back of her skull slamming into brick as though impact could clear the fog behind her eyes. Her mouth flew open, wide, desperate, but no words, no scream, no insults came. Just a raw, gutted moan that slipped past her teeth like it had been pulled from her lungs without permission. Ragged. Choked. Unforgivable.

She froze, and the sound still echoed inside her chest, more humiliating than the blood on her lips or the bruises blooming across her ribs, or Billy’s fingers rubbing at her swollen, abused, freshly deflowered cunt. Her breath caught again, caught on the tail of that sound she didn’t mean to make, the sound that didn’t belong to a woman in charge of her own body.

Her eyes filled—both tears and rage, and deeply rooted shame. Anger--

At him.

At herself.

At the sick, rising heat that had nothing to do with fury anymore.

She wanted to kill that beautiful, stupidly quiet, relentless bastard. To claw the flesh off his bones. To spit in his face and laugh when he bled. But she also wanted him to touch her again. That hand of his? That weight? That pressure that made her legs shake and her throat fail? All of it.

Her body was leaning forward now, just a hair’s breadth, close enough for her breasts to brush his chest with each breath. Her mouth stayed parted, bloodied. Her pulse pounded loud in her ears, louder than his breath, louder than the ropes, louder than the war behind her eyes.

She looked up at him.

Her face said stop.

Her body said don’t you dare.

The rhythm soon changed. Not by choice or with a warning—just the way a horse breaks from a lope into a dead gallop, neck stretched, flanks quivering, too far gone to stop now. Billy’s hips ground forward with a sudden urgency, shallow and sharp, the movement stripped of precision.

He wasn’t aiming or angling towards her sensitive parts. Breathless and endlessly aroused, he began driving himself into her thigh again and again, pressing the full weight of his pelvis into the shape of her leg like he meant to brand the need right through her skin.

The wool of his trousers scraped rough between them, thick seams rasping against the cotton layers of her skirt, catching at every motion. He didn’t care. His body worked against hers like a machine gone wrong—no grace, no control, just fire in the gut and blood in his cock. The breath dragged out of him now in hitches, sharp at first, then choking, then guttural. His mouth dropped from hers, jaw slack, face tilted toward her throat. The heat of him poured down her neck in waves, the stench of sweat and blood and need clinging to every ragged exhale.

She turned her face away, jaw clenched, temple pressed hard into the wall as if the stone might hold her steadier than he could. But he didn’t see her anymore. His eyes were shut, lashes damp against his cheek. His mouth fell open just wide enough to let the sound out—a low moan, caught in the back of the throat and pushed out against her skin. The kind of sound a man makes when the edge comes too fast and too hard to swallow.

It wasn’t about who she was or what she’d done, or even the way her breasts moved as she trembled, or how her ass swayed when she tried to kick at him. There was no sweetness to Billy’s senseless rutting, no apology, no recognition. It was about the fire that had built too high and too fast, the aching, ruinous instinct to take and take until the body broke under the weight of its own demand. He wasn’t seeking climax, rather chasing end.

And then—it caught him. His whole body went taut, spine drawn straight as a struck wire. His hands clamped down, one still buried in her thigh, the other locked around her wrists like shackles. The muscles in his jaw flared. His eyes stayed closed. His hips jerked once, hard, then again, the motion stuttering—half-desperate, half-broken. Then still.

Heat flooded through the front of his trousers—fast, final, soaking straight through to where her leg stayed pinned beneath him. The pressure of his cock pulsed against her, sudden and unmistakable, that hot, shuddering spasm that emptied him into the wool like a confession he couldn’t hold any longer. He didn’t cry out or curse. He didn’t whisper her name; he didn’t even know it. All he could do was growl, low and hollow. A sound made without meaning, only release, only Billy’s thick cum leaking through.

Then silence. His hips stopped. His breath caught once, then settled into short, shallow pants. His head hung heavy beside hers, chin tucked near the girl’s ear, his weight still crushing against her like the fight hadn’t ended yet. He slackened—minutely—like a man who’d held too long to the edge of a cliff and finally let go. His hand stayed locked around her thigh, fingers splayed over fabric bunched and wrinkled from the force of his grip.

The torn bodice clung crooked to her chest, stained, wet, unchanged. The skirt stayed down. The rope at her wrists held firm. Not a knot slipped. Not a loop frayed.

She was right where he’d left her—bound, bloodstained, breathless, filthy, stained with his blood and his seed.

Billy’s forehead hovered near hers, barely an inch of breath between them, but not touching anymore. As though the act was over but the shape of it remained—carved in sweat and silence. His shoulders rose once, sharp and uneven, then fell again too fast, the tremor in it not from pleasure, not from strain, but from the weight that came after. That slow, sinking moment when the fire dies and all that’s left is the smoke curling up from the ash. His chest remained pressed to hers, heavy, unmoving. His body pinned her with the same mindless pressure as before, but the force behind it had drained out. Like he hadn’t let go of her because he needed her close, but because he didn’t know what to do with his own hands anymore. One gripped her buttocks. The other hung limp at his side, fingers twitching once before curling into a loose fist, knuckles bloodied where the wall had scraped them raw.

Her face had turned away, angled sharp toward the wood, cheek pressed hard to the wall where the blood on her mouth had smeared. Her jaw locked tight, clenched until the muscle stood out in ropes beneath her skin. She breathed through her teeth—short, broken pulls of air that made her ribs shudder beneath what remained of the bodice.

His blood streaked her chin, dried in the hollows between her lips and throat. A smear of it crusted along the edge of her jaw where she’d bitten him, cracked now from the pull of her skin. And still, her breath was on his neck—warm, uneven, laced with hatred and exhaustion both. The kind of breath a woman draws not to calm herself, but to keep from killing. It brushed his collar, stirred the hair behind his ear. He didn’t dare pull back. He figured he would’ve hated himself, had he tried.

Her thighs were still wrapped around his legs, closed firm. The tension in them hadn’t eased. Her leg was wedged against his hip, trapped there by the grip he still hadn’t released. Not a touch had grown tender. Not a muscle had relaxed.

And neither of them said a word the whole time.

No apology passed between them. No accusation. No plea. The air hung thick with the soundless aftermath, the ache of it spreading wider than any cry could fill. There were no names in their mouths now, no sense of who had taken what from whom.

Just breath and blood and the wall behind her and the heat between them, both cooling. Time crawled forward without their help, dragging its weight over the floor like a broken limb.

It would’ve been easier if one of them had spoken. But no word was built to carry what had just happened. Silence came first, thick and feral, the kind that filled a space like smoke after the fire’s already burned through the roof. The air between them didn’t settle—it clung, hot and sour, the smell of blood and sweat steeped deep into the boards and brick. His breath came in pants now, ragged, uneven, chest rising in short, hollow jerks that had nothing left behind them. Her breath matched his, shallow and fast, pulled in through her teeth like it hurt to inhale.

The lamp in the corner guttered, flame bending low, casting shadows that stretched and curled across the walls like figures that didn’t belong to either of them. The light stuttered once, blinked again. His hand slipped off her thigh—just dropped, limp, dead-weighted, like it no longer remembered what it had done. Her body sagged forward a hair, not toward him, not away, just enough to remember she still had one. Her chest heaved in open, brutal pulls, her ribs tight beneath the torn cloth, blood darkening where it had soaked in and dried stiff. Her eyes brimmed wet, not with fear, not only that. There were no tears yet, just shine. The kind of wetness that came before pain had found its name.

He stepped back—just a slow retreat, boots scuffing the floor once, twice, until the space between them grew enough to feel cold again. His body peeled from hers inch by inch, like he’d been sunk into her and now had to drag himself out piece by piece, defeated. When he stood free, it was with blood still drying at the corner of his mouth, her spit mixed with his, smeared across the scruff on his chin. He didn’t wipe it, nor did he look down. He reached for the front of his trousers, fingers rough as they yanked the buttons back into place. His jaw worked once, a pulse ticking high near the bone.

She stayed pressed to the wall like it still held her up, like the wood itself was keeping her bones stacked right. Her knees sagged, barely locked, the tremble starting again between her thighs, spreading down through her calves to the arches of her feet. Her arms burned where the rope still bit into them, shoulders shrieking from the angle, but she barely noticed. Her face burned—hot with confusion, hot with shame. She stared at the door.

Billy went to it like a man already halfway out of his own body, hand closing around the knob without pause. He turned it, and the latch groaned. The hinges creaked, but he didn’t go through right away. He looked back once, over his shoulder, at the tigress. His pretty little tigress.

No apology in his face. No triumph either. Billy’s mouth was slack, as if he was still inside the storm, still waiting for the dust to settle so he could see what damage he’d done. And then, just like that, he was gone.

The door shut behind him with a dull click, quiet enough to be forgotten, loud enough to stay in the bones.

The stayed there, still blinking against the heat in her throat that wouldn’t break.

And she wasn’t sure if she’d fought him off or begged him to finish.