#and whenever possible do not settle for abuse

[worldisahouseonfire]

this is really helpful, especially the thing about case managers, so i'm saving this for later. i think there's something in particular about case managers and caregivers/service providers in the developmental disability service system that makes them swallow even well-founded client anger and pain without batting an eyelash. like they think the anger is just a function of our disability, and not a response to being mistreated.

that being said it's so, so hard to actually get in a position where one can *enforce* boundaries and consequences for bad provider behaviors. boundaries aren't magical, and enforcing them can be hard (and risky!).

freewheelin's 'How to Protect Yourself From Caregiver Abuse When You Have a Disability' highlights how critical prevention is. but some of the tips are only useful for people who have privileges like screening applicants, living on their own, affording security measures, and having existing circles of support.

tpga has an old-but-still-good guide called 'Autonomy First! Accessing Good Supports Without Sacrificing Your Independence,' which addresses some of the difficulties people with i/dd face in accessing supports. plus it includes a link to one of my favorite things ever written by a direct support worker, 'When You Are a Personal Assistant, and a Disabled Person Is Your Boss' by amanda forest vivian. i think it's helpful in highlighting good qualities to look for in caregivers/direct support workers.

and this linkspam is mainly just to remind myself of things i need to think about moving forward. a transition seems imminent for me, one way or another. and i'm going to need direct support people in a jiffy. and desperation hires can be some of the worst, most damaging ones. aaaaaaaargh.

On the topic of caregivers, do you have any tips you'd be willing to share about how to find good ones? Anything that might not be obvious about how to have good working relationships with them? Or do you know of any resources about this? Thank you.

One thing I have found is that I had to learn to stand my ground about not allowing in bad ones.  I used to think that I had to put up with anything and everything short of horrible abuse (and sometimes even put up with horrible abuse, including sexual abuse) in order to prove that I was a “good client” and not “one of those bad clients who sends their staff away”.  And I was encouraged in that direction by abusive case managers.  But the turning point for me with caregivers was actually when I filed a complaint against an abusive case manager and won.  And in general, a lot of turning points for me have involved standing up to people.

But you have to stand up to them in the right way.  If you stand up to them ineffectually, it’s just as bad or worse as not standing up to them at all.  I’ve met people who think that they’re assertive and the sort of person that nobody could possibly walk all over – while people walk all over them.  Usually they’re people who will sit there and rant at someone about how wrong what they are doing is, or threaten them with action, but there’s no follow-through in any way that actually uses power effectively and there’s often a lot of excess aggression thrown in.  (And abusive caregivers will simply let you burn all that excess aggression off which hurts you and doesn’t harm them or stop them in any way.)  And I’m not good at explaining the difference.  And there is not always a good way to stand up to them, and sometimes it is better not to stand up to them.

If that sounds contradictory it’s because it’s complicated, and maybe it’s not the kind of thing I’m capable of explaining well.

But I do know that being assertive – not wildly aggressive, and not meek – has almost always gotten me more respect from people than any other way of dealing with people.  Setting actual boundaries and keeping to them.  Things like that.  People actually respect you more when you set boundaries than when you let them through your boundaries.  Even fairly decent people will be somewhat less respectful if you don’t have clear boundaries.  Which is horrible, but it seems to be the truth.

As far as good working relationships go, one thing I learned from watching my mother interact with people is that she asks them a lot of questions and lets them talk about themselves and that seems to make people like her more.  And I’ve found in addition to that it’s good to acknowledge that they’re doing hard work for very little pay.  And in general to do little things that show you know they’re human and not a programmable robot or something.  A lot of which should be obvious but isn’t always, especially to people with social skills problems (whether those problems are innate or come from never having had the social experiences most people had growing up to practice those things, and for autistic people I think it’s a combination of both and more).

[nevereclipse]

Never Again

Pairing: Tim Bradford x wife!reader

Word count: 2.7k

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Requested: yes, here

Summary: When your parents come to visit you, they're as a toxic as ever. But after coming back from a brief undercover operation, Tim finds out the true extent of your parent's cruelty.

Warnings: mentions of police corruption, physical/verbal abuse and discussed past child abuse, mentions of bodyshaming and accusations of cheating (from y/n's parents.) Use of y/n. Probably incorrect representations of American & use of the metric system because I'm Australian.

A/N: I may have gone slightly overboard with this one, hopefully it's what you wanted. I thought y/n having rich parents added an interesting bit of backstory and dynamic with Tim, especially in her reasoning as to why she didn't tell Tim the truth about her family.

---

Your hands were shaking slightly when you put down your phone. You’d just ended a call with your mother, where she’d demanded that her and your father come and stay for a week with you and your husband while they were visiting LA. It’d been about a year since you’d seen them – probably around last Christmas. With them living in New York while you lived in California, visits were rare. An intentional fact, something you’d chosen very purposefully when you’d decided to join the LAPD instead of the NYPD. Not that you would’ve ever joined the NYPD in the first place. Partly because your parents would’ve done everything they could to lock you out, but mainly because you had no faith in the department after hearing your entire childhood about how your parents could get the police captain to do ‘anything they wanted.’

You set your phone on the sofa and took a steadying breath. Your husband, Tim Bradford, would be getting out of the shower soon, and while he knew some things about what your childhood was like, he didn’t know the full story (and never would). It’s not even that you thought he wouldn’t believe you, you knew he would, but how could you possibly complain about your upbringing when his had been… undeniably worse? So, you took a breath to steady yourself, and waiting for Tim to emerge from your bedroom.

Tim walked out, predictably, in sweatpants and a dark green shirt, his usual sleeping attire. You stole that shirt whenever he was away, because his constant wear of it meant it always smelt like him.

“Hey, baby,” you said, glancing up. You ran a hand through your hair quickly and forced another deep breath.

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed, and in an instant he was beside you on the couch, gentle grasping your hands in his. “What’s wrong?” His eyes searched yours.

You shook your head quickly, answering, “Nothing, Tim. I just got off the phone with my mother.”

Tim scowled. He’d never liked your mother, not since he’d first met her and had been forced to sit silently while she criticised you for how much weight you’d put on (it was less than a pound). Still, you insisted on maintaining a relationship with her, and with your father, so he softened his expression slightly and asked, “Oh?”

“She and Father are going to come over next week. Father’s in town for business, so they thought they’d… drop in.” You swallowed.

“And you’re okay with that, right?” Tim asked hesitantly. If you ever expressed even the slightest indication that you didn’t want your parents to visit, he’d call them himself and tell them to fuck off. But you nodded, and said it was okay, so Tim relented and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay,” he murmured into your hair, “I love you.”

You ducked your head and whispered, “I love you too,” all while guilt and nerves settled into your stomach.

--

You were panicking. Not enough for the average person to notice, maybe, but enough for your husband to. Tim sat on your bed, putting on his fancy shoes, and watched you struggle to choose which dress to wear for dinner with your parents. It’d taken you an hour to do your makeup, a process which usually took half of one, max, and nearly another hour just to put light waves into your hair.

“Sweetheart.” Tim finally said, coming to stand behind you in the mirror. He rarely used pet names, and the sound of the word softened the tension in your shoulders. “You’re going to look beautiful whatever you wear. You always do.”

“Not beautiful enough for my mother.” You almost spat the words out, alternating between holding two nearly identical dresses in front of your body.

Tim gentled grabbed your waist and maneuverered you around so you were facing him. “What did we agree about dressing for your mother?” He asked, cupping your face so you were forced to meet his earnest, dark blue eyes.

“…Not to.” You admitted begrudgingly, a slightly flush coating your face at the intense eye contact. Even after three years of marriage and five of dating, Tim always managed to fluster you.

“Exactly. You are stunning. I promise. But if you’re worried, I would go with the darker one.” Tim carefully avoided touching your hair, knowing a single hair out of place would send you into another spiral of panic. He hated seeing you so stressed, hated it with every fibre of his being. Especially when it was caused by your parents; he knew all too well the pain a well time jab (verbal or literal) from a parent could cause.

You took a breath and nodded. “Thank you.” You got into your dress just in time for the oven timer to go off.

--

Your mother never knocked more than once. It was, she believed, completely unnecessary for someone of her and your father’s social importance to ever deign to bang on wood like deliverymen. So, when you heard the one sharp, precise rap against your front door, you knew exactly who had arrived. Your stomach dropped in preparation, and with one last fitful look at the mirror, then Tim, you opened the door.

“Hello, Mother. Father.” You said with a gracious smile, sweeping your arm to the side. “Come in, please.”

Your father embraced you in a quick, impersonal hug, but even as you hugged him back, your eyes were glued to your mother. She swept her gaze over what seemed like every inch of your house, searching for the invisible dust she would inevitably find. She glided a finger along a bookshelf, looked at it, scrunched her nose in silent judgement, before finally turning to you with a precise smile.

“Darling,” She said, quickly taking you in, “It has been too long since we’ve visited. God knows you don’t want to see your parents anymore, hmm?”

You forced a slight chuckle, refusing to take the openly dangling bait, “Yes, Mother. It’s been too long. Please, come join us for dinner.”

Tim watched the interact out of the corner of his eye as he made small talk with your father. On the surface, the two of them should’ve gotten along – both outwardly grumpy and work obsessed. But where Tim’s grumpiness and work obsession came from a desire to not get hurt, and to help people, your fathers came from a cold disinterest and casual cruelty. Tim had never managed to force himself to like your father, but he pretended to, for your sake. In Tim’s eyes, it was a miracle you’d turned out to be such a soft, kind person. One hand on the small of your back, the other gesturing as he spoke to your mother, he led your family into the dining room, where the meal you’d slaved away at for hours sat waiting.

--

“So, Timothy,” Your mother asked, setting down her cutlery, “How’s Y/n treating you as a wife?” The was a sharpness in her town that made your skin prickle – the kind of sharpness that came right before a criticism, thinly veiled in polite conversation. Your father had an ever so slight smirk on his face, but he chewed his food silently.

Tim opened his mouth to respond, to brag with great pride about how lucky he was to have married you, when your mother interrupted him.

“I mean, if this is the standard of meals she’s making you, I can’t imagine marriage is living up to everything you dreamed.” Your mother made direct eye contact with you as she said that, her eyes seeming to pierce directly into your soul.

Your cutlery clattered to the table. Luckily, you were holding it only a few centimetres from the wood, and it barely made a sound. Just enough for Tim to reach out and clutch your thigh under the table, a silent comfort.

“Actually, Mrs. Taylor, I love the food that Y/n makes for me. I’m very lucky to call her my wife.”

For a brief moment, a scowl flashed over your mother’s face. Then she laughed, the sound high and sharp, and utterly fake. “Oh, I jest, I jest, darling. I’m sure Y/n here wouldn’t dream of letting you down. Would you, dear?”

“Of course not, Mother.” You replied, the food you’d earlier thought so delicious turning to cardboard in your mouth. It was an effort to swallow.

Your father chuckled at that, adding, “Our Y/n always knows better than to let people down, hmm?”

Your smile was as weak as your response was noncommittal.

--

Things were… okay for the next few days. Not good, but not as bad as it could’ve been. Tolerable. Your parents were always nicer when Tim was around, covering their critiques with smiles and sharp laughter.

So, when Tim announced he had to run tac support for Lucy for a few days, and your parents had another five of their visit, you almost broke down in tears. You had no problem with him going undercover – he’d done it a couple of times before, as tactical support, and you knew it was relatively safe. But you hadn’t been truly alone with your parents for years, and you didn’t want to be now.

Still, you couldn’t exactly explain that to Tim, not without telling him a lot more about your past then you really wanted to, so you swallowed your fears, kissed Tim goodbye, and prayed that it would be a short assignment.

Things went downhill quickly. Your parents stopped covering their insults, and you woke up each day feeling like you were seventeen again, crumpling under the weight of their words and expectations. It wasn’t long until you were at the end of your tether, and a casual insult turned into a proper argument.

“You know, he’s probably cheating on you.” Your mother’s word were completely unprompted, the two of you sitting next to each other on the sofa, browsing Netflix.

Your blood chilled. “Excuse me?”

“Timothy, dear,” repeated your mother. “I mean, honestly, what do you expect? He’s spending all his time with this… Lucy woman, and you’ve really let yourself go since you two got married.”

You took a deep breath and tried to keep your tone steady. You ignored the insult and simply addressed the accusation. “I trust Tim, Mother. And I trust Lucy. She was at our wedding, and I work with her every day. They would never do that.” You pushed off the couch, walking around the lounge room.

Your mother hummed noncommittally, and of course your father chimed in. “Y/n, all your mother is saying, is that men… well, they have desires. And if Tim feels you aren’t satisfying him as a wife…”

“He doesn’t.”

Your mother plastered on a sharp smile, “Good, then. Because Lord knows it’s embarrassing enough for us to tell our friends back in New York that you’ve moved here to become a cop, instead of a lawyer, but to have you be divorced? It would be pathetic, even for you.”

You scoffed, the tiny bit of the patience you had left disappearing. “It’s a good thing I’m not getting divorced, then.” You winced at the snap in your tone.

The shift on your mother’s face was instant, moving from bland cruelty to cold anger, and she pushed herself off the couch You felt your head snapping to the side before you felt the sting of the slap. Your mother grabbed your collared shirt, pulling you close.

“How dare you speak to me in that tone. You are nothing. You’re lucky we didn’t cut you off when you abandoned your family and moved out here like a little shit. Do you know how embarrassing that was for us? How much of an embarrassment you are? Where did our perfect little daughter go, hmm? Why do you insist on being such a failure?”

You stared forward, tears welling in your eyes. Your cheek stung, and you could tell a red print was already forming. Before you could open your mouth to come up with a half-hearted defence, a cold voice cut through the room.

“Get your hands off my wife.”

Your mother dropped you instantly, and you turned to see Tim, a little dirty and a lot furious, glaring at your parents from the doorway.

Ever defensive, your mother spat out, “What did you just say to me?”

Tim stalked forward, towering over your mother, “I said ‘get your filthy hands off my fucking wife.” His voice was a low snarl. “Get out of our home. Now. Before I arrest you for assault and harassment.”

Your fathers jaw dropped, “Excuse me-.”

“I said GET. OUT.” Tim’s voice was so full of venom, that even not directed at you, it made you flinch.

Your mother grabbed her purse with a huff, and, with one last glare at you, scurried out of your house, your father following behind her.

Instantly, Tim was in front of you, leading you to the sofa with gentle hands and warm concern.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, eyes flickering over the palm-shaped mark on your cheek.

You shook your head numbly, unsure what to say. You’d never wanted him to see this, and a few stray tears fell down your cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Tim pulled you against his chest, gently rocking forward and backwards. The soft touch was all it took for you to start sobbing, clutching his shirt in shaking fists. All the while, he rocked you and stroked your hair, whispering comforting words into your ear.

When your tears finally subsided, you pulled back and sniffled.

“Has this happened before?” Tim asked, and even though he tried to soften his voice, he couldn’t quite hide the rage that was clearly racing through him.

Still unable to speak, you just nodded.

Tim cursed under his breath, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Has this been happening all your life?”

You pulled your knees to your chest and wiped the heel of your palm against your nose. No point in hiding it now, you supposed. You took a shaky breath, and forced yourself to say, “Yes. It has.” Tim glowered. “I don’t know… I didn’t want to tell you. You… you had such an awful childhood, your father was such a monster, and I didn’t want you to think I was trying to one up you. Besides, I grew up so lucky, I mean, you know how loaded my parents are… I was worried… I…” Your voice broke. “No one ever believed me. When I was a kid. Even when I’d go to school with bruises, people would look at my parents and the circles we were in and assume I was just clumsy or deserved it. The only person I ever told laughed in my face. I guess I just… I didn’t want to be that stuck up little rich girl complaining about mommy and daddy being mean.” Your face was wet, and guilt writhed in your stomach. Guilt at lying, guilt at telling the truth, guilt over your parent’s words, but still, you continued to speak. Continued to pour your heart and soul out to your husband.

Tim’s face crumpled in time with his heart as he listened to you tell the whole sordid tale. When you finally stopped speaking, he was silent. After a moment of just staring at you, he just pulled you into another hug.

“I am so, so, sorry, my love,” he whispered, stroking a hand over your back, “I’m sorry that happened to you, I’m sorry you were born to such bastard parents, I’m sorry no one believed you, I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me, I… I’m just sorry. You didn’t deserve that. And they’re wrong. You’re not pathetic. Or a failure. Or anything else they’ve ever said.”

At that, Tim pulled back slightly and looked directly into your eyes. Into your soul. “You are the most important part of my life, Y/n. I am here for anything, anything, you need, and it kills me that you were hurting in silence this whole time. But never again, okay? We’re going to deal with this together – whatever you want to do. I will never let those bastards hurt you again.”

And for maybe the first time, you believed him.

--

FIN.

hope you enjoyed :) i love protective tim

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 22 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A dark surprise is awaiting you - something that might change your entire life for better or worse, if it doesn't end before it could.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening (knife), mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues like nausea and puking, kidney failure, cockwarming, rough sex, penetration, oral sex, blood play, degradation kink, knife play, threats of torture and gore, rape (to a certain degree), the pregnancy is being threatened in a vile, graphic way, not beta-read! if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+! dark content ahead!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Author's note: I'm putting an extra note here, just to say: I think compared to the other chapters it gets kinda dark here, with real noncon vibes, so please be cautious of that before reading. Beware: Word count 12.278

When he came home, it always went the same way.

The door creaked open, then he closed it, set his briefcase aside and washed his hands.

Not a single time had he ever missed one of these steps. Washing his hands was like a sacred ritual. You did it, because you felt your hands vibrating the second you didn’t. Whenever you came in from wherever you were outside – and if only to check the mailbox – you had to immediately wash your hands or else you felt sick. It was a physical ache, your hands were reminding you that they needed to be cleaned.

You didn’t know if it was the same for him. Maybe there were other reasons, maybe he had the same kind of OCD. Whatever it was – he washed his hands. Every time.

And only then would he come and look for you, seek out where you were. Normally you’d either be in the kitchen or the living room. Sometimes you’d be typing mindlessly on the typewriter, lost in the cloud of your own imagination. It was much more fun than you expected and it reminded you not only of your father, but also the man you loved, with every letter. You loved the clicking sound and the hum every time a new phrase came to paper.

Other times, you’d be cooking. Ever since the first trimester nausea passed, you finally were able to eat again. Now you were craving things. Often savory food, but just as often it was some sweet nonsense. You tried to eat as healthy as possible, but often times you’d settle for some kind of cornflakes when he wasn’t home. It was alright though, so you told yourself. You had been through a lot and you deserved to calm down and relax a little.

There were those other days when you’d come up with the freakiest things. This gummy pudding, you had no idea what it was, but it was to be found in Korean convenience stores. He brought it home for you and it was disgusting, but you still finished it. Other times, you felt you were in dire need of spicy food – very unlike yourself. He still brought it home to you. One time was especially odd. You had just finished a giant portion of pasta (now that you could finally eat it again), but you couldn’t get one thing off your mind.

A McFlurry.

It was the one good thing you associated with your mother. Well, not her directly, but with your childhood.

Your mother had never been one to spoil you, but on some very rare occasions, when you were out in the city, which wasn’t quite often, she’d allow you some Fast Food. Like any other kid of course you were all for Nuggets and Fries, but the thing you loved most was the ice cream. The ice cream machine was broken more often than not, so it was quite the highlight when you got to eat it. You remembered one moment especially.

You sat on the worn-out red leather cushion, slurping on your ice cream, when you felt your mother’s intense gaze on you. You immediately straightened up, thinking you had done something wrong and she’d take the ice cream away for it.

“What is it?” You had asked in that quiet, unsure voice of a poor, insecure nine-year-old.

She kept looking at you for a long moment and there was something soft in her eyes, something she never let you see. Later that day, she’d send you to sleep in the wardrobe, because on the way home, you said something to piss her off, but then and there – she looked at you with kind eyes.

“Eat your ice cream, honey.”

To this day, the taste of it reminded you of that moment. That one time honey didn’t sound like a mocking curse, but something a mother would say to her daughter. Because she loved her.

Not, because she’d try to poison her a few years later.

So, many years later, you found yourself on the couch, picking at the last of your pasta, when you felt his gaze on you.

“What is it? Aren’t you feeling well?”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. You didn’t want to mention your mother to him, but you did. You told him of the brief moment of kindness and the way you still loved that ice cream to that day.

And what did he do?

He got up and put his coat on.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I’m getting ice cream.”

That made you smile, but softly. “But it’s almost midnight.”

He smirked in return, but his eyes were warm. God, it was so easy to lose yourself in them.

“Eat your pasta. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He kept his promise and only twenty minutes later you found yourself curled into his side, licking the sweetness off the plastic spoon. “You’re such an idiot.” You murmured and shot him a smirk. “I can’t believe you did that.”

He snorted as he played with your hair. “Yeah. That’s the weirdest thing I’ve done so far.”

You laughed in response and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He grinned and took the spoon from you with ease. “I’m just saying.”

The next few weeks went on just as smoothly. It was almost like you were stuck in a dream. A part of you was constantly on edge, always expecting something horrible to happen. If it wasn’t your kidney to suddenly give up, it would surely be him. He’d do something – something horrible, something unforgivable, something to hurt either you or your baby…or you both.

But the more time passed, the clearer it became that he wouldn’t.

Every time you stared at him in silence, whenever you observed the way he nibbled on his pen while he filled out some paperwork, every time you watched him drive the car with a quiet hum on his lips, every time he did each of those things – the guilt was nearly suffocating you.

Of course you trusted him. You loved him, you adored him, he was the father of your child.

But he had also hurt you.

More than once. Repeatedly. Some of his ways more painful than others.

He looked so peaceful when he slept beside you or stirred something in a pot in the kitchen, while you watched him. He still brought you your fruit cocktail every morning, still seared your vegetables for you daily. And never did he complain once.

But it was inside of him. You knew it was there, buried under piles of kindness and love.

You saw it in the way his hand twitched, whenever you got into a minor argument. The way his eyes shone darkly and his lips pulled into a frown. The way he clenched his jaw over little things. Sometimes, he was trembling with barely suppressed rage.

One night, he almost lost control.

Almost.

It had started as a minor disagreement, you couldn’t even tell what it was about, but it escalated when it got to the point of you asking him why you still weren’t allowed to leave the house on your own. After all, you were carrying his child.

What would finally make him trust you?

But he nearly exploded. A few minutes into the argument you realized, it wasn’t him being paranoid and angry. It was him being concerned and possessive. His jealousy was easily triggered, even easier than your own and now that you had his child in your belly…

It didn’t make things easier.

“I would never leave you.” You muttered, shaking your head.

He let out an annoyed exhale. “I know that.”

“Then why?!”

“Because I said so.” He gritted out and shot you a dark glare. “And now shut up about it.”

“I won’t.” You had been feeling somewhat too confident that day. That was the thing with him. He made you feel so safe that you actually dared to speak up your mind and feel like you were someone. And when you did, it infuriated him. Not always…but whenever it went against his way of things. “I won’t, because this is ridiculous! I will not-“

“Shut up!” His fist shot out so fast that you hardly even recognized it as a movement. A sharp inhale later, you squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your damp fists, expecting him to break your jaw. But all that really happened was a sharp flinch that went through you, when you heard his fist bump into the wall only a few inches away from your head. You felt the air heat up with his proximity and for a long moment, you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When you eventually did, you immediately looked up at his face, but he wasn’t looking at you. He kept his gaze downcast, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. He was taking quick breaths, his chest rising and falling in record speed. You didn’t dare open your mouth in case this was just the calm before the storm. But it didn’t seem to be. Instead, he seemed almost pained under the weight of his loss of control.

You tilted your head only enough to see his fist, still shaking against the wall. There was a faint crack in the plaster and you saw the hint of harsh red of his blood mixing with the soft apricot color of the wall.

It would have probably been the clever thing to let go. Lock yourself away until he calmed down. He’d apologize, probably and even if he didn’t – he hadn’t hurt you.

But instead of leaving him, you reached out a hand, still struggling to breathe yourself. Your fingers closed around his wrist and he yanked his hand back, attempting to pull away, but you only tightened your grip.

“Let me take a look!”

His arm was tense as was the rest of him and you were almost afraid to look at his face, but when you did, he was still avoiding your gaze. So, instead you focused back on his hand and the traces of blood, the broken skin, mixing with paint.

You swallowed and looked up at him again. “I’m going to clean this up, okay?”

He still didn’t answer. It was like tending to a wild animal, a bull even. His eyes were wide and unfocused, looking for a spot to fix upon. Just not you.

But when you guided him to sit on the couch, he didn’t resist. When you attempted to get up and get a clean cloth, his hand shot out again, fingers wrapping around your wrist like a vice. You winced, but quickly caught yourself again. You wrapped a gentle hand around his arm and whispered: “I’ll be right back.”

He swallowed and hesitated for another second, before he finally let go. You nearly broke both legs stumbling over a pair of shoes and a bag on your way to the bathroom. You gathered what you thought you needed, a wet cloth, some disinfectant and luckily you even found a clean bandage in the drawer. While you carried everything back to the living room, you caught yourself thinking, how is it even possible that I never needed this until now?

You crouched down beside him, taking a look at his hand. He was still far away with his eyes, but he seemed softer now. Less like a wounded lion and more like a man who drowned in guilt.

“I didn’t mean to-“ He cut himself off and clenched his jaw again.

It was hard for him. You could see that every time he held himself back for your sake. You didn’t know if it was because you were pregnant now or because he was slowly starting to understand that you indeed loved him and that you truly didn’t intend to leave him.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t easy on him. He was still two people at once, fighting internally, battling each other over minor things. Sometimes, he won. Other times, he punched the wall hard enough to crack.

But that was okay, you told yourself. He was trying. You could see that he was, despite his struggle. He would hurt you again, you were sure. You took a slow breath, silently praying to God for him never to lose control too bad. He would hurt you again. But fuck if you’d let him hurt your child.

“I know.” You murmured softly as you gently began to dab at his wounded knuckles. “Nothing happened. It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” He gritted out. “I could have-“ He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

You waited patiently until he opened his eyes again and until he was finally ready to face you. This wasn’t like him, you suddenly realized. His dark side, his evil twin, it was unlike him to show signs of guilt. But to you he did. For you he did.

His eyes were still dark, but now there was something else as well. Something you had rarely ever seen in him. It was more than guilt, it was different than anger, it was…fear.

“I could have hurt you.”

You paused for a beat, before you could respond. “But you didn’t.”

“You don’t understand.” He lowered his head so he was eye level with you and you were forced to look into his eyes, to see the depth of what lay beyond them.

“I wanted to.”

There was a tight knot in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? There was not much you could do. You knew what he was. He was trying. But was that enough?

“But you didn’t.” You eventually said again. Your voice was unwavering, more certain than the rest of you.

He frowned and pulled his head back, glancing down at his fist, still clenched in your hand.

“I don’t deserve this.” He murmured.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, still staring down at your hands. “I don’t deserve you. What have I ever given you aside from pain?”

You felt as though he had punched you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to show the horror you felt inside. “You…”

“It’s true. You are good and kind and forgiving. You care about me in ways…” He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze entirely. “I don’t deserve this.”

Before you had time to think it through, you already reached out and grasped his chin between two fingers. You tilted his head, forcing him to look at you. With a stern expression, it was now you who shook your head.

“You love me.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You smiled, with more conviction than you thought yourself capable of. “Everything.”

He didn’t comment on it any further and neither did you. You simply took care of his wounds and he let you. It was foreign to him – you could tell by the way he watched you in a mixture of confusion and wonder. A part of him was still tense, as though he expected you to strike. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable, but he was getting better at it.

That was the moment you decided you wouldn’t ask him again.

No matter how confused and desperate you felt, how angry it made you that he knew everything about you and you seemed to know nothing about him.

You didn’t know his name, nor what he did or where he came from – but you knew that he loved you. That he’d kill for you. And that you were his, as much as he was yours.

And so you decided to trust him with everything else as well.

Because he was trying.

Six weeks came and went. Time passed so quickly and life felt so easy, that you tended to forget about the bad things. The times when he ignored you, when he withdrew his love in order to punish you for things you might have done wrong in his eyes, were all but forgotten.

The days were short. You spent every possible moment together. Aside from when he went to work or to…well, to work on the man your mother had sent, you were together. Always.

Sometimes you were almost afraid that your constant presence would end up suffocating him.

Despite the way you got more and more confident in yourself, the dark thoughts lingered. Whenever he was gone for a few minutes too long, whenever you got into an argument, you couldn’t help but think yourself unlovable. One day he would wake up and he would realize the terrible mistake he had made.

But he had ways. Many different ways to ensure your thoughts were only that – thoughts.

Every time you thought you were being too clingy and decided to pull away, put at least a little distance between you – scoot over on the couch, roll over, pull yourself away from him – he caught you. Whether it was being a hand on your thigh, an arm around your shoulders or just his knee pressed a little tighter against yours. He was just as clingy, you realized. Of course you didn’t speak of it. But you saw it in the way he closed his eyes, when your fingers ran through his hair. The way he smirked to himself when he caught you staring at him when he came out of the shower – if he ever allowed you to take a shower alone. He needed your contact just as much as you did his and it only ever made you love him more.

What was it about the couples who needed space? What did that even mean?

Sure, you sometimes asked yourself if it would do your relationship any good if you spent some time apart. But no, God, no. The thought alone made your skin crawl in fear. Falling asleep without him by your side sounded like the most ridiculous and impossible thing. You needed him there, his warmth, his arms around you and his warm breath on your neck.

It wasn’t just you and him cramped up in the space of the apartment all the time. Things became…lighter.

Going outside became a trivial thing to you. It wasn’t only the regular appointments at the doctor’s office. You went out to eat, to take walks and he showed you Seoul. Of course you’d seen a few places there – guided by only your phone, because you were a ghost in your own life. But what he showed you weren’t only tourist spots. No, he showed you things you would have never even thought about on your own. Things only someone who had grown up there could show you.

Even his old house.

It was burnt down to the ground of course, no more than dead grass, some dirt and rusty metal. But the way he stared down at it, the place that had once been so much bigger than him, the place where all his nightmares found their origin…

It made you hold his hand just a little tighter.

He didn’t say a single word and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. His pain ran much deeper than you had ever assumed. Maybe even deeper than your own.

But pain is not something to be measured and compared, right?

You squeezed his hand – and he squeezed yours right back.

You never spoke of it. Not a single time. And you held onto your word, your thoughts, you had had just a few weeks ago. You didn’t pressure him and it seemed to pay off, because the tension in him that was always there seemed to ease just the tiniest bit.

You went to the movies – thank God there were days when they played in their original language – and to the theater. He showed you bridges, buildings, food, music, art.

All the things you had missed out on your entire life.

And while he was at it, he showed you love.

You felt it in the way his hand tightened on the small of your back, whenever you got into a group of people. The way he looked at you, that sheepish smile, whenever you caught him staring at you while you were doing something – be it the dishes or stargazing.

He showed you himself. All you needed to know was right there in the way he kissed you.

And he kissed you.

Of course there were moments when a quick peck had to be enough, but the nights? The nights.

There was not enough air to breathe and you didn’t care one bit.

All you needed was him. He made sure of it.

You couldn’t count the times he made you inhale sharply and claw at the sheets.

Every night, so far. Once your nausea and your sickening exhaustion had passed, you became a wild thing. It was hard to tame you, the second you felt his fingers run up your thigh, down your hip, up your back. You were sure you could have recognized his hands blindly in-between a thousand others.

When he rubbed the pads of his fingers over your tongue, down your stomach or when they slipped inside your panties. They were so skilled that it never took him long to have writhing and begging. It was so easy that it almost got boring.

And so, sometimes, he had his ways of making you suffer, just to spice it up.

The night before, he had done just that. Your jaw still hurt thinking back to it – and your panties grew wet just the same.

He had been sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper as he so often did. Sometimes you asked yourself if he really read it or if that was just some kind of front to keep up the illusion of composure. You had just come out of the shower and were on your way to maybe try and write something, when you saw him sitting there, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. The way he leaned back, one arm resting on the couch, the other one holding up the paper.

It didn’t need any words. Just one look.

He leaned back in that infuriatingly hot way, legs spread apart and lowering the paper just enough to look at you.

You had never seen such expressive eyes before. And the command was clear.

You let go of any idea of writing, the moment you approached him instead. You slid onto your knees almost automatically, but not before he shoved a pillow before you, for you to kneel on. You shifted slightly, spreading your legs apart involuntarily, but he shot you a warning look.

“I want to see your hands at all times.” He said lowly, before he glanced back down at the newspaper. “And now keep me warm.”

You nearly choked on your spit, your own arousal making your mind go hazy. But you obeyed. You always obeyed – until you didn’t. But that night, you did.

You freed him from his sweatpants, his hardness already apparent and ready for you to take care of. The need to run your tongue along his length and drive him to the brink of madness was almost suffocating, but the way he tightened his grip on the paper just slightly kept you from doing so. Instead you spat down on it just once and took him in your mouth. And then you stayed in place.

You felt the way he tensed, heard the way his breath hitched, but he didn’t do anything either.

“Good girl.” He murmured and ran his fingers through your hair with his free hand, keeping them there. You tried to swallow around him, but it only made you drool all over him. A small whimper died in the back of your throat as you forced your knees to press into the pillow firmly, not daring to move or touch yourself, when that was all you wanted to do. You were already so wet, just from kneeling like that, just from tasting him.

A soft sigh came over your lips and your tongue involuntarily moved, causing him to inhale through gritted teeth. You expected a scolding, but he just pushed your head down further onto him. You moaned and chocked back a gag.

“My good girl.” He murmured, as he kept playing with your hair. “Be a good girl for daddy, so he can finish reading this, okay?”

You didn’t respond and how would you have accomplished that? You just stayed in place, keeping your head still. Your fingers twitched to reach between your legs and do something against the burning ache there, but you didn’t. It would only cause him to torment you further, to withdraw your release or keep you on edge.

Minutes passed and the only sound was his ragged breathing and your own.

His grip on the newspaper was painfully tight – normally he had a better grip on his composure. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t had sex in two days. Maybe it was because he felt your legs shaking.

The evidence of your own arousal was slowly dripping down your thighs and you let your eyelids flutter shut. You choked back any sounds you wanted to make, your hands gripping the edge of the sofa tightly.

“Fuck this shit. Fine.” He sighed out, before he slammed the paper onto the couch. “Come, darling, make daddy feel good.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You always loved to pleasure him with your mouth, for many different reasons. The sounds he made, his grip on you…almost like his life depended on it. It was exhausting of course, but it was worth it. You almost came, just kneeling there, being at his mercy – and somehow, it was you in control nonetheless. Of course he’d guide your movements every now and then, force a gag over your lips, but other times, when he was in a softer mood, he’d just…

Admire you.

His mouth slightly agape, his brows furrowed, he stared down at you like a man starving and you were the water he desperately needed. His grip on the back of your head was firm, but not painful, just enough to allow him to massage his fingertips into your scalp.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. Just like…ah, fuck.”

His eyes fluttered shut and you used the opportunity to bring your hand between your legs, dying for any kind of friction. But he caught the movement and quickly caught your wrist.

“No, baby, no. I’m going to make you feel better than you ever have before, but you’re going to listen to me. Understand?”

You forced yourself to nod, though you almost felt tears of desperation sting your eyes. You hadn’t felt this needy in…

Probably not that long ago. He kept doing this to you. And as much as you hated it, as much did you love it, because in the end…

He always made up for it.

Before you had the chance to thrive on your determination to make him cum, he pulled your head back, causing you to whimper.

“Good girl.” He gritted out, his grip on your face bruising. “Such a good girl.”

He pulled you up onto the couch and pushed you back into the cushions.

“Are we above begging, huh?”

You shook your head in a way that could only be described as hysterical. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, daddy.” You breathed out, your face flushed red.

He smirked in that devilish way, looming above you and making a face as if considering.

You whimpered again and his smirk widened into a full-blown grin. “Beg a little more, sweet girl.”

You licked your lips and bit down on them as you pressed yourself back into the couch, involuntarily arching into his touch. “Please. Please, I’m begging you, I…I’m so…Please…”

He hummed approvingly. “That’s a good girl, if I’ve ever seen one.”

His head dipped forward and his lips brushed over the side of your neck. He kissed a path from your neck to your earlobe, where he gently bit down on it. “Do you want me that bad, hm?”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and you nodded, sliding your hands over his bare back.

“I want to have a taste first.” He breathed in your ear, causing your body to tremble and your toes to curl. Your throat felt too dry to form a response, but that wasn’t necessary. He leaned down and parted your lips with his tongue, delving in for a kiss that was as messy as it was desperate.

You moaned and arched your hips up against his, feeling his slick hardness against your soaked panties.

He hissed in response and bit down on your lip. “God, you’re killing me.”

In no time, he kissed his way down your body. The way his hands smoothed your clothing out of the way made you shiver. You were a puddle in his hands, unable to move or breathe, all you could do was gasp and whimper.

He ran his fingertip over your slit, which caused you to inhale sharply.

“My God.” He murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever had you this wet before.”

You whimpered in response, biting down on your tongue to keep any more pathetic sounds back.

He smirked and hooked his fingers under the material, pulling them off of you torturously slow.

“Fuck.” He all but growled, when he came back up. You felt his hot breath against your core and it was enough to make you cry.

“Please-“

“Patience.” He spoke calmly. How could he be so feral and suddenly so composed, all within a minute? Maybe he had more than just two personalities.

He ran his hands up from your ankles to your knees, before he swiftly hooked them around his shoulders.

“I want to hear you, okay?”

You swallowed and nodded. You were sure you had a fever by now.

And then he finally touched you.

The sound you made when his flat tongue ran over your slick folds was hardly even human, but you didn’t hold anything back. You just leaned back – and relaxed.

If one could call it that.

His gentle ministrations quickly turned into something else entirely, because soon he ran the tip of his tongue in circles around your sweet spot, before he attacked it with his pursed lips.

Your hand found his hair almost involuntarily. It had to hurt, the way you tugged at it, but you couldn’t help yourself. You guided his movements, practically using him to pleasure yourself.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God-“

He hummed and the vibrations it sent through your core alone were enough to make you arch your back.

“Oh, fuck!”

It didn’t take you a full minute to end up writhing and crying out, your body nearly floating from the sofa.

But he didn’t stop there.

It was almost painful, the way he kept working his mouth, kept lapping and licking, kissing as he would your mouth.

“Oh, oh, oh God…”

And soon, you felt yourself tip over the edge again, this time even more intensely than the first time.

“Please…can’t take…more…”

Your legs were shaking and so was the rest of you. You felt hot and cold at the same time and you kept feeling as feverish, until he finally decided to be merciful and pull away.

He slowly crawled back until he was hovering over you again, his lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“Oh, that was delicious.”

“I hate you.” You whispered breathlessly.

That made him laugh and he leaned down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips and it made you moan.

“Too bad.” He murmured against your lips. “Because I love you.”

You sighed deeply and bit down on his lower lip. “I love you, too, you demon.”

His smirk widened into something more genuine. “And what does that make you, hm?”

You couldn’t help but smirk in response. “Oh, shut up.”

He gently cupped your cheek in his hand and looked at you for a moment, before he let his hand wander and gently pressed it against your stomach instead. The intensity of his feeling and the softness in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat.

“I love you both.” He whispered.

You swallowed thickly, your eyes wide in surprise and admiration.

“We love you, too.” You whispered back.

He smiled and didn’t say anything more. You bit your lip and gently pressed a hand against his chest. “And what about you?”

He cocked a brow. “What about me?”

You smirked and teasingly ran your thumb along the tip of his hardness. His eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled sharply. “Ah.”

“Mhm.” You tilted your head up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss. “You know what I want?”

He shook his head, pulling his head back to meet your gaze.

Your eyes darkened in a way you had only ever seen in him. It was him. He had that effect on you. He made this of you. This mess. This wicked, wanton, needy mess.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Now his own eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. “Is that so, hm?”

You licked your lips and nodded. “I want you to fuck me, daddy.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, your words sending a shiver down his spine. When he opened them again, he looked feral again.

He immediately pushed your legs apart and pressed himself against your entrance. You, still wet like crazy and him glistening with precum, you forced yourself to keep your eyes open. You observed the way his brows furrowed and his breath stuttered as he slowly pushed himself inside you.

It didn’t matter how many times he did it. It was always enough to make your eyes roll back.

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers around your throat, but not squeezing. Only holding you, only showing you who was in control.

“Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You didn’t hesitate. And he didn’t hesitate to spit down in it.

When you closed your mouth and swallowed, you could swear, you felt him throb inside you.

He leaned in so his lips grazed your earlobe and whispered: “You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl. My beautiful, dirty girl.”

Your eyelids fluttered and you forced yourself to look up at him. He began to roll his hips against yours and you pressed yourself up against him, following his rhythm. You never thought it was possible to cum in this position, not as a woman, but he showed you that it was indeed possible.

His thumb found your sweet spot again, still heated and sensitive from his earlier attack, but that didn’t stop him.

“My good girl.”

“Ah, fuck…You’re my…My man.”

His eyes narrowed and his movements stuttered just slightly, before he caught himself and his movements only ever became more frantic. His mouth fell open and he drew in a sharp breath.

“Say that again.”

“My…” You licked your lips, your brows furrowed. “My man.”

He licked his lips as well and stared you down in a way that was deeper than any doting look he had ever given you.

“If I asked you to marry me, would you?”

You froze in your tracks and your eyes widened almost comically. “What?”

He nodded. “Would you?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat and the way your chest tightened.

Marriage.

It wasn’t entirely ridiculous, right? After all, you were pregnant with his child. But you had never thought that far, never even dared to think of such a thing.

“What a dumb question.” You breathed out.

“Then answer it.” He whispered just as breathlessly.

Yes. Yes. For God’s sake, yes!

But you didn’t say that. Instead, your body reacted before your mind could, your lips curving into a dangerous, teasing smile. “You’ll have to be a man and risk asking me for real.”

He smirked, his eyes filling with a warmth that you didn’t expect. “You’re so goddamn sexy when you’re being a tease for me.”

He then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I will burn this fucking world for you. Just say the word.”

You bit your lip and slowly shook your head. Your chest still felt warm under the weight of his words.

“Just love me.”

And that he did. To bliss and back.

The next evening you found yourself lying in bed, thinking about your life. So many bad things and so much pain had led you to that point. If you could go back to change it, would you?

No.

Not if it meant the outcome would be different.

You lay on his mattress, wearing no more than a dark red negligee, a pair of panties and a wistful smile. He was everything you ever wanted, everything you ever wished for in a man.

The things he made you feel, both emotionally and physically…You never even thought that possible.

You always thought you were unlovable.

You always thought no one would ever love you.

But there you were. His.

Only his.

You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, remembering the night before. Involuntarily, you felt your hand wander down your body, to the gentle curve of your belly. It was so tiny, barely even noticeable, but you did notice. You saw it, when you wore a tight dress and you felt it, whenever you thought about it. A baby.

Your baby.

His.

This wasn’t exactly what you had expected to come out of your life. This wasn’t what you anticipated either. To be honest, you had never even thought you would make it that far. You had never been able to picture yourself that way. Married, pregnant…All these things sounded foreign to you. And yet, there you were.

Lying on the bed of the man you loved, his child inside your belly.

When you heard the door click open, your smile only grew.

No matter how much time you spent with him, you always missed him like crazy.

You considered getting up and approaching him at the door just to show him how much you had missed him. But then again, you were already settled under the blanket, warm and cozy…and the way you knew him, he’d be there within two minutes anyway.

But something felt off.

You heard the door creak open and you heard his steps. Slow and measured, hesitant even. Maybe he assumed you were asleep and so he tried to be careful about it.

But you couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was amiss.

And that was when you realized it.

He hadn’t washed his hands.

You wanted to believe that you were being paranoid, but a little voice inside your head told you that something wasn’t the way it should be.

There would be only one reason for him not to wash his hands after he came in: any kind of emergency. But if there was an emergency, if he was worried for you, wouldn’t he be running? Wouldn’t his steps be quick and relentless?

But there he was, sneaking in like a ballerina.

You sat up stiffly, careful not to make any sounds. Whatever the feeling you had was, it got worse with every minute.

Fuck.

As much as you didn’t want to think too much into it – you had to. Better safe than sorry, right?

The last time your brain went into rotting mode, you ended up being kidnapped. No matter if you wanted to call it that or not – it was a fact.

Before you knew it, you had already opened the closet, careful not to make any sounds. You crouched down and pressed your back against the back of the wardrobe, slowly pulling the door shut.

If it was him simply being careful and having forgotten, for whatever reason, to wash his hands, he’d probably panic if he came in and didn’t immediately find you. But you’d deal with that by the time it came to it. You stared through the tiny crack between the doors, holding your breath as you listened in.

The steps came closer, but they were too careful. Too slow.

And the realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t him.

You choked back the horror you felt and only ever leaned back against the wall. Your body felt hot and cold, your palms sweaty. Your breath was stuttering and stilling in your lungs.

Fuck.

Who on earth could that be? The police? He had killed that janitor, after all.

No, it wasn’t the police. It was only one person, you could tell. That was far worse.

You wanted to close your eyes and attempt to calm yourself, but there was no way. Your eyes stayed wide open, your breath caught in your throat. You tried not to breathe at all, to not make a single sound.

And then the door opened.

You pressed a hand against your mouth as your eyes followed the light that suddenly flooded the room before you. You saw the shoes before you saw anything else. It was still too dark and your view wasn’t exactly clear.

You held your breath.

“I know that you’re here.”

The familiarity of the voice nearly made you gasp or scream out in horror. The accent. You heard the fucking accent, because you spoke in the same way. His accent matched yours.

“You can’t hide forever, girl. Come out and maybe I’ll let you live.”

You pressed your hand tighter against your face, sucking in a sharp breath while you were at it.

Oh God. God. No. No, no, no, no, no.

But you didn’t even have the time to say a prayer in your head.

The wardrobe door was yanked open and you were immediately sure.

Your life was over.

Your lips parted in a silent scream, but all you were met with was something that was…hardly even human.

The sight of the man who had once stopped you and questioned you, who had once appeared in front of the door and who ended up on the floor in blood and shackles…

Well, that man was gone.

All that was there now was skin and bones, pale skin and probably broken bones. He bared his teeth in a crooked grin and you saw how he was missing a few of them. His bloodshot eyes were filled with darkness and terror, his lip bruised and bloody, his collarbones nearly jumping at you from the way he was so skinny.

You stumbled back against the wall, but he didn’t give you time to react.

His bony fingers wrapped around your arms and he yanked you to your feet. A part of you was almost confused at how he even managed to get anything done. Judging by the way he looked, he was barely even alive. Just a skull with hollow eyes and blood smeared all over him.

“Is he home, hm?”

You hadn’t even noticed the knife. You only ever realized his grip on it, after he pressed it against your jugular.

You gasped out loud and held your breath, your eyes wide and terrified. You wanted to speak. Wanted to scream. Wanted to fight, to run.

But then you felt it.

Slowly, at first. And then full-force.

You froze.

Your body, your mind. Yourself.

You froze. The same you always did whenever someone touched you.

The feeling was nearly foreign to you by now, because it hadn’t happened in so long. A part of you had almost assumed it wouldn’t ever happen again, because maybe, maybe he had managed to heal you. Maybe you were normal now. Maybe a touch couldn’t cause this reaction in you any longer.

Oh, how entirely mistaken you were.

“Look at that.” He smiled that unhealthy smile, a hoarse laugh rumbling in his chest. “Look at that. Aren’t you a convenient little slut?”

It wasn’t even necessary to restrain you. When he pushed you against the bed, you let him. You fell against the mattress, your limbs stiff and still. The only thing reminding you that you were still alive was your pulse. You were sure you heard it pumping in your ears, somewhere near your brain. But it felt as though you were seconds away from having a stroke.

“Please.” Your voice was hardly even audible, your lips barely moving. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he paused, his expression almost contemplative. But then he pursed his lips and stretched out his arms, the notion almost lazy. “Good.” He purred. “Then it will hurt him all the more.”

He straddled you in a swift movement, ramming the knife into the mattress only a few inches from your head. You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut.

This was it.

Everything that had led you to this moment – Would you still take it? If this was how your life ended?

All the pain. All the misery. Only for your mother to get her last wish.

He leaned down and his breath hit your face, smelling of iron and blood. “You know…” He stretched out a finger and ran the tip of it down your cheek, then your neck. You whimpered and only ever squeezed your eyes shut tighter. That made him smirk. You heard his amusement clearly. “I was actually supposed to find you and bring you back. Rescue you, if you will.” He scoffed and shook his head, before he dug his fingers into your cheeks and forced a sharp gasp over your lips. “Isn’t that so fucking ironic? Rescue you. While you were here, getting fucked by this little piece of shit. Did you enjoy it? Huh? Did you enjoy spreading your legs for this bastard?”

You wanted to keep your eyes closed, to somehow escape this nightmare. But he didn’t let you. His hand cracked against your cheek with enough force to make you cry out aloud.

He had never hit you so hard.

Not even his goddamn punches had hurt that much.

You sobbed and tried to swallow back the saliva that threatened to make you choke. A hot feeling flared up in your chest – humiliation, anger, but mostly fear.

He would hurt you. He would genuinely hurt you.

“Please, I didn’t want any of this!”

“Shut the fuck up.” He slapped you again, this time even harder. Hard enough to make you go dizzy. “Will you keep that fucking, slutty mouth of yours shut or do I need to use other methods to make sure you obey?”

A soft rustling sound and then you felt it. The cold metal of the blade, pressed against the side of your neck. Your eyes shot open and you choked back a sob, trying to gasp for air, but there was none.

Were you already dead?

You shook your head, almost imperceptibly.

He nodded. “Good. But just to make sure…”

He tilted back the blade, running the tip of it over your neck. Your eyelids fluttered and all you saw was white, white, white light.

This was how dying felt.

Not being forced by your mother to sleep in a wardrobe, not having to drink water from a bowl on the floor, not event thinking you’d get raped at the metro station.

This was it.

The hardness in his eyes. The coldness. The numbness. The death.

There was nothing left of him. And soon, there wouldn’t be anything left of you either.

“P-p-please.”

But he only smirked. He only smirked and guided the tip of the blade lower and lower, until you felt it pressed against your abdomen.

You stiffened painfully much, digging your nails into your palms.

Your baby.

Your man.

Was he dead?

Oh God, had he killed him?

There was no safety in sight. No help. Nothing.

You were going to die tonight.

Never had you ever been particularly fond of life. And now that you finally were, now you were going to die.

But that didn’t hurt half as much, as did the blade against your stomach. The threat.

“I could cut that thing out of you and feed it to him.”

He wasn’t dead.

And still, his words made you shudder.

You had never even realized when you had started to cry. You simply suddenly realized your face was wet, your lashes sticky and your vision blurred.

“I’ll do whatever you want. But please-“ You sobbed out, but you stopped, when he pressed the blade harder against you.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut.” He spat.

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open and nodded frantically.

“Good.” He murmured. “Maybe you’re not entirely useless. What do we have here?”

He used the tip of the blade to cut the strap of your negligee, causing you to gasp.

“Look at that. How pretty. Like a pretty little slut.” His eyes darkened and his lip quivered in barely suppressed rage.

He leaned down and you felt his tongue run a path from your cheek to your ear. It made you shudder and tense, squeezing your eyes shut, but you forced yourself to stay still and not say a single thing. You just sobbed.

“You know what I’m going to do with you?” He smirked and ran a disgusting path with his tongue inside the shell of your ear. “I’m going to fuck your pretty little pussy. I’m going to fuck it again and again and again, until there’s nothing left of you. And only then will I cut you open.”

You were shaking and sobbing so hard that you felt nausea rise within you. Not only his words, but the intensity of your sobs was enough to make you want to puke.

“Or maybe…” He pressed the blade against your cheek and you held your breath. “Maybe I could cut your eyelids off first, hm? So I can be sure that you keep your eyes on me at all times. What do you think?”

The cold metal of the knife dragged over your face, until you felt it pressed right underneath your eye.

“Please.” Your words were slurred and choked out between sobs and gasps for air. “Please, I’m begging you. Please, I’m pregnant. He f-f…He forced me. He forced me. Please, he forced me, he dragged me here by force, He…he…made me…”

“Shh.” It was almost soothing, the way he shushed you. But the way the blade pressed into your cheek was anything but. The pain came slow, but it stung more than his slap ever could have.

“That’s why you’ve been waiting here, wearing this, hm? Because he forced you?”

You felt blood trickling down your cheek. It didn’t hurt half as much as his words did, though.

“Ah…”

“Mhm, mhm. Do you still want to defy me?"

You shook your head, trying to breathe in hysterically. But there was simply not enough air.

The cut went from your eye down to the corner of your mouth.

There went your vision from a pretty wedding dress, a sweet, young mother picking up her child from daycare. No, you were the Joker. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You wouldn’t make it to that part of your life.

If only he hadn’t stopped cutting you. Because the second he did, you felt the next blow, dark and low. His fingers traced a path down your chest, over your stomach and before you could protest, he pressed his thumb against your center. You squeezed your eyes shut and your lip quivered, a silent plea on your lips.

Not this, not him. Not someone who wasn’t your man. But he couldn’t have cared less, right?

The blade followed the path his fingers had drawn and soon enough you heard the material of your panties being cut open.

Your chest heaved rapidly, your nails biting bloody marks into your palms.

Maybe it would be over sooner than later.

Maybe he would violate you and then leave you to it. Maybe, he’d let you live at least.

Still, you couldn’t choke back the sob that threatened to drown you, when you felt the knife wander down further. The cold metal pressed against your core, sideways, and you forced yourself to stay still. You were sure, one wrong movement and you’d end up maimed for life.

For the little life you had left.

He kept the knife pressed against the bundle of nerves underneath him, while you felt two of his disgusting fingers press against your entrance.

“There, there. I thought that’s what little sluts like you want.”

He pressed forward and you cried out in horror and pain.

“Please, stop!”

You didn’t mean to speak, you knew what always happened whenever you opened your mouth, but your body reacted before the rest of you could.

He stopped for a moment, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re such a dumb fucking whore.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what he did to you! I didn’t ask him to, I didn’t want him to!” The words spilled from your mouth like wildfire. “What I said is true, he did force me here! But I fell in love with him and then you talked to me that day, and then you followed us home and I just- He just- He saw your gun and then he- And then he-“

“Shut up!” His free hand shot out and squeezed your face so tightly, it made you gasp. “Shut the hell up, will you? I’m not doing this, because you fell in love with him. Fuck! Do you think I care about his shit?!” He gritted his teeth and leaned down enough to be right in your face. “You wanna know what your motherfucking boyfriend did? Hm? You wanna know?” His lip quivered again and his eyes were hard enough to cut you open.

“He had my brother killed.”

That made you freeze. More than you already were.

His words sent a sharp pang through your chest and you opened and closed your mouth several times.

“What?”

“Ah, so he didn’t tell you. How fortunate.” He scoffed and exhaled through gritted teeth. “He kept asking me where your bitch of a mother is. And I told him, that I don’t know. Which I don’t. I haven’t seen her in months, right? And he kept asking me. Fuck. I told him that I don’t know. I told him! And what did he do? What did he do the next fucking day?!” The hand he used to hold your face was shaking and so was the rest of him. The crazed look in his eyes intensified to a degree where you were genuinely frightened – genuinely believed you would be dead soon.

“The next day, he showed me a picture on my own phone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “My twin brother.” He briefly closed his eyes, before they shot open again.

“Someone had…Someone had shot him. Right in the face.” He swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek, scrunching up his nose. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he did it himself. But no, he was here, busy fucking you. Getting you pregnant. Fuck!”

He slammed the blade back into the mattress, pressing his fingers back against you, forcing your legs apart.

“I’ll fuck you ‘til you die.” He spat out.

“I didn’t know!” You sobbed out. “Please! I had no idea! Had I known-“

It was a soft sound, a gentle thud, somewhere in the apartment. And what started as a soft breath, quickly turned into running steps.

An emergency. An emergency indeed.

He had heard it, too. And the second he turned his head to look at the open door, you finally broke free from your haze.

He wanted to kill you. Your baby.

Your elbow shot out, hitting the side of his face hard enough for an ugly cracking sound to be heard. He gasped loudly and pulled back, just enough so that you could somehow scramble back from underneath him. He doubled over and pressed a hand against his temple.

The door flew open and there he was.

Oh God.

The fraction of a second. A single second.

His eyes were wide in horror, in disbelief, in surprise.

And then that was all gone. And all that was left was pure, unbridled, murderous fury.

He stormed forward and yanked the intruder off of you, leaving you finally able to breathe again.

You somehow stumbled over, getting on your knees, unable to tear your eyes off the scene.

He slammed him into the wall and began to throw punches left and right, but not in the way one might see in a movie. Not even in an underground fight. Maybe he didn’t even want to kill him. No, he wanted to cause as much damage as possible and watch him suffer.

He was shaking. Shaking in fury, shaking in rage. His fingers itching to murder. And his eyes were black.

“I found your little sister, Elliot.” He spat through gritted teeth.

The man, whose name seemed to be Elliot, slumped down against the wall, but his head perked up, his eyes immediately shooting open in alarm, despite the way his face was slowly swelling beyond recognition.

“What?” He coughed up blood. “No. I don’t have-“

“She lives in France. Clever move, Elliot, really. Thought I wouldn’t find your little French whore of a sister.”

He spun around and dragged the knife from the mattress, making you flinch. He crouched down beside him and tightened his grip on the knife.

“I wish you would live long enough to see what I have planned for her. You see, I’m a loyal man, so I won’t fuck her myself. But fuck, I’ll gather enough men to break that dumb little cocktail waitress. They’ll split her in two.”

Elliot’s eyes widened impossibly, shaking his head frantically. “No…no…no, please, she’s only twenty-six…Fuck, no, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I…”

Suddenly – his gaze met yours.

You flinched and stumbled back against the wall, inhaling sharply.

“Please, you can’t let him do that! Please!”

All you could do was stare at him.

But then his voice cut through the silence. “Get out.”

Your eyes snapped back to him, to the way his eyes were blazing with murderous intent.

“I- I-“

“Get out!”

He didn’t need to say it a third time.

You stumbled to your legs, shaking and nearly falling over, but you caught yourself in the last moment. Your legs somehow carried you outside and you ran and ran, until you reached the bathroom. You collapsed on the floor, gripping the edge of the toilet tightly. You retched and retched, aiming for the toilet and ending up puking all over yourself.

You were still shaking.

Still sobbing.

And with every pained gasp you heard from the bedroom, with every grunt, every plea for help – a little part of you died.

You had no idea how much time had passed. An hour? More? Less?

You lay curled up between the toilet and the wall, your stomach grumbling in unease. You had never felt so disgusting before, covered in blood, sweat, your own puke and the lingering touch of a dead man.

When you heard his footsteps approach, you couldn’t even lift your head.

He knelt down beside you, the movement frantic and concerned. His warm hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him despite your terror, despite your pain.

“No.” You heard him whisper, his fingers brushing softly over the cut on your cheek.

It sounded watery, like he was speaking through a tunnel. Everything was distant.

Was this how death felt?

He gathered you in his arms and your head lolled forward, resting against his chest. He held you like that for a long while, but you barely felt it. You were shaking like a leaf, but the sobs had died.

You had died.

“He- Wanted-“

“Did he hurt you?” He was trying to stay calm, trying for your sake. There was not much he could do to retaliate to a dead man, anyway.

“Is he dead?” You choked out.

“Don’t think about that now. Did he hurt you?”

You begrudgingly shook your head. “Not…enough to…”

You had no idea what you were even trying to say.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.” He said lowly as he attempted to get up. You caught his wrist before he could.

“He didn’t.” You choked out. “I’m not- He didn’t-“

Your gaze followed down his to your exposed body. His eyes were wide and fearful.

“Did he…”

“No! He didn’t…I mean he did try to…He…You came in.” You whispered weakly. “You came in, before he could.”

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, before he pressed you against him, cradling your head against his chest. His heart was racing in his chest and his hand pressed your head into his embrace almost painfully tight.

“This is all my fault.” He whispered hoarsely. “I lost the chip and by the time I realized it, I…This is all my fault.”

Of all the things he had done wrong, you wouldn’t let him take the blame for that.

“No.” You whispered, slowly coming out of your haze. Everything was still blurry, but the shaking began to lessen ever so slightly. “It’s not your fault. It’s his.”

“If I didn’t-“

“We’re not discussing this.” You whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t want to overwhelm you any further, you could tell. And you were grateful for that.

“I’m going to take you to the hospital regardless. The stress-“

“Okay.” You whispered. “But please, I…Just let me…Give me…”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his expression pained. “I’ll take care of you. I promise, I will. And I will never leave you alone again. No one will ever touch you again.” He gritted out.

You didn’t protest when he sat you in the tub. He knelt beside it, gently washing everything off you. You just sat there, your chin resting on your knees. The warmth of the water felt good on your skin, it helped against the cruel cold in your bones. But it did little to comfort you. Nothing could ever erase the pain, the fear you felt as you lay there, entirely helpless and frozen.

You barely felt his hands as he gently cleaned you up. You closed your eyes when the warm water ran down your hair and face, but you didn’t flinch.

After a while you felt his hand gently cup your cheek. He made you look at him and you didn’t hesitate to.

“Can you ever forgive me?” He whispered barely audible.

You had never seen him like this. So…desperate.

You were sure, you would never forget the look in his eyes when he reached for the knife. The moment he saw what was going on.

You had been terrified then. And also incredibly relieved.

But you couldn’t help but ask yourself, since that was inside of him…would you always be safe? Would your child always be safe?

But then your expression softened. He looked genuinely terrified. Terrified of the possibility that he had lost your love, your trust. You.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” You whispered hoarsely. “I love you.”

He swallowed and averted his gaze, gently tightening his grip on you.

A few minutes later, you were still damp but covered in a big, fluffy bathrobe. He led you to the other bedroom and lay you down gently, pulling the covers up to your chin.

“I’ll get the doctor here instead.” He murmured. “I don’t want you to go anywhere right now.”

You didn’t protest. He sat by your side, squeezing your hand and staring down at it.

His guilt was eating him alive. And that was eating you.

You gently took his hand and pressed the softest kiss against his knuckles.

“I was just afraid. I’ll be okay.” You whispered.

But he didn’t look convinced. The pain in his eyes was so apparent, so real. You had never before seen him like that.

After a while, you slowly looked up at him. “Did you really have his brother killed?”

He stiffened slightly, but he didn’t avoid your gaze. “Yes.” He said quietly.

You were silent for a while. “Why?”

“He said things about you.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Threatened you. I should have killed him back then already.”

Your guts churned and you averted your gaze.

“Your mother is in Korea.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Maybe you were indeed dead. And maybe it was better that way.

“What?” You breathed out.

You felt him nod. “She’s here. She’s in Seoul.”

He bit his lip and you kept your gaze glued to the ceiling.

“I know where she is.”

You closed your eyes and tried to sort out your thoughts. A list of pros and cons. And then you thought back to the baby in your belly. The tiny human, dependent on you. Tiny fingers and toes. Small teeth. A smile, covered in chocolate and ice cream.

Someone to love.

Someone to love unconditionally.

And then you thought back to how you how almost lost it. How your kidneys were giving up. How you had lost one, due to poisoning. You almost lost your baby because of her.

When you looked up at him, your eyes didn’t look like your own.

“I trust you.” Was all that you said.

He didn’t comment on it and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. He was a clever man.

He didn’t need words to understand you.

You averted your gaze again, staring up at the ceiling and gently running your thumb over the back of his hand. He loved it when you played with his hands.

He loved it when you leaned on him.

He loved it when you loved him.

He-

“Choi Seo-jin.”

You stopped in your tracks and kept your gaze focused on the ceiling. There was no confusion. You knew it. You knew what he was saying. You knew what it meant.

When you slowly tilted your head to meet his gaze, he was already looking at you. His eyes soft. Softer than ever before.

“My name. It’s Choi Seo-jin.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. There was not much you could say.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke in a voice so soft and silky that it left you feeling breathless.

His name. His name.

“Sorry?” You breathed out.

He nodded. “For not telling you earlier. For not trusting you, when I should have. For…for all the things I have done to you. Everything.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Most of it, you had already forgiven him. Probably everything. Most likely everything.

Sure, you had told to the dead man that he kidnapped, that he forced you to be here and carry his child. But what else should you have said? You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want your baby to die. And so you lied.

It wasn’t really a lie, was it? Not a few months ago. But now you knew this was exactly where you belonged.

There was no more curtain, no uncertainty left. No guilt, no unease, no fear.

When you feared him, then you feared him as his partner. Not his victim.

“You don’t have to say that.” You said gently, but he cut you off with a sharp nod.

“Yes, I do.” He exhaled slowly and looked down at your combined hands. “I told you of my father, right? But I didn’t tell you everything.”

You held your breath and simply…let him be.

He smiled, but there was no mirth wheresoever. His eyes were cold, but not directed at you.

At the memory.

“I still hear my mother screaming, you know? Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’m sure I can hear her. When I wake up then and see you lying beside me…It’s the only thing to bring me back.”

He bit his lip and shook his head, still not looking at you.

“He told me that no one would ever be able to love me. That no one could ever love a weak little bastard like me. Called my mother a whore. Said she slept around. He wouldn’t even be sure whose or what I was. Bastard was his go-to name for me.” He sighed and shook his head, gently playing with your fingers. “He said no one could ever love me. And everyone who ever said they did would lie.”

That was when he finally looked up to meet your gaze.

“And I believed him.” He whispered. “I was sure that no one could ever love me. No one would ever trust me. No one would ever look at me and see their lover, their husband. Their protector. They’d see me for what I was. A bastard.” He shook his head again, his voice dropping low. “I thought if I tested you enough, if I hurt you enough, you’d run. I was sure. You were a tough girl. Tough as nails. I did the most vile things to you, but you? You never tried to run. I tried to kill you and what did you do? You told me you loved me.” He clenched his jaw as he spoke. “And I was…I was so fucking confused. Why would you love me? You had to be lying. But no matter what I did, you didn’t run.” His voice turned contemplative, his gentle grip on your hand never wavering.

“He came to my room, you know.” He swallowed against something in his throat and you were sure the sound of your heart breaking was audible.

“Every so often. He…” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t say it. And he didn’t need to. Instead, you gently squeezed his hand, just a little bit tighter than usual.

Your eyes filled with tears, but you bit them back. You wanted so bad to be strong for him, especially now. He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze, a tiny, weak smile on his lips.

“I couldn’t control it.” He whispered and slowly shook his head. “No matter what I did. I was never in control. Everything just happened. And I could only let it happen.” He clenched his jaw tighter, his grip on your hand was shaking now. “And I told myself I would never, never feel that way again. Never. And I didn’t.”

He sighed deeply. “But I think I got a little ahead of myself. And now…And you…” His gaze raked over your face, over your damp cheeks and he smiled again.

“I gave you control. I know it wasn’t much. It’s not…easy. But I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

He reached out a hand, his palm against your cheek warm and gentle. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

“You never took advantage of it.” He murmured. “I saw it in your face, in your eyes. That one time you slapped me or whenever I let you be in control…It’s almost like it’s hurting you physically.”

His smile widened, just the tiniest bit. “I know it now. I know that my father was nothing but a liar. And you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you nodded. It was all you could do.

“Good.” He whispered. “Because…”

He took a slow breath and brought your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against it.

“Because I intend to marry you and make this whole thing work. I’m going to be your husband and you will be my wife. And this…” He gently pressed his free hand against your stomach. “This is our baby. And no one will ever touch our baby. We’re going to love it. And I will kill anyone who ever tries to touch either of you again.”

His voice was so firm and convincing that you were sure. He meant every word.

You couldn’t even protest. You didn’t want to.

You would be his wife.

And your baby was going to get all the love the both of you had been missing.

And then?

And then he told you everything. Everything from who he was and where he came from. Every quirk, every ick, every pain, every wish, every fear. Everything. Until you were sure.

You were meant to be there.

You were meant to be his.

And had it been him who wrote the text, who uploaded it, who decided to share his thoughts with the world. Had it been him, not you.

You would have done the same.

After an eternity of just talking and letting go of everything that dragged down his soul into the strange abyss that was his misery, he finally looked at you.

“Did I miss anything?” He murmured, before he leaned down to press a kiss against your temple.

You swallowed and nodded. “You didn’t tell me where you work.”

He sighed deeply and leaned back. “You’ll love me regardless?”

You didn’t need to think about it. You simply nodded.

You would.

He nodded as well and leaned down, just enough so you felt his breath against your skin, like the gentle kiss of a sweet spring day after a long, bitter winter. His fingers gently played with your hair, the movement absentminded.

His eyes softened even more and he looked at you with nothing less than pure trust.

“Tell me, darling…Have you ever played the Squid Game before?”

_________________________________________

Tag list 1 :@mitsuki-dreamfree@kpopsmutty69@heroine-chique@vkeyy@mizuwki@blu-brrys@z0mbi345@yourpointbreak@ayieayee@freddyzeppsworld@lola11111111@indifitel6661@salesmanlover08@laurenbenoit70@lalalaa2210@lila-marshal@auspicious-lilana@0-aubrie0@lovelyaegyo@theredvelvetbitch@violentbluess@muriels-lover@dorayakissu@eviebuggg@muchwita@ririgy@strxlemon@obsessedwthdilfs@kiwilov3@misty-q @koigguki

Author's note 2: Sorry for traumatizing you, guys. I hope whatever I wrote made any sense...My brain is a mess, it's 2.30am and I'm going to sleep now. I loveeeee you! 🤍

[witherby]

I think a cute fic would be Alfred reading Punchline to sleep after a nightmare.

-📝

Also, LOVE EVERYTHING YOU E DONE :}

You got it! And thank you!!

Punchline - Scattered Nighttime

⚠️ Content warning: Nightmares, the Joker abuses his daughter, description of injuries ⚠️

Masterlist is Here!

There's something very strange about seeing the reason why you can't move your hand properly, despite not feeling it.

Popsy's laughing. You've pleased him, you've entertained him, and the only price you had to pay was your hand getting smashed by a pipe. It looks like a black and blue pancake, the palm flatter than normal and several fingers badly misshapen.

You turn your hand over, admiring the front and back, and try to flex the fingers. They twitch and bend at an angle that isn't normally possible. There's an odd pressure between the joints you instinctively understand is wrong. You wonder if you have enough ribbon to tie the digits back into the correct shape so that they heal into something usable again.

"What, you don't think that's funny?" Your father asks, something thin and dangerous in his tone. You immediately snap your gaze to his and the smile on your face stretches wider. "Why don't I give you something to giggle about, then!"

You see him gear up to swing the pipe at your head. An old, long-buried instinct screams at you to duck. You stand still and compliant for your Popsy, because that's what good and entertaining toys do. They always do what they're told, or they get broken and discarded.

You briefly wonder why you're still being broken if you're the favorite.

The sound of metal crashing into your ear jolts you awake, and you find yourself looking at plain, beige walls.

Your hand flies to your head, fingers brushing along the shell of your ear. You feel the sensation of touch, but hear nothing. Almost total hearing loss on the side of impact. You look at your right hand, at the small crook in your middle and ring fingers you didn't manage to completely set right as they were healing. Usable, but forever altered. The digits crack every time you flex it into a fist. Pop. Pop. Pop.

You take stock of the rest of your body while your breathing slows back to normal. Two arms. Two legs. Ten fingers. Ten toes. No new cuts. No new breaks. Some new bruises, but aside from being colorful little polka dots in your skin, you ignore them.

You're fine. But you can feel your heart hammering in your ribcage, and the ever-present tremor in your limbs has worsened after waking up. The itch of inactivity is making itself known under your skin. You don't look at the camera in the corner of your cell, but you still feel that instinct to perform, to please, to entertain.

But these people don't think you're funny. Not like Popsy. They don't get your jokes. They don't play your games. They don't tell you what they want from you, so you do nothing for as long as you can, until the boredom and the itch settles in and becomes unbearable.

Right now it's unbearable.

You get up off the floor and wander to the door, pressing your fingers into the seam between it and the wall. If you apply enough pressure, the sensor inside thinks it's got something stuck in the doorway, and it pops open. A hilarious safety measure you exploit whenever the boredom rears its head.

Wing-a-ding is watching you tonight. Or, he would be, if his attention wasn't on a case file he's got open in his lap instead of your camera feed. You could scare him for a laugh, but the way he looks at you isn't fun, so you leave him be. It's child's play to slip past him, inattentive and unaware at the bat computer, and climb the first set of stairs you find.

You creep through the grandfather clock and step into Wayne manor, casting your gaze about the brand new space with wide, curious eyes. So many breakable things! So many fancy things, too. Fancy chairs, fancy desks, fancy mirrors, fancy carpet, fancy stairs...Batsy is richy-richy-rich!

The house is large and easy to get lost in. Larger than any other building you've ever been in. It smells nicer, too. You step into the hall and pick a random direction to go, footfalls light and airy. It's a nice distraction from your dream, and the palpitations aren't as harsh the more you walk.

You find a sitting room. The chairs are big, but kinda stiff, so you don't sit long and keep going.

Another sitting room. This one has a loveseat that's bouncy. You jump up and down on it until the wheezy, light feeling you get from the broken ribs forces you to stop. You accidentally tip a vase over as you climb down, and it lies cracked on the floor, but no one comes to hurt you, so you ignore it.

You have to lie down for a couple minutes to catch your breath before you can continue, but eventually you're up and off again.

There's a big book room. You wander between the shelves and trail your fingers along the spines, eyeing the colors and symbols detailed on each one that stands out to you. You pick one and pluck it out of the shelf, thumbing through the pages as though you had any chance of deciphering the messages printed on them. You wonder what story lies inside it with a curious quirk of your lips.

You think of calm, even tones and a quiet voice, reading a tale about an angry little girl who has to adjust to a whole new way of living now that her parents are gone. You wonder if...

The book falls from your fingers. It's more amusing to leave it on the floor than put it back where it belongs, so you knock a couple more down to join it before you leave the big book room with a snicker.

You've just stumbled upon the kitchen when someone clears their throat behind you.

Grinning, you twirl around and clasp your hands behind your back, finding yourself looking up at Alfred.

"Lady Punchline," he greets you. He's wearing pajamas, so you must have awoken him while exploring. He doesn't look upset. "Can I get you anything?"

You get asked that a lot. You don't know what the right answer is. You don't know how to play their games yet. You just smile and click your feet together. The noise is soothing.

Click. Click. Click.

"It's quite late," Alfred continues, "or early, depending on your opinion. Why don't I get you settled into a bed and we can read another chapter of The Secret Garden together?"

He holds out a hand for you to take. You wait for it to curl into a fist, wait for it to dart forward and strike you somewhere, but it doesn't.

Alfred continues to stand there with you, waiting quietly. You look at his hand for a long time, staring at every weathered groove and line. You notice the uniformity of his fingers, the callouses borne of hard work, the lack of scarring.

You brush your right hand against his palm, comparing the shapes against your own. He's very warm to the touch.

Click. Click. Click.

"Lady Punchline," he speaks up. "I will take you to my quarters for the night. If that isn't acceptable to you, all you need to do is remove your hand from mine, and we can go somewhere else."

A command. No...a direction. A plan. You just have to follow his plan. That's fine. You are Popsy's obedient little toy, and you're very good at it. You can follow Popsy's plans. You can comply with others, too.

You thread your crooked fingers in his pretty ones. He gives you a single nod and a featherlight squeeze, then leads you through the halls of the large house.

You walk for a while together. You have to stop twice when the wheezing gets bad and the world starts to tip around like a rollercoaster, but Alfred just keeps his gentle hold of your hand and guides you along when you're ready.

Soon enough, you're ushered into a large bedroom and tucked into a bed that could easily fit ten of you. It's both soft and firm, supporting your back and easing the pressure in your ribs and warming you in a way you're not used to. You stare at the ceiling and feel your heart beating heavily against your chest while Alfred grabs his book and sits in the armchair a couple feet away.

"The last we left off was chapter six. I shall start from there," he says.

You let his voice wash over you and drown out all other sensations. Your racing heart slows down. The trembling in your limbs lessens. Popsy's voice echoing around in your mind quiets, until all you can hear is Alfred's soft, steady cadence and all you can think about is Mistress Mary, learning how to be a child.

Your eyes slip closed and you're out before he's halfway through the chapter.

[lukolathoughts]

Women's rights

(trigger warning. Also, please be kind as I discuss some personal issues. I will block all negative comments, but I welcome opinions.)

Hi everyone, hope you are all doing well. I knew last night was going to be rough. It happens whenever I write a blog post. As soon as I saw that story from Jake yesterday thanking Aimee - Nic's stylist for her help, I knew he would at the Bafta party. What I didn't expect was that Nicola would pose on the red carpet with him for staged and awkward looking photos. I did a double take in astonishment at his white trainers paired with a ill fitting suit, that did not match Nicola's outfit. The photos were stiff and awkward, Nicola forcing a smile of adoration and Jake rarely looking at her. It screamed PR and FAKE FAKE FAKE. This is not us Lukola's being in denial, this just simply what we see with our own eyes.

The question I posed in yesterdays blog titled - 'The crazy woman in the attic' was, what is in the attic exactly? What on earth is going on that Nicola and Luke need to go to these kind of extremes? What secret are they protecting? This cannot be the solution. Nicola, I hope your team sends you this and I will try and be as kind and gracious as possible with my opinions. Also, remember readers these are my opinions. Jakeholes, just block me and move on. As I have said, this is not the place for you.

I am going to go into a bit of personal information about me just to give you some context. I grew up in a extremely unsettled home. My father was physically violent to my mother and I witnessed a lot. I struggled with not being able to save her. I still carry this guilt to this day, and I have never been able to forgive my dad. We left when I was nine, but by that time I had seen a lot. I met my ex when I was 19 and that turned into an emotionally abusive relationship, made all the more harder as I was living with him abroad. When I came home, I was an absolute wreck and I needed that time to heal and be on my own, with support from my family and friends. I was then very lucky to meet my own Colin Bridgerton and that is where we are today. One of the habits I developed as a child to cope and hide I suppose was to watch my television shows. I love my TV shows and movies. It just settles me and I can escape for a few hours. It's no real surprise to me that I adore Bridgerton.

OK, ZG, what does this have to do with Nic? Well, I do love a strong female character and I adore Penelope and I have admiration for Nicola and all she believes in. She is a role model to me. However, the biggest role model in my life other than Buffy, is obviously my mum. She worries me to death that woman and is a Capricorn also, incidentally she is now married to an Aquarius. Stubborn as a mule, but a heart of gold, my mum. I keep going back mentally to wishing I could have done something as a child to help her. As most of you know, I'm a teacher. At the moment, I am working on a project to get young parents back into work or education in deprived areas by improving their literacy, numeracy and other skills. I have loved this project and helping these women has been fantastic. Without saying too much, some of these women have dealt with the worst kinds of abuse I have ever seen or heard. Coercive control is much more prevalent now amongst abusers. I am an empath as well, so I take a lot of this emotion home with me and I guess the fandom and Nicola and Luke have helped me channel this elsewhere and allow me to escape.

I have known gay men my whole life. My first cousin was always very open about his sexuality, even before we understood what it meant. It was just the way he was. I had a gay BFF in primary school, college and all through my twenties I mixed with the albeit minimal gay scene where I live. I have not had much experience with the trans community, I'll be honest, other than visiting the gay bars in Swansea and Cardiff with my friend S. I just don't have the same emotional connection to the trans community as Nicola does. I support rights of women. I shouldn't feel guilty for saying that loud. I fight for their right to work and education and for making a better world for their children. I fight for my own children. I write what I write as a mother myself and especially a mother to a daughter.

One of the most upsetting things in the last few years was the Manchester Bombing. On 22 May 2017, following a concert by the American pop singer Ariana Grande. Perpetrated by Islamic extremist Salman Abedi and aided by his brother, Hashem Abedi, the bombing occurred at 22:31 and killed 22 people. Most of these victims were young women and girls. The murder of Sarah Everard by police officer Wayne Couzen's in 2021 was one of the most sickening cases I had ever read and the media tried to blame Sarah for her own murder for daring to walk home alone at night. Last summer, in Southport, a mad man broke into a little girls dance studio at a Taylor Swift themed dance class and knifed to death three little girls and stabbed countless others. Kyle Clifford, broke into his ex girlfriends house and killed her, her sister and her mother with a crossbow last year also.

These are the kind of stories that keep me awake at night, not whether trans women are allowed to use the women's toilets or not and whatever else. I don't want men in our spaces and I don't think they should be. But, I give Nicola some grace, because she is raising money for a cause she believes in it. I will not begrudge her that. What I do begrudge her for is after successfully raising so much money, she then proceeds to counteract everything she was campaigning for by walking Jake Dunn down the red carpet and presenting him to the media as her 'boyfriend'. To me, this is deeply hypocritical. Jake is known to the industry as a queer actor. Jake is starring in an upcoming BBC drama about trans rights where he plays a queer role. All this has done is upset her fans and enrage the LGBTQ community. Jake's stylist Miller Mode posted a very interesting story post today saying he was a stylist for queers, weirds and beards. How fascinating is that? How many more of these posts will we see and how many of the community will start to turn their backs on Nicola and Jake? Miller mode also refers to Jake as a 'princess' and 'she'.

Jake is also doing press for his show today What it feels like for a girl and he's back on Instagram today promoting trans rights as if last night didn't happen. Maybe he and Nic wish it didn't. She has been eerily silent today so far and I'm sorry but Nic, you made your bed, now you must lie in it. That carriage scene is iconic and partly because Luke was so magnificent in delivering his love declaration. The scene is magic, with chemistry like no other. Luke should have been there last night. I find it fascinating that we have yet to see Jake and Luke interact. I think it is glaringly obvious why, gentle reader. Luke can't lie to save his life. He'd be too busy glaring daggers at Jake, and Jake in turn would be salivating over Luke. It would be hilarious and frankly, I would love to see it. I find the candid photo of Jake eyeing up the hot Love Island contestant last night poetic justice and there is the truth right there. But yet we are still vilified on SM for suggesting Jake is gay and not at all interested in Nicola. This has nothing to do with Nicola, by the way. If I was with Nic, I probably would never stop smiling, but Jake can't bring himself to do it. It's not because she's unattractive, it's because she's literally not his type. Period. She is a woman.

I will continue to stand up for women, including Nicola, but lovely you gotta throw me a bone here. You want your fans to hang around and cheer for you? Then don't repeatedly slap us in the face and undermine our intelligence. Be honest and tell us what you and Luke are hiding in that damn attic, because it isn't Jake Dunn, he's out and proud.

[vitaminkyeom]

telephone || k.mg

“NOW IT'S TIME FOR ME TO RETURN THE FAVOUR”

PAIRING || Mingyu x Female Reader

GENRES || Horror, 911 Operator!Mingyu, Romance

SUMMARY ||  Working the night shift as a 911 operator was hard as it is and the last thing Mingyu needed was those calls from his ex-girlfriend. Whom he had not seen in years. For obvious reasons of her being dead.

Or, in which, Mingyu kept getting calls from his ex girlfriend claiming that she had murdered him.

SERIES MASTERLIST || till death do us part

WARNINGS || inaccurate 911 stuff, description of murdered body, horror, mention of murder and ghost

WORD COUNT || 3k

A/N || If you recognise this story, no you don't. but anyways this was one of my most favourite works even though i'm not that great at writing horror so i'm really glad i'm starting off with this story for the series. i've tried my best to make it as scary as i could (sorry but im a pussy) so yeah any feedback would be really helpful!

TAGLIST || @monamipencil @nonuify @black-swan-blog27 @hipsdofangirl @wonuilu @kibs-and-bits @unlikelysublimekryptonite @gyuguys @hanicore @alyssng @hyneyedfiz @weebotakuboy @aaniag @thepoopdokyeomtouched @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @sea-moon-star @hrts4hanniehae @athanasiasakura @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @asasilentreader @isabellah29 @mrswonwooo @nonononranghaee @hoichi02 @cheolsboo @dinossaurz @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tinkerbell460 @bluewbwerry @hoeforcheol @kawennote09 @iamawkwardandshy @winterbeartaehyungbestboy ​ @jjeongddol @k-drama-adict @mnstxmnbb @stervahaha @escoupseu @wonvsmile @mansaaay [if you want to be added to my taglist please fill in this form!]

“911, please state your emergency.”

Static. He waited for a minute more but there still wasn’t any sound coming from the other side.

Mingyu sighed exasperatedly, sure that this was another prank call. Halloween night was looming close which also meant teenagers found it funny to call the operators up at night to scare them.

But he was used to this. Which was funny because Mingyu was the biggest scaredy cat in his group and could not even watch Scooby Doo without whimpering at least once. But he took his responsibilities very seriously and there was no way he was going to let his fear come in the middle of his work.

He was about to hang up the call when he heard a sound. Immediately he jerked back the phone to his ear and strained them to hear anything, but all he could hear was a buzzing sound.

“Hello? How can I help-”

“Help.”

He inhaled sharply, the woman’s raspy voice very clear in the empty office. Mingyu was the only one serving night shift in his floor currently, and the only thing accompanying him was the soft beeping on the seven screens in front of him and the buzzing of the fluorescent tube lights above him.

“Ma'am, are you in a position to tell me what is happening?”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, noting down the number first and then quickly texting the other department to find out the location of the call.

“Pl-please help. Make him stop.” The woman whispered,  her ragged breath harsh against his ears.

“Make whom stop? Can you tell me who is near to you, ma’am?”

Mingyu felt an unnatural calmness settle into his bones, one that always came whenever he forced himself to calm down in such situations.

A message dinged on one of his screens indicating that they had traced the nearest cell tower of the cell phone.

“Officer Lee.” He said, already on the other line, talking to the nearest official he could see. “We have a 911 emergency of abuse.”

“Roger that. Address?”

“It's…” Mingyu’s voice trailed off on seeing the address. 

No way- How was that possible? There had to be some mistake right?

Because the address was of his house.

He cleared his throat, sure that the address was wrong since they tracked the nearest cell tower, and that could be kilometres away from the destination.

“Uh, the address shows my house. I… I think you need to be on the lookout for areas near my house.”

There was a pause, as though Seokmin seemed to be trying to process this information. Seokmin had been good friends with him, so Mingyu knew that even he found it odd, especially when his neighbourhood was a safe and nice one.

“On my way.”

“Ma’am,” Mingyu said, back to line one, “if you could tell me your name or your address, or even what is happening to you, I could help you out better.”

His eyes were trained to look at all the monitors at once, one monitoring the small dot that represented Seokmin heading towards the destination, another with a blank form about the caller and another one where he was rapidly typing what he was hearing, ready to call in other emergencies in case he heard something important.

“Help! Why don’t you help me? Please help!”

“Ma’am help is on the way, please calm down-”

He was interrupted by a loud pop as all the lights went out, the only source of light now being the soft glow of his computer screens. The room was now lit up eerily and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise up. Mingyu wasn’t very scared of the dark ever, but the growing sounds of gurgling and growling in the telephone line was causing shivers to travel down his spine.

“Mingyu…” The woman rasped, this time sounding like she had gargled razors, her screeching voice turning his blood to ice.

How did she know his name?

Goosebumps rose all over his skin as his breathing came out in sudden pants, feeling an icy invisible hand wrap around his neck. He sucked in a breath harshly and with a jolt, he realised how lonely he was, not a single soul on his floor whilst he was plunged in darkness.

Then the call cut off abruptly, and at the same time, the power surged back to life. 

Yet, the cold feeling hadn’t left Mingyu as though he could still hear the woman gargling in his ear.

“Mingyu?”

He jerked as the second line suddenly came to life, Seokmin’s voice clear through the landline.

“H-Hey. Did you find anything?” He tried his level best not to sound shaken, but it was hard because the more he tried to ignore wherever had just happened, the more the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.

“Nothing. We will be needing to get a more specific address. Your entire apartment seems safe to me. Is she still on the line?”

Mingyu exhaled harshly, rubbing his chest with his hand to calm down his heart that was beating too fast. He then realised how dry his throat had become, and quickly took a sip of water before continuing.

“No. She cut the call. I- uh, I don’t think she needs help anymore. She sounded alright at the end.” He said, wincing having to lie. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling of horror he had felt when he saw his own address flash on to the screen.

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we follow the protocol still-”

“She told me so herself.” Mingyu snapped, and Seokmin shut up, not saying anything more.

He sighed, rubbing his template, trying to forget what he had just heard. But it was like the noise had been ingrained into his brain. He could hear it even now, even though there were many other small sounds beside him.

But being a 911 operator, there was bound to be such horrors, right? He had heard some similar stories of ghost calls from his superiors. Maybe this was one of them?

“Well then…I suppose that’s it huh?” Seokmin cut the silence, causing Mingyu to flinch as he jumped out of his thoughts. “Are you calling it a night?”

Mingyu felt his heart leap to his throat.

Calling it a night? On any other day, he would have loved to crash on to his bed but all of a sudden going back to his house, the place where this lady claimed to be at, seemed like a distant nightmare, something which was waiting for him to tear him apart.

“Uh, n-no. I’ll continue my shift I think. Besides, Seungcheol won’t wake up if I call him now.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Seokmin asked, concern lacing his voice. “You sound…scared.”

“I’m fine.” Mingyu swallowed thickly, feeling a patch of sweat that had formed on his forehead as he tried rubbing his temples.

“We’ve dealt with these before, right?” Seokmin asked again, trying to sound bolder for his sake.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. We have. I’ll… hang up now.”

As soon as the phone went down, Mingyu buried his face in his hands, trying to forget the horrible sounds he had heard on the phone.

But the more he tried to forget them, the more he was convinced that they were no more voices in his head, but were coming from the room. It was almost like he could hear the noise coming from behind the door.

I’m probably just hearing things.

He got up and decided to get some fresh air. He walked to the door and paused, the sound still ringing in his ears. Clutching the door knob, he took in a deep breath and with his eyes screwed shut he turned it open, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead of his.

Silence greeted him as he slowly peeled his eyes open, looking around tentatively for anything that might jump on him out of the dark. 

Ding!

The sound of the elevator’s beep caused his heart to nearly stop, the sudden sound cutting through silent night that was almost engulfing him. He felt his entire body freeze as all he could do was watch the numbers on the screen of the lift increase until it reached his floor, limbs paralysed with fear. 

With another soft ding! the lift door began sliding open, and Mingyu found himself almost begging that he shouldn’t be greeted by someone, or something, once the lift door opened.

The dim blue light of the lift spilt out as Mingyu watched in terror, but to his relief only emptiness greeted him back. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror of the elevator. 

Mingyu looked deathly pale, his eyes tired and haggard like he had just seen a ghost. His cheeks were hollow and he felt his stomach lurch when his reflection wobbled, indicating that that the lift was about to close.

And then the lift shut close, leaving him alone with a pin drop silence that almost felt suffocating.

Weren’t there others who had night duty? Because there was no way he was all alone in the building, right?

The thought was enough to cause his stomach to lurch, and he swallowed thickly wondering if he should call someone to take his place.

But his house! Mingyu could feel goosebumps rising on his skin the second he thought of his house.

What if she- that thing was still lurking around his house? Or worse, was actually in his house.

The ringing of the telephone cut through the silence like a blade, causing him to jump a mile. His reflexes kicked in though, and clutching his painfully beating heart, Mingyu ran towards his computers to pick the emergency phone call.

“911. Please state your emergency-”

“Help.”

Mingyu froze, the familiar voice draining out all the blood from his cheeks again.

No way.

He wanted to cut the call, wanted to block out whatever this woman was about to beg for because her voice was like icy daggers to his skin, rekindling his fear like never before. Mingyu had never felt so terrified in his life before. 

“Please help… Mingyu.”

It was like her whispering his name had opened Pandora's box, and lots of emotions hit him at once. He couldn’t even question how she knew his name because that wasn’t what terrified him the most.

But it was the familiarity of the voice of the woman. A voice he used to hear almost every day before it was snuffed out of his life suddenly.

“Y/N.” He whispered, fear clutching his stomach as he felt his heart hammer in his chest.

In the empty office he could only hear his own ragged breathing and the slight buzzing sound coming from the phone.

But how was this possible?

Because you had died six months ago.

Or rather, you had been killed in his apartment. Murdered in cold blood even though it didn’t make sense because you were the sweetest and most caring person he had met in the world. 

At first, he had been charged with murder. Those two months of investigation had nearly driven him mad. It was hard as it is dealing with your death but constant poking of the police made it even worse.

Finally he was set free due to the lack of evidence. 

Even thinking about you made his head throb. 

“Help please.” You rasped again. “Help me-”

“Where are you?” He whispered urgently, not sure why he was even asking questions. Because this had to be some sort of sick joke, right? Or maybe- maybe he was hallucinating after all. Hallucinating that you had come back to life to get some sort of closure.

“In our apartment! Why aren’t you helping?” You sobbed on the other end of the line.

He felt his head spin. Whom was he even talking to? With each word your voice turned more and more raspy and he could feel the familiar fear returning.

“If you don’t help me he’ll-”

Mingyu heard you gasp, followed by a whimpering as he heard someone slap you.

“Y-Y/N?” He asked, though he truly didn’t want to know what had happened to you. Was the person you kept mentioning your real killer? Then… was this your ghost he was talking to?

“Stay away.” A male voice spoke into the telephone suddenly, causing him to nearly fall off his seat. The hair on his arms and necks stood up at the familiarity of the voice.

“Stay away." He repeated.

He could hear his own voice on the other side of the telephone line asking him to stay away and Mingyu felt his head spin at the thought.

The telephone nearly slipped from his sweaty hand as he tried taking in a deep breath to calm himself down.

"And- and who’s this-”

“Just stay away from us.” He heard his own voice command him, before the line disconnected finally.

“Who was that?”

Mingyu jumped from his seat, hands flying to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming, until his eyes landed on Seokmin.

“You- you scared me!” He hissed, rubbing his sweaty forehead while trying to calm his shaking body down. What had just happened?

No way he had been talking to himself, right? How was that even possible?

Seokmin raised an eyebrow, walking towards him and sitting down on a chair opposite to him?

“Did I scare you? Or that call did?”

Mingyu looked away.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, wiping his sweaty face with a tissue. The last thing he needed was Seokmin asking too many questions before he started questioning his own sanity.

“You’re not. You asked the caller whether she was Y/N.”

Mingyu shivered involuntarily at the memory, giving away his fear.

“It sounded like her.” He lied, not wanting to remember what had just happened. Maybe if he was nonchalant about it Seokmin would leave him alone.

“Are you sure? That call before was unusual, coming from your house.” Seokmin said, still concerned. “It's okay to be shaken up by this, you know.”

He exhaled out, trying to calm down his nerves as much as he could.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Pretty sure it was a prank. I mean,” He forced out a laugh, which sounded odd against the silence surrounding the two of them, “How can it even be Y/N? That makes no sense. I probably miss her a lot. That’s why I can hear her everywhere.”

“You should go home.” Seokmin cut him, patting him on the shoulder. “I think you need to rest a bit if you’re that stressed out. Sometimes, stress causes us to see and hear things that are not real. ”

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, feeling dread fill the pit of his stomach at the thought of going home, but with the way Seokmin was staring he knew he didn’t have an option. Or else he would need to explain how he heard his own voice speak to him and ask him to stay away.

Stay away.

Was that a warning, then? Was it a big mistake going back to his house?

But with the way Seokmin was staring at him, Mingyu had no other option but to get up slowly and pack up his things. His hands wobbled, causing him to nearly break his favourite mug, but he managed to force a smile and walk to the elevator, knees threatening to give out any second. 

Once inside the elevator, Mingyu chose to stare at his reflection’s nose, unable to meet its eyes. Something told him that seeing his reflection eye to eye would not be a good idea.

Please hurry up. Please open the door fast-

His heart jumped again as his phone rang suddenly, cutting the heavy cold silence which was accompanied by the occasional soft dings.

"Hello?” He whispered, wondering who was calling so late at night. It couldn’t have been Seokmin since he had his number saved, right?

“Why did you kill me?”

Mingyu froze, unable to breathe anymore. How did you-

“Y/N? How did you- Kill you- What are you talking about?” He panted, stumbling back to support his wobbly legs with the help of the wall of the lift.

All of a sudden the air felt cooler, and his clammy hands seemed to be unable to grip the hand bar of the lift. His eyes darted to the equally petrified reflection and a yelp escaped him, phone dropping to the ground.

Because standing right beside his reflection was you. You, looking just like how you had the day you were murdered. Except there was blood all over your dress and multiple stab marks on your chest and stomach.

You smiled at him sweetly. 

“Don’t you know? You killed me. Well, not exactly you. It was Mingyu. But he is you, you are him, right?”

His legs finally gave away as he pushed his back into the walls of the elevator, terror filling every single of his senses.

Helphelpelphelp-

He heard the lift ding as it reached the ground floor. Crawling to the buttons of the lift, he frantically pressed the open button, eyes not leaving your face as you grinned at him, baring your bloody and broken teeth.

Finally the door opened and Mingyu darted to crawl out but froze almost immediately, feeling his heart stop for real this time.

“No.” He sobbed, as he watched the real you walk towards him. Edging back, he felt his heart hammer painfully hard in his chest, every bit of rational thoughts leaving him as you stepped into the elevator.

You leaned towards him much to his terror, and Mingyu screwed his eyes shut as he finally accepted his fate. His breathing eased a bit but he could still feel how tense his entire body was, adrenaline rushing coursing throughout his body.

I don’t want to go.

“Now it’s time for me to return the favour.”

A/N: Please do tell me what you think about this story!! I worked really hard on it and I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it~ Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

© 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐌 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

[adverbally]

Full Disclosure

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “bitching/studding” | wc: 1,431 | rated: M | cw: nonconsensual studding, parental abuse and neglect, anxiety and panic attacks, vomiting | tags: studded Alpha (formerly Omega) Steve, Alpha Eddie, Steddie, early relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

———

Eddie likes to think that he knows Steve pretty well after a couple months of courting, well enough to notice the odd things that form a pattern of behavior over time. He tries to dismiss them as quirks at first, or just a bad day, but it’s gotten to the point where he can’t ignore the red flags that are flapping in his face.

Like, maybe it makes sense that a big shot Alpha like Steve prefers to take the lead in their relationship. Even though Eddie is an Alpha, too, he doesn’t have much experience and he’s content to let Steve be his guide. So he lets Steve drive when they go somewhere together and open doors for him and press him against the wall to kiss him breathless.

He gets that Steve can be a little nervous, prefers to stay in control whenever possible. That’s why Eddie has only ever asked to fuck him once— the obvious discomfort and anxiety that had marred Steve’s face is burned into Eddie’s memory, and he remembers it every time he wants to suggest switching things up. There’s no point in pushing when Eddie is perfectly happy to let Steve fuck his brains out.

But the alarm bells really start to ring one afternoon in late August, when Steve comes to the trailer and has the worst panic attack Eddie has ever seen.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Steve like this, shaking and gasping for breath as he kneels in front of the toilet. There’s a certain routine to it by now, much like the one they use when Steve has a bad migraine. Eddie rubs his back while he heaves, talks to him softly, wets a washcloth to wipe the sweat and bile from his face. Steve usually comes back to himself within a few minutes, quieter and paler than before but still willing to enjoy some quiet time with Eddie.

Today, though, everything Eddie tries seems to make it worse. Steve is sobbing when he isn’t actively puking his guts out, and he physically flinches away when Eddie reaches out with the washcloth to help him clean up.

“Just go!” Steve shouts. The sound echoes since he’s still head-first in the toilet bowl, but Eddie can see his face in profile: eyes scrunched shut in misery, sucking in air through his clenched teeth.

It stings but Eddie obeys, even if he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He slinks back to the kitchen, not wanting to go too far in case Steve suddenly needs him again. There are a few dishes to be done, the remains of his lunch to clean up, just enough to keep him busy. He’s just wiping down the countertop, cleaning up any remaining juice from the peach he scarfed down earlier, when Steve shuffles out of the bathroom.

“Can we, um.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “Talk outside?”

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees, drying his hands on a dish towel before following Steve out the door.

In the warm afternoon sun, Steve looks awful. His face is pale and waxy, the hair at his temples damp with sweat, and he’s swallowing hard every so often, like he’s still choking down nausea. When he sits on the front steps, he drops like his strings have been cut.

Eddie sits beside him, moving slowly enough for Steve to stop him if he doesn’t want him that close.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Steve begins, kicking the toe of his sneaker into the dirt.

“I get it. You were feeling shitty and I was making it worse.” He wonders if Steve can hear the unspoken question between the lines: what did I do?

Steve nods, still not looking up from his feet. “I have something to tell you. Something nobody else knows, not even Robin. It’s… I don’t know how to say it, really, but I’m gonna try because I think I owe you an explanation.”

Dread settles in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. If this is something that Robin doesn’t know, it must be seriously bad. Like, forced into an arranged marriage, dying of some crazy disease, apocalypse-level bad. But he can hear Steve take a deep breath, steadying himself before he dives in, so he stays quiet and listens.

“I presented the summer before junior year. My heat was miserable. Like, I know they’re not fun for anyone but it was especially bad because I was alone. My parents were out of town so it was just me, trying to make a nest on my bedroom floor with any blanket I could find.”

Eddie’s heart breaks for him at the scene he pictures– Steve aching, sweating, crying, with nobody to help him through it. He can’t think about it too hard, though, because the implications of Steve having presented Omega, gone through his heat and everything, but being so confidently Alpha now…

As if reading Eddie’s mind, Steve continues. “Of course I couldn’t hide it from my parents once they got home. They could smell it all over me. My mom just cried, probably because she knew how my dad would react.” He pauses, shuts his eyes. “I don’t know how long he screamed at me. All that shit about how his only son couldn’t be an Omega, how this was just another mess of mine that he would have to clean up. Then he locked me in my room for two days.”

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers. He can’t help it, smelling the fear and anger coming off Steve as he relives his trauma. He needs to comfort him. Thankfully, Steve takes his hand when he offers it, squeezing Eddie’s palm with clammy fingers.

“He drove me to Chicago, to some clinic where he knew the chief of designation reassignment. I was there for a month. A whole month of hormone therapy and rehabilitation to ‘fix me,’” he sneers, “turn me into the alpha my parents wanted.”

Now Eddie feels nauseous. “You were just a kid. Studding is… it can’t have been legal for them to do that, not to a minor who couldn’t consent.”

“Like they cared.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “My dad got what he paid for, didn’t he? Never mind that they basically had to torture me for weeks, pumping me full of drugs, suffocating me with my own slick, making me–” He cuts himself off suddenly, clapping his free hand over his mouth like he thinks he might be sick.

“Baby–”

“It was the peach from your lunch,” Steve confesses, voice trembling as he holds on to Eddie for dear life. “When I walked in, it was all I could smell. That's what I– my scent before, it was peaches. It was like being back there.” He sniffs and scrubs at his eyes. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

Frankly, Eddie wants to yell, too, at Steve’s shitbag parents, at everyone at that facility who hurt Steve, but that’s not going to help right now. Instead, he strokes his thumb across the back of Steve’s hand and murmurs, “Thank you for telling me.”

“Are you mad?”

Jesus. Eddie takes a breath. “I’m mad that that happened to you, but I’m not mad at you.”

Steve nods, still not looking at Eddie. “It felt like I was lying to you, you know? You were with me but you didn’t know. And I know you’re probably gonna say something about how it doesn’t matter to you whether I’m an Alpha or an Omega–”

“It does matter,” Eddie insists, “if it matters to you.”

“I don’t know yet. It’s taken me this long to tell someone, let alone figure out how to feel about it.” He shrugs. “I’m not unhappy as an Alpha but… well, who knows how I would’ve felt if I’d stayed an Omega. Maybe I would’ve hated it. But it should’ve been my decision, not theirs.”

Eddie squeezes his hand again. “Yeah, but you still have choices. If you wanted to, like, explore that part of you, try something new, I could help.” He thinks Steve gets his meaning, since a flush starts climbing up his neck. “But nothing has to change unless you want it to.”

With a deep sigh, Steve leans over to rest his head against Eddie’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

He rubs his cheek against the top of Steve’s head. Not his most subtle scent marking move but Steve needs the obvious reassurance right now. It’s gonna take time for him to heal from this, Eddie knows, and he’s gonna be there every step of the way.

[beeboopneep]

:)

I firmly believe that the batfam would be a half-decent family to be adopted into while not knowing about their Nighttime Activities TM... at least in the beginning.

Lets say that Kiddo gets dropped off after the death of their last guardian (mother, most likely) and somehow the cops get their hands on a letter or something that says that Kiddo is Bruce Wayne's biological child. CPS wouldn't DNA test a child otherwise, but with some sort of evidence they may. Either way, something tells me that as soon as Bruce was notified of the possible child he would get the test done lol. While that processes the kid would end up in foster care (yikes! Gotham foster care is def rough af) whether Bruce is a foster father or not (that sounds like a problematic placement and he'd probably have to pull strings if he wanted to take care of them during this time). So, for 3-14 days an already traumatized, possibly orphaned child waits in limbo in a cesspool of a foster system. Trauma on top of trauma. And then the results come back and Yay! You've got a daddy!

So they pack up everything and go live with the People's Billionaire who they have definitely seen scandals of on the news before. Can you imagine the thoughts going through their head at the time? Are the other kids gonna bully me? Does he even want biological kids? Is he abusive? Neglectful? Pervy?? Does he really drink that damn much and fall in that many damn fountains?!?

And then they'd meet him and he'd be... stoic? And awkward and kind of cold? Which they could definitely take wrong (Bruce is emotionally inept, not malicious) and assume he hates them off the bat. They withdraw, straining themselves and the barely-there relationship more. The ink's still fresh on their adoption and they already want to leave.

Anyway, lets say things pick up. They meet Dick, the emotional center of the household, and then Jason, their caring (if abrasive) older brother, and so on. They start to find their place. Maybe they still struggle to warm up to Bruce or really feel like on of his kids, especially since everyone else seems so comfortable.

But Dick invites them to get ice cream and burgers and whatever else just as an excuse to spend time with them and make sure they're adjusting well (or enough to be expected). Jason teaches them to punch and how to finally get A's on the English assignments, and how to actually like their English assignments. He buys them fancy bookmarks and they pretend not to notice that he has the same one (they match!). Tim comes to them whenever he finds out a new fact he thinks they'll like and lets you pull coffees out of his hands without too much complaint after he's surpassed his daily limit (he only gives a grumble and an affectionate look) Cass teaches Kiddo all the best places to hide during hide-and-seek and pulls you into her side during movie nights. Cass makes sure you always have someone to eat with if them want it and brings back food whenever she's out. After some work, Damian even lets you help him train Titus!

But they still can't quite settle in because... where did everyone go at night?

If Kiddo's home situation before wasn't exactly ideal then they'd be a light sleeper, which is how they'd wake, and if not it's because they go down for a glass of water or something and see way too many bedroom doors open and beds empty on their way. Either way, after living with people for so long they'd catch on.

They notice that every single person in the household had been unaccounted for at some time. Every single one of their siblings plus both adults in the house were getting together every night to do something without them.

The realization was like a stone at the bottom of their stomach. And so, they start to pull away.

And everyone notices.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - unhealthy relationships, non/con, mentions of overstimulation, dehumanization, semi-public sex, and abuse.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

If Arlecchino had it her way, you think you’d be more of a doll than a person.

Not that it would make much of a difference when it comes to how she treats you. To her, all the world might as well be pieces of a chessboard; playthings to pose and position as she deems fit. Knights are sent into righteous battles, pawns are burnt to ash on first line of fire, and you’re made to watch it all from your place on a glass-enclosed pedestal, where the cruelties of the world are visible, but at a distance. That’s a flaw in her little world that Arlecchino hasn’t realized, yet – your eyes, unlike those of the delicate figurines she favors, are not only painted on.

You suppose you should count yourself lucky, when compared to the rest of her unfortunate collection. Most of her pieces are chipped and scarred, sharpened into fine, deadly points only to be discarded when they begin to dull. You, on the other hand, have proved yourself worthy of her maintenance. Your wardrobe is curated to her particular tastes, every style of bow and pattern of lace hand-selected to suit her preferred aesthetics, and she spends each morning running comb after comb through your hair, brushing rouge onto your cheeks, taking leisurely minutes to decide if she’d rather see you in blue or pink or lilac – always light colors, always gentle. You think, sometimes, that you must look like a groomed dog next to her, pastel and ridiculous next to her monotone elegance. Often, you try not to think about how little of a difference it would make if she added a leash and collar to your daily ensemble.

She rarely lets you leave her sight. Of course, obligation does draw her away from you from time to time (a rarity she laments as often as you pray for), but whenever possible, she has you sitting pretty by her side or, better yet, perched in her lap, straddling her waist and sobbing quietly into her chest as her clever fingers bring you to the brink of climax for the nth time in the past hour. The company she keeps rarely makes a difference when it comes to how or when she touches you – although, you do try not to remember how many of her colleagues have seen you with teary eyes and open legs. A doll’s owner rarely questions the way they choose to handle their toy, and so, she’s content not to think about how she handles you. Her only acknowledgement of your suffering is a quick kiss to the cheek as she coaxes you onto your own feet, a muttered comment about the new stain on the dark fabric of her pants. It’s a miracle that you can bear the humiliation of it, but your endurance is a convenience, not a necessity. There’s no reality in which your limitations alone would be enough to stop her.

Arlecchino does, at least, make the occasional effort to pretend she thinks of you as a partner, rather than a plaything. She’s made it clear that, in her ideal world, you’d happily accept the total loss of your autonomy and thank her for each and every second you spend under the torment of her obsession, but she settles for the occasional, trembling smile when she presents you with a gift or confection you lingered on while passing by an especially charming shop, the tender intimacy of your head resting on her shoulder when yet another meeting proves to be more long-lasting than your attention span. On her best days, she’ll even respond to your timid requests to please not leave another bruise on your neck, another fang shaped indentation on your collarbone with a breath of a laugh and a hushed explanation of why she has to, rather than just an outright, wordless dismissal. You wouldn’t quite say she listens to you, but it’s as close as she comes.

Dolls, after all, are incapable of requesting to be played with in a certain way, or asking their owners to treat them more gently, or speaking up about anything at all.

A doll, Arlecchino’s ideal doll, can only watch with a smile as it’s broken apart.

[manyimaginativemuses]

He Ate My Heart - Remmick/OC - Chapter 5

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of former child abuse/parental abuse, firearm usage, crazy sibling dynamics

Read on AO3!

————————————-

“So Maeve… who’s the guy we keep seeing leaving your house every night?” Liam asked nonchalantly as the five of them sat around the dinner table. Maeve nearly choked on her food when she heard her brother’s question.

“What? What guy? What are you talking about?” She scoffed, trying to play it off only to have John laugh loudly in response.

“Oh please, you’re a horrible liar and we all know it. Declan saw him with his own eyes leaving your porch this morning when he went to check on the sheep. Kinda short, brown hair, suspenders, ring any bells?” John called her out and Maeve swallowed the bite she had in her mouth, shaking her head.

“I’ve got no clue what you mean.” She replied with a smile, helping Dawn eat her food without making too much of a mess.

“Bear trap.” Liam said seriously then, causing Maeve to freeze and let out a heavy sigh. Whenever any one of them said the phrase “bear trap” to the other, that meant that they had one last chance to tell the truth and if they didn’t, they would be forced to hold their hand over a live bear trap while being asked as many deeply personal and embarrassing questions as possible and if they didn’t answer a single one truthfully, their hand went in the trap. It was a tradition started by their father because in his eyes, if you didn’t want to tell the truth about something small and meaningless then what else are you hiding.

Maeve paused for only a moment as the room fell completely silent other than the toddler noises Dawn was making.

“He’s… a friend.” She said reluctantly and her brothers all nearly barked out a laugh.

“You know Bear Trap rules sis, you have to be more specific than that.” Declan clarified and Maeve wanted to slam her hands on the table and leave. She narrowed her eyes and looked between the three men, knowing that they were dead serious and if she didn’t tell the truth, they’d go get their father’s rusty old bear trap to make her be honest.

“He’s someone I met before Dawn was born. We were friends for a while but then he left. Now he’s back. We don’t have much to say to each other but sometimes we trade things back and forth. Is that good enough for you?” Her tone pointed and aggressive as it was very clear she didn’t want to talk about him. Liam, however, was not satisfied.

“Is he Dawn’s father?” He asked and Maeve dropped her utensils so violently they made a loud crashing sound on the table.

“You promised me you’d never ask about that. All of you promised me you would never ask who her father was ever again.” Maeve glared at her brothers with heartbreak and fear in her eyes, and John held his hands up in defense.

“Settle down Maeve, we get the picture. We just worry about you, you know we do. We just wanna know if you’re seeing anybody because we’re your brothers and we’ll always want to protect you and our little niece.” John clarified and Maeve sighed again, looking over at Dawn who was just looking around the room cluelessly.

“The only thing I ask of you is that if you ever see him around here again, don’t talk to him, ok? He’s not the nicest man and I don’t want you guys to start a fight, Liam.” Maeve cut her eyes over to her brother who just looked surprised.

“Wait wait, what do you mean he’s not the nicest? Is he hurting you?” Declan asked nervously.

“No no, he’s not hurting me. He just has a bit of a temper and can be a little reckless. And I promise you, if you ever got in a fight with him, you would lose, no contest.”

“No contest? Maeve, you do know what we look like compared to him? There’s three of us and only one of him, and if need be, we’ll beat his ass to keep you safe.” Liam said.

“Just please, you gotta trust me on this one. Promise me you guys won’t go near him if you see him again? Please?” She begged and the three men looked between each other for a moment.

“Fine… we promise…. But if we find out he’s been fucking with you in any way, I know Declan would be happy to shear his skin off with the wool trimmers.” John said firmly. Maeve ran both hands through her hair and shook her head.

“You three are unbelievable, I swear. Dawn, don’t listen to your uncles, they’re just a bunch of animals.” She leaned over and kissed her daughter on the forehead as they all finished up their dinner.

—————————————

Maeve had started cleaning up the table when there was a knock at the door. She guessed it was probably another traveling salesman, as John had complained they’d been getting more of those in the past week, but a cold shiver ran down her spine when she realized what time it was. She had come over when the sun was still up, but when she looked outside, it was very clearly nighttime.

And then she heard a very familiar voice speaking to her brother.

“‘Scuse me sir, I don’t mean to bother y’all this late, but my car broke down just down the road and I was wonderin’ if I could use your phone to call my friend right quick? Won’t take me too long, I promise.” Remmick’s southern twang both terrified her and attracted her at the same time. Deep down, she wanted to run to him and kiss him, make him fuck her stupid, but that fear for not only her daughter’s safety but now for her brothers’ won out in the end. She rushed to grab Dawn out of her high chair and ran into one of the bedrooms.

“Stay right here sweetie, mommy will be right back I promise.” She kissed Dawn goodbye as she put her in the playpen that Declan had built for her whenever she came over. Unfortunately, the short time it took for her to hide Dawn was enough time for her idiot brother to invite Remmick inside.

“John don’t-“ She called out, only to freeze in her tracks when she saw Remmick enter the living room. His eyes were soft but she could tell he was there for a purpose.

“Maeve… it’s good to see you again.” He said kindly but John could tell Maeve was visibly uncomfortable by the man’s presence.

“Remmick… whatcha doin here?” She asked and crossed her arms, watching him like a hawk as he approached.

“Well originally I came here for a different reason but… now that you’re here, there’s no need for games now, is there?” He started, a gentle smile on his face and Maeve shivered again despite herself.

“Maeve, who the hell is this guy?” John asked as Declan and Liam stood up from their chairs and stood beside their sister.

“This was the guy I was talking about at dinner. John, Declan, Liam - meet Remmick.” She narrowed her eyes as Remmick only got closer, looking her up and down.

“Still so beautiful… I appreciate the little gifts you’ve been giving me. And I hope she’s been liking what I’ve gotten for her. I don’t really know her size so I have to guess on some things.” The odd thing was that in every single way, Remmick was acting genuine. He seemed calm and polite, like he wasn’t a cold blooded vampire underneath that handsome facade.

“Maeve…” Declan whispered, turning to her as both he and Liam had put two and two together. Her brother’s worry cut right to the chase and made Remmick sigh.

“Where is she, Maeve? Where’s my daughter?” He asked, his voice tinged with sadness.

“With a babysitter. She’s not here.” Maeve lied and Remmick laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“Now now… we both know that’s not true. We both know I can feel her, hear her in my head. I know she’s here.” He said firmly, pushing past Maeve and starting to walk around the house in search of Dawn. However, he was forced to stop when he heard the click of a shotgun and felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I’m afraid we’re gonna have to ask you to leave.” John snarled, pointing his shotgun to the back of Remmick’s head. Unfortunately for all parties involved, those were the worst words John could’ve possibly said. In an instant, Remmick’s flesh began violently smoking and he cried out in pain, an invisible force dragging him through the living room and out onto the front porch. All three men stared in horror as they watched this man transform into a monster right in front of their eyes. Maeve felt her heart ache as the truth she had been so desperate to keep from her brothers was now revealed.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Liam shouted as he and Declan rushed to the doorway to see what was happening. Remmick stood up with a groan, his eyes glowing and his fangs now exposed.

“Well that wasn’t necessary.” He hissed, rolling his neck and trying to get himself back under control.

“What are you?” Declan hissed and Remmick laughed.

“Ask your sister.” He smirked as John turned around to look at her. She was standing in the living room staring at the ground, shaking her head before she began to speak.

“He’s a vampire, y’all. He’s a vampire and he’s Dawn’s father.”

“Yes I am… and she insists on keeping me away from my baby girl. I’ve never even seen what she looks like. Maeve never told me she was pregnant you see, so when I found out that she’d been keeping something so incredibly important like this from me, well… let’s just say I’ve been more determined than ever to meet my daughter.” He explained.

“You threw a tree through my front porch that first night.” Maeve shouted as she approached the doorway, pushing past her brothers to meet Remmick’s now more human looking eyes. The sadness gripping his expression almost made her feel guilty, but John’s firm grip on her wrist made her confident that she was doing the right thing, “Do you understand why I’ve refused to talk about Dawn’s father now?” She asked her brothers and they all nodded.

“Maeve, not to play devil’s advocate or anything but… even though he’s a vampire, it’s clear he wants to be in Dawn’s life. Maybe just let him see her, just once.” Declan said and Maeve whipped her head around to look at him.

“Deck, are you fucking serious?!” She yelled and he shrugged.

“I mean, by your own admission, a vampire is the father of your child, that means that Dawn is half vampire, as fucking crazy as that sounds. Which means, I guess, that she’ll have some of his vampire traits right? They have some kind of mental connection already, from what he says, but who knows what else could be wrong with her?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with her, and I can face anything that comes our way as she grows up. I’m not letting him take her from me.” She hissed and Remmick’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Is that what this is about? You think I’m gonna steal her from you?” He asked with a scoff.

“You said you’d kill me and take her yourself the very first night!” She spat back.

“Yeah…. Looking back, that wasn’t exactly the smartest thing for me to say. I kinda went a little over the edge there didn’t I?” He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with embarrassment.

“Yeah no shit.” Maeve snarled back, “You’re not going to see her. Be grateful I’m giving you anything of hers in the first place.”

“Maeve please…. How much more do I have to beg?” Remmick began to tear up as he looked back and forth between Maeve’s pain riddled expression and the horrified faces of her brothers.

“Unless you can time travel to a time when you never murdered anyone and become human again, I don’t think you could ever beg enough.” Her voice cracked, causing Declan and John to look at her concerned, “Just go… please…. And don’t bother my brothers again, you’ve already scared the shit out of them enough for one night.” Remmick closed his eyes and sighed in defeat.

“You know I’m never gonna stop this, right? I’m just gonna keep comin’ back here every night until I see my daughter. It’s like you enjoy breakin my heart over and over and over again, darlin.” He scoffed.

“Remmick please… please….” She whispered and Remmick nodded.

“Ok… well… I’ll see you again tomorrow night.” Remmick turned and bolted back into the night.

“Jeez… Dad must’ve had a really rough impact on you sis, you fell in love with a man just like him.” Liam said before Maeve whipped around and slapped her brother hard enough to make his ear ring.

“OW WHAT THE FUCK?!” He screeched in pain as John and Declan backed up.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking DARE say he’s like dad. You know more than any of us what dad was like. Remmick is many things, but he could never be as cruel and evil as dad. If he was, I would’ve tried to kill him myself months ago.” She spat.

“Did you not know he was a vampire when you slept with him?” Declan asked.

“I… it’s complicated, Deck.”

“But you know the stories grandpa used to tell us about his kind. Hell, you were the most invested in them out of all of us! How could you let yourself fall for him?” Declan argued as Liam pitifully rubbed his cheek.

“I didn’t fall for him… I mean… God, I don’t want to talk about this anymore, I need to get Dawn home.” She huffed and ran back to the room where she’d hidden Dawn. The toddler was standing and gripping the edge of the playpen when she returned, smiling wide at her mother and revealing the tiny needle like fangs that were in her mouth.

“Oh my sweet girl…” Maeve whispered as she picked her up, “I wish I could see what goes on in your head, maybe then I’d understand what goes on in your daddy’s.”

She promptly left her brothers’ house without another word, ignoring their questions and pushing past them. However, John followed her out of the house and began walking her back to her home.

“John you don’t have to follow me, I can take care of myself.” She protested.

“Yeah…. But now I know there’s vampires out in these damn woods, and Remmick’s probably still watching you from somewhere out there, I ain’t lettin nothin happen to you or Dawn.” He replied, glancing out to the forests. From behind the trees, a pair of glowing red eyes watched them walk. Remmick felt his heart swell at the sight of Maeve carrying Dawn. He couldn’t really see what Dawn looked like, as the sweet little girl had her face buried in Maeve’s chest, but he could tell she had his hair. Even in the darkness, he could tell that crop of curly dark hair was his.

The only sound that could be heard in the forest, besides the soft noises of crickets and owls, was the sound of Remmick’s bloody tears hitting the ground as he watched the woman he cared about take his daughter away from him once more.

[evagreen-stories]

Mother’s madness | (Aemond x f!lowborn!reader) (3/?)

Summary: Aemond, troubled by his unfruitful marriage and the stress of the war, takes himself a bed slave when he seizes Harrenhal and gets more attached to her than he ever thought possible. Bringing her to the Red Keep after he needs to leave Harrenhal would not go as he hoped it would, especially after the birth of the babes he sired onto her.

Warnings: mentions of violence, light angst (kinda?), canon typical misogyny, canon typical behaviour, dark!aemond, abusive!aemond, forced relationship, forced impregnantion, canon typical classicism, mentions of assault, stockholm syndrom (kind of), non-canon storyline

Author's note: Short little chapter but at last, an update!

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

< part 2 masterlist

By the time Aemond had made all his reports, listened to the yappings of all the council members and sat through hours of further strategy planning, he wanted to rip out each strand of his hair.

It was hard for him to focus already, the worries over his precious bed slave and her madness over their, over his, sons had all but consumed every part of his mind, and yet, odd stares from his mother and grand maester Orwyle made him all the more restless.

Finally, the council meeting was concluded and the Lords left the room. Aemond would watch in silence as Criston helped the struggling king to his feet and down the stairs.

Aegon had been burned and injured gravely during the battle at Rooks Rest over a year ago where Meleys had ingulfed him and his dragon in dragonfire, but he was growing more and more capable these days and managed to attend the council meetings from time to time.

Still, Aemond remained the prince regent, but would sit opposite of the king’s seat at the foot of the long wooden table whenever his brother was in attendance.

From there, he watches as neither his mother nor Orwyle made any attempts to move from their seats, just as he didn’t.

Sitting in tense silence for several moments, Aemond eventually fixates on the elder man to his right. Glaring at him, his voice is little more than a growl, he asks,

“Care to explain to me what is going on with my mistress?”

Orwyle takes a moment to answer, shifting nervously in his seat and glancing to the dowager queen sitting opposite of him before turning his attention back to the prince regent.

“Your mistress, my prince, would appear to suffer from some sort of birth induced mania. It happens from time to time, unfortunately.” He states before carefully adding. “Mothers of such circumstance… they should be separated from the child. They are unable to care for the babes and may harm them during manic episodes.”

Aemond’s face hardens, his jaw clenching. “She is perfectly capable to care for my sons. I have gone to meet her already. I do not believe for a moment she suffers from true madness.”

“She does.” Alicent speaks up. “She would chase anyone out of her room, preferably with the nearest sharp object in hand. Your whore is incapable of caring for your sons.”

“That is a lie!” Aemond snaps his head to her. “What would you even know of this? She and what I do with her is none of your concern, I have told you so a hundred times already.”

“I am your mother. Mind your tongue when talking to me.” The red-haired woman hisses before continuing. “I am also the dowager queen and queen mother. With the queen still occupied in her grief, the Red Keep is my responsibility in your absence. That makes your whore and her spawn my responsibility as well. I needed to deal with the drama she caused. Had she not locked herself away I can assure you, this matter would have long been settled already.”

“Settled?” Aemond scoffs. “And what would that have looked like? Taken my sons from her? And then what?”

“Most certainly. And she must receive treatment-“

“Treatment? What would your great treatment entail?”

“Treatment varies from individual to individual. It remains to be seen what methods work best on her. Is that not right, grand maester?” Alicent urges Orwyle to speak up.

“…yes. Yes, your grace. It is difficult to predict which treatments will work best on her.” The man nods softly.

Aemond was well aware of how maesters would attempt to cure madness. Their methods would be torturous. His own methods of bringing her into full submission when he first claimed her would seem tame in comparison. His stomach turns at the thought of what they would have done to her in his abscence had she not kept her door locked at all times.

“You will do no such thing.” Aemond growls. “No one but me touches her. No one but me will make any decision on any treatments. She is not mad. The babes are healthy. There is no need to intervene.”

“Now they are. But they weren’t always. Your children should be supervised by maesters not by some deranged lowborn.” Alicent retorts.

Aemond furrows his brows, looking at his mother in disbelief. His y/n hadn’t said anything of the sorts. “Now? Now? What is that supposed to mean?”

After another nod from the dowager queen, Orwyle explains, “It… appears we might have miscalculated the day of conception. The babes came early, it seems. Weak, very small, frail. It borders on a miracle the boys live, my prince.”

Aemond stares at him dumbfounded. He held his sons just a few hours earlier, they seemed well. Plumb, full of life. Not just that, he himself had been there when they conceived. He was sure his seed took the very first night that he dragged her to his bed near a year ago. He had watched her belly swell even before he brought her here to the Red Keep.

It made no sense the babes were born sickly when not a single issue had been encountered before. Not even when she was going about her duties of tending to him with little struggle. Well, as long as she could sit down, lay on her side and not have to bend over, that is.

The maesters voice brings him out of his thoughts. “It is best the babes be closely supervised by maesters and raised by experienced nursemaids and wetnurses. Your… mistress should not have them. Mad or not, she will not be able to provide your sons with the care they need to survive.”

Aemond had always been a stubborn man. Perhaps it was his thick head that made him refuse the maesters urging, or perhaps it was his trust is his little bed slave that did so. She was a pure hearted woman, her heart soft. She had learned her new place in life quickly, she had not once betrayed him or given him any reason to doubt her.

She had nothing to gain from lying to him but everything to lose.

She was so convinced of the maesters wanting to steal their children, it could not be a mistake. She would not beg him for help and forgo all formalities with him unless she was truly afraid.

Aemond’s thoughts and emotions were in turmoil now, struggling to discern the truth between y/n’s words, the words of his mother and the grand maester, and the facts he knew to be true.

Staring off at the empty king’s chair in the distance, his voice is little more than a murmur when he asks, “What do you even care for? She’s nothing but a whore in your eyes. You see my sons as bastards only. Why do you care for what happens to them?”

Aemond freezes at his mother’s following shameless reply. He can’t believe she would just state something like this as if it was nothing unusual. It would seem little more than an odd phrasing of words to some but with his suspicions in mind, it's all the confirmation he needs.

“She is a whore, yes. She has seduced you so she can live in luxury far above her station. You’re just a foolish young man with no control of his urges. But… the fact remains that you have no heir. With only a daughter and no sons, they could be of good use to you had you done your wife the courtesy of putting them into her belly instead.”

His gaze cold as ice, he stares at her, never once looking away as he growls. “So it’s true what y/n says? That you plan to steal my sons from her and give them to Floris?”

Alicent seems taken aback, her surprised expression shortly finding Orwyle’s startled one before quickly moving back to her son. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y/n.” Aemond says firmly. “She says she has heard someone say it. That you tasked the maesters to take my sons from her and give them to Floris.”

Alicent remains quiet for a while before her own face hardens. Straightening her posture and keeping her hands clasped firmly in front of her on the table, she begins to lecture her son.

“You have a lady wife, Aemond. A respectable, honorable lady wife of high birth. Princess Floris has given you a daughter already and served you faithfully.” She begins. “The only thing you still need is a legitimate son. With your wife’s recent stillbirth during your absence, it would be easy to arrange so. Give your whore’s sons to her. Or just one, even. You can pass him off as hers and have your-“

“ENOUGH!” Aemond roars, his fists slamming onto the table as he stands up, the chair loudly scraping across the floor. “I will not hear of this! How DARE you try and steal my sons from y/n!”

Alicent’s face remains resolute, her chin held up high in defiance, while Orwyle looks like he wants to vanish beneath the floor.

“I did what needed to be done. Stop coddling your whore, Aemond. Let her pay back for living on the crown’s cost and causing your lady wife distress. Let her produce the boys and you make them heirs, as the sons of you and Princess Floris.”

Mouth hanging open, Aemond can barely believe what his mother is saying. “If anyone has gone mad here, it is you, not her.” He says firmly. “I cannot believe you would betray me like this. Go against my orders, willing to harm my y/n.”

He glares down at his mother as he continues, “Floris will not have my sons. She does NOT deserve them. She has failed me. Failed as my wife, failed as a woman. My mistress has done within a year what that bitch of a wife could not manage in five. Y/n will keep my sons and all other children I will put into her belly and all of them will be made my heirs. Not as Floris’s children, but as y/n’s. I will legitimize them at once and have them declared as my heirs.”

“Have you lost your mind?!” Alicent is the one yelling now. “You cannot do that! Think of the shame that it would bring to your wife! Of how it will disrupt our ally with the Baratheon’s!”

“She is the one that brings shame to me!” Aemond shouts back, his face filled with pure rage and hatred. “It is her failing that has made me the laughingstock across the realm! Made me the maimed prince whose cock does not work! Now they will no longer laugh, now that I have my sons! Lord Borros praised me her fertility but delivered a woman unable to carry a child properly. It is his own doing our alliance has faltered. He will not speak against my y/n or our sons. He will accept them as my heirs. He will remain loyal to our side or I will personally fly south and turn Storm’s End into a second Harrenhal!”

With that, Aemond throws the nearest cups and parchments off the table before turning on his heel to make his way out the door, curses at his mother and wife flowing out his mouth as he does so.

In his rage, Aemond makes his way to the training yard, the urge to stab one of the dummies repeatedly or challenge one of the poor squires to a duel overwhelming him.

< part 2 masterlist

[loganwritesprobably]

Run Away (T.R.)

Synopsis: Reader and Theo have been friends since childhood, when they run away together to avoid judgement, they end up pretending to be a couple .. because it just makes life easier, right? Tags/Warnings: Theo/GN!Reader, werecoyote!reader, fluff, fake dating, getting together, childhood friends to lovers, first kiss, implied fade to black, characters turn 18 at the beginning of the fic Word Count: 2651 Notes: This fic was requested as part of this writing event

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide

You’d been five years old when you met for the first time. Young and innocent and sweet. He’d stepped up and said he would always protect you, because he was strong and you were pretty. You’d just giggled. You were seventeen when you met again, and everything was different. He was changed, but then so were you. He stepped up, and took your hand, and said he would still protect you.

Then he was gone. He was taken to hell, hidden away for his crimes, and you had to wonder what could transform such a sweet boy so dramatically. You resented Stiles comparing you to Bella Swan, but it was unfortunately apt. You’d been forlorn, having lost him again, seemingly so much more concretely. Then the wild hunt came, and you couldn’t afford to just stay still, gathering dust. But everything changed for you when Liam brought him back. Theo was there and you were looking at him, but you couldn’t just stare, you needed to do something. The wild hunt was still at work.

Scott looked at you with sad understanding when he saw the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, but you refused to allow it. You gave him a hard stare, and he looked away, but not looking as intimidated as you’d hoped. Stupid true alpha. You would not allow him to take Theo away. Neither of you had seen the hunters, what could they possibly do? Could you allow the hunt to take away people you’d known your entire life, just for a boy?

Yes. You could.

So, you found Theo’s abandoned truck and you got inside, your entire life packed into a few duffel bags, and you started to drive. You had to come up with an entire story for yourselves, procured some fake IDs, at least until you turned 18, and you just kept going. Kept driving. Stayed together.

｡ ⋆ . ⋆ ｡ ⋆ 🐺˚ ｡ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ⭐˚ ｡ ⋆. ｡ ⋆

The story was that the two of you were young sweethearts who finally escaped your home town and your suffocating, abusive parents, travelling to find somewhere you could belong and do work along the way. It was only half untrue, because after all the best lies were constructed with pieces of the truth. Whenever you went for dinner, you’d link fingers across the table, helping to sell the vision. It got you free food from sympathetic middle aged women more often than not. Which was a big bonus, considering you had limited chances to earn some money while on the road.

You finally settled in Oregon, more than ready to get out of that damn truck and into an apartment. You’d not travelled straight there, you’d gone into Utah first and ended up in Salt Lake City, having stopped once before arriving there. You lingered there for a few days doing odd jobs for cash in hand so you could stock up on gas and keep moving. You then decided to drive up into Idaho to visit West Yellowstone, just while you were on the road, and it wasn’t far. You stayed there for a day, just to experience the nature around you, both spending the night as Coyotes sleeping under the stars. Then, two days later, you were in Oregon, having split the almost twelve hour drive into two chunks rather than going all night. After all, you had all the time in the world together now. What could’ve been less than a two day journey, developed into nearly ten days, just enjoying being on the road together.

The day you arrived was Theo’s eighteenth birthday, which made life just a little easier. You found a hostel to stay in for the two weeks that it took for you to turn eighteen, during which Theo found himself a job as a waiter. You managed to find yourself a job as a bartender, and both of you used your spare time to get your GEDs, in hopes you’d find better paying jobs in future. Your apartment together came another three weeks later, with those three weeks spent in the cheapest airBnBs that you could find, a week each. You were thankful that the landlady was an older, sympathetic woman, who was willing to let you live there, chose you over other candidates that you knew would have just as easy a time finding an apartment in another building.

You’d officially run away together, to another state, and started a life together. You pointed that out one evening, now that the initial chaos was over, and the two of you broke down into fits of loud laughter. You decided in that moment that you’d made the right choice.

｡ ⋆ . ⋆ ｡ ⋆ 🐺˚ ｡ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ⭐˚ ｡ ⋆. ｡ ⋆

Theo stood outside his workplace after a shift, waiting for you to join him. You’d had the day off, and had errands to run, and it’d ultimately led you past his workplace just as his shift was ending. The rain had started about ten minutes prior, and he had nothing to shield against it, and he refused to go back inside, lest a customer try to make him do something. The life that the two of you were leading had settled, allowing you to be adults, independent of everything you’d left behind. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe the two of you had just run away, just so you couldn’t be ripped apart again. Judging by the fact that you could still remember Beacon Hills and your lives before, and hadn’t seen any signs of the wild hunt here, you assumed the pack had found a way to survive the hunt without you both.

You stepped up beside him, holding the umbrella above his head with a smile.

“It’s raining.” You said simply, which made Theo look around, pretending he hadn’t noticed.

“So it is.” He then responded, looking at you with wide innocent eyes, but a smirk twitching at his lips.

“You were getting wet.”

“And you’ve saved me.” You sighed and shook your head, accepting Theo’s arm when he offered it to you, and the two of you walked home together, enjoying the cool air and the smell of the rain, listening to Theo complain about his shift. You weren’t sure you needed to link arms really, you were both capable of simply walking shoulder to shoulder to escape the rain and you didn’t need to sell the illusion of your relationship to strangers on the street, and yet it had become a habit that brought you comfort, so you did nothing to change it.

｡ ⋆ . ⋆ ｡ ⋆ 🐺˚ ｡ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ⭐˚ ｡ ⋆. ｡ ⋆

The two of you had picked a relatively small town to live in, it was cheaper and you found that you both enjoyed how slow paced the small town life was. It reminded you of Beacon Hills in some ways, but not in others, and that was comforting considering you’d run away to an entirely new state. That did mean, however, that sometimes you needed to travel to do things. Like go clothes shopping. The nearest big mall was a half hour drive away, so when the two of you had the same day off, you hopped in Theo’s truck early and set off.

Then promptly got lost.

You’d not even been here for an hour, it was a large clothing outlet with a bunch of stores, and you’d split up to go into different stores, agreeing to meet back at a particular spot. Somehow, you’d gotten turned around as you’d left the store that you’d walked into, maybe you’d somehow left through a different door, but you were firmly lost. You extracted yourself from the growing crowd, making your way back into the store you’d come from, and took a breath. You hadn’t thought getting separated from your friend would be so stressful at almost nineteen years old. Your phone began to ring, and when you pulled it out from the pocket, you saw Theo’s name, but the call ended before you could answer.

“There you are.” Theo said, a relieved smile spread over his face. You turned quickly, surprised to see him, and even more surprised when he wrapped his arms around you.

“You followed my ringtone.” You observed, wrapping your arms around him in turn. He just nodded, and for a moment basked in your embrace. As the two of you separated, Theo pressed a kiss to your head, and you felt a small warmth rushing to your cheeks. After that, the two of you spent the rest of the day going everywhere hand in hand, sure to not get separated again.

｡ ⋆ . ⋆ ｡ ⋆ 🐺˚ ｡ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ⭐˚ ｡ ⋆. ｡ ⋆

It was a perfectly normal day when there was an unexpected knock on your door. You never had visitors, you’d made acquaintances in your new town but not really any friends you’d expect to come to your door. Maybe it was the older woman who lived across the street - Theo had mowed her lawn a few weeks ago, and you both thought she seemed lonely, maybe she wanted company. You put down the dish you’d been washing and dried your hands.

“Coming!” You called out, tossing the towel aside, then headed for the door. The very last person you’d expected to see on the other side was Scott McCall, and yet there he was, at your front door, looking the same as the day you left.

“Hey.” He said, voice soft, looking a little nervous. Good was all you could think, considering he had tracked you down across state lines after over a year of being gone, with no contact.

“What.. what the hell, Scott?” You’d wanted to ask so many things, but you figured that covered all of them.

“Can I.. come in? I brought drinks.” He said, lifting the six pack of sodas he’d brought. You hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside to let him in. You fired a text off to Theo, aware he wouldn’t be able to look until his break, but honestly that was probably for the best.

The two of you sat opposite each other at the small dining table you and Theo had thrifted, each with a can in hand, in silence. Neither knew where to start, or how to do it. The only sound in your entire apartment was the fridge running, and the occasional clanging of the pipes that followed your upstairs neighbour flushing their toilet.

“How did you find us?” You asked eventually, looking down into the can you held.

“Danny, Stiles, and Lydia. Little bit of Peter.” He said, as if that was any sort of explanation, and you supposed it was.

“Why?” You asked then, looking up at the boy that’d been your friend for so long, though you’d never been as close as Scott and Stiles, never able to truly enter their friendship that was more ScottandStiles than it was anything else - there was no room for you, once Theo left.

“We thought you’d got taken by the hunt, that was why you’d disappeared. Then we couldn’t find you. Even after the hunt was gone. Then we thought maybe it was hunters, but there was a quiet period over the summer, no sign of someone that had taken hostages. Liam was the one to mention that your own parents had finally realised you hadn’t come home in a long time. You’re considered a missing person in Beacon Hills, you know?” He explained, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Well, you found me.” You simply said, words dry, uncaring.

“We did. I knew you weren’t dead I can.. Still feel your pack bond.” Scott then replied, rubbing his chest like it ached. You supposed it probably did, yours did the same.

“I’m sorry. We just couldn’t stay.” Scott nodded, though he looked sad. Maybe some part of him had hoped that him turning up would prompt you to come back, but it hadn’t. You couldn’t go back. The two of you were happy here.

“Who else knows?” You asked, as Scott sipped his drink.

“Me, and the four I already said. Liam wants to know, but we figured we shouldn’t tell him without permission, cause he will just.. Come see you. He misses you both.” You nodded, and pulled out your phone, sliding it across to him. Scott entered his number, and Liam’s, building those bridges for you.

“We aren’t coming back.”

“I figured. You two have built.. A life here. Jobs, an apartment, hell I wouldn’t be surprised if the next time we heard from you it was a photo of your wedding.” Scott said, a soft chuckle escaping him, but it sounded sad.

“Wedding? We’re not dating, Scott.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” There was a long pause then, where you regarded each other, and you thought hard about your relationship with Theo.

“When did you grow up, Scott McCall?”

“When did you?”

Scott didn’t stay long, and you embraced at the door as he left. He promised that he forgave you both, and if either of you ever needed him then he was just a call away. You promised you’d talk to Liam, and get him off Scott’s back. There was so much else that both of you could say, life updates, questions about pack, asking after those you cared for, learning who you’d met. You didn’t. Scott walked away and got into his truck, and you stayed leaning in the doorway as you watched him go, waving until he was out of sight.

When Theo got home that night, he climbed into your bed instead of his own, and wrapped his arms around you. You cried together, finally for the first time truly mourning all you’d lost by leaving. You didn’t regret it for a moment, were confident in your choice to stay in your new home, but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss the life you’d had before sometimes. You texted Liam, just before going to sleep, promising that you’d call him tomorrow over breakfast, and get him caught up.

Scott’s words played in your mind on loop. “The wedding.”

｡ ⋆ . ⋆ ｡ ⋆ 🐺˚ ｡ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ⭐˚ ｡ ⋆. ｡ ⋆

You dragged yourself through the front door with a loud sigh, dropping yourself onto the sofa immediately, not even taking off your jacket. Theo looked up from where he sat at the kitchen island and laughed, standing to cross the room to you, and help you get more comfortable.

“I’ve been talking to Liam.” He remarked casually, hanging your coat in the hallway and putting your work shoes on the rack. You hummed to signal that you’d heard him, but you had no concrete words to offer in that moment.

“He said something that really stuck with me, I’ve been thinking about it all day.” He added, and you glanced over, your interest in the topic slowly overtaking your exhaustion following your shift.

“Yeah?” You asked, and for a moment you could hear Scott’s voice in your mind “the wedding”.

“Why are we still pretending? And.. I mean that genuinely. I don’t think I even remember why we started, but it’s been a year.” Your stomach dropped, the colour draining from your face.

“I think we just got used to it. I mean, it has been nice.” You said, hoping that you weren’t humiliating yourself, putting yourself out there only to be denied. Theo’s eyes searched your face, and then he surged forward without warning, pressing your lips together.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close, desperate to be touching, to be feeling him.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore.” He whispered against your lips, and you nodded eagerly as the two of you met in the middle again, kissing eagerly, desperately. Now that you’d given in, you weren’t sure you could stop. How were you ever meant to stop kissing him when it felt this good?

“Me neither.” You managed to say as Theo peeled your shirt from your body, and his lips trailed down your neck.

The next morning, you texted Scott a simple,

Asshole.

To which he responded,

Congratulations.

Tag list: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @fanaticsnail @mermaniaa @hyperfixationthingss @ethan-is-sleepy

If you'd like to tip me and get exclusive ficlets, Kofi

[felis-rach]

This world needs more bowsareach! So here's a little something I wrote for them! (It was part of a bigger fic I didn't finish, but it doesn't need context)

Mario was starting to think that all the “hero” thing made him forgot how to deal with mundane challenges.

He realized that when he saw himself using the cat-bell to climb up the wall and get a book from the top of the shelf. And when he tried to explain the claw marks to Peach, saying, “but what ELSE could I have done?” Her answer was silently pointing to a chair.

Bowser thought this was all hilarious, of course. And Mario had to remind him of who breathed fire into the oven when it wouldn’t turn on. And the reason they had to eat microwaved food for a week.

It was just a simple memory of some random day, but it made Mario feel so nostalgic. Their little home, hidden in a hill on the edge of the kingdom and accessible through a warp pipe they built, was no less than a dream come true.

After all, dating two monarchs meant that the three of them couldn’t simply rent an apartment together. Peach had to stay at her castle, and Bowser, at his, and when they eventually arranged the marriage that would unite the two kingdoms, it would be time to live together and Mario would come along.

But for now, the three of them settled in getting a little house to be the place they could run away to when Peach and Bowser got a moment of peace. It was great, especially when they managed to spend a whole weekend there.

Mario had the time of his life watching The Royals get used to the cottage. Peach, as a regent who always placed herself at the same level of her people and hated to be perceived as superior, gave her best to act naturally, so Mario tried to hide his laughter when they sat down to eat and her face just read “Oh, indeed, this table has but four chairs and doesn’t occupy the whole room.” He could see her dying inside a bit when all the plates and cups got too cramped up.

Bowser, on the other hand, being made of ego as he was, absolutely made sure he was seen as superior by his subjects (which never prevented him from being a caring ruler, going personally to a civilian’s house if they had any trouble, and screw his schedule). So he didn’t even pretend to be comfortable there. It was such an ordeal to prevent him from turning the house into a second palace. The most that Mario and Peach gave in was to make a living room big enough to fit a grand piano. Even so, he complained at every possible time about the house’s size.

“Pff. The fifty-second heir to the mighty koopa empire, living on an ant’s house like this… Of course, we left it to Mario to lead the project. He measured the house based on his own size.”

And Mario simply answered by sitting on the table in front of him. “Truly, I am so very small.” He placed Bowser’s hand on his back. “Look, I even fit on this huge and scary koopa’s hand. Oh, my stars! I sure do hope he doesn’t take advantage of all this size to grab me and kidnap me to some dark castle. Poor me!”

His voice was casually innocent, and Bowser’s face was on fire since he was still a mess whenever Mario and Peach gave him attention like that (and the two of them abused the heck out of it).

“Don’t you tempt me, plumber.” Bowser warned, holding his breath.

“Your hand is still around me.”

“…”

“Oh, no! That terrible monster is kidnapping my Mario!” Peach entered the room, and Mario fondly smiled with the “my”, dumb as their playing was. “Will I have to rescue him? But what if he kidnaps me, too?” She threw herself at Bowser with a hand dramatically at her forehead.

“STOP THAT!” Bowser jumped out of the chair, like Mario and Peach were contagious. “You two, you’re… you’re unfair, that’s what you are!”

“Weeeeeee?” They got closer, blinking innocently at the koopa, who got all the more red.

“…Dddddon’t you blame me when I actually kidnap you.” He turned to leave, visibly wanting to die in some corner and regain his dignity before he could even think about flirting back. And hit the doorframe with his shoulder. “STUPID small house! That’s YOUR fault, Mario!” They heard, as he ran to the room. And just laughed together.

“I definitely won’t mind if he goes through with this threat.” Mario smirked. “What about you, Peaches?”

“Not at all.” She agreed, before placing herself in front of her boyfriend, pinning him to the table with both arms. “Just beware, or I might take you first, sweetie.”

And she kissed his nose. Yeah, he’d definitely not mind that too.

[signanothername]

im curious, do you think nightmare could have a happy ending? Maybe not a typical one, but just a quiet painless moment before death where he can feel at least a little happy? I dunno

I love your inerpritatiom of him so much. Hes like a little wet rag full of trauma (affectionate)

Y’know I actually think about this nonstop

Like can my Nightmare actually have a happy ending? When he’s just doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over without taking a step back to look at himself and his actions?

And well, i love the fact you said he wouldn’t have a typical happy ending, cause that’s exactly how i see it

The thing is, when it comes to his relationship with Dream, I think it’s a bit on the doomed side, where the possibility of them to reconcile and find common ground is there, but both of them are too blinded by their pain to truly settle down and talk it out like adults (even when Dream tries to talk to Nightmare, it always escalates to them fighting, whether physically or verbally, and it’s not always Nightmare that’s in the wrong, sometimes it’s Dream in the wrong, and other times both of them can be in the wrong for one reason or another, but the result is the same with them just fighting, that’s why they usually end up staying silent whenever they’re in the same place and they’re not fighting each other, they simply keep each other company without a word)

So when it comes to the twins they’re too broken, and their relationship is too scarred for the both of them to truly heal together

So if anything, I think Nightmare is only going to heal if he just finds a life that isn’t revolved around Dream at all, and yeah, that’s kinda fucked up, but sometimes, you can’t be happy unless you’re far away from that family, where they’re out of sight and out of mind

And don’t get me wrong it isn’t cause Dream is a bad brother at all, it’s more cause Nightmare’s pain is mostly around the apple incident and his twin, so for him to actually finally heal, he needs to let go of the obsession of getting the final apple and the obsession of how Dream must have been the main reason for his pain somehow, and he can’t let go of that obsession, unless Dream’s somewhere far away from where he is, somewhere unreachable

That’s where the 500 years of Dream in stone comes in, I like to think that Nightmare was actually mostly chill during that period, not saying he wasn’t spreading negativity at all, but he was too traumatized and too busy wanting to move on and finding a future for himself that he wasn’t too bad, but once he settled down his mind started catching up to him and instead of chasing a future away from his pain, his mind instead got back to become stuck in the past and all he’s reminded of is the pain he went through, and he definitely wasn’t at all happy, but even then, i’d still say he was peaceful in his own way

But when Dream got free? Yeah every little ounce of pain, trauma, bad and good memories came crashing down and well, Nightmare, the being who acts on emotions more than brain just immediately goes nuts

Enter: mean girl bitchmare

And well, i think it’s kinda obvious how it goes, Nightmare’s behavior just gets worse and worse as the time goes on with every time he gets to see Dream’s face (to Nightmare, it’s the only reminder left for him about the abuse he went through)

That being said, the only happy ending Nightmare could truly have is if Dream just was far away, not dead, never dead, just… far far away

But i can also see the possibility of Nightmare finding peace in the very last moments of his life had he died, but only if he gets to die within Dream’s arms, cause whether he finds happiness with Dream far away or not, a buried part of Nightmare still loves Dream deep inside, and Nightmare would perfer to die within the arms of the only person who ever truly cared about him, than die all alone without someone to whisper reassurances as he faces his fear of death

And hey, a part of Nightmare smiles in sadistic glee at Dream’s tears as he holds his corpse :)

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

Drowning in Silence

Request: Can I have "You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?” with Dean Winchester please? Requested by anon.

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, angst.

A/N: this one has a happy ending, so don't worry.

WC: 1 K.

Fictober Challnege

You and Dean had a complicated relationship. You had disliked each other at first, but over time, you grew to care for one another. Things eventually developed between you, leading to a rocky relationship. Besides his overprotectiveness, you hated how he always pushed you away, never opening up or sharing his feelings. The toll it took on you became too much, and you decided to leave. After some time, you mended your relationship, but you never got back together.

Occasionally, you’d hunt with him and his brother, and when Dean was in town, he’d stay over at your place. He had a habit of drinking excessively whenever something was bothering him, and tonight was one of those nights. 

You woke up to the sound of banging on the door, jarring you from sleep in the middle of the night. Throwing on your robe, you made your way to the door, wondering who could possibly be there at this ungodly hour. When you opened it, you found Dean standing there, looking like a complete mess. The stench of alcohol hit you instantly, and worry settled in. He looked at you with pleading eyes, his expression soft and vulnerable. 

“You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?” You sighed deeply, crossing your arms.

“Yeah, so what if I have?” he shot back defensively, his tone gruff as he shrugged off your concern. You leveled him with a stern, disappointed look, your lips pressing together slightly as you struggled to keep your frustration in check.

“I’m fine, okay? Just had a few drinks to unwind” he continued, his voice trying to sound casual.

“You know that’s not true” you finally said.

“What’s the big deal? Why do you always have to make a federal case out of everything? It’s just a drink” he snapped, his voice tinged with irritation.

“Just a drink? Dean, you’re self-destructing, and I can’t just stand by and watch.” You tried to keep your voice steady, even though you were fighting not to snap back at him.

“Look, I didn’t come here to argue” he muttered, his voice lower and tired as his shoulders slumped slightly.

“Then why have you come?” you asked, your voice softening.

“I just needed to see, alright? Can I come in?” His gaze met yours, a silent plea for understanding. You could tell he was struggling to express what he was really feeling, something weighing heavy on his mind that he wanted to get out but couldn’t. 

With a small nod, you gestured for him to come inside. You closed the door behind him as he moved to sit on your couch.

You headed to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and squeezing a lemon into it, hoping to help him sober up a little. It wasn’t much, but it was better than doing nothing.

“Drink this” you ordered, handing him the glass.

He looked up at you as he took the glass, taking a sip and wincing at the taste. “God, that’s awful!” he grimaced.

“What did you expect? No one told you to drink yourself into oblivion” you retorted, crossing your arms as you stood in front of him.

“Oh, here we go. The ‘Dean Winchester has a problem’ speech.” he scoffed, setting the glass on the table. “You don’t think I know what you’re gonna say? That I drink to forget, to bury everything? Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve heard it all before” His voice grew loud, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you know what? It’s the only thing that works. So, if it’s bad for me, then so be it. It’s better than talking.”

“But you don’t have to- you don’t have to suffer alone. Let me share the burden.” you said, kneeling in front of him and cupping his face with your hands. Your touch was gentle, but your voice was firm.

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning slightly into your touch, but then pulled back. He missed your touch, the way you cared for him, about him. But he couldn’t just say what weighed on him- he wasn’t drunk enough. “Stop trying to fix me like you do with everyone else. I’m not broken, and I don’t need your help.” He stood from the couch abruptly.

“If you don’t want my help, then why are you here, Dean, huh?” you asked, rising to your feet, trying to keep your voice steady despite the frustration building up.

The sight of him drowning in his pain, just like when you were together, ate at you. You tried to help him, but he kept pushing you away.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes darkening with emotion. But then, something inside him softened. “Because I missed you.” he admitted quietly. “You always had a way of making things better, of making me feel better.” He reached out to touch your cheek, leaning in as if to kiss you, but you turned your face away.

“And how did you repay me for that? By driving me away.” Your voice trembled slightly. “We can’t keep doing this, Dean. It always ends the same way.” You took hold of his wrists, your thumbs gently tracing the back of his hands. “I made peace with the fact that you may never let me in, but stop pulling me back just to push me away again. I can’t take it anymore.” You dropped his hands and turned to walk away, but he caught your wrist.

He hesitated, but then, in a voice that was uncharacteristically vulnerable, he confessed “Please don’t go… the truth is I’m scared. Drinking numbs my feelings. It stops all these thoughts I have… I’m scared of losing you too, just like everyone else. With Cass gone, you and Sammy are all I have left. I can’t lose you, but- but it feels like it’s just a matter of time before I do.”

Your chest tightened at his admission, and without another word, you pulled him into a tight embrace. Tears welled up in your eyes as you held him, relieved that he was finally opening up but heartbroken by his words. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I promise” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair as you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes, allowing himself, just for a moment, to be vulnerable in your arms.

Tags: @thisismysecrethappyplace @berruneko09 @spnwinchestersd @simonsbluee

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for @ratherbeme behind the cut; omega!Clark and hungry!Kon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Clark just wants to help his pup, but sometimes he’s not sure Kon even considers himself his pup, even just as an objective fact. It’s one thing that Kon doesn’t want to nurse from him, but . . . 

But he also doesn’t want to nest with him, or anyone else in the pack. Doesn’t want to scent his room as a den. Doesn’t want to talk about vulnerable things with them or show them any sign of weakness or even ask them for help with his homework.

Clark–understands, obviously. Things like that can take time, especially when the last guardian that a pup had was demanding and abusive and didn’t care about them at all. Kon wasn’t born into their pack; wasn’t born into a pack at all. Of course it’s going to take time. Of course it’s going to be difficult. Be a process. 

Clark knows all that, but he still wishes he could just hug his own damn pup without worrying he’d upset him just by trying. Wishes he were better at this, if nothing else. More supportive. More patient. More . . . whatever Kon needs him to be. 

It’s not about what he wants. It’s about what Kon feels comfortable with. What Kon needs. Giving him space, letting him find his place and figure out what he wants in life, and just–not being too much for the kid. Not forcing anything that Kon isn’t ready for and doesn’t have any experience of. Every time he’s tried to just talk to the kid he’s scared him, and he just . . . 

He hates the way it feels, scaring his own kid. And it sure as hell doesn’t help anything, either. 

Clark had assumed that just being a normal pack around Kon would be the best way to help him settle in. Kon was never allowed to be a pup with Lex, after all. From day one he was expected to effectively function as an independent–but subservient–adult, and to communicate with and work with and literally fight for his life against actual adults. So of course he didn’t come to them knowing how to fit in with them, and Clark would never have expected him to. 

He’s still hoping that just letting Kon in close enough to observe their pack has been helping him understand what being part of a family is like and where he can fit in it without having to give him an endless list of rules and instructions that he might not understand or might take the wrong way or might make him feel controlled or like they thought he wasn’t smart enough to navigate the situation for himself or . . . 

Clark just can never just talk to the kid. He always seems to find a way to upset him whenever he tries, and then either Kon runs off or he pulls back himself, and it’s just–it doesn’t work. So–observation, he’d thought. Nothing that Kon could think was them pointing out flaws they were going to be upset with him over having, and not a big information dump that’d be hard for him to remember all at once. Kon and Jon haven’t quite worked out the dynamics of their own relationship yet, no, but Jon is still a perfect example of normal pup behavior for Kon to learn from, and seeing how he and Lois respond to Jon–that has to have helped Kon feel safer, hasn’t it? Seeing what they do when Jon makes a mistake, or brings home a bad grade, or just asks for something? 

Except it doesn’t seem to have, and Clark doesn’t understand why. Kon sees how they treat Jon, and sees how Jon treats them. But whenever they ask him the same questions they ask Jon, or offer him the same things . . . 

He needs to be patient, Clark tells himself. Kon’s still brand-new to the world, all appearances aside. Trying to push or rush him isn’t going to do anything but upset him, and possibly just ruin their relationship outright. So–patience, and time. Letting Kon come to them, and not pushing or forcing anything. Not demanding anything he isn’t ready for or comfortable with. 

Even during the times where all Clark wants to do is just curl up in his nest with the kid and scent him as his, and take care of him. 

However Kon would let him, at this point. 

He feels like he’s just going in circles in his mind, and it’s not helpful. Not helping. 

He just–he can’t seem to stop, after finally realizing how much the scent of his milk really has been putting Kon off. It just . . . 

It’s not about him. He knows it’s not. 

But it feels that way, when his own pup keeps running away from him every chance he gets. When he just wants to take care of that pup, and just . . . can’t. 

At least not the way Kon wants him to, anyway, which seems to be “not at all”.