#trigger warning fictions and disturbances

[twistedheartsclub]

A Cage Built From Vows Male X Female Reader

⚠️ Domestic abuse • Psychological manipulation • Non-consensual sex • Kidnapping • Gaslighting • Obsession • Forced captivity • Pregnancy under coercion • Emotional trauma • Power imbalance • Grooming • Court corruption • Threats to child safety

⚠️ Trigger Warning & Disclaimer:

This story is a work of fiction. It contains dark and disturbing themes, including emotional and physical abuse, coercion, forced captivity, non-consensual sex, and psychological manipulation. These elements are intentionally exaggerated to explore power, control, and trauma through a fictional fantasy lens and are not meant to romanticize or excuse real-world abuse.

This story is not suitable for all readers and may be triggering—please prioritize your mental and emotional health while reading. If you need to step away, you should. Your safety and peace of mind come first.

If you or someone you love is experiencing abuse, there is help available. You are not alone, and you are not to blame. There are people who will believe you, support you, and help you find a way out.

U.S. National Domestic Violence Hotline:

📞 1-800-799-7233

💬 Or text “START” to 88788

🌐 Visit www.thehotline.org for live chat and resources

You are worthy of love that does not hurt. You deserve safety, healing, and hope.

Please reach out

“Don’t touch me—no, let go!” Y/N screamed, shoving her husband’s hands off her with trembling fury. Her vision was blurred with tears as she clawed more clothes from the drawers, stuffing them into the open suitcase sprawled across the bed. Her sobs were ragged, her breath sharp and desperate. She was shaking, but she moved fast, methodically—grabbing socks, her nightgown, her daughter’s stuffed animals.

She could barely breathe.

In the other room, their two-year-old slept peacefully, still napping from the warm afternoon lull that had once held the promise of a quiet evening. Y/N had been slicing vegetables when the text came in. A random number. Unknown. The photos had loaded slowly—first, one of him and his secretary in the elevator. Another in the office parking garage. And the final one… in bed, limbs tangled, sheets barely covering them. The timestamp from just days ago.

And then the message:

“Just thought you should know.”

Everything in her shattered. And now, here she was, desperate to flee before her baby woke up, before she broke down even more.

Her husband loomed near the doorway—tall, broad, the very image of strength and stability. But now, with panic spreading across his face, that image cracked. His voice trembled with disbelief and rising anger.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing? What’s wrong?” He stepped forward, his hand reaching for her again.

“Where are you going? You’re not leaving me.”

His tone was sharp, desperate—and dangerous.

She turned on him like a flame.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you fucking dare act like you don’t know why.”

He grabbed her by the upper arm, hard enough to make her wince, yanking her toward him until their faces were inches apart. His jaw clenched, stormy blue eyes blazing.

“Why are you like this?” he growled.

That question broke her.

Y/N laughed, bitter and shaking, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“Why am I like this?” she spat. “You cheated on me. You touched her. You kissed her. You fucked her—and I saw the photos. Don’t pretend you’re confused!” Her voice cracked as she slammed a small pair of toddler shoes into the suitcase.

“I gave up everything for you. I gave you a home. A daughter. I loved you. I was going to tell you tonight—I’m pregnant again.” Her voice dropped to a whisper on the last part, and for a moment, the air went still.

He froze.

Her shoulders trembled as she gripped the zipper of the suitcase.

“But you don’t deserve to know anything more.” She stepped back from him, yanking her arm free.

“I’m taking our daughter and I’m leaving. You will not put your hands on me again. And if you try to stop me…”She looked up, eyes bloodshot, “…I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

He followed her down the hallway like a shadow, heavy footsteps trailing behind her as she entered their daughter’s room. The soft hum of a lullaby toy buzzed faintly in the background. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the small suitcase at the foot of the crib, hurriedly packing pajamas, her daughter’s favorite toy bunny, a bottle.

But then—

“Where would you even go?! Fuck, just stop—” his voice thundered behind her as he lunged, grabbing the suitcase from her grip and flinging it aside. Toys scattered across the floor. Y/N gasped, spinning around—only for his arms to clamp around her, pulling her back against his chest with a jarring force.

“You’re not leaving me, god damn it.”

She struggled in his grip, kicking at his legs, trying to push him off, but he was too strong—too tall, too solid. With brute force, he began shuffling her backward, out of the nursery and back into the bedroom, his hands still locked around her waist.

“Let me go!” she screamed, nails digging into his arms.

“You don’t get to control me anymore, I’m done—”

SMACK.

The sound rang out like a gunshot. Her head jerked to the side, her cheek searing in pain. She staggered slightly in his grip, stunned, one hand flying to her face.

The tears came harder now—hot, bitter, and full of disbelief. She looked up at him, stunned, breath caught in her throat. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes… they had shifted. The fury was gone, replaced by a twisted calmness. A terrifying kind of softness.

“She meant nothing to me, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and eerily gentle now. “You’re the one I love. The love of my fucking life. I would never leave you. Never.” His hand reached out, fingers brushing against her stinging cheek as he cupped her face like a man soothing a frightened animal.

“She tricked me. That bitch—she’s going to pay for what she’s done.”

She flinched, her heart pounding.

“You hit me,” she whispered, barely able to speak the words.

But he just leaned in, pressing a kiss to her red, swollen cheek.

“You needed to calm down,” he murmured, voice low and sickeningly sweet. “This kind of stress? It’s not good for you. Not good for our baby.” He let his hand drift lower, spreading across her stomach, possessive and warm.

“Let’s talk calmly now, okay?” His smile was soft. Deceptive. Dangerous.

Y/N, frozen in fear, barely nodded. Her sniffle was barely audible.

Because now she knew.

She wasn’t just fighting a man who had betrayed her.

She was trapped with someone who would never let her leave.

Y/N flinched again when his fingers brushed her skin—soft now, almost reverent—as if the man who had just struck her could erase the bruise with a touch. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she didn’t dare move. Her breath hitched as he wiped away the tears streaming silently down her face, the pad of his thumb lingering too long, too intimately.

She said nothing—only nodded at his request to “talk calmly.” Her voice had vanished somewhere inside her chest, locked behind panic and disbelief. Her arms hung limp at her sides as he watched her, searching her face for compliance, for surrender. And when he found it, even if it was only fear masquerading as submission, he smiled.

That soft, crooked smile he used to give her when she’d wake in the morning beside him.

Then—he kissed her.

Hard.

Desperate.

His mouth crashed into hers, hungry and demanding, tasting like guilt and power and something darker. His hand held the back of her head, angling her just how he wanted, while the other slid down her back, pressing her flush against him. She whimpered, her body going rigid, but he groaned like he missed her, like this was love.

She didn’t kiss him back—but he didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he didn’t care.

When he pulled back, breath ragged, lips red, he whispered against her mouth:

“That’s my girl.”

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to ground herself. Her lips trembled. Her skin burned where he touched her. Somewhere in the other room, the faint sound of their daughter stirring broke through the tension.

She swallowed hard.

She would play along—for now.

But inside, something had broken.

Her hands trembled as she stirred the sauce, the wooden spoon clinking softly against the pot. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen, but to Y/N it smelled like nothing—tasted like ash in her mouth. Her stomach was a knot of dread.

He hovered behind her. Too close. Always too close.

“Smells good, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and warm like everything was normal—as if he hadn’t just slapped her hours ago, as if she hadn’t tried to flee with their child, as if he hadn’t destroyed the very core of her.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

His arms snaked around her from behind, looping around her waist like iron. He pressed a kiss to her neck, then another—his breath hot against her skin. His hips moved forward, slow and deliberate, until she felt the firm shape of his arousal grind softly against her lower back, still separated by fabric but unmistakably there.

Her entire body went still.

The spoon faltered in her hand, nearly slipping from her grip.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Back in your place. Making dinner for our family.” He inhaled her scent, sighing like he was content—like this was love, not the aftermath of a prison.

Y/N stared down at the bubbling pot, jaw tight, stomach twisting.

She knew what he wanted.

The way his hands started to drift lower. The way his cock throbbed through his slacks against her spine. The way he called her baby again, like nothing had changed, like she was still his obedient, docile wife.

And maybe… maybe she was.

Maybe she had to be.

Because what would happen if she pushed him away again?

Would he raise his hand? Would he grip her arm too tightly? Would he turn violent with something worse than a slap?

Her cheek still throbbed from earlier. And she wasn’t just protecting herself now.

She placed the spoon down carefully, forcing her voice steady.

“Can you check on her?” she whispered, barely able to meet his eyes over her shoulder.

He blinked, surprised by her soft tone. Then he smiled—slow and satisfied.

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing a final kiss behind her ear. “Of course.”

As he stepped away, Y/N’s hands gripped the counter, knuckles white.

She didn’t know how much longer she could do this.

But one thing was clear.

She had to get out.

And next time… she couldn't get caught.

He entered the kitchen with their sleepy daughter nestled in his arms, her small hands rubbing at her eyes as she blinked up at the bright lights. He whispered sweet nothings to her, brushing kisses to her forehead, her nose, her tiny cheeks—soft, patient, loving. The picture of a devoted father.

Y/N stood at the stove, watching with a hollow ache in her chest. He could be so gentle. So warm. So perfect.

Why did he have to be like this?

Why did his love always come wrapped in violence and control?

Dinner passed in relative silence. He talked in a calm, pleasant tone, occasionally brushing her hand as if trying to pretend the slap never happened. Y/N nodded, answered when needed, smiled faintly when their daughter made a mess with her fork.

Afterward, she cleaned the kitchen, then took her daughter upstairs for a bath. The child giggled and splashed, tugging at Y/N’s sleeves, asking her questions she couldn’t answer—like why her eyes were red or why she was “so quiet tonight.”

Y/N read her a short story—something about a cloud and a butterfly—but her daughter grew distracted quickly, drifting off halfway through. Once she was tucked in, Y/N showered alone. She wore a soft nightgown, rubbing lotion into her arms as the mirror fogged behind her. Her belly, still flat but warm with life, ached faintly.

She emerged from the bathroom to find him in bed, glasses on, typing something on his laptop. He looked over at her with a smile—like the world was perfect—and she smiled faintly back, heart pounding.

When he leaned in for a kiss, she gave it to him.

Then she crawled under the covers, turning away and curling up, blanket pulled tight around her body. Eyes closed. Breath held.

Around midnight, she awoke to the press of him inside her.

No warning. No words.

Just grunts of “I love you,” his lips on her neck, his hands cupping her hips. Her body limp with exhaustion, eyes staring at the wall.

She didn’t fight. She didn’t cry. She let it happen.

Because fighting only delayed the inevitable.

And the next morning, as if nothing happened, she woke before him. Made his breakfast. Poured his coffee. Laid out his clothes.

She dressed her daughter in a pretty dress, even added a matching bow to her hair. Her heart pounded in her chest when she stepped down the final stair to find him at the door, patting his pockets for his wallet and keys.

When he saw her, holding their daughter’s hand, his entire face lit up.

“Look at my girls,” he said proudly. He scooped the child into his arms and leaned in, giving Y/N a deep, passionate kiss. She forced herself to kiss him back, swallowing hard, bile rising in her throat.

“We’re going to the library today,” she said gently. “Story time. I thought I might look for some books for myself too.”

He nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear, kissing her forehead.

“Text me when you get there and when you leave, alright, darling?”

“Of course,” she whispered.

He left, keys jingling, her daughter waving from the window. As soon as his car disappeared down the road, Y/N turned away—her chest heaving.

Today had to be the day.

She couldn’t survive another night.

Not for herself.

And not for her daughter.

The library was quiet, peaceful. Soft murmurs between pages, the hum of fluorescent lights, the occasional delighted squeal from the children’s room behind glass. Y/N sat near the window, pretending to scroll through her phone, but her eyes never left her daughter, who sat on a colorful carpet inside the children’s reading room, her tiny hands flipping through board books.

She was safe. For now.

A soft voice broke through her thoughts.

“Y/N?”

She turned, startled, eyes meeting a familiar face—Iris Vale, her husband’s younger sister. She was dressed sharply in a fitted blazer and heels, her dark curls pinned back from her face. A sleek laptop bag hung from her shoulder, and the lanyard around her neck still bore the name of a corporate consulting firm.

“Oh my God—you’re glowing,” Iris said warmly, pulling her into a brief hug. But when she pulled back, her expression shifted, catching the look in Y/N’s eyes.

That look. Hollow. Tired. Sad.

Iris glanced past her, to the children’s room.

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N hesitated. Her lips trembled.

And then it poured out, like floodgates breaking.

“He’s cheating on me.”

Iris blinked, shocked still for a moment.

“Wait… Grayson?”

Y/N nodded quickly, wiping her eyes.

“I saw the photos. Someone sent them to me. It was his secretary. And I—” she cut herself off, lowering her voice. “I don’t know what to do. I want to leave, but… I’m scared.”

Iris exhaled slowly, the pieces clicking into place behind her eyes. She didn’t touch Y/N—didn’t crowd her—but her voice was firm. Gentle.

“I just came from a meeting,” she said softly, motioning to the rooms nearby. “Come on. Let’s go get lunch. Talk. Bring the baby. We’ll go somewhere quiet.”

Y/N hesitated, but her feet moved anyway.

Lunch, in a small family-run café just down the street, felt unreal. Y/N sat across from Iris, her daughter in a highchair coloring with a kids’ menu and crayons. The warmth of soup in front of her didn’t quite reach her chest.

“I’m pregnant again,” Y/N confessed quietly, stirring her spoon. “I was going to tell him that night. But then I got the photos. I can’t trust him—I don’t feel safe around him anymore.”

Iris leaned back, crossing her arms, eyes narrowed.

“I always hated that snide blonde bitch.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s had her claws in him since the holiday party. I told him she was trouble, and of course he acted like I was jealous.”

Y/N looked up, startled.

“You knew?”

“I suspected,” Iris admitted. “But he always played the perfect husband card so well, and you never said a word. I didn’t want to overstep. But Y/N—if he hit you, even once—”

Y/N lowered her head.

Iris’s voice dropped, sharper now.

“You need to get out. Don’t wait. Not for him. Not for the illusion.”

Y/N nodded slowly, tears threatening again.

Iris reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“You’re not alone. I’ll help you.”

Grayson Vale sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his tailored navy suit crisp, a silver watch glinting under the office lights. He was 38, commanding in stature—6’3, broad-shouldered, impeccably groomed. His chiseled features were only sharpened by the cold edge in his eyes, the kind of gaze that silenced boardrooms and bent the wills of weaker men.

His corner office overlooked the city skyline—floor-to-ceiling windows behind him painting him in golden light, like some false idol. But inside, Grayson seethed.

He slammed the laptop shut, veins in his temple pulsing. His jaw locked as he stood and turned toward the trembling woman near the door—his secretary, Madeline, blonde, early 30s, with bruised lipstick and a tear-streaked face.

“She was bound to find out,” Madeline said coldly, one arm cradling her ribs as she wiped the blood from her split lip. “You smack your wife like that too? Like a bitch?”

Grayson’s glare darkened.

“You told her?” His voice was deathly quiet, but his rage buzzed beneath every word.

Madeline sneered.

“She deserves better than you. And I’m not sorry. I was tired of hiding. I thought…” her voice cracked. “I thought you loved me.”

Grayson stepped forward—swift, brutal. The back of his hand cracked across her cheek again with enough force to stagger her. She let out a small cry, hand flying to her face as she hit the wall behind her.

“I told you,” he hissed, towering over her now. “I would never leave my wife. Never. You were a distraction. A convenience.”

His lip curled.

“I gave you what women claw each other apart for—a condo, a car, fucking diamonds. And this is how you repay me?”

Madeline’s mascara ran down her cheeks as she trembled, her voice reduced to a whisper.

“I want you. Can’t you see how much I love you?”

She reached out, desperate fingers clutching for his chest, for his arms—anything.

Grayson stepped back, disgusted.

“Don’t touch me.”

He brushed her off with a sharp shove that sent her stumbling.

Then he turned his back, straightening his cuffs, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket like she was nothing.

“You’re dismissed,” he said flatly. “Don’t bother coming back.”

Madeline stood frozen, eyes wide and red, as the door slammed shut behind her. Alone again.

Grayson exhaled slowly and moved to the window, watching the traffic snake through the city below. His jaw clenched.

She was slipping away.

His wife was slipping away.

And now—he had a decision to make.

Dinner was nearly ready. The house was warm from the oven, the smell of rosemary and lamb clinging to the air like perfume. Everything was spotless. Intentional. The cushions were fluffed, the toys tucked away. The candles were lit—not for romance, but for appearance. Y/N had spent the afternoon in a haze of performance, desperate to keep the peace.

Her hands were trembling, but she kept chopping. She had to look normal.

Her daughter sat in the highchair, sticky fingers curled around apple slices, babbling nonsense. Y/N offered her a shaky smile, brushing sweat from her brow. Her sundress clung lightly to her body, thin straps slipping from her shoulders—chosen carefully. Everything tonight had to feel safe.

Then—

The door opened.

She didn’t have to look. She felt it. Felt him.

Grayson’s presence was something physical—thick and oppressive, like gravity had shifted.

The door clicked shut.

She stood completely still, heart pounding in her throat.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Measured. Confident.

“Mmm… smells good.”

Before she could react, arms snaked around her from behind—wrapping around her waist, dragging her against his chest. She flinched involuntarily, the knife in her hand clinking against the counter as her body stiffened.

“You always do this for me,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. He kissed her cheek—slow, claiming. “You always know just how to make me feel at home.”

His hand slid down, over her stomach, resting there. The motion wasn’t affectionate—it was possessive. She could feel the weight of his cock, hard through his slacks, pressing against the curve of her backside. He rocked slightly against her, groaning like it was love.

But it wasn’t.

It was ownership.

“My girls,” he said again. “My good little wife… my perfect little family.”

Y/N forced a smile. Her fingers clenched the counter until her knuckles turned white.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know I saw Iris.

He doesn’t know what we talked about.

He can’t know.

He turned her around then, so fast her breath caught.

“Hi,” she whispered, barely able to keep her voice steady.

And then—he kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. He shoved his mouth over hers, lips bruising, his tongue pushing past her teeth like a man marking his territory. One hand slid up her spine, gripping the back of her neck to hold her in place. His other hand trailed lower—possessive, firm, resting right above the swell of her ass.

Y/N kissed him back.

Because she had to.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes glittered with something dark. Something dangerous.

“How was lunch?” he asked casually, but there was a sharp edge beneath the words.

Her blood ran cold.

He knows.

He doesn’t know—but he suspects.

She felt herself shrinking under his stare, heat prickling her skin. She shifted her weight nervously, glancing toward their daughter, who had paused in her snack to hum at her toy.

“Fine,” Y/N replied quickly, too quickly.

Grayson’s eyes narrowed.

He reached out and took her wrist. Not hard—not like before—but firm. Controlling.

“Next time, let me know where you’re going. Okay?”

Y/N nodded instantly.

“Okay. I will.”

His expression softened. He leaned in and kissed her lips again, this time slower, almost tender—but laced with unspoken threat.

“Good girl.”

As he stepped away, going to the table to pour himself a drink, Y/N stood frozen at the counter, chest tight.

He’s watching me.

He knows something is wrong.

And still—Iris’s words clung to her like a lifeline.

“Don’t wait. Not for him. Not for the illusion.”

Y/N exhaled shakily and turned back to the stove.

The bedroom was dimly lit, a single lamp casting golden shadows across the walls. The sheets twisted around her legs, damp with sweat. Her sundress had been torn aside long ago, pushed up to her waist as her husband moved over her—strong, relentless, claiming every inch of her like she was nothing but his possession.

Grayson’s hips rocked into her steadily, his breath hot against her neck. Y/N lay beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms loosely draped over his shoulders. Her body responded from muscle memory, the way it always did—soft, pliant, accommodating.

But her mind was elsewhere.

He groaned, kissing along her collarbone before dipping lower, taking her breast into his mouth. His tongue circled her nipple, sucking greedily as if it already belonged to him.

“Mmm,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Not long now. Milk will come soon… I can feel it. Can’t wait to taste it.”

Y/N shuddered.

His words made her stomach curl.

He came inside her with a low grunt, pressing deep, hips stuttering as he clung to her body, his fingers digging into her hips as if trying to root himself there forever. He always came inside. Always. He said it was natural. That it was what husbands did.

She turned her face away.

A tear slid down her cheek.

As he collapsed beside her with a satisfied sigh, Grayson wrapped his arms around her from behind—spooning her tightly, his chest pressed to her back. One hand slid over her stomach, warm and firm, rubbing small circles just below her navel.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “So full, so soft. My wife. My girl.”

Y/N blinked up at the ceiling, eyes glassy.

And just like that—

She was pulled back into a memory. A life she once dreamed of.

She had been twenty, wide-eyed, idealistic, and full of plans. Studying to become a teacher, devoting herself to early childhood education. She adored children. She’d spent her summers volunteering at local programs, babysitting, helping cousins learn to read. She dreamed of a life surrounded by laughter and learning.

She wanted to finish school.

She wanted to travel.

She wanted to stand in front of a classroom, chalk in hand, shaping minds and lives.

Then she met him.

Grayson Vale. Thirty at the time, charming in a tailored coat, his eyes locked on her like she was the center of the universe. He spoke like a man who knew the world. Who could give her the world.

He wooed her fast. Flowers. Dinners. Promises of forever. Of safety. Of a life without struggle. And she fell. Hard.

When he proposed after just a few months, her parents were surprised—but happy. He flew her whole family out for a destination wedding on the coast of Spain. It was breathtaking.

And then… she became a wife. A full-time wife.

He convinced her to take a break from school. Just until the baby.

He insisted she didn’t need to work. He could provide.

He said she could finish her degree later. She had plenty of time.

And slowly, her dreams folded away like clothes no longer worn.

Now, lying in that bed with his seed still warm inside her, her daughter sleeping just across the hall, her swollen cheek still faintly tender from the day before—Y/N realized:

She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

She wasn’t just grieving her safety.

She was grieving who she used to be.

Grayson kissed the back of her shoulder. His voice was thick with sleep.

“We should look at houses by the lake, huh? Raise our kids somewhere quiet.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

She just closed her eyes.

And let another tear fall.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind them, rattling in its frame.

Grayson’s grip on her collar didn’t loosen—he threw her forward, and she stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the bed.

“You think you’re leaving me?” he snarled behind her, yanking at the back of her dress. “You fucking whore, after everything I’ve done for you—”

The fabric tore violently, seams splitting with a sharp rip. She gasped, tried to turn around, but he grabbed her again—fingers like vices around her upper arm.

She kicked him.

Hard.

Her foot landed square against his shin, and he howled in pain—but it only made him angrier.

SMACK.

The slap rang through the room, snapping her head to the side. White-hot pain exploded across her cheekbone. She barely had time to react before another blow came—a backhand this time, splitting her lip.

“You think you’re strong now?” he spat, shoving her to the floor. “You think you can fight me? After all I’ve given you?”

Her eye throbbed. The room blurred. She tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back toward him.

Her heart pounded like a war drum. Her daughter. Her daughter was downstairs. What if she woke up?

No. No. No.

His hands were on her again, tearing her bra down, growling something vile as he fumbled with his belt.

But through the chaos—through the blood and fear—Y/N saw the nightstand.

The lamp.

She reached with all the adrenaline-fueled rage and panic she had left, her fingers closing around the base.

And with a cry—she swung it.

The ceramic shattered on impact.

Grayson staggered back, eyes rolling, a groan caught in his throat as blood dripped from his temple.

Then—

He collapsed.

Right there on the bedroom floor.

Still.

Unmoving.

Y/N panted, chest heaving, her body trembling so violently she could barely stand. She stared at him, sprawled out across the floor, and for a terrifying second, she thought he might be dead.

But he groaned.

Alive.

And she knew—

She didn’t have much time.

She pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, not even bothering with a bra. Her hands shook as she snatched a duffel bag from the closet and shoved her daughter’s clothes into it—barefoot pajamas, her bunny, a small blanket. She didn’t stop to fold. She didn’t care. She threw in diapers, a bottle, whatever she could grab.

Down the stairs.

Her daughter stirred as she lifted her from the sofa.

“Mama?”

“It’s okay, baby. We’re going for a drive.”

Her voice cracked as she kissed her temple, strapping her into the car seat. Her hands were bloody. She didn’t even notice.

The keys jingled in her hand as she unlocked the door.

She looked back once—at the house she had been a prisoner in.

And then she drove.

The police station was cold. Too bright. Too sterile.

She burst through the doors in sweats and slippers, her daughter clinging to her neck.

The officer at the front desk stood immediately.

“Ma’am? Are you hurt?”

Y/N’s voice shook as she spoke.

“Please. I need help. He hit me. He tried—he wouldn’t stop—my husband. He’s unconscious, but he’ll wake up—he’ll come for us.”

The words broke in her throat.

She was crying, full-body sobs. Her daughter whimpered quietly, curling into her mother’s chest.

The officer escorted her back. She was offered water. A chair. An advocate.

She gave her statement with trembling lips. She showed the bruises—her eye swollen, her cheek raw, her lip cracked. She filed the report. She gave his full name: Grayson Vale.

And then—she gave Iris’s number.

Twenty minutes later, Iris burst through the doors, hair wild, blazer askew, face pale.

“Y/N,” she whispered, rushing forward to pull her into a hug. She froze when she saw her sister-in-law’s bruises. Her eyes welled up. “Jesus Christ… what did he do to you?”

Y/N sobbed harder.

“Everything.”

They held each other for a long time.

Then Iris kissed the top of Y/N’s head and took her hand.

“We’re going to fight. We’re going to burn him to the ground.”

That night, Iris drove her home—to her own place. A guest room was made up. Her daughter was given a warm bath, pajamas, and a soft bed.

Y/N couldn’t sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed in Iris’s house, knees hugged to her chest, the bruises aching—but for the first time, she breathed.

She got out.

The news reached Grayson Vale in his hospital bed, just hours after the police had come. The bruising on his skull had left a hairline fracture, but the real damage—the kind he cared about—was to his image.

His wife had filed a report.

Assault. Domestic battery. Fear for her child’s safety. An order of protection.

The words rang in his ears like a joke. A lie. And still—

The headlines never made it to print.

Because by the next day, Grayson had paid off the police chief, the intake officer, the clerk, and the internal file trail. Nothing stuck. His lawyer shredded the official copy of the statement. His PR team hushed up what little had leaked.

To the public?

There was no scandal.

To Grayson?

There was only rage.

He had given Y/N everything. A perfect life. A home. A child. A future. And this—this—was how she repaid him?

For weeks, she vanished.

No appearances. No outings. No updates. Not even a trip to the store.

His private men confirmed she was holed up at Iris’s townhouse, hiding like a pathetic, wounded animal. His daughter locked away from him. His unborn child being raised in betrayal.

He clenched his fist around the whiskey glass, jaw tight.

"She thinks this is over," he said aloud, pacing his office weeks later. “She thinks I’ll let her go?”

Iris refused to speak to him. She had taken a formal leave from their company, citing “family matters.” He knew what that meant.

She’s protecting her.

But she wouldn’t be able to for long.

Grayson was a man of power. Of wealth. Of patience. And the longer Y/N played this game, the more he planned. Carefully. Strategically.

Then—he made a decision.

He would play along.

The calls from her lawyer started coming in. Requests to settle. To mediate. She wanted full custody. She wanted freedom.

So Grayson did the unthinkable.

He agreed.

“I’ll sign the divorce papers,” he told the judge. “She’s clearly afraid. If this is what she wants, I’ll give it to her.”

The court hearing was scheduled for the following week.

Y/N and Iris would relax. They’d believe he’d given up.

They would walk into that courtroom believing they’d won.

And then?

He would take what was his.

The plan was precise.

Security rerouted.

Transport staged.

A private jet prepared.

The house—his second estate, tucked away in a rural region of Vermont—was stocked and waiting. Staff loyal to him alone. Surveillance installed in every room. The nursery restored.

Y/N would be escorted directly from the courthouse.

No one would stop it.

No one could.

She would learn obedience again. Slowly. Properly. He would recondition her—mind, body, soul—until she remembered who she was:

His wife.

His woman.

His property.

And by the time the world asked questions?

They would be long gone.

THE COURTHOUSE – THAT MORNING

Y/N sat stiffly at the plaintiff’s table, her hands clenched around the edge of the table, her body trembling in quiet anticipation. The courtroom was still. Polished. Impersonal. Iris sat beside her, offering the occasional touch to her hand, whispering reassurance. Y/N's lawyer, a sharp, fierce woman named Alma Reyes, stood ready beside them.

Grayson sat across the aisle, calm. Too calm.

He wore a crisp suit and a disarming half-smile, as if this entire process amused him.

But Y/N refused to look at him.

Her heart beat only for her daughter—safe in Iris’s care, waiting in the hallway with a book and her stuffed bunny. For her unborn child, who didn’t deserve to grow up in terror.

She wanted freedom. Nothing else.

Not the house. Not the money. Not his name.

Just peace.

When the judge entered, Y/N straightened. An older man—Judge Matthew Brecker—with a deep voice and a kind, fatherly face.

Too kind, Alma thought with a hint of unease.

“After reviewing the agreement,” Judge Brecker began, flipping through pages slowly, “and considering Mr. Vale’s voluntary cooperation, this court will—”

Y/N held her breath.

“—grant dissolution of marriage, full custody awarded to the mother. Assets remain with Mr. Vale as per petitioner’s request. The matter is hereby settled.”

The gavel came down.

It was done.

Y/N burst into tears.

Not from grief—but from relief.

Iris immediately stood, pulling her into a fierce embrace. Y/N clung to her like a lifeline, whispering over and over, “It’s over—it’s finally over.”

Iris kissed her cheek. “You did it, sweetheart. You’re free.”

They didn’t even glance at Grayson on the way out.

THE COURTHOUSE – BATHROOM

“I just need to take her to the bathroom,” Y/N whispered to Iris, holding her daughter’s tiny hand. “She’s been so patient. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Iris nodded without suspicion. “I’ll warm up the backseat for her nap.”

The bathroom was quiet. Y/N guided her daughter to the stall, helped her wash her hands, brushing her little curls out of her face as they giggled softly at the hand dryer’s noise.

The moment felt normal.

The first normal she had felt in months.

Until—

The door opened.

Heavy.

Purposeful.

Two men entered—dark suits, blank eyes. No uniforms. No hesitation.

Before Y/N could move, one grabbed her arm.

“Hey—!” she yelped, heart spiking, but the other had already scooped her daughter into his arms, muffling her cries with a hand over her mouth.

“Keep quiet,” one of them hissed, flashing a handgun tucked discreetly in his jacket. “You scream, your kid bleeds. Understand?”

Terror exploded in her chest.

She nodded—numbly. Frantically. Anything to keep her baby safe.

She was dragged out the back exit of the courthouse—through a restricted corridor, to a waiting black car. Iris would still be waiting at the curb, smiling. Unknowing.

Y/N’s phone was taken. Her bag too.

They shoved her into the back of the car. Her daughter sobbed against her chest. Y/N clutched her tight, whispering, “Mommy’s here, it’s okay,” even as her heart shattered.

20 MINUTES LATER

The car doors opened beside a sleek private jet parked on a rooftop airstrip, hidden from view. The sun was setting now, casting orange and pink hues across the city skyline.

And there—standing at the top of the jet’s stairs—was Grayson Vale.

Whiskey in hand.

A smirk carved into his face.

Y/N was pulled roughly from the car, her feet dragging, daughter clinging to her shoulder.

“Dadda!” the little girl squealed, arms stretching.

“I know, baby,” Grayson cooed, walking down the stairs to take her from the guard. “I missed you too.” He kissed her forehead, holding her like a prize.

Y/N sobbed, stumbling toward him.

“Please—Grayson, don’t do this. Don’t do this—”

“Shut up,” one of the guards snapped, shoving her forward.

“Careful,” Grayson barked, his smile curling into a sneer. “She’s pregnant.”

Y/N’s knees buckled.

He caught her arm and dragged her up the steps himself.

“You ran,” he whispered, almost lovingly. “You made a fool of me. In court. With my sister. But you forgot something, sweetheart.”

She shook her head, trembling, tears streaming down her face.

“You belong to me.”

He shoved her into one of the jet’s plush leather seats. A seatbelt clicked over her hips before she could move. Her daughter curled beside her, too young to understand, reaching for her bunny.

Grayson took the seat across from her, his glass of whiskey glinting in the cabin light.

And without another word, the jet engines roared to life.

The wheels lifted off the rooftop.

And the city she had nearly escaped fell away below them.

Gone.

Skip

The house was silent.

A wide, sprawling estate tucked deep into the hills—no neighbors for miles, no signal, no exit.

The windows were tall but barred.

The doors locked from the outside.

Inside, the walls were soft colors, warm wood floors. A perfect home. A picture of peace. But peace had never looked so much like prison.

Y/N sat on the porch in a white dress that wasn’t hers, hair brushed back the way he liked. Her daughter played quietly in the grass, drawing with chalk. The sun was golden, dipping low behind the hills. A breeze moved through the trees like a whisper.

From inside, Grayson watched them.

Glass of whiskey in hand.

Satisfied.

She didn’t try to run anymore.

He had erased her name from the world. Deleted her accounts. Severed her ties. No one knew where she was. No one dared to ask.

And she had learned.

Obedience.

Silence.

She smiled when he touched her now. Kissed him when he asked. Laid still when he climbed into bed. She was tired of fighting. Or maybe just too broken to remember how.

Sometimes she cried when he left the room.

But never when he was near.

Because she knew better.

And he?

He had everything.

His wife.

His daughter.

His heir on the way.

He stepped out onto the porch and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple like the loving husband he pretended to be.

“See?” he whispered, as their daughter giggled softly in the grass. “This is how it was always meant to be.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Her eyes stayed on the horizon.

But she nodded.

Because in the end—he won.

And no one came to save her.

Because the villain always wins.

Not in stories.

In real life.

Where monsters wear wedding rings…

and call it love.

@cutelittlesugarfairy @lilyalone @alebrasil0101 @amanduhh1998 @bananaasfordewin @rachfart @hopingtoclearmedschool

[have-you-read-this-short-fiction]

[forthegothicheroine]

Tanith Lee Recs

Since Tanith Lee deserves to be known for much more than having been plagiarized, I thought I'd share some recommendations. She had a HUGE body of work, and I've seen it suggested that the reason she never became a household name in fantasy and science fiction is that she wrote so many things that were different from each other, rather than staying in one easily labeled niche. I've only begun to make a dent in her catalogue, but here's the stuff I liked the best.

Note: A lot of her stuff can be disturbing, and I can't remember everything well enough to give perfect trigger warnings.

Red as Blood and Redder Than Blood: These fairy tale collections are being talked about now for the title story, but my favorite is The Golden Ladder, an incredibly creepy and hot version of Rapunzel, or perhaps When the Clock Strikes, a horrifying beautiful take on Cinderella.

The Weird Tales of Tanith Lee: As you can see, I love her short stories. These are all the ones published in Weird Tales, which includes some of the above fairy tales (including When the Clock Strikes) but also Arthurian, steampunk and science fiction stories. It's a great sampler of all the things she could do.

Blood 20: One more short story collection! This one is (most of) her vampire stories, so I know you goths will like it! There are things erotic, fantastical and grotesque in here, but to me the most haunting is the tragically mundane The Vampire Lover.

The Secret Books of Paradys: In this series, an alternate history of Paris, bad things happen. Supernatural things, sexual things, horrifying things. And sometimes good things happen, such as a man saved by a Jewish sage an his beautiful daughter who then actually converts to Judaism.

The Secret Books of Venus: I've only read the first entry in this similar series about an alternate world version of Venice, but once again it leaves the reader feeling totally transported to this sometimes sinister, sometimes lovely place where romance and cruelty live next door to each other.

Vivia: This tragic medieval plague-influenced vampire story is maybe the darkest thing of hers I've read, but dear god can she paint a picture with words. Along with The Birthgrave (which I didn't like as much), George RR Martin definitely pulled a lot of Danaerys's story from the title character here.

Islands in the Sky: And now for something completely different- a children's book. I remember finding this at the library as a kid and wanting to cry when it was over, because it gave me an equal sense of wonder and happiness as The Lion the Witch and the Wardobe, which I hadn't known was possible and worried would never happen again.

...but if you're like me, you'll just see which of her books you find at the library and used bookstores. You may not love every single thing, but it will always be interesting!

[ahdndnaneb]

“We are all wearing masks. That is what makes us interesting.”

— Neil Gaiman, Trigger Warning: Short Fictions and Disturbances

[girlsworldillusion]

Scream for me little lamb (FINAL PART)

PART ONE HERE

Ghostface!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Summary: You don't know him, you haven't even seen him before. Yet this cruel killer is in your mind, entangled like a parasite. For just one night you want to get rid of this feeling - to get rid of him. What could possibly go wrong after all?

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 15k (fuck, that's it, I'm physically incapable of writing something succinct)

Author's Note: This story contains themes that may be disturbing or triggering for some, such as: DETAILED DESCRIPTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS, BLOOD, MURDER, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, THREATS, AND ROUGH SEX. Your health (mental and physical) should always be your priority, if any of these themes are too heavy for you to handle I beg that you ignore this post.

Please do not mistake this for a love story. The reader clearly suffers from a serious level of emotional instability and the abuser takes advantage of this fragility to threaten and use her. This is NOT healthy and NOT romantic in any way and I obviously do NOT agree with this attitude in real life. This is just a FICTIONAL HISTORY and it is only in this context that something like this can be tolerated. The tags are all there however and if you do not feel comfortable reading something like this, there is no need to leave any derogatory comments. JUST DON'T READ IT.

To those who stay, enjoy reading!

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

In the previous chapter:

And then the masked figure takes a casual step into the bathroom, the easy confidence in this simple act foreshadowing his ease in overpowering his victims. You swallow hard, backing away slowly as you lock eyes with the killer’s empty holes. The knowledge that there is no way out of the room is painfully obvious to you. The man takes up the entire space of the exit; the width of his shoulders stretching almost from one side of the doorframe to the other, his long legs slightly apart to fill any gaps.

The only way out of here was if you stepped over him; and that wasn’t going to happen.

----

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as your head tilts down discreetly. Submission. It’s instinctive, really. Your body knows what this man is capable of, remembers the brutal, bloody state his victims were found in. You don’t want that fate for yourself.

He hums at that, pleased with your pliant reaction - and you blush at the raw humiliation of feeling so inferior to someone else.

“So good, sweetie.”

He sighs ecstatically, pushing the two of you deep into the bathroom just enough to close the door, the click of the key locking it sounding purposefully loud. You feel the shape of an invisible hand holding your beating heart between its fingers, your breath coming in shallow huffs through your lips. He’s locked you in here, with him.

How did this happen? How did you, probably the only person who was actually taking this whole police alert about a serial killer on the loose seriously, end up here? How the hell is this possible, God?

Your phone vibrates from where it's on the floor and you jump in fright, the screen facing down doesn't allow you to see who's calling when you look at it. But it doesn't matter. You immediately look up at the man, see how he understands what you're going to do before it even happens; his ghostly face tilts toward the ceiling, an almost disappointed sigh sounding from beneath the mask.

"I praised you too soon, right?"

It turns out that if showing their fragile parts to a predator seeking mercy and lowering the head in submission is a natural primal instinct when there's seemingly no escape, then it's also a natural instinct to act immediately when a glimmer of hope and survival appears.

And your phone ringing is a glimmer of hope.

You dive to where it lies with your heart racing, desperate for the opportunity to warn someone of your situation and get help. But your fingers barely graze the object before a large hand grabs a fistful of hair at the back of your head, holding you in place before you can reach it.

On your knees on the bathroom tile, you’re thrashing hysterically in his iron grip, ugly sobs of pain escaping your lips with each rough tug at the roots of your hair.

“No! Let me go, please! HELP!” You scream as loud as you can, hoping it’s enough to alert someone outside, even though the obnoxiously loud music downstairs limits your chances to almost zero. You barely register the heavy thud of the knife hitting the floor as you open your mouth to scream louder, your voice muffled by another heavy hand slamming into your mouth, the leather of his glove squeezing your lips and cheeks until they hurt.

He lifts you to your feet with just his grip on your hair, your scream of agony once again muffled by his gloved fingers. The man doesn't let you go even when he reaches the bathroom sink, where he practically throws you against the counter, your hip bones jarring sharply with the impact. You slip a little in pain, shaking hands gripping his wrist as you claw desperately to make him release your mouth, staring in horror at the shadowy figure behind your body.

Your heartbeat is roaring loudly in your ears as you cease the attack and stare at the dark, empty eyes of the mask in the mirror, his body against yours.

The indigo lighting makes his presence even more sinister, shadowing a tall, frightening silhouette looming over you like a mythological god of death, dressed all in black. Except, of course, for his bizarre mask with sunken, innocuous eyes, like black holes etched in an agonized expression, the mouth dark and open in an eternal silent scream. The material of the mask is so white that it contrasts exaggeratedly against the black background covering his body, even in the violet light of the bathroom. Over his head he wears a wide hood that frames his mask and gathers around the long line of his strong shoulders like an ominous shawl, followed below by a kind of ragged-looking tunic, long sleeves on each arm, a subtle tightening around his waist, deliberately highlighting the defined plane of his abdomen. Below his waist, the tunic continues flowing to his ankles, with an opening running the length of each leg clad in trousers - to allow ease of movement, you presume. He needs agility to stalk students and kill them mercilessly, after all. To finish off the somber look, he wears military boots on his feet, intricate lines of laces running the length of them.

"How about you and I play a little game?" He asks close to your ear, white mask poking the side of your face, empty eyes staring at your reflection in the mirror. You struggle to breathe between the gaps of his fingers on your face, your eyes growing moist as the desperate situation truly sinks in.

"A really fun little game called 'don't scream when I let go of your mouth and in return I won't decorate the floor with your entrails'. How does that sound?" The way he says it, casual and easy, rivals the cruel grip on your hair, or the way his fingers press into the flesh of your cheeks until you squeal in pain.

The smell of blood surrounds you again, the same metallic, damp smell you felt when you were near the dripping knife he had between his fingers, and your senses seem to be heightened by the adrenaline flooding your veins. It takes a few seconds for you to realize that the smell is coming from him this time. From his clothes, you notice, as if the slimy stuff had been splattered across much of the shadowy fabric covering his body. And it was. You know it was.

Who was the victim tonight? Who was stabbed so brutally that their blood splattered like ketchup all over this monster’s clothes?

Would you suffer the same fate?

“I asked you a question, princess. Do you want to play with me or not?” He presses, a hint of impatience in his voice, the already crushing grip on your scalp tightening even more.

You nod as best you can at the restraint of his fingers in your hair and mouth, pretending you actually have some say in this, salty tears sliding down your waterline with the shaky movement.

“Good girl.”

He laughs close to your ear, a low, dark — but happy — tremor. He’s enjoying himself, basking in the satisfaction of your scared, teary expression. He’s insane.

“That’s it, love, isn’t it so much easier this way?” He purrs as he loosens his grip on your mouth, the back of his index finger massaging your cheek as you practically choke on the breath that vibrates too raggedly through your newly freed lips. He towers over you, watches you in the mirror with predatory focus - sees you struggle to keep yourself together, fresh tears dripping from your lower lashes, wetting the leather of the glove on his finger. “Mmm, you look so good like this, it makes me so fucking hard to see your tears fall for me.”

“Oh my God…” you choke, absolutely terrified at the man’s sickening sincerity, your eyes wide and wet, face to face with the singular reason for your nightmares. 

“Shh,” he takes a step closer to you, pinning you even tighter against the sink counter and his body, letting you feel the undeniable truth in his earlier statement — the thick tent in his pants digging into your lower back until you whimper out a sharp sound, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.”

You find yourself subtly wilting at the dangerous warning, though more out of sheer horror than subservience.

“A-are you going to kill me?” Your voice cracks at the end, scared and shrill; the sound of someone truly cornered — a little mouse caught in a cruel glue trap, just awaiting its inevitable end.

“Now, that wouldn't be fun, would it?” he pretends to ponder, his gloved fingertip drumming over your jaw now, down to your cheek, and you’re shaking so hard you think you might be shaking his body along with yours. “Oh no, I could never kill you. Hurt you? Yeah, maybe. But killing my little girl? That's a big nope to me.”

If he thought that would bring you any comfort, then he was sorely mistaken.

He grabs your face before you can properly react to his frightening words, his large, strong hand barely needing to exert much effort to do so, eclipsing your delicate features with his long fingers, the endless darkness of the glove contrasting with your skin. He squeezes your cheeks together until your lips purse into a fishy pout, forces your jaw up so you meet the blank stare of his mask in the mirror - and all you can do is cringe under his dangerous aura.

“Look at that, aren’t you the cutest little thing?”

You definitely don’t like the tone he uses, the easygoing, smug way he holds himself above you; as if he knows there’s absolutely nothing you can do to free yourself from his grasp, completely at his mercy. Chest thrusting into you, muscular thighs encasing your hips, hips pressed against your ass; keeping you in place. You try to claw at his wrist again, just to confirm the horrifying fact that no, he’s not going anywhere.

The grip on your cheeks loosens as he slides his hand to your throat, gloved fingers curling to rest over the hysterically pulsing vessels on either side, completely encircling the slender column of your neck with elongated digits like spider legs. He doesn’t apply any real pressure, but he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to. As he holds your gaze in the reflection with those cold, dark circles of his ghostly mask, the threat of his vast capacity for violence hangs as heavily as he does over your body.

He could rip you apart, right here and now. He could sink his sharp teeth into your neck like a dog would a chew toy, shaking your stuffed body between his jaws until only foam and patches remain.

The paralyzing fear is an increasingly real sensation in your chest, the cold curtain of numbness lifting on your skin and you swallow hard, your throat working under his fingers. Your heart pounds violently, so hard you can feel it in your ears, in your skull. Your eyes flutter in the mirror and your breath is just a broken whistle between your lips. He's pushing you straight into what will be a second episode in the same night, an unprecedented feat in your life - as fucked up as it has been so far.

"W-wait, please I-" You gasp, pulling at his grip messily, already feeling the spiral of panic wrapping around your thoughts like a vise, the claustrophobic noose that is the feeling of total inability to control yourself tightening around your throat.

"Cut that shit, little girl." Your tormentor breathes close to your ear, firm and authoritative, almost sullen as he stares into your terrified eyes in the mirror, his fingers on your throat squeezing slightly - just enough to make you feel it. "You're staying here with me, understand? It was cute the first time, but I don't want to hear about that shit now. I have much more interesting things to do with you than watch that pretty little head go somewhere I can't reach it. Yeah, I'm a selfish guy like that."

He finishes with a dry laugh and you don't know what's worse; his complete disrespect in describing your very real and very traumatic panic attack as something 'cute' or his incorrect assumption that you had a choice in this - that you could simply stop it from happening.

The grip on your throat is tighter now, your breathing becoming severely labored. His hand wraps around your throat and presses hard enough to make you struggle to breathe. You buck and push, running on pure instinct even though your efforts are restrained by his strength, the blood on his black robes spreading across your body like an artist’s brushstrokes in movement.

The notion that this man killed someone before coming to you is there once more, even more prominent now, pounding in your head like blows from a hammer.

“Relax, damn it, or I’ll make you.” He continues his unreasonable demand, squeezing his grip to press you against his chest until you feel every heated inch of him against your body, especially the disturbing way the thick line of his cock inevitably pushes and presses into your lower back with each sharp breath.

You want to scream at him and tell him that what he’s doing is the complete opposite of encouraging you to relax. But anxiety courses through your veins and your eyes close, spilling salty tears. You see grotesque shadows and demons you never thought you would see behind the darkness of your eyelids. It suffocates you, terrifies you, makes you tremble. You can’t move, you can’t escape, you can’t even open your eyes; you can only feel. Your heart is about to explode. You can’t hear anything. Your head hurts and your mind starts to shut down. That’s it, you’re falling again.

And then you feel your body shaking uncontrollably, something crawling under your skin like a lazy parasite. It’s not bad and that’s the first warning sign. Your temporarily inert mind, shut down for God knows how long, restarts with a slow trickle, your breathing becoming a little less hyperventilating and more...warm? However, you can’t force yourself to open your eyes yet, you can’t hear anything around you, you can’t even deduce what’s happening beyond the dark barrier of your closed eyelids. You feel strangely calmer, but filled to the brim with confused apprehension.

You shiver as the strange sensation comes on stronger, sticky molasses coursing through your veins, warming your belly to bring your mind back to reality.

Brought back....

When your eyes open, lethargic and sleepy, tears still blur your hazy vision until you can stare once more at the killer's ghostly mask.

“Welcome back, princess…” The tall man speaks and even hidden under the mask you know he’s smiling. His upper body is hunched over, wrapping your body in a sort of unwanted intimate cocoon. One of his arms is around your torso, keeping both of your arms firmly attached to your sides as if you were a Barbie doll, his other arm stretched down, beyond the visible limits of the mirror. You try to cast your eyes down to see where his hand is, a bad feeling in your chest, but your vision is fuzzy, swimming in dizziness and inconstancy. The threat of a second episode has drained the little strength that was left in your body.

You might even feel compelled to show gratitude for having escaped the oppressive spiral of a new crisis before it reached critical levels. Except something doesn’t feel right.

“W-what?” You ask in a thin voice, your head spinning with tiredness, your body kept upright only by the sink counter and the pressure the man exerts on your back. Feels wrong. You feel like you’re going to throw up at any moment. Your body is begging you to lie down and take a nap for an entire year. It’s a different kind of hysteria, you realize, like you’ve escaped one panic attack only to fall into another completely different one.

Heavy breaths rush from your mouth and your tongue feels sticky and dry as you try to swallow, squinting back into the mirror, trying to piece together the fragmented pieces of information in front of you to make sense of what’s happening.

He’s looking at you too. Even hidden beneath that mask, you feel his gaze burning into your reflection, drinking in the drunken confusion etched on your face, the fear — the shiver of unwanted pleasure that rips through your body like an invisible knife.

What’s happening?

You want to scream.

As you gaze up at him from beneath damp lashes, the burning sensation in your body seems to creep upon itself, gradually merging with the nerves in your belly as something warm and syrupy — needy — pulses deep in your core.

“That’s it, baby. See how much relaxed you are now?” He purrs with lazy irony, savoring each syllable on his tongue like an addictive candy. “Of course you did, the baby just needed something different to focus that little head of her on.”

There’s a gentle but rhythmic swaying of the muscles along his arm, you notice with your eyes locked on the mirror, a disturbingly familiar movement — and a shiver of wet pleasure licks up your spine as you squint, a very instinctive, primal part of your brain finally breaking through the hazy fog to scream that it knows exactly where his hand is.

Your awareness of the world around you returns like a punch to the gut, painful and suffocating, as you feel the leather of his glove between your legs.

"N-no! No, please, I don't want to-" You stammer, tired and scared beyond belief, struggling to escape the man, but his grip around you is like a heavy chain, his arm still keeping yours locked tightly at your sides.

This man has somehow managed to rescue you from a traumatic encounter with your own demons, only to plunge you into a different kind of terror - one even more agonizing.

Your sobbed protests mean nothing in the face of the killer's sick desires, as he languidly slides two of his fingers in a V around your clit, up and down. A shiver runs through you, your thighs instinctively clenching around his hand, a reaction that in turn elicits an amused chuckle from the man.

You shake and beg louder as he continues to rub your pussy, his hand writhing inside the tiny shorts you wear under your costume skirt, ignoring your breathy sobs and whimpers as if you were just a cute, whiny puppy. You shiver, your inner walls clenching around nothing with each lick of his fingers around your clit, reacting against your will to his teasing touches.

A haze of fear and pleasure takes over your mind as you shake your head, struggling to breathe through your nose to keep from passing out. It all feels too much and yet not enough, your hands twitching nonstop where they’re held, your body shaking from head to toe. Your blood runs thick as you stare at him in the mirror, begging in a way. Trying to say anything, since your voice doesn’t even seem to work with the overwhelming wave of feelings coursing through you. Your lips just part, nothing but a wordless plea.

“Oh, poor girl, don’t struggle so much…just relax, I’ll take such good care of you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything but staying there and being soft and pretty for me. Let me think of everything else.” He sings condescendingly, the elongated tip of the ghostly mask’s chin appearing in your line of vision as he rests his jaw on your shoulder, the material of the hood brushing against the side of your flushed face.

His scent is enveloping you like a chokehold now; rich, clotted blood, running red and still warm on his clothing — which is now permanently stained on your costume as well, to your horror. But beneath all that disturbing scent of wet iron, there are also notes of crackling, mossy sandalwood and something fresh, citrusy like lemons or bergamots.

If it weren’t for the blood trying so hard to overwhelm everything else, his scent would be pleasant, your clouded mind realizes, seductive even.

The sight before you is breathtaking, to say the least - and not in a pleasant way.

A pathetic, broken little girl is crying, her cheeks red and streaked with tears, her eyes drunk and her brows furrowed in anguish. On her body she wears a foolish Sailor Mars costume that barely covers her body, a stupid thing she didn't even want to wear in the first place, the fabric of the red skirt draped in front of her thighs swaying suggestively, right where the hand of the man behind her remains hidden. The man in question, a vicious killer highly wanted by the police, covers her almost completely with his tall frame and black robes - a stark contrast to the girl's almost childish outfit. The white mask on his face rests on her shoulder, his long arm caging her small body close to his, touching every part he can reach as he squeezes and caresses her as if he would die without it. It's almost romantic, in theory, but horrifying and frightening when you know what's really happening.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut, refusing to look down and confirm what your nerves and body already know all too well is happening. Fear grips your throat so tightly that you shake like a leaf, tears streaming from your eyes as you feel his first finger delve inside you.

It should hurt. The rough material of the glove in direct contact with such an entirely sensitive part of your body should be uncomfortable, at the very least. But it isn’t. There’s something aiding your endeavor, your hindbrain adds as his finger sinks in all the way to the first knuckle with just a little pressure from his wrist. There’s something sticky and thick there along with his finger, messing with your folds with humiliating sounds — spit, probably.

“Please…stop—” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut so tightly you swear constellations explode in the darkness of your eyelids.

“You know,” he begins, ignoring your foolish plea, impatient as he pushes his finger the rest of the way into your trembling, clenching walls until you squeak out a sob, body tensing like a bow beneath his. “There’s a look on people’s faces that I meet. A hysterical, helpless look when they realize that this is the end for them. No matter how much they’ve resisted and fought, they all get that look when the time comes. It’s not exactly a look of begging for mercy. No, they’re usually past that point at this moment.” His chuckle is nothing short of disturbing near your ear, the arm around your waist rising so that he can grab a thick fistful of your hair between his fingers and squeeze until you cry out loudly at the sharp pain and open your eyes, obeying his silent demand to face him once more through the mirror.

“No, it’s not a plea for mercy, sweetie. It’s just a anguished conformity, you know? A part of them even wants to hold out longer, out of instinct I guess, but deep down they know it’s useless. They just know it’s over for them. And that’s when that look appears.”

Your breath hitches visibly as he slides a second finger alongside the first.

“It’s the same look you have now. That look of pure agony and submission on your face, all because you just know you can’t escape me...mmm,” He’s closer than ever, rubbing the mask on the side of your face, and all you can think is that he’s right. As much as your body tells you to run, you know there’s no way you can outrun him, he’s unfortunately more capable than you in every way that matters right now.

He presses himself even closer to your body, his voice slurred in your ear.

“You make me so fucking horny, baby.”

He’s not slow, much less gentle when he moves his fingers inside you. He fucks you with them seriously from the first few seconds, curling them each time he sinks back into your heat, your walls clenching around him, warring to adjust to the unexpected assault. Your cries of pain are interrupted by small involuntary moans and gasps every time he presses too deep inside you, finding a spot that makes you dizzy, held only by his painful grip on your hair. You bite your lip, struggling to keep the noises inside.

He makes a grunting sound, tongue clicking disapprovingly beneath his mask.

“None of that, princess. Let me hear those beautiful sounds. They’re there because of me, I cultivated them...they’re all mine.” Your head falls back on his shoulder as he suddenly moves his hand down your clavicle, long fingers pushing aside the fluffy purple lace of your costume to grip one of your breasts tightly. “You’re all mine.” Even over the fabric of your clothes, his grip on your breast is possessive, and you wish your arms would fight back when he starts dragging his palm across your nipple, prickling it until it becomes a sensitive little peak. But all you can do is lift your hands to rest them on the counter, your head still thrown back against his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, his thumb now rubbing against the nub of your nipple with small flicks that send a jolt of pleasure straight between your legs. “I knew you’d be perfect. So pathetic to me, baby. You feel so good…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, a muffled sob escaping your lips as he pushes your body forward, making you arch into the counter, his larger body pressed against your back, his hands still glued to their respective places. He curls his fingers into your pussy, a small moan leaving you, and begins to pound against your back. He keeps you bent over as he thrusts his clothed cock between your ass cheeks, each rough thrust pushing another inch of your skirt up your hips.

“Spread your legs for me,” he pants next to your ear. When you tense and don’t comply immediately, the hand on your breast squeezes so hard it actually hurts. “Are you going to make me repeat myself, princess? Every second you make me wait, I get more impatient. Are you sure you want to see me impatient?”

You quickly part your legs, the action causing his fingers to dig deeper between your swollen walls with each hard thrust, wet sounds sounding too loud in the cramped bathroom. His hips move against your back in rough motions, grinding up and down, causing heat to spread throughout your body until your head is spinning, broken sounds leaving your lips. The gummy walls of your pussy contract around his fingers and he growls as he ravages your body like it belongs to him.

You feel good and horrible.

Blood on fire, nerves on fire, you breathe as a way to steady yourself in this moment of maddening agony. You are uncomfortable in every way possible in the given situation, and oh how it fills the void in your soul with something...alive.

Here, at the mercy of this killer's cruel hands, you feel alive for the first time in what feels like forever. It's horrible and unwelcome and scary as hell, but it's also absolutely electrifying.

How fucked up is your mind anyway?

The man continues to grind into your ass with every heated inch of his cock, the movement of his fingers in your pussy quickening, the heel of his gloved hand rubbing relentlessly against your clit in this position. The hand on your breast doesn't stop teasing your nipple, poking and pinching. With every noise he pulls from you, his movement becomes faster, hips matching the rhythm of his fingers in your intimacy. As if you were egging him on. You whimper, squeezing him so hard you could tell you were trying to keep him out, but the action only serves to heighten the sickening pleasure coiling in your stomach.

“Shit,” he hisses, thrusting his fingers in and out, in and out, watching in the mirror as your face contorts with pleasure. “So good. Feeling so good to me. You squeeze my fingers so hard, princess. Fuck. That’s my good fucking girl, yeah?”

Admittedly someone with a blatant emotional inability to accept any kind of compliment — especially one from a fucking serial killer who’s currently keeping you impaled on his fingers while grinding his cock into your ass and making you cry like he’s getting paid to — you slump your shoulders and pant, staring wide-eyed at the man, your rapid breathing fogging the glass of the mirror. His words sink into your bones, stoking the rising heat in your abdomen, and your pussy clenches around his fingers again. He lets out a short laugh, rubbing his masked face against your burning cheek.

“Do you like that, you filthy slut? Do you like when I tell you how good you feel? Hell, you’re fucking squeezing me. Your pretty little pussy wants me so bad.”

Your eyelashes flutter and your breathing becomes more ragged; fear, pleasure, and pain combine into one intense experience, and you realize with horror that you’re approaching orgasm. It’s humiliating, but it doesn’t stop you from tentatively moving your own hips against his palm, seeking more friction on your little clit as heated tears roll down your cheeks.

‘No, no, no, please.’ You whimper to yourself, eyes nearly rolling into the back of the head as you arch your ass into his hips in involuntary response to the inescapable, frenzied sensation coursing through your body.

“The poor baby’s gonna cum.” He chuckles, though his own voice is breathy, wild. “Yeah, gonna make a fucking mess of that pussy and get it all nice and wet for my cock, right?” He growls wickedly between his chuckles, pushing your body forward with each hard drag of his cock into your ass, grinding the leather of his glove into your clit as he repeatedly hits the same sensitive spot in your cunt.

You can’t take it anymore, your clenched jaw slackening as you begin to give in to the pleasure. The overwhelming wave of your coming orgasm is visible on the horizon and you can’t do anything but stare at it head on, waiting helplessly to be absolutely swept away by it.

"Ah ah, fuck!" You cry out between parted lips, viciously squeezing the edge of the counter between your fingers, losing control over your body, unable to stop yourself from moaning lewdly in time with the forced climax.

With one last flick of his fingers and a pinch to your nipple, you have no choice but to stare blankly into the mirror as you shatter into a thousand pathetic pieces with a strangled scream. The trembling of your inner thighs is quickly followed by your toes curling inside the red boots of the costume as you cum hard around the masked killer's fingers.

Your pussy quivers violently as he shakes with laughter against your body, with a dose of sincere joy that you would find almost childish if it weren't for the obscene way he is still thrusting his cock into your back. He continues to finger fuck you throughout your orgasm, leaving you gasping and writhing in shocks of pleasure, your eyes wide and wet in the mirror.

“Please stop, that’s enough-” You gasp, your legs locking from the overstimulation as he continues to work your clit mercilessly. “P-please, I’ll do anything, please just stop! Stop now -"

You're interrupted as a whirlwind of dizzying events ensues; one moment he's fingering your pussy to overstimulation with no intention of stopping - the next he's pulling his fingers from your quivering walls with such force that it elicits a shocked gasp from you. Your body is suddenly spun around and your back slams painfully into the mirror with an impact strong enough to crack the glass into several sharp ridges on your back, small shards getting stuck in the back of your costume. You have half a second to scream at the dangerous sensation before he's straightening you up on the counter, his body wedging between your parted legs before you can even react and close them.

You're still trying to figure out what happened; how he managed to just lift you into the air and slam you into the counter like you weighed nothing. How he was so quick to do it and, most importantly, what motivated him to do it. But all is forgotten when he grabs your neck between his fingers, roughly pulling your face closer to his until you're face to face with that ghostly mask.

But there's no fake face in the world that can hide the anger bubbling through the man's pores. A feeling so obvious, intense and abrupt that it makes you shiver and try to pull away reflexively, but his grip won't let you go anywhere. His already undeniably imposing figure straightens to its full height, intimidating and dangerous, a ominous and dark aura that encircles your body like a spool of doom.

"Stop? Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me when to stop? Do you know who decides when we stop, you bitch? Me! That fucking cunt belongs to me. It's mine as fuck and you're not going to tell me when I should or shouldn't touch it. Because your whole body, your mind, your fucking soul, is mine. Mine."

He curses and bites acidly right in front of your face and fear hits you all at once, absolutely terrifying: the way he’s panting under his mask and hissing with barely contained rage, the way your name leaves his lips in a heated growl. A direct threat from a mindless animal. It’s all clear — so, so clear.

He’s dangerous and unstable and horrible and you can’t escape him.

Your hands start to tug at his wrist, pushing him away, already sensing what’s coming - and it really comes. Ignoring your futile attempt to push him away, the hand on your throat tightens. His fingers press, cutting off the air, squeezing and hurting your flesh. Your windpipe is tightly caged between his palm and thumb and he shows no hesitation as he presses hard, suffocating you with a cruel grip.

Now, unlike his outburst of anger a few seconds ago, with your life literally being measured in his hands, he becomes the cold and indifferent embodiment of his alias, watching your fight as if it were nothing new.

It isn't.

The world around you begins to spin as you feel dizzy, your head swimming and spinning as your heart beats uselessly against the finger over your carotid artery, numb lips and throat working ever more slowly beneath his hand. Your struggle is over, as meaningless as it was to begin with.

You surrender to this ghost, dropping his hands from his wrist and letting your body go limp beneath him.

The monster senses your surrender, humming contently at your soft submission, even though you are barely conscious enough to notice. The grip on your throat loosens and you instinctively tilt your head away from his grasp, gasping for breath in desperate noises, coughing and spitting as tears spill over in response to the throbbing sting in the circumference of your throat. You feel a large hand stroke your hair as you struggle to catch your breath; and the almost patronizing touch, as horrible and unwelcome as it is, grounds you for a moment, helping you gradually transform your rapid, labored breathing into deep sighs.

"Don't forget what I'm going to say now and maybe we won't have to go through this again, princess:" He whisper at you with serious voice. "You're mine. For better or worse. You're mine."

The hand in your hair moves forward, tangling in the strands, massaging your skull, and it's probably just the hazy haze of suffocation that keeps you from noticing his next move, but it's the feel of a gentle, wet kiss on the bruised line his fingers have left on your skin that makes you conscious once more. He holds your head firmly by the hair, preventing you from moving to get a better look, but it's immediately clear that he's pushed the mask up enough to expose his lips, which continue to slide along the curve of your neck and jaw.

Your ears are throbbing with the pounding of your heart as you stare over the killer’s shoulder at the wall across the bathroom with wide eyes – the man blowing puffs of pure wet heat across your skin to leave goosebumps in his wake. His mouth is undesirably soft and delicate on your bruised skin (pleasant really, you’d say, if you weren’t, well…in the situation you’re in), his other hand coming up so he can rub his thumb across your lips, slowly parting them until he pokes your teeth with the tip of his glove.

“Open that pretty mouth and show me you know it, sweet little slut.” He whispers the degradation with a noticeably lessened dose of hatred than before – low and breathy, his mouth on your cheek, his thumb pulling away to run his index and middle fingers across your parted lips.

His breath bathes your skin in wet heat, the refreshing scent of some mint gum he chewed recently still there. (He was chewing a damn piece of gum while he murdered someone, your mind completes in full hysterics. Brutally piercing some poor student's insides with the sharp blade of that knife while he carelessly rolls the soft gum between his teeth. He's sick, sick, sick.)

"Suck them clean." He orders, cutting through the murky waters of your wandering mind as pushes two fingers onto the flat of your tongue, forcing you to accept the invasion.

It's on autopilot that you register the strong, smoky taste of leather mixed with the familiar taste of your arousal, which still glistens with the fresh wetness of your orgasm on the surface of his glove. You squeeze your eyes shut, gagging more at the sheer depravity of the act than the intrusion itself.

"That's it, princess. So beautiful like this, taking my fingers like a good girl..." he pulls his face away to look at yours, smiling at your fearful gaze; you close the lips around his fingers, sucking and licking slowly at the soft leather of the glove as you clean your own taste from the material as if you meant it - even as the tears keep falling. All you can see in the purple lighting of the bathroom is the lower half of his face and even that is partial, the white mask resting on his nose shadowing what little skin is visible. Despite that, it is evident how his smile stretches, wide and mischievous - pearly teeth slightly crooked at the front, canines sharp and shiny, like those of a cunning predator that has caught up with its prey.

His grip on your hair tightens to keep you still, his fingers coming to life as he thrusts slowly, out and in and out and in, into the cozy warmth of your mouth. You choke around him, saliva pooling between teeth and flesh as he pushes your tongue down, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy — each slow stroke pushing deeper, until you feel the tips of both his fingers sliding down your throat.

“God, I want to feel so bad that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock,” he sighs, his gaze locked on yours, fascinated by your gasps and sobs, his smile slowly dying so he can bite his lip as he hums dreamily, “you’re going to be so good to me, I just know it.”

Your wet gaze is half-lidded, mouth slack and full, only giving in to the forced intrusion when you feel him gather the strands of your hair into a messy ponytail in his other hand to pull and push your head along his now-still fingers - the explicit and purposeful parallel of the depraved act with another very unique one does not go unnoticed.

He's guiding the rhythm of your head as if he is dictating how you suck his cock.

It is humiliating; a byproduct of male dominance that is offensive and filthy in its most brutal form. You hate every damn second of this silent abuse. But your pussy seems to have a mind of its own, because with each forced thrust against the saliva-soaked leather of the glove, it clenches a little tighter around nothing, demanding attention.

You whimper at the betrayal of your own body, mouth stuffed and saliva beginning to drip down your lips and chin.

When he withdraws his fingers from between your lips, it is with calculated slowness, prolonging the elasticity of a thick thread of saliva that remains joining the digits in the glove to your loose tongue. He grunts a satisfied sound at the debauched sight, lowering his face to stretch out his own tongue and break the sticky bond after a few seconds of contemplation, licking the saliva accumulated on your chin upwards with a greedy drag of the wet and hot muscle, lighting flames of embarrassment on your cheeks.

You shudder at the grip on your hair as he pulls your head back at the same time as roughly sinks his teeth into the soft plush of your lower lip. Your little hands immediately spread themselves on his chest to try to push him away, but this and your cry of pain only serve to draw an amused laugh from him. It is obviously of his own free will that he mercifully gives in to your plea after a few seconds of torture. He sucks the sensitive flesh into his lips, licking and soothing the bite with a gentle, wet suction.

Mistakenly, your body decides to relax against his hands, welcoming the gentle but cunning care that is his tongue caressing the small, bloody cut he left on your lip. He eases your pain, even if it is because of him that you feel it in the first place.

It is natural for the contact to evolve, after all, his tongue is right there; sliding across your lower lip, his lips brushing yours provocatively. It is really predictable what would happen next, but it still pulls a dazed gasp from your throat.

His fingers hold your head firmly by the ponytail and his mouth covers yours completely, like a wet, warm cocoon that you cannot escape. The groan that sounds from his throat at the feel of your lips on his is one of deep satisfaction, a breathy appreciation that rumbled as he curls his body over yours, locks your legs around his waist, and moves his mouth over yours.

It’s nothing like any kiss you’ve ever experienced in the past. You’re not even sure if it could even be called a kiss.

There are perhaps no words for it other than hunger and need as he barely touches his mouth to yours before his lips are forcing yours apart so the wet muscle of his tongue can slide between your teeth. He’s rough and intense, kissing you like he’s kicking your soul out of your body. It’s all a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you with your hands trembling in the collar of his robe, your eyes half-lidded and your cheeks flushed as you struggle not to choke on the wild rhythm of the pseudo-kiss. Every inch of the contact feels equally forced and premeditated, an unaltered conclusion that has you subtly pushing your hips forward against him as the sheer surprise and discomfort of the act subsides into something deeper. Darker. You can barely breathe in the tiny, moist inches that open between your lips, making small choking sounds in his mouth - stunned, outraged, humiliated, bursting into flames-

The pointed chin of the mask is digging painfully into your skin at this angle and all you can do is try to tilt your head to the side to avoid hurting yourself, since the man doesn't seem to have the slightest interest in your comfort. But not even this is enough to contain the chilling flame that grows between your legs with each hot breath that leaves the killer's nostrils on your cheek, his greedy tongue licking your teeth and his lips drinking your saliva as if it were the most delicious wine.

When he breaks the kiss it's like breathing after a long time underwater, your other senses dulled and directed only at him like a funnel.

"What in the bloody hell was that? Getting a guy all heated and bothered with a kiss," He grins between a breathy laugh, barely separating his lips from yours, rubbing the tips of your noses together in a comical imitation of affection as you both breathe heavily, "you really are something special, aren't you little girl?"

As you gasp for air, feeling your cheeks darken several shades at the unwanted compliment, the man caresses your face in a disturbingly affectionate manner, as if he's rewarding you for letting him kiss your mouth like that, even though it's clear he's not done yet. Pulling away from you just a few inches, you twitch and yelp as he roughly grabs you by the hips to pull you to the edge of the counter, making you subconsciously lean your back. A second later, he rips the tiny shorts you're wearing down, skimming over the curve of your ass and thighs, grabbing the flesh there greedily as he simply rips the thing off your body.

It takes a few seconds for the realization that there are no more barriers in place to keep the killer at bay to sink in — not that it ever did stop him before anyway. But knowing that beneath your red pleated skirt there’s no covering to offer even a modicum of safety (even if misguided) is nerve-racking in a way that makes your blood roar through your veins, and, illogically, not in a bad way.

“Do you feel that?” he murmurs, wet, breathless lips brushing the hollow of your throat as he bends down slightly to unbuckle his belt. The clink of metal is nearly drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the loud music downstairs. “That’s what you do to me. Every time I see you, every time you look up with those big, shy eyes — I want you to look at me, I need that look to be mine. And you don’t understand, do you? You drive me so fucking crazy, girl.” You barely put up a fight when he takes a thigh in each hand and wraps them around his waist before taking his cock in his palm and stroking it a little. It takes everything in you not to look down, teeth sinking into the soft, swollen surface of your lower lip as you hear the wet squelch that the contact between his gloved fingers and his cock makes with each lewd tug.

There should be more resistance in you, but all that’s left at this point is exhaustion and the painful slap of reality that comes with accepting the fact that you’re not rejecting this as much as you used to. There’s a war going on between your body and your mind. Where, of course, you know how sick this man is and how dangerous it would be to give in, there’s also the certainty that he brings out something undesirable in you — that intoxicating, dark sensation of feeling good about being so violently desired by someone. It’s not something you’re proud of, of course. But there’s no denying the way your body wants to succumb to it, to give itself completely to this cruel man you don’t even know but who is obviously obsessed with you. It’s something you can’t begin to comprehend, much less accept, but it comes rushing back to you anyway.

Your poor therapist might have a thing or two to say about such urges.

He rubs the bulbous crown of his cock against your sensitive, shamefully touch-starved clit and you shiver as the heat and dew of his pre-cum spreads through you at the contact. A warm, newborn droplet trickles over your bud of nerves, bathing it in tingling as he steadily nudges the tip along your wet folds. His thumb joins in the teasing, swirling with a few hard rubs followed by a softer touch, too deliberate to be anything but expert, pushing against the hood and pulling it back, exposing your nub to him even more. From his expose lips he makes a deep sound as he feels you getting wetter, more slippery. He circles your clit relentlessly and it’s him who moans louder between the two of you, even though it’s you who’s eyes are rolling back in pleasure.

He recovers quickly, though. Hearing and seeing how loud the sounds of your wetness ring out in the small bathroom, he breathes a laugh so mocking and icy that you feel yourself immediately wither against the mirror behind you, your face burning with the blush of a new wave of humiliation. The killer ignores you, of course, using one hand to lift your thigh up and to the side, doing the same with the other, adjusting both of your legs so that your feet rest almost flat along the edge of the counter - exposing you as if your modesty and dignity mattered nothing at all.

And it doesn't. Not to him.

"So wet." He teases, annoyingly making a point of giving voice to what you've both already realized. His hand slides over the curve of your thigh possessively, pushing the draped fabric of your red skirt with it so that it bunches at your hips. He groans as watches his length freely slide through the slickness between your legs, giving a shallow pump forward. The gloved thumb presses with just the right amount of force, rubbing in a circular motion that makes your toes curl inside the boots and your throat tighten at the noise you suppress. That is, until the soft, wet tip catches against your opening and he pushes inside without further ado.

You gasp loudly at the sharp pressure, reflexively slapping the hands against his chest to push him away, but soon both his arms are around your body, preventing you from going any further, pinning you against him with his strong hands and his cock.

“Aaaah!” You cry out, and he immediately brushes his lips against your ear, leaving a sharp bite on the sensitive flesh, enjoying the struggle evident on your face. Your pussy hasn’t been used properly in a long time, and this man certainly doesn’t lack in the size department.

“Shhhh,” he hums, sounding too pleased for it to even remotely be interpreted as an attempt at comfort. “You can handle it, baby,” he whispers in your ear, one hand relaxing its iron grip on your body to cup your cheek, “I know you can.”

It’s not like he’s giving you any options other than to handle it. And yet, over the sting of the stretch and the ache of being taken without denying it, your insides burn with dark desire. It’s like being fully satisfied with something you didn’t even know you needed.

“That’s it?” he asks as you throw your head back in the mirror, eyes closed and teeth digging into your bottom lip. “Does it feel good to you like this? Baby likes a little pain, yeah?”

You blush, unable to think about it too much without feeling like you could go straight to the hospice.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you for an answer. Instead, firmly breaching your tremble hole, he thrusts and thrusts and gasps heated and wetly into your ear, pressing deeper until he’s halfway in. And then he stops. The fingers of one hand close loosely on the bruised skin of your throat and you freeze, fearing for a moment that he’s going to choke you once more — this time while impaling you on his thick cock. But as the seconds stretch by without such a thing happening, you begin to notice something else. Those fingers; cruel, bloody fingers, responsible for the deaths of many people, are unsteady on your flesh.

He’s trembling.

The elongated digits are gripping your flesh with no real pressure, just a nice, soft collar around your throat, but the way they’re trembling is noticeable even through the barrier of the glove.

You open your eyes to a slit, knowing you can’t see him properly with the way his mouth remains pressed against your ear, breathing heavily and heatedly. And there’s no logical explanation as to why such an action catches you so off guard. But feeling this killer, this horrible, terrifying man who is obviously incapable of a basic level of respect for human life, gasp and tremble at being inside you, makes you gasp in response. Your insides clench involuntarily and more moisture coats the heavy shaft in your pussy, making it easier for him to pass through.

Then, slowly, he moves his other palm up to squeeze your breast over the fabric of your costume before he begins to pump the rest of his length inside you.

“Mmm…that’s it,” he murmurs, “f-fuck, you feel so good, so good.”

Again, you say nothing, burying your embarrassing moans and your tears as best you can — both from pleasure and humiliation. The man is so disturbingly warm curled up against you, his body broad and tall and so firm, dark clothing heavy but soft over his defined stomach that flexes against you with each thrust - the mask poking your flesh every now and then as his breath hitches in your ear. You want to cry out in fear as much as you want to scream in pleasure.

It’s a bitter kind of betrayal the way your body seems to want to decide the game for you; your quivering pussy giving in, against all logic and reason, to accept the forced intrusion, allowing the rest of his cock to pass inside your silky walls. You lose the battle almost immediately after that, gasping at the feel of every inch of his thick member firmly seated inside you, breathless at what he’s daring to do to you. Worse than if he had broken into the bathroom to murder you, you’d say. Because here, he’s not just violently attacking you and taking your right to life, without you being able to fight back. Here he’s making you submit to him; making you want to surrender to the overwhelming sensations that he brutally rips from your body - like a priest exorcising a poor possessed soul. He humiliated you in the worst possible way and he knows it.

And you find yourself less and less concerned about it.

You tilt your head to the side - and now there is no more internal restraint to prevent your moans.

“Please…aaah…”

“That’s it, princess,” he chuckles, as if he senses you’re giving in.

The time he stays still inside you doesn’t last long, just the few seconds long enough for you to feel the heat and enlargement of his cock, the thick veins pulsing as he bounces between your walls. It’s as if the pain has pierced you beyond anything else, pierced you like a sharp bolt of lightning that has fried your nerves until it’s left behind nothing but a sense of…overwhelming fullness. You’re completely boneless, trapped between his strong body and the mirror, your hands clenched loosely in the dark fabric of his robe. It’s a sensory experience that quickly becomes too much, but not enough.

When he pulls his hips back you experience a confused moment of panic, frustrated as you feel him pull away from you to leave your pussy achingly empty. There’s no time to question the insanity of your thoughts though.

His fingers are still shaking as he pulls away from you, releasing your throat to tangle them deep into the roots of your hair as a scream is forced like a punch from your lungs when, in a single strong thrust, he is fully sheathed within your quivering insides once more.

Between the iron grip on your hair and his hand gripping your breast like a vise, all you can do is grip his robe tighter as he ravages you. His teeth are where your neck meets your shoulder with a sharp bite, pulling away to thrust inside you in another violent thrust, your hole stretched and more vulnerable than ever. Your frantic brain is making you all too aware of every little sensation racking your body. The way his thick cock opens you, how each thrust makes your smaller body tremble, leaving you breathless as you dig your nails into the soft fabric of his robe to try and hold on through the punishing rhythm of his hips. When this night is over, and assuming you’re still alive, you know you’ll be bruised and sore everywhere, from your hips and ass to your breasts and throat. In your mind and in your soul. Right now, you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this. If you’d ever want to.

"S-stop..." You don't know why the words are coming out of your mouth; not only would they be useless to the man, but they also carry no real force behind them. You don't even know if you really want him to stop. It feels more like an instinctive reaction than what your brain deems to be the right thing to do. "I - I'm going to scream."

He laughs, recognizing your empty threat for what it is, but your stomach still twists when he grips your hair to pull your face towards his.

"Oh, you promise? Please do it, little girl."

Out of spite, you close your mouth, but that only seems to incite him. With an amused chuckle and one last pinch to your nipple, he releases your breast to grab both of your thighs. His hands are large on your flesh while his fingers bruise the soft skin even more.

"Such a stubborn little thing. We can't have any of that, can we, sweetie?"

His hands curl under your ass and, after a greedy squeeze, he’s lifting you up, not letting his cock slip out of your pussy for even half a moment before he slams you against the wall. Your spine arches and your bones rattle from the nothing short of violent impact, but he doesn’t care, writhing and pulsing inside you, undeniably stimulated by your pain - and oh god, this definitely shouldn’t feel as fucking good as it does.

It barely takes a second before he’s holding you steady and still by your thighs before he starts ramming his wet cock in and out of you again, like a machine, so hard that each thrust of his hips makes your back hit the wall.

In this position you’re forced to wrap your arms behind his neck for safety, feeling his hands close on the inner curve below your knee to spread your legs even wider, his body so intimately pressed against yours that it’s almost unsettling. Especially after so long without any human contact like this. You feel, to say the least, overwhelmed by such a sudden onslaught of intimacy.

You tense when he thrusts in a particularly dirty way, grinning like hell when you hiccup with a moan. He repeats the movement out of pure tease, his mask askew but turned toward you, the mocking line of his lips right next to yours.

“Mine,” he whispers, “My princess, my little pet, my cute little toy.”

His thrusts become not only hard but fast as well, and you can hear each time his body hits yours with a wet slap, each withdrawal slick and sticky.

“Please, w-why are you doing this? Why me?” It’s all you can manage to ask, your head growing increasingly confused, your pussy growing wetter.

He slows his movements to a blessedly slower grind, humming dramatically as he pretends to ponder your question.

“Why you?”

In an abrupt movement that you wouldn't have expected in a million years, he lets go of one of your thighs and abruptly rips the mask off his face, with such ease that you initially don't understand what it means. But then, with finality and violence, the weight of reality falls upon you.

He took off the mask.

He let you see his face.

The face of a murderer wanted by the police.

You were already dead. Yes, if such a fate was uncertain before, it certainly isn't anymore.

The shock of the revelation is so absolute that it takes a few seconds for you to actually focus on his face. But slowly, each individual feature seems to stick to your mush brain.

First you are greeted with that shock of long platinum blonde hair, tied in a loose bun, a few strands stuck to the sweaty skin of his forehead and the sides of his face.

The hair alone would be enough for you to easily recognize him.

But then your gaze falls to those eyes.

Eye, actually. A single, functional one, a stormy blue — enigmatic and dark as the turbulent waters of the farthest reaches of the ocean. The other, or where the other should be, is occupied by some kind of ocular prosthesis of a blue hue that could not be less like his good eye — a vivid, electric blue, like a rare, brilliant sapphire stone.

It is the first time you have seen him like this, so exposed. Always hidden by a pair of sunglasses or, failing that, a surgical eye patch. The pale skin of the man’s face would be flawless, were it not for the long, jagged scar that cuts across his cheekbone to above the line of his damaged eye.

The purple hues of the bathroom highlight all his sharp angles and an elegant appearance that is characteristic of the aristocratic genes of someone so well born.

Yes, you know this man.

Aemond Targaryen.

A college guy. Normal, as far as you can tell. Or as normal as someone privileged and born with a silver spoon in their mouth could be. Yes, he was introverted, arrogant even with his silent and mysterious attitude, as if everyone was beneath him. The few times he was pushed to enter a conversation or any other social interaction (most often by his own brother) his comments were imbued with a polite acidity that is totally unique to someone with class, or with discreet but effective jabs that carried a humor considered, at least, questionable.

Aemond constantly balanced on the fine line between cool elegance and petulant irreverence, which generated controversial opinions about him among the students. To you, he was intriguing. Someone you quietly admired, offering polite greetings and a sincere smile when your paths crossed.

Yes, you knew him - as did the entire student body knows him. The Targaryens were obscenely wealthy, widely recognized for carrying an exorbitant legacy not only of family polemics, but also of successful generations, all in the field of technology and communication.

And yes, Aemond Targaryen was someone seriously conflicted, with his taciturn and enigmatic aura.

But a serial killer? That would be impossible.

And yet he was here, smelling of leather and sandalwood - as well as blood and death, wet crimson stains on his dark robes, forcing you to the most terrifying and controversial act of your entire life.

The dawning horror of the notion that the killer on the loose could be someone you know, someone who was present in your daily life, who attended the same classes as you and yet, who you never even dreamed of suspecting, seems to want to suffocate you momentarily.

“I see you around campus. You know, some wise ones tend to avoid me whenever possible, and then there are those pathetic rats who try to get close out of some specific interest in what my clown family can offer. But you? You’re always kind. Even with your mysterious and solitary attitude, you’re still so stupidly kind to me. It’s ridiculous, princess, but also so cute.” He’s pleased by the utter shock on your face, grinning evilly as he shoots his hand out and wraps both forearms around the inside of your knees, his cock thrusting deeper into your pussy, leaning in menacingly until his teeth are grazing your ear.

“You’re all I can think about, baby. You’ve invaded my mind, my body, my life. You’ve fucking ruined me.” He speaks directly into your ear, a harsh whisper that makes you gasp and shiver despite the crushing weight of the discovery still fresh in your mind.

“It’s only fair that I ruin you too, right?”

You glow at the intimacy of his words, incandescent with the blush spreading across your cheeks, your throat, your collarbone.

“You...oh, fuck...” Your accusatory words to him die on your tongue as one particular thrust hits a spot inside you that has you curling the toes in response. Little gasps escape your lips as he hits the same spot over and over, your eyes filled with revulsion and desire beginning to soften with an inevitable flutter of the lashes. 

 “That’s right, just take it, baby.” He sighs with a smile, kissing your jaw as you tilt your head back. His voice is like molasses; soft but rough around the edges — sweet but dark with the huskiness of his lust. It’s getting harder for you to control this feeling now. You feel your legs tighten, instinctively trying to wrap yourself around his waist tighter. A hand rising from his broad shoulder to tangle in the platinum strands of hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting an approving grunt from the man. He watches you with awe and a hooded gaze as you give in to that feeling of helplessness once again.

“You feel so warm and wet, dripping all over that pretty pussy, drooling on my cock like that…you’ve been just as desperate as I have, umm? So lonely…you’ll never be lonely again, princess,” he promises hotly, groping his way up your thighs until he grabs your ass, thrusting slowly, deeply, brushing against your cervix each time.

“I’m going to fuck your ass like that someday.” He says casually with a sly smile as his fingertips slide along the crack of your ass, thrusting his cock into your pussy harder to show you what he means, making your breath shallow and your eyes widen. “I think I’ll do that next time indeed. Fill every tight little hole in your body. Mark every inch of your skin as mine.” 

“Oh, God -” You feel tears forming in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks as you squeeze them shut, shaking as he teases you with wicked words, his hands coming up to grip either side of your waist. “Stop, please.”

“Oh no, baby, I’m not stopping. Not now and not ever. I’m going to claim that body in every damn way I can. With my cock, my fingers, my tongue.” You moan and pull away from him, your cheeks red and wet, shaking your head in a mumbled protest that’s too weak to be taken seriously. There’s more pleasure on your face than fear. He chuckles. “Do you like that? Do you like the idea of ​​my tongue in that sweet pussy?”

Before you can think to deny it, his mouth crashes down on yours, rough and brutal, hungry. There’s blood on your tongue, you notice, the cut reopened in his greed, the taste ferrous and acrid in your mouth as his tongue slides inside — his, maybe, or yours, or both, you don’t know.

As quickly as it begins, it ends. Aemond pulls back enough to brush his lips against yours, sharing quick, wet breaths.

“Oh yes, you do. You love knowing that I want to lick that pussy until you come, once, twice, three times — until you squeal and beg me to stop. But I won’t. I’ll make you come as many times as I want, as many times as your body can take. And even then, even if you pass out from exhaustion, I’ll fuck you. Like a beautiful little sex doll.”

Amidst the sensual humiliation of his wanton words, you feel your back scraping against the wall; up and down, over and over. The grip of your fingers in his hair tightens and he growls in his throat, palming your ass to move it with more fervor. He holds his own body still, using only the strength of his arms hooked in the crook of your knees and his hands on your waist to move you up and down his cock.

His face, though it still manages to hold that cold, wicked smirk, is smudged with a soft blush across his cheeks and the bridge of the nose, the rest of his pale skin glistens slightly with sweat, and his good eye is dark with desire — the pupil so wide it almost completely overpowers the blue of his iris. And he’s beautiful like that; even with the prosthetic eye and the frightening scar. Beautiful and ethereal, completely belying his sick personality and unforgivable sins.

Through parted lips he gasps with effort and it takes a moment, but when he pushes you up again, your face completely implodes into flames as you realize he’s using you to masturbate. He’s doing exactly what he said he would, using you like a sex doll, a flashlight clenched around his cock.

His thrusting becomes faster and rougher as he grips your waist tighter between his broad palms, dragging your pussy down his cock with short strokes. Your own breaths shorten, becoming ragged sobs each time the fabric of his robe rubs against your sensitive clit. When he’s basically grinding your pussy against him, undulating your hips in a hurried back and forth, he leans down to press the forehead to yours. His heavy, cold gaze stays locked on yours through each drag. 

“That’s it. That’s it. Look at me. You’re so tight, so good. Keep looking at me. Good girl.” He punctuates each word with breathless slowness. Each guided movement of your hips is intentionally placed — rubbing your walls against his thick cock while simultaneously stimulating your clit against the mound of fabric of his tunic in a way he knows will send you over the edge.

Despite the order, your eyes grow heavy and fluttery, beginning to roll back as the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tense in preparation for the inevitable climax. That scary and wonderful cliff that taunts you in a messy way, approaching faster than you can understand.

A hard slap on your cheek brings you back.

“What did I just say, princess?” he growls, his voice rough with the effort of holding back his own desires. And your cheek stings where he’s hit you, glowing an even deeper shade of red, but you barely give it half a second’s attention — not when he’s looking at you like this; all breathless, sweaty lines and smoldering gaze.

“Keep your fucking eyes on me.” He releases your jaw with a warning jerk, sliding his hand down through your wet mess to find your swollen clit and circle the bud with his thumb, his other hand still tight around your waist. His body grinds into yours, flattening you against his lean muscles and the wall, slamming his hips into yours without pause.

You take a deep, shaky breath.

Your boots cross behind his back, skirt swinging at his waist with each thrust. And yet you do your best to hold Aemond’s obsessive gaze – unable to even name the intensity of the emotion swirling within you. The muscles in your thighs now tremble visibly, clenching tightly around his body in your impending release.

“Aemond – I need, oh, I can't…” You whisper, barely realizing what comes out of your mouth, a broken moan escaping along with the jumbled words, your entire body twitching under the expert assault of his thumb on your clit and his quick, relentless thrusts. You were close. So close. Balancing precariously right on the edge. And he knew it too. 

“That’s it, say my fucking name as you cum for me. Come on, do it now little girl.”

It happens quickly after that, relentlessly, your eyes trying to close without your permission, but you are obedient and keep them half-lidded as you stare at Aemond, a choked cry finally escaping your throat. 

“Aemond!”

With a determined growl, sweat dripping down his temples, he thrusts into you harder and harder until the tight coil snaps. Shockwaves of electric pleasure overwhelm you, forcing all the air from your lungs in a messy gasp. You shake as you come, clenching the fist against your attacker’s chest, nails digging into the roots of his silver hair, trying to ignore the stinging taste of shame as you find purchase in his body. 

“Look at me. Look at me, baby.” He pushes his forehead against yours, sending you a sly, proud smile as your eyes flutter and water with the effort of keeping them open through the climax. His pace quickens with the excitement of seeing your drunken gaze and flushed face.

His own release washes over him like the purest rush of insanity; brows furrowed as if he’s in pain, lips parted in a hoarse groan that raises every little hair on your body. His warm cum fills you, bubbling at the tight rims of the ring of muscle where his cock stretches you. He stays buried inside as his balls empty, his head finally tilting back and breaking intense eye contact as his lips release another long, satisfied groan.

When it’s all over, he slowly leans down to touch your foreheads once more, and you feel an overwhelming, incoherent wave of satisfaction when notice the muscles in his arms and fingers trembling where they touch your skin. 

“You’re mine,” he murmurs between labored breaths. “All mine.”

He babbles possessively, rolling his hips into you to prolong the intimacy, even as you feel him softening discreetly within your walls.

“I’ll burn the world for you, I’ll do anything to keep your eyes on me like this. I’ll kill as many as it takes to have you by my side.” His voice, husky and haunting, makes you shiver with horror — with heat.

You don’t think he needs your involvement in the story to fulfill the last part of his dark promise. Not with the previous list of confirmed murders or the blood that stains his clothes tonight. That stains your costume now too. But his words still send a swarm of butterflies dancing in your stomach and, not for the first time, you find yourself questioning the integrity of your mental health.

He’s smiling at your flushed, uncomfortable features, swollen lips brushing against yours playfully as he catches the breath to say something else that will surely upset you deeply. Before he can, however, his broad body freezes against yours, whatever he was about to say abruptly dying on his tongue.

Like a tense and intriguing suspense, the two of you are slowly bathed in the garish red and blue lights that filter through the small bathroom window, overshadowing the soft purple lighting from before.

The police.

Just as the realization sets in, the sound of sirens is heard; loud and distinctive. And it is then, and only then, that you notice that there are no more sounds of music coming from downstairs.

When had it stopped?

Relief is the first thing you feel. Hope and security flicker in your chest until a new wave of tears blurs your vision. But the feeling quickly withers before another realization. The police, along with your college friends, were minutes away from finding out where and who you had been all this time. They would find Aemond, it was true. They would finally arrest the killer known as Ghostface. But they would also find you. You, abused, raped and humiliated.

God, could they deduce just by looking at you that, at some point during this violation, you had started to want this?

Your jaw is gripped by his firm fingers, making your wide, wet eyes focus on the man in front of you. He looks at you with such intensity, serious and analytical, and in that moment you are sure that he knows exactly what you are thinking.

“I know where every single one of your friends lives, what every single one of them does during the day — every damn minute of their activities is recorded for me,” he whispers slowly, sinking each word into your overworked brain to make sure you understand. “The same goes for your family members. I know where they live, who they are, and what they do. Dare to open your pretty little mouth to anyone about me and you’ll get one of their heads every time you open your dorm room door in the morning. I’ll even do the favor of gift wrapping it for you, baby.”

Your stomach lurches with sudden nausea, all the color draining from your face at the threat you know he wouldn’t hesitate to carry out if need be.

“I truly hope you won’t betray my trust, love. Like I said before, I don’t want to kill you.” He smooths his knuckles down your tear-stained cheek, softening his tone to something softer and gentler — yet equally terrifying. “But I’ll do it to someone you care about without a second thought. So don’t test me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he seals his lips on yours. Just a light, wet touch, more an intimate exchange of heated breaths than a kiss. With an approving grunt when you sigh and surrender to his touch, he pulls away.

Your shaky, weak legs give way as he leaves your body, and you slide down the wall in a confused, weeping heap until you’re sitting on the tiled bathroom floor.

Hovering above you, Aemond tucks his penis into the pants and fastens his belt, straightening the robes with a perfectly neutral expression and calm manner, as if at this very moment the cops aren’t searching the frat house for him. Long fingers casually grip the mask lying on the counter, giving you one last intense, appraising look, licking his lips slyly before covering his face.

That ghost mask is back then, cold and frightening, pulling the hood up over his head before bending down and holding the bloody kitchen knife in the palm of his hand. Black boots click on the tile floor as he turns back to you and heads for the door, casting a glance over his shoulder as he places hand on the doorknob.

“This won’t be the last time, princess. I’ll come back for you.” His voice is dark and muffled by the mask, sounding more like a threat to your life than a lover’s promise, especially now that he’s back in his ghostly, cruel persona. “Until then, try not to miss me too much, and of course, be on your best behavior.”

He leaves as disturbingly as he came, with a dark swish of his cloak and an amused chuckle, closing the door with a teasing gentleness — as if he’s trying not to scare you. You might even buy his act, if it weren't for all the psychological terror he's inflicted on you so far.

And then you find yourself alone in the bathroom once again, with nothing but your own shame and accusatory thoughts.

And that's exactly how the cops find you a few minutes later. Sitting on the tile floor, pale as death, your Sailor Mars costume stained with blood and throat marked from the cruel grip of your attacker's fingers. Your cheek still stings from the slap he gave you.

You think you can hide the finger marks on your thighs by deliberately tucking the legs in, taking the opportunity to keep the messy puddle of cum out of sight of the lawmen. But one of them still wraps his jacket around you in a gesture of solidarity as he leads you out, reciting kind words that, despite their intention, do nothing to actually calm you.

“Oh, thank God!”

You stagger back at the sudden hug Mako gives you as you exit the house, crossing the area marked off by yellow police tape. The officer next to you clucks his tongue in disapproval, but steps aside to offer the two of you some privacy.

“Someone called the police when they found the bodies on the next street. It all happened so fast. The party was going on and then everything turned into absolute chaos and I couldn’t find you anywhere!” She babbles quickly as pulls away from the hug, looking you up and down with her puffy, red eyes, her hands shaking where they are — clenched tightly on the arms of the police jacket you’re wearing, as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. “W-when they said that you could be upstairs with him…I-I thought…fuck…I really thought—”

“I know. But I’m here now. And I’m fine.” You cut her off, wiping away your own tears as you try to give her a very unconvincing smile. Predictably, she doesn’t buy your lie, but doesn’t press it either.

“They couldn’t catch him, pumpkin…” she says slowly after a moment of silence, her face contorted in pain for you. “By the time they got upstairs, he’d already escaped. I'm sorry."

You want to tell her that you know that, you were there when he fled before could be caught. Before you can, however, the officer from before is back - this time accompanied by another, a tall, tired-looking man with a gray beard. The sheriff, you assume.

"If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions, miss." The older man grunts, looking like he wants to be literally anywhere else but here.

"She does, actually. Can't you see how she looks?!" Mako is quick to respond, leaning forward to position herself in front of you like a protective barrier. The officers look at her like she's a little girl throwing a tantrum, nothing but tired indifference on their faces.

"It's okay, Mako. I got it." You try to calm the situation, placing a hand on her shoulder to gently guide her to the side. "I'd rather do it now, actually. I just want to put this all behind me as soon as possible."

It's impossible to put this behind, but you don't say that part.

Mako holds your gaze for a few seconds, keeping such a watchful, worried glint in every expression on your face that, for a minute, you fear she might know exactly everything that happened just by that look. When she sighs and steps aside in reluctant surrender, you almost sigh along with her.

"Okay. But I won't go far, I'll be waiting for you right there."

You mumble an 'mkay' and she reluctantly walks away, not before casting a sharp glance at the two officers standing in the same position near you - who promptly ignore her silent attempt at a threat. When she finally walks away, you sigh, staring at the badge on the older man's chest for a few seconds as you prepare to craft a narrative of the facts that doesn't reveal anything about the killer's identity.

"Alright. What would you like to know, Sheriff Myers?"

Fortunately, the police in your town have never been the most diligent or perceptive, and while they may ask a few important questions here and there, they generally remain naturally ignorant to some confusing gaps in your version of events. You are careful to avoid saying anything about the sexual assault you suffered, opting to tell them only about the physical violence that they have inevitably noticed by now; the marks on your neck, wrists and the red slap on your cheek.

They accept your half-truths so easily that you would be offended if that wasn't exactly the goal. In the end, all that matters to them is the answer to one question:

"Did you get a look at his face? Skin color, hair, eyes... anything that might help us identify this fucker once and for all?"

And in that moment you think of Mako, her cheerful smile and irreverent attitude. You think of your parents, so safe and oblivious in your hometown. You think of the faces of every your family member, friend and colleague who could suffer an agonizing death at the hands of the killer if you dared to answer the wrong way.

"N-no, sir. I'm sorry, but no, I didn't see anything. He was completely covered the whole time, with gloves and a mask." You huddle deeper into the thick jacket over your shoulders, your arms wrapped around yourself.

The sheriff takes a deep breath, clearly disappointed at once again running in circles, but he doesn't press you on it. And after a few other less important questions, they both say goodbye with a standard guarantee of protection that you don't trust for a second.

They've barely moved away from you when your phone vibrates in the pocket with the warning of a new notification. After glancing over your shoulder in alarm to see if anyone was watching, you feel the heart race before you even reach for it, fingers already shaking with nervous anticipation, knowing exactly who the notification is from. With a shaky click of your thumb on the now mostly cracked and destroyed screen, the thing lights up for you:

--

Notification Center

2:23am - Unknown number

"Well done, little girl. You made me proud (and a little horny, I must admit) with all those pathetic little lies to the authorities. Keep being a good girl and everyone you care about will be safe. Scout's word.

We'll meet again sooner than you think.

A.T."

--

[ozzgin]

https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/780957838431436800/update-log-no-one-is-safe-anymore-you-may?source=share

I'm sorry but can you shed some visibility on this (if you are comfortable) it seems the situation is worse than we thought. She posts so much I would have never seen this had I still been following her. You can ignore if you want

Here's the link for everyone

Thank you for sharing anon, I don't keep tabs on people I no longer have business with, so I wouldn't have known myself. This is referring to the anti-queer yandere writer I posted about recently.

I also want to make a quick disclaimer that I'm not bashing anyone for writing taboo topics. Fiction is fiction and one should not censor ideas regardless of their stance. It would be quite hypocritical of me to weep over some matters while me and my mutuals write yandere/dark content to begin with. So, just to clarify, I am not the trope police.

I think the problem lies within the wording again, which is even more peculiar as it's coming from a person who's extremely eloquent and chooses their sentences carefully. It's one thing to say you want to write without worrying about censorship; many authors here express the same disappointment.

On the other hand, stating that you've been longing for and holding back from writing about

Concentration camps

Genocide

Antisemitism

Racism

White Supremacy

KKK

Paedophilia ("No boundaries—children, infants, innocence—nothing is sacred in fiction")

Fatphobia and body-shaming

Conversion therapy

is honestly wild and sounds to me like a cry for attention from an individual having a breakdown. Copy-pasting a list of trigger warnings with flashing headlines of "it's going down guys, the shackles are coming off", as if hate crimes are some sort of evening entertainment is disturbing. It's giving middle schooler who discovered 4Chan and is coming up with ways to offend people and sound "unhinged".

Interestingly, nothing from the list contains triggers that she would find offensive, such as religious blasphemies or anything to do with Christianity. The classic case of 'no boundaries count except for mine, of course'. :)

Serious question, though, are we sure this is an actual adult and not some elaborate joke crafted by an edgy kid after catholic school hours? The whole post is written in such an obviously cringe way that I personally cannot take it seriously.

[yoongleboonglepie]

Pechsträhne Masterlist

Genre: Horror ish au, paranormal au, hurt/comfort, slow burn, romance, psychic au, friends to lovers, Mystery, BTS ot7 x reader

Rating: 18+: Keep that in mind as this is at its core a paranormal/heavy theme rooted in history and myth, and some things are emotionally disturbing or spooky (so be prepared for potential gore/violence or scary elements). Read at your own discretion as I will only be putting trigger warnings for things that can pose severe safety risks to those affected. All else, like I said it is a spooky and mystery au.

Y/n Wörner left the Wörner Hotel and Estate nearly 5 years ago in an attempt to run away from a family argument that put a firm divide between her and her parents. She was managing fine, for the most part -save for the constant existential crisis of what she should do with herself and her life. That was until an invitation for the 150th anniversary of their family hotel ended up shoved in her mailbox on Thursday morning, and for no rational reason she found herself running back; unable to stop the pull to return home to her family and friends who live on the grounds. Once she arrives, however, it becomes inarguably apparent that things are very wrong. The ghosts of her long past family who were once friendly, are now vengeful and violent. Her friends are divided by secrets, mystery, and fear- changed in tandem with the ghosts she used to love. She has to relearn how to balance who she knew her friends as children, and who they have become in the recent years as a result of the darkness that threatens to drown them in its wake. She knows that something is threatening her home and her friends, but she doesn't know what. And if there's one thing about Y/n Wörner, it's that she's not a quitter. No ghost or demon will stop her from getting the answers she needs- even if it means they have to try and kill her before she gets to them. Because what does she have to lose?

_________________________________________

Main story,

Chapter 1 - 2/16/2025

Chapter 2- 2/19/2025

Chapter 3- 2/22/2025

Chapter 4- 2/24/2025

Chapter 5- 3/1/2025

Chapter 6- 3/10/2025

Chapter 7- 3/15/2025

Chapter 8 - 3/20/2025

Chapter 9 - 3/28/25

Chapter 10 - 4/6/2025

Chapter 11 - 4/11/2025

Chapter 12 -4/21/2025

Chapter 13- 4/27/2025

Chapter 14 -5/4/2025

Chapter 15 - 5/16/2025

Chapter 16 - 5/23/2025

Chapter 17 - 5/30/2025

Chapter 18 -6/7/2025

Chapter 19 -6/21/2025

_________________________________________

Pieces of Red String for you to Follow if you Dare...

Namjoon Character Moodboard

Seokjin Character Moodboard

Yoongi Character Moodboard

Hoseok Character Moodboard

Jimin Character Moodboard

Taehyung Character Moodboard

Jungkook Character Moodboard

Pinterest Boards

Family Tree of Y/n Wörner

(new) Historical Archives of the Wörner's (Part 1)

Photos of rough outline of the estate (not hotel)

Morse code clues, chapters 7 and up: x x x x x x x x x

?

Find chapter and character playlists here:

Spotify

Youtube music

_________________________________________

P.S: to avoid spoilers, I use a spoiler tag on asks for new readers to avoid if they want to.

Do not repost anywhere or steal my writing/story. Thx.

Obvious disclaimer: this is just fiction and not actually about the bts members, they are simply face cards and names here. Enjoy, love you lots.

[venusbyline]

Aemond Targaryen — The Beloved Son

— summary: If Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader

— type: smut, dark

— word count: 4.9k

— tags/warnings: female!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NO EAT, rough sex, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, mommy kink, breeding kink, breast worship, nipple licking, nipple play, overstimulation, pregnancy kink, dacryphilia, rough kissing, disturbed themes, age gap (older woman/younger man), Aemond is 19 and Reader is 29, biting, crying, pre-relationship, unhealthy relationships, referenced character death, Lucerys Velaryon mentioned, past underage sex, past child abuse, religious guilt and conflict, crisis of faith, blood licking, implied forced pregnancy, mommy issues, labor mentioned, implied Targtower Incest (mother/son) BUT NOT REALLY, implied Aemond Targaryen/Alicent Hightower BUT NOT REALLY, past Targcest (older sister/younger brother), past Aemond Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen, referenced non-consensual somnophilia, referenced rape/non-con, referenced breastfeeding, referenced lactation kink, minor Helaegon, Aegon Targaryen mentioned, past Aemond Targaryen/Madam Sylvi, underage dubcon, minor Alicent Hightower/Criston Cole, curse words, mild angst, ambiguous/open ending, switch!Aemond, sub!reader, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: I decided to explore Aemond's "mommy issues" side. There's no real incest between Aemond and Alicent, but I put it as a trigger warning because there are scenes about them that can be uncomfortable to read. And also because I see their mother and son relationship too complex and intense. In my opinion, Aemond had an adoration and love for his mother in the season one that the writers left aside during the season two.

— author's notes²: Furthermore, I believe that Aemond's loss of virginity with Madam Sylvi may also influenced a part of his weird behaviour. So this time I wrote about the consequences of this in Aemond's mind, even a few years later. I see what happened with him in the books/show as a real child abuse, so don't read this fic if you've triggers with these themes. I do not support any form of abuse, this is just fiction.

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • Aemond masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

Aemond needed to vent. He needed some time away from all the chaos that must have been in the Red Keep since he confessed to killing Lucerys. Some time away from all the chaos he caused.

He remembered everything quite accurately. How he arrived at the castle with wide eyes and his body drenched, entering his mother's chambers without even knocking on the door. Alicent had let out a loud scream at the sudden appearance and covered her slim body with the white bedsheets. Despite there being no one there with her, his mother's body was sweaty and her cheeks were flushed, as if she had cum just a few minutes ago. At first he ignored the strange sight and muttered, with his voice trembling and weak, that he had become a kinslayer.

He remembered explaining confusingly how he was trying to scare Lucerys and ended up losing control of Vhagar, causing the old dragon to chew every bit of his nephew, only some remains of his tiny dragon falling from the sky.

He remembered Alicent widening her eyes, still covering her small breasts and telling Aemond to wait for her outside the room.

As much as he wanted to leave the place and wait for her in the hallway like the good son he had always been, Aemond nodded and left. Not just her chambers, but also the castle. He looked for any clothing that did not look so expensive as to give away his noble origins, and wore it along with a dark suit. He passed by Ser Criston Cole on the way out of the Red Keep, ignoring the fact that the guard's armor was not orderly as usual, and said something about needing to get some air away from there. Aemond did not wait for a response from the older man, knowing that it was only a matter of a few minutes for Alicent to look for Criston and tell him what her beloved boy had done.

Aemond was lost. He knew that.

As soon as Aemond entered the brothel, he looked everywhere for Madam Sylvi, his sweaty and trembling hands searching for the only woman who could perhaps help him.

When he was chasing Aegon together with Ser Criston to take him by force to his own coronation, he did not expect to be reunited with the prostitute who had taken his virginity. Aemond had an excellent memory and remembered that night very well, every second of that embarrassing moment. If he tried harder, Aemond could even feel Madam Sylvi's full lips around his still developing cock, or the way she lifted his wine-flushed face to her large breasts. Aegon demanded that she not be too soft with his younger brother, saying that a thirteen years old should already be brave enough to handle a little sexual intensity. However, the woman respected Aemond's nervousness and guided him calmly.

That night had not been so bad at all, even if he had not wanted it. He never returned to any brothel, his mother's disgusted reaction to Aegon's impulsive and selfish decision and her plea to Aemond not indulge in such promiscuity made him give up on going there again. He should do as she asked, marry a pretty noble lady and be a loyal husband, be Aegon's opposite.

He did not want to hurt his mother's feelings, he did not want her to look at him with the same look of disgust she gave her eldest son. He wanted to keep making Alicent proud, being her beloved son.

But Aemond had already failed with her the moment he decided to act like a spiteful boy and chase Lucerys through the skies. Now that he was a Kinslayer, his mother would fear him. She would be ashamed of him. I would see him as a murderer, cursing their whole family forever.

And if Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

Perhaps Madam Sylvi could do that. When she spoke to Aemond when he and Ser Criston were looking for Aegon, she made it clear that he had grown up so well. She looked surprised, perhaps even horny.

Now, after six years without visiting the place, Aemond was there again. The place where he had promised his dear mother in the name of the Seven that he would never set foot again.

He needed to seek affection from Sylvi or another whore who would make him feel as loved as Alicent made him feel before he grew up. He needed to feel worthy and loved by a mother again.

That was a busy night at the brothel for you, too many clients for too few prostitutes to deal with them. Madam Sylvi warned the women that she would take a day off to rest, a privilege that only the oldest and most renowned courtesans were entitled to. Most of her favorite clients seemed angry about this fact, and even though you and the other girls explained the reasons as calmly as possible, no one cared about what you had to say.

Some people just rolled their eyes and walked away, others snorted and threw coins at you so you could do her job then, and some were even excited about fucking a different cunt.

It was not unknown to you why Sylvi had so many customers who frequented the place in search of her. She was very experienced, a beautiful older woman, with large hips and big breasts. She understood how to please men and even women, both sexually and emotionally.

"Where is Madam Sylvi?" A deep voice caught your attention from behind your shoulder, making you jump and widen your eyes, sighing embarrassed when you saw that it was just a customer.

"She is not here today, sir." You forced a smile, trying not to look too much at the eye patch the boy wore. It was strangely familiar and he had facial features that seemed more handsome than most of the men you served, even if he wore a hood that shadowed his details.

With a frown, the man clenched his jaw and muttered one more time. "I need her tonight. Right now."

You recognized almost all of Sylvi's frequent men, and that one was completely unknown to you. You bit your tongue to try not to question him about why he was so desperate to see the woman if he had never been there recently. However, you took a deep breath and forced another smile, your voice sweet and hiding your curiosity. "My apologies, sir, she is not here tonight. But you can look for another courtesan if you want to, we have many options." You reassured and tried to walk past him to go find another man or some woman who could pay you a few coins, before being stopped by the man's hand on your arm, keeping you close to him.

"Well, you are free to please me." It was not a question. He already knew you did not have any customers waiting. You stared at that violet eye for a few seconds, before swallowing hard, your throat hurting while you nodded, having no choice whatsoever. "Then get an empty, private room for us immediately."

You opened your mouth to explain that the isolated places required a greater amount of gold than the common services, but the man interrupted you, handing you a heavy bag full of coins that were almost slipping out of the opening. "I assume you will make it worth the price, woman."

The moment you and Aemond entered the isolated room, he watched you pulling the curtains until they closed, keeping the events that would follow there a secret from other people. Although you still did not realize who he really was, there was an expression on your face indicating that you were suspicious about something. Perhaps it was the money he was willing to spend without complaining during just one night with someone who was not even the courtesan he was looking for, perhaps it was the eye patch that left a little part of his scar exposed, perhaps it was the extremely pale skin...

It could be many things that were making you suspect there was something unusual happening.

When the other prostitutes finished pouring some wine into two glasses and warming the place with candles, Aemond finally cleared his throat, almost as if he were embarrassed or did not know what to do.

"How old are you?" He asked in a more vulnerable voice than he intended, cursing himself for it.

Your brow furrowed at the rude question. There were men who sought out younger and less experienced whores to satisfy some dark desires, but you doubted that was the case. "Twenty-nine, sir."

Aemond sighed and nodded, satisfied with the answer. You might not be as old as Madam Sylvi or Alicent herself, but you were a maturer age than his. It made him less tense. "Good... That is good." He muttered, his single eye directed to the ground when some thoughts shuffled through his mind. A part of Aemond hated himself for having listened to his mother's advice to never set foot in a brothel again. Now, he was ten and nine and barely knew how to talk to a whore, while Aegon must have already fucked even the one he was about to try something on. "Has King Aegon II already enjoyed your services?"

His words caught you off guard, making you fidget with some discomfort, sitting on the mattresses around the floor, your robe tied and expecting anything other than that. "I cannot expose any of my clients' secrets, much less our King."

Aemond hummed without surprise, already expecting an empty answer like that. He took off the hood that shadowed the most part of his face, revealing his long silver hair tied with a not very effective ponytail and the violet eye that shone much brighter now without the dark fabric that made you unable to noticed the true color.

You did not have to be so smart to know the man in front of you was a Targaryen. A Targaryen prince. Perhaps...

"Aemond." His name dripped from your lips like the sweetest honey. "Aemond Targaryen."

The prince maintained his look of neutrality and almost disdain, nodding and then shrugging. "Or Aemond One-Eye, like some people call me. Your King Aegon is my older brother." Due to your lack of response and your wide eyes, Aemond sighed. "And I asked you a question about my brother. Are you going to answer it or not, woman?"

"He... He never fucked me, Your Grace. During the few times I saw him around here, he was either too much drunk or already busy with another courtesan."

That was good. Someone untouchable by Aegon. Not like his mother, who had given birth to Aegon three years before him, contaminating her precious womb with that bitter soul she one day carried, swearing that her firstborn would become an ambitious and noble-hearted boy, worthy to sit in the Iron Throne.

You also would not be like Madam Sylvi, who had already slept with Aegon several times even before his brother forced him to wet his cock inside her during his thirteenth name day.

You were... Pure. Not for the eyes of the world, which saw you as a mere whore, a hole for fun. You were pure for Aemond's eyes. You were untouchable by Aegon's filthy hands. You could be like a mother to Aemond. Hold him like Alicent had held him when he was a child, you could let him fuck you like Madam Sylvi had done when he was just a little boy...

You could be whatever Aemond asked you to be. His whore for some minutes but his mother afterwards. It will be a way to distract himself from what he had done to his nephew. A way to justify his impulsive actions that were about to declare war.

Aemond thought to himself if he should let it all out and just leave later on. That was what he planned to do with Madam Sylvi, even though she was attractive and hot.

Gods, he should not even be there, with the curtains closed and an older but kind woman waiting for him sitting on the mattress, your robe tied carelessly so you could seduce the customers who saw the smooth and transparent silk cloth covering just a little of your beautiful body. He should be with his mother, asking for forgiveness due the war he would cause, begging for the kisses on the forehead that she used to give him when he was younger.

Aemond should just turn around and leave. Leave and wait for Sylvi the next night.

Or rather, he should leave that dirty place forever and go to the Sept to seek forgiveness for his terrible behavior and quick promiscuous solutions.

Of course Aemond should do anything like this. And yet he did not. There was something interesting about being there, analyzing you as if you were fresh meat. Analyzing every detail like he did when he was buying some wooden toys for his nephews Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

He was analyzing everything with precision, and was enjoying every bit of that vision. "Tell me your name." He crossed his arms, none of his clothes other than his hood were off his body.

You bit the lip before whispering your name and repeating it later, along with your last name. The prince nodded, humming the name on his mouth to test the sound. Enjoying the result, Aemond gestured to your robe and you immediately obeyed his nonverbal demand, untying the knot and letting the thin fabric fall around the mattress, your bright eyes lifting so you could see how the Targaryen prince was reacting.

With flushed cheeks and arms crossed again, Aemond walked a little closer to you, steady and slow steps until he was face to face with you. His index finger lifted your chin with a calm that was the opposite of everything you were used to in the brothel. You even believed that he could treat you really well, unlike other rude customers. But your hope disappeared the moment he grabbed your cheeks, his short nails digging into your skin and forming tears in the corners of your eyes.

"I need... I guess I need to take my emotions out on something. On Someone."

You did not dare blink, muttering an agreement and not resisting when the prince pushed you to lie down. His body was warm, unlike his hands that was cold from sweat. You remained in the position Aemond had placed you in, lying beneath him with your legs spread to let him take control if he wished.

Aemond's heart beat fast, knowing this would be the second time he was about to fuck a woman. The second time he was going against the Faith of the Seven, against his mother's requests. Hurting the feelings of the woman he loved most and probably amusing his older brother, who should have been laughing and drinking, finding it funny that Aemond had not only killed his own nephew due some petty revenge, but was also now enjoying the pleasures he had always despised.

"Do you need help, Your Grace?" You worked up the courage to ask the prince as you noticed how his fingers were a pathetic mess, unable to undo the ties on his own pants after he freed himself from the tunic.

Aemond wanted to tell you to fuck off. To tell you to be quiet and let him fuck your cunt until it is dripping with his seed. Until you are pregnant with a silver-haired bastard. He wanted to humiliate you like Aegon did to all whores.

But for the Seven Gods' sakes... He did not want to be like Aegon anymore.

"I do not know!" Aemond shouted, breaking the silence of the private room. He stopped trying to get rid of his clothes and turned his body to the other side. His heart felt like it was about to explode, his hands were trembling again and his legs were weak. Aemond's head ached like the Seven Hells and he had not drunk any drop of wine that the other courtesans had left there for the two of you. "Gods! I thought this would help me, but I can barely get my fucking cock out!"

Your body moved closer to his, pressing your face against Aemond's warm and bare back. His breathing became more erratic when you remained quiet, but brushed the tip of your nose against his skin as if you were a kitten.

Aemond opened his mouth to scold you for your childish action, and then closed it. There was something different about your silent actions. You did not judge him for being there, you did not mock him when he failed to drop his pants and fuck you fast like any man in their right minds would do. Aemond was far from a sane man and it did not take long for you to notice that.

Even though he was fully aware that you might change your mind about him when you learned the truth of what he had done to his own half-sister's son, Aemond let out a sigh of relief. Neither of you moved the bodies, feeling something good from that whole complex situation.

Then Aemond turned to you, his eye filled with tears that he cursed himself for letting escape. His palm went to your chin, holding it softer than he had done before. It was gentle and almost delicate now. Everything he liked to be for his mother. A good boy. A good son.

The prince looked down at your naked body, your breasts so inviting to him that he did not think twice and immediately touched them, squeezing the soft flesh with an inexperience that was cute to you. Aemond only felt the smoothness of a female chest three times during his entire life.

One of them was when he was just four years old and he was jealous of his mother breastfeeding his youngest brother Daeron after his birth. So he touched Alicent and asked for her milk too, which was denied and he spent hours crying until he got distracted by some wooden toy that which the maids brought at Alicent's request, to entertain the greedy little boy as quickly as they could. After that, Daeron began to be fed by a wet nurse and Aemond never noticed his mother's breast milk again.

The second time was when Helaena was pregnant with the twins Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Aemond was still an innocent twelve years old boy and was very curious seeing how the girl's breasts were suddenly bigger due to the breast milk. His youthful curiosity got the better of him and he took advantage of the fact that his older sister always let him sleep next to her when Aegon was busy fucking whores in the brothels. He snuggled into a hug with Helaena as she slept and pulled the neckline of her nightgown aside, playing with his thumbs on her nipples until they were leaking white and sweet drops.

Unfortunately for Aemond, Aegon arrived drunk just as he was sucking Helaena's nipples, being breastfed like a baby. Aegon laughed loud at the scene. Aemond's cute lips were so wet with his sister's milk and his face was reddish like a strawberry, body shaking as he explained himself in the least convincing way possible. But fortunately for Aemond, Helaena did not wake up and probably never found out about his immoral act. Or at least he preferred to believe that she never found out about that.

Despite having begged for forgiveness at the Sept so many times, Aemond was dragged against his own will by his older brother to a brothel to celebrate his thirteenth name day. He did not want none of that and he was angry with Aegon, but also scared of the whole situation that would develop, even if a part of him wondered if this was some divine punishment he deserved for taking advantage of his dear sister's innocence during her sleep.

The night of the loss of his virginity had been the third and until then the last time that Aemond touched any intimate part of a female body, his young and plump face buried in the middle of Madam Sylvi's large chest.

He had promised to the Gods that he would only do something like that again with his future wife. But here he was, thumbs rolling your hard beaks and making you gasp. Aemond may not have been sexually experienced like his brother Aegon, and not like his uncle Daemon or his sluttly half-sister Rhaenyra, but he was a quick learner with a good memory.

He remembered Madam Sylvi encouraging him to pay a special attention to her nipples using his mouth, and Aemond was eager to follow that old lesson. Wrapping one of your beaks with his lips, Aemond licked you like a hungry man, his tongue swirling around it and then nibbling.

Every muffled moan that left your lips was like music to the Prince's ears.

Once your breasts were completely soaked with Aemond's spit and red marks from the bites he gave you, Aemond smirked satisfied, the desperation that was taking over his mind disappearing and giving space to the lust building up inside his veins.

He spread your legs like he watched Aegon do with the maids when they were both younger, smirking at the view of your wet cunt, the pubic hair glistening with your own juices. "Fuck, you are really dripping. I thought you whores got paid to pretend, not to actually enjoy it."

You moaned at his mockery. In fact, you did not usually feel pleasure with your customers, even the most frequent ones who were not rough to you. They always focused on themselves, not really caring if what you were feeling was pleasurable or not.

But Aemond Targaryen was different. He was appreciating your body, hands on your breasts as if you were an anchor keeping him safe, face in front of your legs, excited to devour you and satisfy all his hunger.

Aemond Targaryen barely seemed to see you as a whore. He seemed to be seeing you as a woman he wanted to worship more than anything. Almost like a...

"Do you have children?"

The prince was full of random questions, and it was another one of the moments when he crossed an unusual line. Why the hells was this important? Was he some boring man who wanted to have sex just with not so experienced whores? Was he disgusted by pregnancies?

"I do. I have... two kids."

The words was almost impossible to hear. Anyone would tell you to repeat what you said. Anyone could be angry due the answer. Anyone but Aemond Targaryen. The prince's keen hearing caught your words perfectly, a smirk of relief and excitement pulling at his lips.

It was perfect. Almost too perfect to be true.

It did not matter where your children were now. It did not matter if they might be suffering from having a mother working in a brothel to be able to feed them with the bare minimum. All that mattered to Aemond at that moment was that you had two children. Just like Alicent had Aegon and Helaena before he was born.

He could pictured himself coming out of his mother's womb. She always said that Aemond was the most painful birth of all, as the boy came out of her womb with such eagerness that the midwives swore it almost caused a hemorrhage inside Alicent's cunt. While Aegon's birth had been traumatizing due to the fact that it was Alicent's first time going through that labor experience, Helaena's birth was soft. The little girl was born so silent that for a few seconds the Queen feared she had been born dead, but Helaena cried when Alicent began to sob, as if she was feeling her mother's emotional pain.

Aemond remembered how his mother described the birth of each of them, even Daeron, who was the fastest of all to be born. And one thing Aemond would never forget was how his mother described his birth.

Alicent said it was like giving birth to a dragon. She felt like she was being ripped from the inside out and for a moment she could swear that little Aemond enjoyed hearing her screams of pain while the midwives were desperate to help stop the bleeding. She said he stopped crying immediately, the sounds of her suffering calmed him.

If he came out of Alicent's body like a dragon whelp, then he would come into yours with all the Targaryen fire inside his veins too. The true perfect replacement for her mother could handle anything. Perhaps he could really trust you to vent and look for affection if you also saw him as your and Alicent's third children. The most devout and the most feared. He could be that for both of you.

Six years ago, Aemond had no awareness about how to please a woman. He was sure that Sylvi had pretended to cum so that he would not feel so humiliated, not that it mattered anyway, since Aemond had not lost his virginity by choice and Madam was already used to faking pleasure reactions for the vast majority of men who visited her brothel. However, there with you, after not knowing how to deal with the chaos tormenting his own mind, Aemond allowed himself to lower his head and get between your legs, rubbing his tongue on the swollen bud that he knew what it was based on what it was written in the forbidden books of the library in the castle.

At first, the movements of his tongue were disorganized and uncomfortable, and you tried to guide his head, but Aemond bit your thigh, drawing some blood from you and hearing you cry out. Aemond did not care about any of that, licking up the red drops that dripped down and going back to licking your clit, taking a little more care than before, understanding that he had done something wrong. He made his tongue less pointy and flattened it better, rubbing it against your cunt and giving gentle licks, eating out the juices that dripped from your wet hole and then moving it up to focus on your clit, trembling moans escaping you while you rolled the eyes at the sensation.

Your thighs trembled and your back arched upward, forcing Aemond to grip your legs to keep your body down, the wet sucking noises buzzing in his ear when you had the first release.

Aemond did not wait you to recover yourself from your high. He kept your legs open with one of his large hands, the other undoing the ties of his pants more quickly than during the first attempt, throwing them to the side and caressing his hard cock. You looked at his muscular torso and looked down at his long legs and the dark hair on his groin.

You did not even need to entertain him with false praises or get him drunk with the wine the other prostitutes prepared for the two of you. Aemond was ready for it and ignoring his own nervousness.

He spat into his palm, pressing his arousal one last time and finally slamming into you, the abrupt stretch hurting your cunt, lips parted and eyes widening when Aemond ignored your brief pain and started moving his hips, letting out low guttural growls at the feeling of your tight warm walls crushing him.

"Your Grace..." You moaned in a mix of pleasure and discomfort, the thrusts hitting the soft part of your cervix and making you see stars.

Aemond smirked at your incoherent moans, lowering himself until his face was close to yours, capturing your mouth in an aggressive kiss, uncoordinated tongues together, teeth practically devouring each other's lower lip. The exchange of saliva tasted like blood and your own cum.

He had not felt the sensation of being inside a woman in so many years that the pleasure was almost like losing his virginity for a second time. It was intense, strange and desperate. He needed more. He needed to fuck you deep inside, until you were like Alicent, carrying a part of him in your womb.

The faster he got closer to his orgasm, the more Aemond's low growls became whispers begging the Gods for forgiveness and also tearful moans calling you his mother. Prayers and cries coming from a filthy sinner in search of redemption, or from an innocent little boy who needed the love of the woman who gave birth to him.

With each violent thrust inside your tight and sore cunt, Aemond pictured a little silver-haired boy coming out of you after nine moons and destroying you just like he had done to Alicent during his own childbirth.

Now that the only woman who ever loved him with her entire body and soul saw him as a monster, Aemond wished that future routine nights with you in the brothel could fill the void inside his heart. However, deep down Aemond knew that no one could ever love him more than the woman who brought him into the world. For Aemond, failing Alicent was worse than failing the Gods. And there was no divine or maternal forgiveness for a murderer.

[03jyh23]

🌷⌇seeds of uncertainty finding our way back part 7; a choi jongho mini-series

ex-boyfriend! idol! jongho x ex-girlfriend! single-mom! reader

│ series masterlist│ next │

│synopsis: five years have passed since jongho last saw you. your lives have taken drastically different paths, with jongho achieving fame and you focusing on raising your daughter, nari, in quiet anonymity. when jongho discovers he has a daughter, he's determined to be a part of her life.

│genre: a slice of life, romance, fluff, some angst

│trigger warnings: unplanned pregnancy, illegitimate child, single parenthood, physical violence, blood mentioned, mature language, emotional manipulation

│words: 8.4 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there my lovely people! i hope you all had a lovely weekend! till now the story was somewhat a slow-burn when it came to certain aspects but it's going to change now! as always let me know your thoughts!

love, mon ♡

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│ @vixensss │ @all-fandoms-rise │ @finnydraws │

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│@chickenscoups │ @ana-stasssiaaa │ @starryunho │

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│ if you wish to be tagged let me know here! ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤJongho entered the apartment, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid disturbing the sleeping child in his arms. With utmost care, he gently placed Nari's belongings on the corridor drawer, each item set down with a whisper-soft touch. He then removed his shoes, the familiar ritual feeling different tonight, weighted with the responsibility of the precious cargo he carried.

Nari stirred slightly in his arms, her small form shifting against his chest. "Are we home?" she asked, her voice a sleepy murmur that tugged at Jongho's heartstrings.

"Yes, sweetheart, we're home," Jongho whispered back, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet of the night. He infused his words with all the tenderness he felt. As he walked, he rubbed soothing circles on Nari's back, a rhythmic motion designed to lull her back into sleep. The door to Nari's room creaked softly as Jongho pushed it open with his elbow, careful not to jostle his daughter. He fumbled for a moment before finding the switch for her night light. A warm, comforting glow suffused the room as it flickered to life. Jongho carefully lowered Nari onto her bed, supporting her head and body to ensure a smooth transition from his arms to the mattress. As he laid her down, he couldn't help but marvel at how small and fragile she looked amidst the sea of pillows and plushies. He took a moment to tuck her in, pulling the comforter up to her chin with gentle, loving motions. As he did so, he found himself memorizing every detail of her peaceful face, from the soft curve of her cheek to the flutter of her eyelashes against her skin.

"Mommy?" Nari's voice, thick with sleep, broke the silence. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, a hint of confusion in their depths as she struggled against the pull of slumber.

Jongho's heart clenched at the sound. He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper as he sought to reassure her. "Shh, it's okay. Mommy will be here soon," he murmured, his fingers gently carding through Nari's hair in a soothing rhythm. The repetitive motion seemed to calm her, and he added softly, "For now, Uncle is here. Go back to sleep, angel." Nari's eyes drifted closed once more, succumbing to the irresistible call of sleep. Jongho settled himself on the edge of her bed. As Nari's breathing became calm and steady, Jongho took out his phone. Worried that you still weren't back, he sent a quick message: "Hey, is everything okay? Nari's asleep. Let me know when you're on your way home." He tucked the phone back into his pocket, then leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Nari's forehead. Satisfied that she was sleeping soundly, Jongho quietly left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. He made his way to the kitchenette, his movements careful and deliberate in the quiet apartment. Pouring himself a glass of water, he leaned against the counter, his mind still reeling from the earlier encounter with Hyunwoo. The cool liquid did little to calm the storm of emotions swirling within him. The confrontation in the hallway played on repeat in his mind, each word, each accusation etching itself deeper into his consciousness. Jongho closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to process everything that had happened. The weight of fatherhood, which had felt so light and joyous earlier in the day, now seemed to press down on him with renewed intensity. Questions and doubts began to creep in, fueled by Hyunwoo's words. Had he truly been absent for too long? Could he make up for lost time? And most pressingly, how would he navigate this complex situation with Hyunwoo's apparent involvement in Nari's life? Jongho shook his head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. He reminded himself of the progress he'd made, of the bond he was forming with Nari. He set the glass down before making his way to the sofa, his body heavy with exhaustion. He sank into the plush cushions, letting out a deep sigh as the tension slowly ebbed from his muscles. For a moment, he contemplated turning on the TV to distract himself from the thoughts in his mind. However, he quickly decided against it, worried that the noise might disturb Nari's sleep. Instead, he allowed himself to relax further into the comfortable embrace of the sofa. Before he knew it, his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off into an unintended slumber.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤJongho wasn't sure how long he had been asleep when a sudden cry pierced through the veil of his unconsciousness. His eyes snapped open, instantly alert despite the fog of sleep still clinging to his mind. It took him a moment to register where he was and what was happening. Then, as the cry sounded again, louder this time, he bolted upright, his heart racing.

"Mommy!" Nari's cry echoed through the apartment, jolting Jongho fully awake. He was on his feet in an instant, his fatigue forgotten as adrenaline coursed through his veins. Without hesitation, he rushed towards Nari's room, his heart pounding with concern for his daughter.

As he approached her door, he could hear her distressed whimpers growing louder. Jongho pushed the door open gently, not wanting to startle her further. "Nari, sweetheart," he called softly, stepping into the dimly lit room. "It's okay, I'm here."

Nari was sitting up in her bed, tears streaming down her face, her small hands clutching her favorite stuffed animal. As Jongho approached, she looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Where's Mommy?" she whimpered, her voice trembling.

Jongho's heart ached at the sight of his daughter's distress. He quickly moved to her bedside, sitting down gently and opening his arms. "Mommy's not here right now, sweetheart," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "But I'm here for you. Can I give you a hug?" Nari nodded softly before throwing herself into Jongho's arms, her tiny hands clutching at his shoulders, her small body still trembling. "Shh, angel," Jongho whispered, gently cradling her against his chest. He began to rock her slowly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "It's okay, I'm here," he murmured, his voice soft and comforting. "You're safe, sweetheart. Uncle’s got you." He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, feeling her gradually relax in his embrace.

As Nari's sobs gradually subsided into quiet sniffles, Jongho continued to hold her, his heart swelling with an overwhelming mixture of love, protectiveness, and a newfound sense of purpose. In that moment, he realized just how profoundly he had come to care for this little girl. Being a father, which used to seem scary and overwhelming to Jongho, now felt natural and rewarding. His earlier worries faded away. Instead, he felt a strong desire to be the best father he could be for Nari. He was determined to give her all the love and support she needed.

"Would you like to lay down again, sweetheart?" he asked softly, his voice a gentle whisper as he continued to cradle Nari in his arms. He could feel her small body still trembling slightly against his chest, a reminder of the vulnerability he now held in his embrace.

Nari shook her head, her voice muffled against his shirt as she replied, "No, I wanna sleep in Mommy's room." There was a brief pause, filled with the sound of her quiet sniffles, before she added hesitantly, "Wanna bathe."

Jongho found himself at a crossroads, carefully considering Nari's requests. The rational part of his mind reminded him that it was late, and a bath at this hour wasn't exactly ideal. However, as he gazed down at Nari's tear-stained face and felt her small body still quivering from her earlier distress, his heart made the decision for him. Perhaps the warm, soothing water would help calm her frayed nerves and wash away the remnants of her nightmare.

"Okay, sweetheart," he said gently, his hand moving to stroke her hair in a comforting rhythm. "How about we have a quick, warm bath to help you feel better, and then you can sleep in Mommy's room? Does that sound good to you?" His voice was soft and reassuring, filled with a tenderness he didn't even know he possessed until this moment. Nari nodded against his chest, her sobs now quieting to small, intermittent hiccups. Jongho could feel her body relaxing slightly in his arms, the tension slowly ebbing away. With careful movements, he stood up slowly, still holding her close to his heart. "Alright, let's get you that bath," with Nari still clinging to him, Jongho navigated through her room, his movements gentle yet purposeful. He rummaged through her drawers with one hand, the other securely holding his daughter close. His fingers sifted through the neatly folded clothes, searching for a pair of soft, comfortable pajamas and clean underwear. Once he had gathered everything they needed, he made his way to the bathroom, his steps slow and steady to avoid jostling Nari.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤIn the bathroom, Jongho carefully sat Nari down on the closed toilet lid, making sure she was stable before reluctantly letting go. He turned his attention to the bathtub, twisting the faucet to release a stream of warm water. As the tub began to fill, he reached for the bottle of bubble bath, adding a generous squeeze to the running water. Almost immediately bubbles began to form, filling the air with a soft, comforting scent. The change in Nari's demeanor was almost instantaneous.

As she caught sight of the rising bubbles, a small smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth, chasing away the last vestiges of her earlier distress. "Bubbles!" she exclaimed softly. Jongho couldn't help but mirror her smile, feeling relieved at the sight of her brightening mood.

"That's right, sweetheart," he said, "Lots and lots of bubbles, just for you." He dipped his hand into the water, swirling it around to test the temperature. Satisfied that it was comfortably warm but not too hot, he turned back to Nari. "Okay, little one, let's get you in the tub. The bubbles are waiting for you." With gentle, careful movements, Jongho helped Nari out of her day clothes, then he lifted her with tender hands and slowly lowered her into the warm, bubbly water. As Nari settled into the tub, surrounded by shimmering foam, her eyes lit up with pure, childish delight. The earlier tears were now replaced by a look of wonder as she reached out to scoop up a handful of bubbles, giggling as they slipped through her fingers. Watching her, Jongho felt a warmth spread through his chest, a feeling so profound it almost took his breath away. At that moment, as he knelt beside the bathtub, watching his daughter play in the bubbles, all the doubts and fears that had plagued him earlier seemed to dissolve. This, he realized, was what fatherhood was truly about - these small, precious moments of joy and comfort. With a gentle smile, he reached for the shampoo, ready to help his daughter finish her bath and prepare for a peaceful night's sleep.

"Alright, angel, time to towel off and put on some pajamas," Jongho said, reaching for a fluffy towel. He helped Nari stand up in the tub, carefully wrapping the towel around her small frame. With gentle movements, he lifted her out of the bath and set her down on the bathmat. As he began to dry her off, Jongho couldn't help but marvel at how natural this all felt now. The initial awkwardness and uncertainty had given way to a sense of purpose and love that filled his entire being. He carefully patted Nari dry, making sure to be extra gentle with her hair "There we go, all dry," he smiled, reaching for the clean pajamas he had brought. "Let's get you dressed and ready for bed, sweetheart." Jongho helped Nari into her pajamas, carefully buttoning up the soft fabric.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThey made their way back to the living room. Jongho intended to lay Nari down on the sofa. However, she clung tightly to him, her small arms wrapped around his neck. Sensing her need for comfort, Jongho decided to sit down with her still in his arms. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmured softly, reaching for a nearby blanket. He draped it over both of them, cocooning them in its warmth. Nari snuggled closer, her head resting against his chest. Jongho began to gently rock her, his voice low and soothing as he started to hum a lullaby. The melody, soft and comforting, filled the quiet room. He felt Nari's body gradually relax against him, her breathing becoming slower and more even. As he continued to sing, Jongho marveled at the moment. The weight of his daughter in his arms, the trust she placed in him, filled his heart with an indescribable warmth. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his voice never faltering in the lullaby. In the quiet of the night, father and daughter sat together, enveloped in a blanket of warmth and love, the gentle lullaby a testament to their growing bond.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤYou walked into the quiet apartment, your head pounding from an exhausting day at work. Closing the door silently behind you, you moved through the space. Your gaze immediately went to Nari's room, but you found her bed empty. A momentary panic gripped your heart before you quickly looked to the living room. There, you noticed a disheveled tuft of fluffy brown hair on a pillow, soft snores filling the room. Relief washed over you as you approached quietly. The sight before you made your heart swell with affection. Nari was curled up in Jongho's arms, her small form rising and falling with each peaceful breath. Careful not to wake them, you gently adjusted the blanket, ensuring it covered both sleeping figures. You placed a soft kiss on Nari's forehead, yet your eyes lingered on Jongho. Smiling, you ran your hand gently on his cheek, your thumb brushing against his lower lip. The man you loved—or perhaps still loved—the father of your daughter, looked angelic. His arms were wrapped loosely around Nari, her head resting against his chest. You couldn't count how many times you had dreamed of a moment like this, to walk into not a house, but a home—a home that you dreamed of creating with Jongho. Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart bursting with emotion. You smiled, a bittersweet ache settling in your chest. God, you would do anything to get to see this each day. The scene before you was everything you had ever wanted, yet it felt just out of reach. Jongho and Nari, were peacefully asleep, looking like the perfect family you had always imagined.

As you stood there, watching them sleep, a mix of joy and longing washed over you. Joy for the growing bond between Jongho and Nari, and longing for what could have been—what still might be, if you dared to hope. You wondered if there was a way to bridge the gap, to turn this fleeting moment into a lasting reality. But as quickly as those thoughts came, you pushed them aside. It was too soon, you reminded yourself. Jongho had only just returned to your life days ago. The wounds still lingered, the history between you unresolved. You couldn't let yourself get carried away by one tender moment, no matter how it tugged at your heartstrings. Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself. This was a time for caution, for careful steps forward. You needed to focus on what was best for Nari, on building a stable co-parenting relationship with Jongho. Romance and reconciliation were thoughts for another time, if ever. For now, you had to keep your feet firmly on the ground, even as your heart yearned to soar.

You shook your head, chiding your own thoughts. Maybe you could allow yourself to be selfish, just for the next couple of hours. Settling down next to Jongho, you rested your head on his shoulder and placed a soft kiss on his neck. Closing your eyes, you let yourself sink into the warmth of his presence. The steady rhythm of his breathing and Nari's soft snores filled the quiet room. In this moment, wrapped in the cocoon of familial warmth, a sense of peace washed over you. It was a fleeting indulgence, you knew, but one your heart desperately needed. As you drifted off to sleep, a small part of you wondered what the morning would bring. But for now, in this perfect slice of time, you allowed yourself to simply be—a mother, a woman, part of this little family unit that felt so right, even if it was just for tonight.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThe soft morning light filtered through the curtains, gently illuminating the living room. Nari stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. She lifted her head from Jongho's chest, her gaze wandering until it landed on you, nestled against Jongho's side. For a moment, confusion clouded her sleepy eyes. Then, as recognition dawned, her face lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight. "Mommy?! Uncle?!" she exclaimed, her voice a blend of excitement and bewilderment. Her sudden outburst broke the peaceful silence of the morning, causing both you and Jongho to stir. You blinked awake, momentarily disoriented as you realized the position you were in - snuggled close to Jongho, his arm around you, his head resting atop yours. Jongho, too, began to wake, his arm instinctively tightening around you before his eyes snapped open, suddenly alert. The realization of your proximity dawned on him, and you could feel the sudden tension in his body.

Nari, oblivious to the adults' awkwardness, giggled with delight. "Mommy and Uncle were sleeping together!" she announced, her innocent observation hanging in the air between you and Jongho. Her eyes widened with excitement as a new thought struck her. "Will I have a baby brother now?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with innocent hope and curiosity. You felt your cheeks flush crimson, your eyes darting to meet Jongho's equally startled gaze. The awkwardness in the room intensified tenfold as you both struggled to find an appropriate response to Nari's unexpected question.

Jongho cleared his throat, his voice slightly strained as he attempted to address Nari's innocent question. "Angel, that's not... I mean, it doesn't quite work like that," he stumbled over his words, shooting a desperate glance your way. The situation had caught him completely off guard, and he found himself struggling to find an appropriate explanation for a child's curious mind.

You stepped in, "Nari, honey, Mommy, and Uncle were just sleeping. That doesn't mean we're going to have a baby." You could feel the heat radiating from your cheeks, acutely aware of Jongho's presence beside you. You silently hoped that your explanation would satisfy Nari's curiosity.

Your daughter's brows furrowed in confusion, her gaze darting between you and Jongho. "But you were sleeping together, like in the movies!" she insisted, her child-like logic unshakeable. Her innocent observation hung in the air, making the atmosphere even more uncomfortable. Nari's eyes lit up with excitement as she exclaimed, "When big mommies and daddies sleep together in movies, they have babies!" Jongho let out a nervous chuckle, running his hand through his hair. The two of you exchanged a panicked glance, desperately trying to figure out how to handle this unexpected turn in the conversation.

"Sweetie," Jongho began gently, his voice soft and patient, "sometimes adults sleep close to each other because they care about each other, but that doesn't always mean a baby is coming. Mommy and I were just resting together because we were tired." He looked at you, silently hoping his explanation was adequate and wouldn't prompt more difficult questions from your inquisitive daughter.

Nari's lower lip trembled as she crossed her arms, a pout forming on her face. Her eyes, wide with disappointment, looked up at both of you imploringly. "But I want a baby brother," she insisted, her voice taking on a whiny tone that tugged at your heartstrings. "Mommy's big and Uncle's big so can you make me one now?" Her innocent request, born out of a child's simple desire for a playmate, only served to heighten the awkwardness of the situation.

You felt your face grow even hotter if that was possible. Glancing at Jongho, you saw his eyes widen in panic, mirroring your own feelings of discomfort and uncertainty. "Having a baby is a very big decision that grown-ups make after a lot of thought and planning. It's not something we can just do right now because you want it." Jongho spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully to ensure Nari could understand without opening the door to more complicated questions.

You nodded in agreement, adding, "That's right, little one. And remember, Uncle and I aren't... we don't..." you trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words to explain the complexities of adult relationships to a child. The situation felt like navigating a minefield, each word potentially leading to more confusion or misunderstanding.

Jongho jumped in to help, sensing your difficulty. "Mommy and I care about each other very much, but we're not together in the way that people are when they decide to have a baby. Do you understand?" His voice was gentle but firm, trying to convey the message in a way that would make sense to Nari's young mind.

Nari's pout deepened, her eyes filling with tears that threatened to spill over. The disappointment was evident on her face as she processed the information. "But I want a brother," she sniffled, her voice small and filled with sadness. The sight of her distress tugged at both your hearts, making the situation even more challenging to navigate.

You pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair gently, you spoke in a soothing tone, "I know, angel. I understand you want someone to play with. But for now, how about we focus on all the fun things we can do together? Just the three of us?" You hoped that redirecting her attention might help ease her disappointment and change the subject to something more positive.

Jongho reached out, gently patting Nari's back in a show of support. "That's right," he added, "How about we start with a special breakfast? Would you like that?" He glanced at you, silently communicating his hope that this suggestion might successfully divert Nari's attention from the sensitive topic at hand.

The little girl's face brightened slightly at the mention of food, her earlier disappointment momentarily forgotten. She looked up, her eyes still a bit watery but now sparkling with a hint of excitement. "Can we have pancakes again?" she asked, her voice hopeful and eager. The simple question was a welcome reprieve from the previous conversation, offering a way out of the awkward situation.

You and Jongho shared a relieved look over Nari's head, both grateful for the change of subject. "Pancakes sound perfect," you said, your voice filled with enthusiasm to match Nari's renewed excitement.

You looked at Jongho as he took Nari in his arms and rose from the sofa. "Ready to make some delicious pancakes again with me, princess?" he asked, his voice warm and playful. Nari's face lit up with excitement, her earlier disappointment completely forgotten. The sight of Jongho with Nari in his arms, heading to the kitchen with such ease and familiarity, stirred something in your heart. It was a bittersweet feeling - joy at seeing their bond grow stronger, coupled with a lingering sense of what could have been.

You were pulled from your thoughts by Jongho's gentle voice. "Y/N? If you want to, you can go and take a shower. We'll prepare breakfast for you. Right, princess?" he said, looking down at Nari with a warm smile.

Nari nodded enthusiastically, "Yes! We'll make the best pancakes ever for Mommy!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement.

You couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm. "That sounds wonderful," you replied, feeling a rush of gratitude for this moment of normalcy amidst the complex emotions swirling within you. "I'll go freshen up then. Thank you."

As you headed towards the bathroom, you could hear Nari's excited chatter and Jongho's patient responses fading into the kitchen. The domesticity of the scene both warmed your heart and made it ache, a reminder of the delicate balance you were all trying to maintain. In the shower, you let the warm water wash over you, trying to clear your mind of the conflicting emotions. The morning's events played on repeat in your head - Nari's innocent questions, the awkward explanations, and the undeniable comfort you felt waking up next to Jongho. You stepped out and wrapped yourself in a towel. right before walking out of the bathroom, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the day ahead.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThe smell of pancakes wafted through the air as you opened the door, "The breakfast smells delicious," you said as you walked back to the living room, drying your hair with a small towel. "I can take it from here," you smiled at Jongho. "Maybe you'd like to freshen up a bit too?" you asked.

Jongho looked up from the pancake he was flipping, "I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome."

You hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting him to stay and knowing it might complicate things further. "You're not overstaying," you assured him softly. "Besides, Nari would love to have you here a bit longer." You paused, then added with a small smile, "And so would I."

Jongho's eyes widened in surprise at your words, and he quickly looked down, feeling heat creeping up his neck. The spatula in his hand trembled slightly as he tried to regain his composure. He cleared his throat, attempting to find the right words to respond. "I... I appreciate that," he managed to say, his voice slightly husky. He risked a glance back at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before darting away again. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken emotions.

Nari's voice suddenly piped up from the kitchen, breaking the tension. "Uncle, is the pancake ready yet?" Her question brought both of you back to reality, Jongho cleared his throat again, this time more decisively. "I think I'll take you up on that offer to freshen up," he said, his voice steadier now. "Could you watch the pancakes for a moment?"

"Yes, just give me a second," you said, taking a few steps toward your closet. You weren't entirely sure how Jongho would react, but you felt compelled to retrieve something that had been tucked away for years. With slightly trembling hands, you rummaged through the lower drawers, searching for a box that had been left forgotten, yet one that you couldn't bring yourself to discard. It was a big, unassuming container, but it held within it a treasure of memories. You opened it carefully, as if handling a delicate artifact, and gently took out a few items of clothing, each one carrying the weight of shared history. Standing back up, you felt Jongho's eyes on you. You turned to face him, holding up a pair of grey sweatpant shorts and a dark green hoodie with a shy, tentative smile. These weren't just any clothes; they were remnants of a time when your lives were intertwined in the most intimate of ways. Jongho used to have his own drawer in your room when you were still together, a small but significant symbol of your shared life. You remembered with a pang of nostalgia how you'd wear his clothes while pregnant, finding comfort in his scent and the way the fabric draped over your changing body. These particular items were the clothes he had left behind five years ago, you had kept them all this time, unable to part with this tangible connection to your past. "I thought... maybe these might fit you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper and tinged with a complex mixture of nostalgia, uncertainty, and a hint of hope. The words hung in the air between you, laden with unspoken emotions and shared memories. "They're yours from... before," you continued, your voice catching slightly on the word 'before', as if it encompassed an entire world of experiences and feelings. "I hope you don't mind that I kept them," you added, your eyes searching his face for any sign of how he might be feeling. The simple act of offering these clothes felt monumental, as if you were extending not just fabric, but a piece of your shared history, a tentative bridge across the years that had separated you.

Jongho's eyes widened as he recognized the clothes, a flicker of emotion passing across his face. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing against the fabric as if touching a cherished memory. "You... you kept these?" he asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. The air between you seemed to hum with unspoken words and shared history as he gently took the clothes from your hands. For a moment, Jongho stood there, holding the clothes close to his chest, his eyes distant as if lost in memories. Then, with a soft smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he looked back at you. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I appreciate this more than you know." Jongho's fingers lingered on the fabric as if trying to absorb the memories it held. With a deep breath, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with gratitude "I'll go shower then," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap around you both.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤAs Jongho emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in the clothes you had given him, the enticing aroma of freshly made pancakes wafted through the air, filling the apartment with a comforting warmth. You and Nari had already set the table, a towering stack of golden, fluffy pancakes sitting invitingly in the center, accompanied by an array of toppings and syrups.

"Perfect timing," you said with a welcoming smile, gesturing for him to join you at the table. The sight of Jongho in his old clothes, now slightly snug on his more muscular frame, stirred a mix of nostalgia and something else you couldn't quite name.

As you all settled in to eat, Nari dominated the conversation with her animated chatter, regaling you both with a seemingly endless stream of stories from her preschool adventures. Her infectious enthusiasm filled the room, punctuated by giggles and dramatic gestures as she recounted tales of finger-painting mishaps and playground conquests. You and Jongho exchanged amused glances over her head, your shared laughter creating a bubble of warmth around the table. The atmosphere was cozy and comfortable, yet tinged with the bittersweet awareness of its temporary nature.

The meal drew to a close, with plates nearly empty and bellies satisfyingly full. Jongho glanced at his watch, a hint of reluctance clouding his eyes. "I should probably get going," he said softly, his gaze flicking between you and Nari as if torn between duty and desire.

Nari's face immediately fell, her earlier joy evaporating like morning mist. Her lower lip jutted out in a heart-wrenching pout, her eyes widening to impossibly large proportions. "But Uncle," she pleaded, her voice small and trembling, "can't you stay longer? Please?" Her imploring gaze darted between Jongho and you, silently begging for intervention, her little hands clasping together as if in prayer.

Jongho's expression softened at Nari's plea, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "I promise I'll be back soon, sweetheart," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring. "And you know what? I have an even better idea. How about we plan a special day with all the uncles? We could go to the park, and have a picnic. What do you think about that?"

"Really? All the uncles?" she asked, her voice rising with each word, filled with a mixture of hope and barely contained enthusiasm.

Jongho nodded, "Absolutely," he affirmed, reaching out to gently ruffle her hair. "We'll make it a day to remember. But for now, I need to head out. Can you be my brave little princess and give me a big hug goodbye?" Without hesitation, Nari launched herself into Jongho's arms, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck with all the strength her little body could muster.

As Jongho gently disentangled himself from Nari's embrace, you cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden flutter of nervousness in your chest. "Nari, sweetheart," you said softly, "why don't you go play in your room for a little while? Mommy needs to talk to Uncle for a moment before he leaves." Nari nodded obediently, her earlier excitement still evident in her bright eyes. She gave Jongho one last quick squeeze before scampering off to her room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Once Nari disappeared into her room, you turned to Jongho, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. "Let me walk you to the door," you said softly, gesturing towards the entryway. Jongho nodded, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he followed your lead.

The short walk to the front door felt charged with unspoken words and lingering glances. As you reached the threshold, you both paused, Jongho turned to face you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to memorize every detail of this moment. Just as he was about to say goodbye, you reached out impulsively, your fingers gently encircling his wrist. He looked at you, surprise evident in his eyes, a question forming on his lips. You quickly pulled him outside, closing the door slightly to ensure Nari wouldn't hear.

Jongho looked at you questioningly, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "Is everything alright?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the words you were about to say, words that had the power to change everything. "Jongho," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of your decision. "There's something important I need to tell you." You paused, gathering your courage, your hands shaking slightly as you met his gaze. "I... I've made a decision. I want Nari to know the truth. I want her to know that you're her dad." The words hung in the air between you, heavy with implications and unspoken emotions. You searched Jongho's face intently, your heart pounding against your ribcage as you waited for his reaction. The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity as you stood on the precipice of change, the future of your little family balanced precariously on the edge of this moment.

Jongho's eyes widened, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face in rapid succession - surprise, disbelief, hope. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, as if frozen in time, processing your words. Then, slowly, he spoke, "Are you absolutely sure about this? I don't want to rush into anything if you're not completely ready. This is... this is a big step."

"No," you interjected quickly, not allowing him to finish his thought. Your voice grew stronger, more resolute with each word. "I'm certain about this. I want her to know the truth. You deserve to be recognized as her dad, to hear her call you 'Daddy.' I want this for her, for you... for us." Your eyes darted across his face, drinking in every nuance of his expression, your voice softening as you added, "That is... if it's what you want too?" The silence that followed was electric, you could hear your heart thundering in your ears, and feel the rush of blood in your veins as you waited for Jongho's response.

In this moment, the future of your unconventional family hung in the balance, poised on the edge of transformation.

Suddenly, Jongho's face broke into a radiant smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners and lighting up with unbridled joy. A soft, melodious laugh escaped his lips, dispelling the tension that had built between you. "God, of course, I want this," he exclaimed, his voice brimming with emotion and barely contained excitement. "You have no idea how much I want it." His hands reached out, gently grasping yours, his touch sending a familiar tingle through your body, awakening memories and feelings long buried. Without warning, Jongho pulled you closer, enveloping you in a warm embrace. The scent of him surrounded you, bringing with it a rush of nostalgia and comfort. Without giving it a second thought, your lips found Jongho's in a tender, hesitant kiss. Your arms wound around his neck of their own, pulling him closer as his hands settled on your waist, holding you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. It started soft, a gentle exploration of forgotten territory. But quickly, the kiss deepened, years of pent-up emotions and unspoken feelings surging to the surface.

Lost in the rush of feelings, you didn't hear someone walking up until you heard slow clapping. The sound, at first barely noticeable, got louder, breaking the moment you were sharing. Your bodies separated as if shocked. As you turned towards the source of the interruption, your eyes fell upon Hyunwoo standing in the hallway, his expression shifted rapidly - shock, hurt, betrayal, and finally settling on a mixture of disbelief and resignation. His eyes, wide with surprise, darted between you and Jongho as if trying to piece together a puzzle he never wanted to solve. The slow clapping, which had initially seemed almost comical, now took on a bitter, almost sarcastic tone. Each clap echoed in the hallway, punctuating the heavy silence that had fallen over the three of you. As the reality of the situation sank in, Hyunwoo's posture changed. His shoulders, usually held high with confidence, seemed to slump under the weight of what he had witnessed. His hands fell limply to his sides, fingers curling into tight fists. The muscles in his jaw worked silently as if he were physically chewing on the words he wanted to say but couldn't quite bring himself to voice.

When Hyunwoo finally spoke, his voice was strained, barely concealing the turbulent emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Each word seemed to cost him great effort as if he were forcing them past a lump in his throat. "Well," he began, his tone a brittle attempt at nonchalance, "isn't this a touching scene." The sarcasm in his voice was palpable, a thin veneer barely masking the hurt that lay beneath. His gaze held a coldness that sent a shiver down your spine. Hyunwoo's voice dropped to a low, bitter whisper, his eyes clouding with a mixture of pain and resignation. "Lovers reunited after years," he said, the words dripping with sarcasm and hurt. "How could I even stand a chance?" A humorless chuckle escaped his lips, the sound hollow "How foolish of me to think that I stood a chance at all."

The hallway suddenly felt too small, too confining.

Hyunwoo's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with venom. "Have fun with your idol boyfriend," he spat, his words laced with bitterness. "But let me know once he leaves you again." He paused, a cruel smirk twisting his features. "Hopefully without a second baby on the way this time."

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Jongho's body tensed, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. In an instant, the warmth in his eyes was replaced by a fiery rage. He took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous. "You fucking piece of shit," he snarled, his usually gentle demeanor completely gone. "You don't know shit about our situation. How fucking dare you speak to her like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?" His chest heaved with barely contained fury as he continued, spittle flying from his mouth, "I may have fucked up in the past, but I'm here now, I'm fighting for my goddamn family. And I won't let anyone, especially not a pathetic loser like you, disrespect Y/N or my daughter."

"Jongho, please..." you pleaded, placing your hand on his chest in an attempt to stop him from lunging at Hyunwoo. But your efforts were in vain; he was too strong, too enraged. In a flash, Jongho flew across the hallway, his hands reaching out to grab Hyunwoo.

Hyunwoo's expression shifted from anger to a cold, calculated smirk. "I wouldn't recommend that... at least not if you don't want me to give a call to one of those gossip websites," he threatened, his voice dripping with malice.

"You wouldn't!" you exclaimed, feeling your own nerves fraying at the edges. The situation was spiraling out of control, and you felt powerless to stop it. Desperately, you turned to Hyunwoo, your voice pleading. "Hyunwoo, please calm down." The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You stood there, caught between the two men, your heart racing as you desperately tried to think of a way to defuse the situation before it escalated any further.

Hyunwoo's face contorted with rage, his eyes blazing with a mixture of hurt and fury. "You think you can just waltz back into their lives and play happy families?" he snarled, "Where the fuck were you all these years, huh? Living it up while Y/N struggled to raise your kid alone?"

Jongho's jaw clenched, his muscles visibly tightening beneath his hoodie as he shifted his stance, getting ready for a possible fight. His eyes, usually warm and gentle, now blazed with an intensity that could melt steel. "You don't know anything about our situation," he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous low, each word dripping with barely contained fury. The air around him seemed to crackle with tension, his entire being radiating a palpable anger that threatened to explode at any moment.

Hyunwoo let out a bitter laugh that echoed harshly. His face contorted into a mask of disgust and resentment as he spat out his next words. "I know more than enough, you piece of shit. You're nothing but a selfish, spineless coward who abandoned a girl who loved you beyond reason. She was young, terrified, and completely alone, yet she chose to keep your baby. And where were you? Living it up as an idol, basking in the spotlight while she struggled through sleepless nights and endless worries. You don't deserve them, you pathetic excuse for a man. You don't deserve an ounce of their love or forgiveness!"

Both men stood their ground, bodies coiled like springs ready to unleash at the slightest provocation. Their heated exchange hung in the air like a powder keg, threatening to ignite into a full-blown physical confrontation at any moment.

"Y/N, please step back," Jongho whispered urgently, his eyes locked on Hyunwoo's face.

"Absolutely not!" you exclaimed. With swift, purposeful strides, you positioned yourself between the two men, your heart thundering in your chest. Adrenaline surged through your body as you extended your arms, palms facing outward towards each of them, creating a physical barrier. "Both of you, stop this immediately!" you demanded, your voice quavering but resolute. "This is pointless! We need to approach this situation rationally and discuss it like adults." Your eyes darted between them, silently pleading for reason to prevail. Turning to Hyunwoo, your gaze softened with empathy. "Hyunwoo, please," you implored, "This isn't you. I know you're hurting, but this isn't the way."

Shifting your attention to Jongho, your expression became more stern. "And Jongho," you said, your tone leaving no room for argument, "remember who you are and what's at stake here. Think about Nari, think about your career. Is this really how you want to handle this situation?"

The hallway fell silent, both men stood frozen, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they struggled to contain their anger. You remained steadfast between them, your posture unwavering, a living shield determined to prevent any further escalation. The weight of the moment pressed down on all three of you, each second stretching into eternity as you waited to see if reason would finally prevail over raw emotion.

Jongho took a step back, his fists still clenched. Under his breath, he muttered a string of profanities, his voice low and seething with anger. "Fucking asshole... piece of shit... who does he think he is..."

Suddenly, without warning, Hyunwoo lunged forward. His fist connected with Jongho's jaw with a sickening crack, the impact echoing through the hallway. Jongho stumbled backward, caught off guard by the sudden assault, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

You gasped, horrified by the sudden turn of events. "Stop it!" you screamed, your voice shrill with panic. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you watched Jongho recover from the initial shock. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them as he wiped a trickle of blood from his split lip.

"I won't disrespect Y/N like that, I won't fight with you for her to see, and..." Jongho paused, his voice low and controlled despite the anger still simmering beneath the surface. "Funny how you supposedly wanted to take my place in Nari's life but you don't have any respect for her mother." The hallway fell silent as the weight of his statement settled over you all. Hyunwoo's face contorted, a mix of emotions flashing across his features - anger, shame, and finally, a flicker of realization. The fight seemed to drain out of him, his shoulders slumping as the weight of Jongho's words sank in. He took a step back, his eyes darting between you and Jongho, as if seeing the situation clearly for the first time. "You are not a man, Hyunwoo," Jongho continued, his voice low and controlled. "And let me repeat this again, as I did yesterday: I don't want you near my daughter." With that, Jongho turned away from Hyunwoo and walked towards the elevators.

"Jongho, wait!" you called out, your voice cracking with desperation.

Jongho paused, his hand hovering over the elevator button. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort. "Y/N, I'm sorry," he began, his voice low and strained. "But... I really need to go. This... it's too much right now." His eyes, usually warm and inviting, now held a storm of conflicting emotions. "Please understand." You watched helplessly as Jongho stepped into the elevator, his gaze never leaving yours until the doors slowly closed between you. The soft ding of the elevator's descent echoed in the now-silent hallway, leaving you alone with Hyunwoo and the heavy aftermath of the confrontation. Turning to face him, you felt a surge of conflicting emotions. His earlier words still stung, sharp, and painful in your memory. But the sight of him now, deflated and ashamed, stirred a complex mix of pity, frustration, and lingering hurt in your chest. His usual confident demeanor had crumbled, replaced by a man who looked lost and regretful. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your scattered thoughts and decide how to address the mess that had unfolded before you.

"Y/N, I—" Hyunwoo began, too soon for your liking, his voice faltering. His eyes darted around, unable to meet your gaze. He opened his mouth again as if to continue, but no words came out. The silence stretched between you, filled with all the things left unsaid.

"I need you to leave," you said firmly, your voice surprisingly steady despite the turmoil inside you. You turned your back to him, unable to bear the sight of his remorse any longer. Without waiting for a response, you walked back into your apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last. The door closed behind you with a soft click, finally separating you from the chaos in the hallway.

As you leaned against the closed door, you let out a shaky breath that seemed to come from the very depths of your being. The events of the past few minutes replayed in your mind like a relentless film reel, each scene more draining than the last. You felt anger at Hyunwoo's words, worry for Jongho, concern for how this would affect Nari, and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion that seemed to seep into your very bones. You knew you'd have to deal with the aftermath of this confrontation eventually - there were conversations to be had, explanations to be given, and decisions to be made. But for now, all you wanted was a moment of peace to collect your scattered thoughts and tumultuous emotions.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│♡

[honeyedwords111]

summary: You struggle with life as a young adult with a father who has a gambling and alcohol addiction, you seek comfort in the arms of your dads best friend

2.3k words

Warnings: 18+ age gap (reader is 18 Arthur is 36). Descriptions of abuse, abuseive father. Father’s best friend.

Please note that there are possibly triggering tropes/story lines that might affect you so read with caution!

(This is my first ever fan fiction to I have NO CLUE how all this works) Lmk if you want another chapter!!

As the day stretches on, the late afternoon sun pours through the window, casting everything in gold. Long shadows dance across the whitewashed walls of your room. You sit on the edge of the bed, pulling your white cotton socks up over your knees. Standing, you smooth out your slightly crumpled dress—a delicate eggshell-colored silk piece with embroidered flowers and puffed sleeves. Your father’s favorite dress. He bought it after a big win one night, not out of love, but to show you off, like a prize he could parade around.

He always brought you along to his games. Sometimes to serve drinks, sometimes to clean up after the men. But more often than not, just to sit in the corner, silent, an ornament to enhance his status.

A familiar sense of dread settles in your stomach. You have always hated game nights—completely ignored unless your father needed to introduce you to the men. And even then, he wouldn’t speak to you, wouldn’t acknowledge you as a person. Just an object.

You let your hair down, golden strands cascading over your shoulders, and dust a light layer of blushing powder over your cheeks. You don’t really need it, but anything to delay the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Pale. Tired. You quickly look away, pushing down the uneasy feeling rising in your chest.

The hallway outside your door is quiet as you make your way downstairs, where your father waits. The moment he lays eyes on you, his expression tightens.

“Your dress is crumpled.” His voice is cold.

“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“You know that appearance is everything, Y/N. Don’t let this happen again.”

His gaze is sharp, disapproving. You want to roll your eyes, maybe say something, but you don’t dare. Not when you know what awaits you if you push too far. The memory of sitting in a corner, back bleeding, for hours stops any comeback you may have had. And besides, a ruined dress would only make things worse.

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. His grip is tight, painful, but careful—never enough to bruise. A bruised face would make you less appealing.

“Well?.” “Yes daddy, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” He releases you with a grunt and turns away. You stand there for a moment, alone in the dimly lit hall, before following.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

The cart jostles down the rough road, and you keep your hands neatly folded in your lap, gaze trained straight ahead. Careful not to disturb him. You can tell your father is tense.

You don’t know much about this game, only that it’s off the books, taking place in Flatneck Station.

“Is it a big game tonight, Daddy?” you ask, your voice small.

No response at first. Then—

“Big money on the table today, baby.”

You blink, slightly surprised. You had been under the impression that money was running low.

“Can we afford that right now, Daddy?”

His face darkens.

“You think I’m going to lose? You think I’m fucking stupid?” His tone sharpens, a warning.

“No—Daddy, that’s not what I meant!”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Y/N. Just worry about sitting there and look pretty.”

Ironic, considering he’s the one who cares about your appearance more than you.

You don’t say another word.

The cart pulls into the station. Your father hasn’t spoken since snapping at you, and you don’t dare break the silence.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Men loiter around the platform, cigarette smoke curling in the humid air. Most of them are unfamiliar, but then—your gaze lands on a broad, familiar set of shoulders.

Arthur.

You hadn’t expected to see him here.

“Arthur’s here?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

Arthur is your father’s best friend—if you can even call it that. Your father always said friends are for the weak. A man only needs allies. Still, Arthur has been around for as long as you can remember. Sometimes months pass without a word from him, but whenever he’s in town, he makes a point to see you both. He’s gruff, rough around the edges. You’ve heard all the horror stories about the things he’s done, the things he’s capable of.

Yet, somehow, you can never quite picture it. Not with you. With you, he has always been… gentle.

Your father grunts in response, barely acknowledging your question as Arthur strolls over, hands resting on his belt buckle. He tips his hat.

“Well, how’s it going, Y/F/L/N? Been too long, brother.”

They exchange a brief hug, slapping each other’s backs. Then Arthur turns to you.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he says, thick Southern drawl coating his words.

Despite your father‘s previous mood and the feeling of dread you have had the entire day, you can’t help but feel something when seeing him, you just couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Arthur! I had no clue you’d be here.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure if I’d show. But here I am.” He smirks, just a little, and something about it makes your stomach twist.

“I’m real glad to see you. I missed you.” The words come out shyer than you intended.

Arthur tilts his head slightly. “Nah, you missed an old dog like me?” He adjusts his stance, still gripping his belt.

Your face flushes, but before you can respond, your father’s hand clamps down on your arm, his grip like iron.

“Nice seeing you, Arthur, but we better get inside,” your father says, tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yeah,” Arthur nods, gaze lingering on you for just a second longer. “See you in there.”

The back room of the station is dimly lit and stuffy, the air thick with cigar smoke. Your father marches you inside roughly, his grip firm on your arm. As expected, he sits you down in a corner, away from the table.

“You are to sit here, not say a word, and if anyone speaks to you, you smile and be just about as sweet as you can possibly be. These men are going to be very valuable connections. You understand me, girl?”

Of course, you obey.

Time drags on.

You keep your hands folded in your lap, eyes trained on the table, trying to appear as small and unnoticeable as possible. But as the hours stretch on, your eyelids grow heavy.

Without realizing it, you slip into sleep.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

You wake up a short while later, the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of glass filling the air. The men are still gathered around the table, their cigarette smoke curling into thick clouds above them. The room is warm, stuffy, the scent of tobacco and whiskey hanging heavy.

You sit there for a little while longer, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, before deciding you need to step out. Quietly, you slip from your seat and make your way toward the door, moving carefully so as not to draw your father’s attention.

The platform outside is slick with damp, the wooden planks green with age and slippery beneath your feet. The night air is sharp, biting through the thin fabric of your dress, sending a shiver down your spine. You fold your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to keep warm.

The sudden scratch of a match being struck makes you jump.

Your head snaps to the left, heart hammering, only to see Arthur leaning against the fence, his hat dipped low as he lights a cigarette. The flame briefly illuminates his face before he shakes the match out, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the cold night air.

“Jesus, Arthur, you almost gave me a goddamn heart attack!” you exclaim, pressing a hand to your chest.

Arthur huffs out a low chuckle, his voice a deep, gravelly drawl. “Sorry, doll, didn’t mean ta spook ya. And you best be careful—yer daddy hears ya talkin’ like that, he ain’t gonna be too pleased.”

You roll your eyes but step closer, leaning against the fence beside him. The rough wood is cold beneath your fingertips, but Arthur radiates warmth beside you, his frame tall and broad. He smells like tobacco and leather, with something earthy and warm beneath it—something that feels like home.

“You win anything tonight?” you ask softly.

Arthur exhales another slow breath of smoke, watching the glow of his cigarette. “Lil’ bit…”

You glance up at him, studying his profile in silhouette. He’s got that familiar half-smirk on his lips, the one that always makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t quite understand. The two of you stand in silence for a while, just listening to the distant hum of the night.

Then the cold catches up with you. Goosebumps rise along your arms, but you don’t want to leave Arthur’s side. So you stay, pressing your arms tighter around yourself, pretending you’re fine.

Arthur notices.

Without a word, he shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The weight of it is comforting, the warmth seeping into your skin.

“Can’t have ya gettin’ sick,” he mutters, his tone gruff, but there’s something soft beneath it.

Your heart skips a beat.

“No, you don’t have to—what if you get—”

“Shush, girl.” He cuts you off before you can finish. “I’ll be fine. Got thick skin.”

A beat of silence.

“I miss you, Arthur.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Arthur glances at you, but you keep your eyes down, staring at your fingers where they clutch his jacket.

“Why don’t you visit no more?” you ask, the sadness creeping into your voice before you can shove it down.

Arthur sighs, shifting his weight. “I’m sorry, kiddo. Life’s been busy lately.”

You swallow hard. “I’ve missed you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

When Arthur was around, your father wasn’t as angry. He still had his moods, but he made an effort to act like a decent man, pretending to be gentle, pretending to care. You knew it was just for show, just so Arthur wouldn’t suspect anything—but even fake kindness was better than none.

And Arthur… Arthur made you feel safe.

“I missed ya too, kiddo,” he murmurs.

Then, without hesitation, he shifts closer, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. His warmth surrounds you, steady and solid, and for the first time in a long while, you feel safe.

[piedinthepiper]

You owe me (pt. 2) ☆

Mafia!Jungkook x psychologist!reader x mafia!Taehyung (slightly)

Summary: His efforts seem pointless. But when it comes to jealousy, anger and you, he just can’t help himself. And neither can you.

Warnings: yandere!Jungkook, dubcon, stalking?, breaking and entering, mention of murder, mention of other types of crimes, angst, weapons (a knife), cursing, male m, descriptive smut, angst

Wc: 7.4k

A/n: Thank you guys so much for all the feedback on this fic. Since so many wanted a part 2 I made a part 2! Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: This is 100% fiction. I am in no way saying that this is how any member of bts would act. Nor do I condone the actions detailed in the story. This is purely for entertainment purposes only. If any of the warnings trigger you, or you’re under 18 ¡do not read! I’m not your mother, and I don’t take any accountability for what you decide to read online!

Parts: | 1 | 2 |

Your back felt a sudden relief as you finally laid down in bed. It had been a long day. A very long day. A new patient took up almost all you time. Taehyung Kim. He was being charged with robbery and murder, and his lawyer had hired you to potentially give him a diagnosis that could help him in court.

You had to assign some of your other patients to a few of your coworkers, just to make time for him. But this is what you love doing. You wanted to help. Especially now, after what you learned about your entire career. You wanted to prove yourself. You knew you were good.

You turned off you lights and put your phone on the nightstand. Finally you were in the comfort of your own bed. Ready to fall asleep and dream the night away. Trying not to think about how early you had to wake up tomorrow. You had finally found a comfortable sleeping position after squirming around a bit. You felt all your muscles relax, starting to recognise the slow fade of sleep.

But suddenly a loud noice filled the room. Your body tensed again, jumping at the sudden sound. You rolled your eyes as you turned around, annoyed at yourself that you forgot to turn on ‘do not disturb’. Your phone screen lit up in your face, you squinted at the bright light hitting your eyes. You managed to decipher a message from an unknown number. You didn’t open it, writing a mental note to check it out tomorrow. If it was one of your patients they would have to wait until the morning. It was almost unprofessional to answer a text at 1 am.

You entered the doors to your workplace, expecting to see Erin behind the counter smiling at you.

“Good morning, Erin.”

You said like you always do. You halted once you saw her sitting there, not smiling, not saying anything. She just looked at you with a concerning look. Before you could ask her what’s wrong you looked over at the waiting chairs. You had seen a person in your peripheral view, something that was odd considering the office wasn’t even open to patients yet. You quickly understood what was going on once you saw who was sitting there.

“Good morning, Doctor.”

His familiar voice filled the dead quiet room. It had almost been a year since you last saw him. He had not contacted you after the incident in your office. You had almost, almost, forgotten him. But there he was, looking the exact same as you remembered him.

“Mr. Jeon.”

You stated. Not really knowing what to say. You were caught off guard by the whole situation. Some naive part of you thought that he had gotten what he wanted and would leave you alone. Forever.

“I thought you had stopped calling me that. Aren’t we more intimate at this point?”

You sighed at his question. Looking over at Erin for a second to see if she understood what he meant.

“He said he wanted to see you. I told him we wer-“

“It’s fine Erin, Mr. Jeon can be quite persuasive.”

You interrupted her as she started to apologise for letting him in. You looked back to him. His classic smirk was plastered on his face.

“I have an hour before my first patient arrives.”

You said and looked quickly at your wristwatch, before starting to walk down the hall towards your office. You heard his footsteps following behind you.

Once inside your office you took off your jacket and hung it up before sitting down behind your desk. He was quick to sit down on the sofa. A sense of deja vu washed over you.

“Why are you here, Jungkook?”

He looked confused by your question.

“You didn’t see my messages? Or my voicemails?”

It was your turn to look confused, as you couldn’t remember getting any texts or calls from him.

“Maybe you were asleep, I don’t know.”

He shrugged. You remembered the message from last night. The one you didn’t bother to read. You picked your phone up from your bag, turning off ‘do not disturb’. Hundreds of notifications from the same number appeared on your lock screen.

“You were the one that messaged me last night?”

You asked as you opened your phone.

“So you did read them?”

He asked in excitement. You shook your head at his question, too focused on your phone. You opened iMessage and hit the top notification. A series of long paragraphs of text appeared.

“I didn’t think it was you.”

You mumbled as you scrolled upwards trying to get to the start of what he had sent you.

“Listen, I’ll just tell you. It feels weird to watch you read something I poured my heart into.”

You looked up at him, before you put the phone down on your desk. Crossing your arms over your chest.

“Be quick.”

He thought for a second about where to start and what the most important things to tell you were.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m ready now.”

The room went quiet as you waited for him to continue. He didn’t.

“What are you talking about?”

You asked confused.

“That’s the brief version of it. You told me to be quick.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“I think I need a little more than that.”

He smiled at you like a child telling a joke for the first time. He leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve seen another psychologist. He’s helped me a lot. I’m doing well, I’m not some self absorbed dick, I’m not so angry anymore. And I’ve gotten to know your father as well. I’ve done my end of the promise, now it’s your turn, y/n.”

He got serious at the last sentence. Shifting his eyes from the innocent doe, to the man you remembered from your last meeting.

“You went to my father?”

You asked in shock, not caring for whatever he said after that.

“Yeah. Might as well get to know my future father-in-law a little better while I fulfilled my promise.”

You let your head fall down to your hands, and let out a long sigh. Visibly showing him that you were upset.

“I’m happy you’re doing better, I really am. But I did not promise you anything. Definitely not to marry you.”

His eyes changed again. You could tell he was upset.

“Don’t you think you owe me that?”

He asked slyly, cocking his head slightly to the side. You shook your head.

“You can’t hold that over my head forever. It’s not fair!”

You answered strictly.

“I’m not holding it over your head, baby. I’m asking you.”

“Well, then my answer is no. I don’t owe you shit. Now get out of my office.”

You answered quickly. Wanting him to leave so you didn’t get too upset, and started making bad decisions again.

“We don’t have to get married right away, or not at all if you just want to be my girlfriend.”

He offered. You suddenly stood up from your chair, pointing angrily towards the door.

“Out.”

You said.

“I don’t care if I owe you. I don’t care if you’ve gotten better. You’re still a mobster, you’re still a murderer and you’re still a sociopath. I could never date you. I could never even be friends with you. Don’t you understand?”

You ranted when he didn’t leave the sofa. He shook his head and kept his eyes on the floor.

“It’s him isn’t it?”

He asked, still not looking up at you. He was frightening like that. You felt the same fear, you felt the first time he talked to you like that. He was showing his true colours.

“Who?”

You asked carefully as you sat back down again. He looked up at you with anger and jealousy in his eyes.

“Your new patient. The jailbird, you spend a lot of time with him.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, and? He’s nothing but my patient.”

“Are you sure? I’ve seen him on the news, he’s quite attractive. Just your type.”

You scoffed and gave him an offended look.

“Yes I’m sure. Who are you to accuse me of having an affair with a patient?”

“Because you had one with me.”

You sighed.

“We did not have an affair.”

You stated, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“Then what do you call it?”

The room got quiet. To be honest you never thought about what you would call it. You didn’t want to think about it at all. It went against everything you stood for.

“Please, just leave.”

You said, you felt your eyes getting watery for some reason. Maybe it was because you were scared, or surprised. Or maybe even sad to see him again.

“I can tell you’re upset. We still need to work things out. Can we talk sometime? Not here, somewhere not so formal.”

You looked up at him again. His eyes were soft, he seemed to really care that you were affected negatively by this. For some reason you found it endearing.

“You can come to my place, we can talk and-“

“There’s no way I’m voluntarily going to your place.”

You interrupted him. He looked down in defeat for a few seconds.

“Please, y/n. I just want to show you that I’m better. I want to show you all I’ve done for you. I don’t want to argue with you.”

He said softly. His eyes were also teary now. You hated yourself for getting affected by his feelings. You hated that you thought this was a tender moment.

“Do you promise that we’ll only be talking?”

You asked. Not knowing why you were agreeing to this in the first place. Maybe you were naive, but it seemed that he actually had changed. Even if he still was delusional and obsessive.

“Of course, I would never do anything to harm you. I love you.”

He said, slightly excited. The room got quiet once again. You had silently agreed to meet him at his place.

“I’ll send you the address. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

He said, before getting up and walking out the door.

“Wait-“

You tried to say, but he was already gone. You wouldn’t be able to make it on Thursday.

You sat down at the table, waiting for the guards to bring in Mr. Kim. This week had been stressful. Not only because of your case with Mr. Kim, but also because of all your other patients. It was hard having time for them while handling such a big case as his. You had to work overtime the entire week, and you were exhausted.

“Good afternoon, y/n.”

He said as two guards brought him in. He had learned your first name quickly, and refused to use your title or last name.

“Hello, Mr. Kim. How are you?”

He smiled, and waited to answer until the guards had chained his legs to the table and left the room. You never felt unsafe being alone with him, even if he was a convicted murderer. His hands were always handcuffed, the same with his legs, so he couldn’t reach you. You knew the guards watched you from outside the big tinted glass. It allowed you to lower your guard, and treat him like you treat your other patients.

“I’m doing amazing now that you’re here.”

He said and smirked. Like Jungkook said, he was attractive. His hair was always combed back, and the all grey clothing actually suited him. He had some kind of lightning tattoo that went up his neck, due to his clothing you didn’t know if he had any more of them.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

He asked back. Still keeping intense eye contact with you.

“We did talk about not calling me anything but my name, do you remember that?”

You asked him strictly. He chuckled.

“It’s hard not to call you something you are, don’t you like compliments?”

You started taking off your coat. It was cold when you entered, but with two people in the little room it was too warm to keep your wool coat on.

“We’re not here to talk about me. I’ve given you permission to use my first name, that’s all.”

You said as you draped the coat over your chair. You looked back at him, he wasn’t looking you in your eyes anymore. This time his eyes were focused on your exposed cleavage. You hadn’t worn low cut tops with him yet, only oversized jumpers due to the weather. You suddenly became very aware of yourself and pulled your top up, trying to hide more of your cleavage. His eyes went back to your face, and you decided that you would wear something less revealing next time.

“Whatever you say, y/n.”

He put extra pressure on your name this time. You gave him a small smile, before you looked down at your notes.

“Why don’t we start were we ended things? Do you remember what I told you I wanted us to talk about?”

He sighed, but nodded.

“My teenage years?”

He asked. You nodded back at him.

“I was a good teenager, I didn’t do drugs, I came home before my curfew, did well in school.”

He memorised.

“But I did like girls. I really did. It was my weakness.”

He said, quickly flickering his eyes down to your cleavage again.

“Why do you say it was your weakness?”

You asked, writing it down in your notes. He started smirking again.

“Since I was such a good teenager, I stayed home a lot. After I did my homework or studied for tests I didn’t have anything to do. Until I found porn.”

He let out a groan, almost like he was in pleasure just by the thought.

“I would spend all day just jerking off to random girls online. Whenever I saw a pretty girl outside I would go straight home and jerk off to her too.”

You felt yourself getting a bit uncomfortable at his bluntness, but didn’t say anything to let him continue. You focused on your notes instead.

“It would take up my entire day, I felt crazy at times. And now that I don’t have anything to do, I find myself doing the same in my cell.”

You nodded, still looking down at your notes. Not wanting to look at him while he talked about something so intimate.

“But the only one I can think about is you.”

He said almost as if he was out of breath. You finally looked at him. And saw that one of his hands had slid under the waistband of his trousers.

“Come over here and sit on me, baby.”

He moaned. You didn’t know what to do or say, you froze. The door opened and two guards came in.

“No- please! Y/n! Please fuck me! I need you. I fucking need you so bad!”

He yelled as he was practically carried out of the room. You sat there speechless, in the now empty room.

“I think it’s best for him to have a male psychologist, I can no longer treat him.”

You called Mr. Kim’s lawyer the minute you sat down in your car. You told him what had happened.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He said back.

“I’ll send all my notes to the man you’ll appoint.”

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Y/l/n.”

You said a small goodbye, before you hung up. While you were driving home you started to think about what happened today. You felt useless and it felt unfair. Why did you have to end up in all kinds of mess. First it was Jungkook, and now Mr. Kim.

Jungkook. You had completely forgot that you were supposed to meet him today. You sighed. Meeting him was the last thing you wanted to do. Maybe it was better to just say you forgot if he contacts you again. Since your session ended earlier than expected, you would actually have time to eat a proper meal and go to bed at a reasonable time. And with Mr. Kim’s case being transferred to someone else, you could finally use all your time on your normal patients. Even if the day had been horrible, you still had a massive weight lifted off your shoulders.

You walked up to your door, struggling with your keys to find the right one. Once you found it you put it in the keyhole and twisted, hearing the familiar click. You reached for the door handle and attempted to open it. But it didn’t budge. Did you not lock your door this morning? You twisted the key the other way again, and thought that it must be the exhaustion taking a toll on you.

When you finally were inside your own house you took off your coat and hung it up with your bag. You took off your shoes and looked at yourself in the big mirror you have in your hallway. You looked down at the white low cut top. It wasn’t even that low, but a part of your cleavage did show. In what felt like a fit of rage you took it off yourself. Hurriedly lifting it over your head and throwing it on the floor. You never wanted to wear that top again. You stormed over to the kitchen. You needed something to drink, you were so thirsty. So thirsty that you failed to notice the man sitting in your sofa. You swung the fridge door open, grabbing a carton of orange juice and downing what was left of it.

“Rough day?”

A voice emitted. You jumped and your heart started raising. You looked over at the sofa where the voice came from. Jungkook? Jungkook. You quickly ducked down behind the counter, remembering that you were only in your bra.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?!”

You yelled at him. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, you were so confused. What was going on?

“Y/n, calm down! Please.”

You heard him get up from the sofa, taking hasty steps towards you. Your fight or flight instinct kicked in and you suddenly jumped up again and grabbed a knife. Pointing it towards him. He quickly halted, putting his hands slightly up in front of him.

“Come on, it’s just me.”

He said, leaning his head to the side.

“Exactly!”

You said, slowly moving away from him.

“Why are you here? How did you get in?”

You yelled at him, firmly holding the knife between the two of you.

“Baby, please calm down.”

“How can I calm down?! You broke into my house!”

He sighed, and went quiet for a moment.

“Put the knife down, you know I won’t do anything to you. Please, let’s just talk. That’s why I’m here.”

He said in a calm voice. You shook your head, you felt like you were going to have a panic attack. This was all too much for you. You threw the knife onto the kitchen counter and covered your eyes. You started crying. You were so overwhelmed. From the situation earlier today, to Jungkook suddenly appearing in your life again, to just the pure exhaustion. You needed to cry. You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You couldn’t put up the facade you usually do. And suddenly you felt two arms wrapping around you. He hugged you. And for a moment you leaned into it. You felt safe in his arms. It comforted you. It reminded you of when your father hugged you after your first boyfriend broke up with you. It was like knowing that someone cared for you when you felt as if the whole world was against you. Until you remembered who was hugging you. Because it definitely wasn’t your father. And the reality of you standing in just your bra with someone that broke into your house hit.

“Get off of me!”

You suddenly screamed, and started pushing his strong chest. Tears still streaming down your face.

“I hate you! I fucking hate you, Jungkook! My life has been a nightmare since the minute I met you!”

You screamed at him with all your lung capacity. Your throat got immediately sore.

“You’re fucking crazy! And I’m tired of playing your fucking games!”

He took several steps away from you, but you walked after him. Pointing your finger in his face.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you?! How can you be so fucking awful?! You’re an awful person!”

He continued to stay silent through your fit of rage. Letting you ride it out.

“I hate you.”

You said, calming down but still crying.

“I hate you so much.”

You said taking a deep breath. You wiped your tears. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there. Speechless. You adverted your eyes to the floor.

“Please leave. Can you please leave me alone? Please, just-“

You started, continuing to wipe your tears. You had resulted to begging him to leave your life.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jungkook. I can’t.”

He grabbed your chin softly, raising your head up to meat his eyes. He was also crying. He silently kissed you. And you let him, too exhausted to do anything else. He pecked your lips, before walking away. He left you there, all alone in your kitchen. As you heard the door close behind him you fell down to the floor. Continuing to weep.

After a month of silence from your former patient you felt content. It had been a month, and there was no sign of him. Your life had gone back to normal again. It was definitely a good thing to tell him exactly what you meant. This time you had been harsh on him, to make him understand you were definitely not interested.

After three months you started thinking that maybe you had been too harsh on him. Maybe you should’ve eased him out of your life. Not gone all crazy on him. But he didn’t contact you, and you were definitely not going to contact him. So telling him that you were sorry was out of the question.

On the fourth month you thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to contact him. Just to tell him you were sorry for being mean of course. He was really attached to you in his own weird way. Getting rejected by someone you had planned out your entire life with must be hard. What if he had gone back to his old ways? What if your rejection caused him to live in agony? To fall into depression?

On the fifth month you found yourself standing in the lobby of his hotel. If you were going to apologise, you were going to do it in person. That’s way more genuine rather than over a text. You definitely didn’t want to see him again, but anything for a real heartfelt apology!

“I’d like to see Mr. Jeon, is he here?”

You asked before the receptionist could say anything. He smiled at you.

“Is Mr. Jeon expecting you?”

He asked in a costumer support voice. You shook your head.

“No he isn’t.”

You answered short.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you access to his suite if he’s not expecting you.”

You rolled your eyes. You knew you had to lie.

“He’s not expecting me, but I’m his psychologist, ok? I need to talk with him, it’s important.”

You said in your serious voice. Shoving your business card in his face like you were a cop.

“I’m sorry-“

“You will be sorry if you don’t help me out here.”

You hit your palms onto the counter before you. The man slightly jumped at your action.

“Look, I’m not asking for the fucking key to his nightstand, I just want to know his room number for gods sake!”

You were starting to get annoyed at the poor man just trying to do his job. He looked quite frightened at your outburst. He thought for a second, before he nodded.

“717.”

He simply said. You thanked him and hurried over to the elevator. Once you reached his door you stopped yourself. Was this really the right thing to do? Maybe you should just leave, he wasn’t your concern anymore. Why weren’t you happy he was out of your life? Why? Why? Why?! The door suddenly opened, and you were sucked out of your thoughts. A man stood there, a familiar man, but not Jungkook.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

He said with a smirk on his face. He quickly pulled you into a hug. Letting his hands drop dangerously low on your waist. He took a deep inhale of your hair, letting out a small groan. It gave you instantly chills in all the wrong places. You tried pulling away from the incredibly awkward hug, but his grip on you was tight. He decided when the hug ended, but stayed close to you. Resting his hands on your hips.

“Let go of me! What are you doing here?”

You asked him and tried to get som distance from him, pushing at his chest. But his strong grip on your hips didn’t loosen.

“What are you doing here is the real question. A pretty woman like you shouldn’t be in a hotel like this.”

“Get off of me!”

He smirked and leaned in closer to you again. Whispering in your ear.

“Why don’t you come with me to my room? I still can’t get you off my mind, sweetheart.”

Someone cleared their throat loudly next to you. Taehyung reacted immediately. Jungkook. You looked at him, but he didn’t look at you. His eyes were focused on Taehyungs hands, planted on your hips.

“She said ‘get off’.”

He almost growled. Taehyung smiled, but removed his hands. Putting them defensively up in the air.

“Sorry, boss. Just had to catch up with my psychologist. She’s the girl I told you about.”

Taehyung started. You were in shock. They knew each other?

“I know.”

He answered and looked at you for the first time. There was a sort of a melancholy feeling in his eyes.

“You know it all, man. I’ll just-“

“Leave.”

Jungkook finished his sentence for him.

“Yeah, leave. I’ll leave. Nice seeing you again, y/n. We have to meet up sometime.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

You answered quickly, not taking your eyes off Jungkook.

“I won’t take no for an answer, baby.”

Taehyung said and stepped closer to you again.

“Yes you will, now leave.”

Jungkook said strictly.

“Okaaay, I’ll leave. Whatever.”

He said and walked away. You followed Taehyung with your eyes, watching as he disappeared into one of the rooms down the hall. When you looked back at Jungkook, you discovered he had been staring at you the entire time. You felt anger building up inside you.

“Don’t tell me this is what I think it is.”

You said, you almost sounded hurt.

“It’s not like that.”

He answered. You rolled your eyes at him. He didn’t exactly sound convincing. You had no intention of apologising to him anymore.

“Let me guess, you didn’t hire Mr. Kim to ruin my case so I could run back right into your arms? It was just a convenience that you were waiting for me when I came home, right?”

You asked in a sarcastic tone. He went quiet. You scoffed and turned to walk away. He grabbed your arm harshly so you couldn’t leave.

“I didn’t, I promise. Let me explain, please.

You sighed.

“Let me go.”

He shook his head.

“Y/n, just come-“

“Let me go.”

You interrupted him. After a few seconds he listened to you, and let go of your arm. You stood still, contemplating if you should leave for good this time. Instead, you slipped passed him into his room. His suite was huge, it was more like an apartment really. Modern with expensive furniture and paintings scattered around the room. He had a lot of money, you knew that, but you didn’t know it was to this extent.

“You better explain-“

You were suddenly caught off guard by his strong arms turning you around and embracing you in a tight hug.

“You came back to me! I knew you would! Oh, I’m so happy to see you again, baby!”

He said in a boyish tone. It was a sharp contrast to his interaction with Taehyung. You weren’t able to immediately react, getting lost in the feeling of his arms wrapped around you once again.

“Stop it, Jungkook. I’m still angry with you.”

You said and wiggled out of his hug. He looked at you with hurt in his eyes as he saw you brushing off imaginary dust from your skirt.

“I understand. Sit, I’ll get you something to drink.”

He said and walked out of the room. You did as you were told, sitting down on his white cashmere sofa. He came back with two cups of tea, placing them carefully on the glass table before sitting down beside you. You didn’t say anything, you waited for him to say the first word.

“Just uh- please just listen to me ok?”

He asked and looked at you. You nodded.

“I didn’t exactly plan this. Taehyung was stupid enough to get caught and ended up in prison. I told my lawyer to get you on his case. I knew a case like that would be amazing for your career.”

You shook your head disappointedly.

“I’ve told you I don’t want your help. Why-“

“Listen, y/n. Please just let me explain.”

You sighed and crossed your arms, but you stayed silent.

“Anyways, after a while he confessed to me that he was in love with you.”

You watched his entire body go stiff at his statement. He clenched his fists in jealousy.

“You know I’m willing to go lengths for you to succeed, baby. But- I had to stop him. I refuse to let him have you like that. Especially when we weren’t even talking to each other. So that night I sent you all those messages.”

He unclenched his hands and put his hand carefully on your knee.

“I knew he would do whatever I told him to, so I said if he got you out of the case I’d get him out of prison.”

“So you asked him to jerk off in front of me?”

Jungkooks face changed drastically. He did not seem pleased about the new piece of information you just gave him.

“He did that?”

He asked, his tone had changed from apologetic to dangerous. You nodded. His grip around your knee tightened. You put your hand over his, to show him that he was hurting you.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

He said looking you straight in the eye. Another set of chills ran down your back. You knew he meant it. It was not a loose threat.

“This isn’t about him, Jungkook. You pushed him do it. And then you broke into my house, expecting to be treated like some kind of hero.”

You pushed his hand off your knee. He started staring into the air. A million thoughts running through his head.

“I don’t understand how you can’t see that your behaviour is insane?”

You stated. He was still being quiet.

“You need to stop.”

You said a little calmer, trying to comfort him.

“I did.”

He said and looked at you.

“I did stop, because that’s what I thought you wanted. But now you were the one that came to me.”

He caught you off guard. It was your turn to be quiet this time.

“I’ll always do what’s best for you, because I love you, y/n. I don’t care how insane I sound or look to you. But why are you here if you think that of me?”

You looked away from him, knowing you had no rebuttal.

“You called me an awful person, you told me you hated me. And I can take it. But I can’t take another rejection from you! I just can’t!”

He raised his voice now. He was getting emotional.

“I’m sorry.”

You said so lightly it was almost a whisper. He stopped ranting and the room got quiet.

“That’s why I came here. To tell you that I’m sorry.”

You looked back to him again. His eyes were big and filled with so much love. You had never seen him like that before.

“I’m sorry I said I hated you, and that you’re crazy and an awful person. None of it true.”

He nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact with you. You became quiet again.

“Is that it?”

He asked carefully. You nodded, shifting awkwardly in the sofa.

“Yeah, I should probably leave.”

You said, taking his hint. Preparing to walk out and never seeing him again.

“No.”

He said, and shifted towards the end of the seat.

“No, not like that.”

He said in a hurry, and took ahold of you hands. You looked confused at him.

“I didn’t mean for you to leave. Don’t leave.”

He sounded almost desperate, clinging onto your hands. You nodded and gave him a short smile.

“What I meant to say is, is that the only reason you came here?”

You thought for a second. Was saying sorry the only reason you came? That’s at least what you told yourself. But at the same time you felt like you owed him more. You didn’t know what you felt. You had been an emotional wreck for months now.

“Yes.”

You answered. Trying to keep cool and not overthink the entire situation. You didn’t want to see him, you had to. Because you’re a good person. That’s all. That’s it. But it didn’t feel like it. It definitely didn’t feel like it. It felt like you longed to see him.

“You’re lying.”

You were ripped out of your thoughts by his statement. You shook your head defensively.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

You opened your mouth to argue back, but he spoke first.

“If it was a clear ‘yes’ you wouldn’t have to think about it. I know you better than you think, y/n.”

He repositioned himself so he could look right at you.

“Come on, ask me anything about yourself and I’ll tell you.”

You looked briefly at your wristwatch.

“I don’t know, maybe I should leave.”

“Just give me a chance, y/n.”

He said.

“If I don’t get it right I’ll let you leave.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him, but still turning more towards him, accepting his offer.

“What’s my mothers name?”

You asked. He gave you a knowing look.

“Come on, that’s easy. Give me something that isn’t on Google.”

You let out a small laugh.

“You didn’t say her name though.”

“Christina, now give me something good. Something deep.”

You smiled, but had to think for a second.

“When did I loose my virginity?”

His smile turned to a smirk.

“You were 16 at Mae’s birthday party. You were drinking, and her boyfriend August hit on you. He took you to her bed and fucked you right there. No wonder Mae isn’t your friend anymore. You’re a bitch.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. Deep down it was scary that he knew something so intimate in great detail, but for some reason you were having fun with his little game.

“Ok ok. But now it’s your turn, when did you loose your virginity?”

He let out a nervous laugh at your question.

“This quiz isn’t about me.”

He stated and pulled his hand through his hair. You tilted your head slightly downwards and looked at him through your lashes and with a pout.

“I think it’s only fair that I know your story, since you know mine so well.”

He smiled at you, but looked away for a few seconds. Contemplating if he should tell you or not. When you saw him shy away, you suddenly felt as if you were digging into something he wasn’t comfortable sharing.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You said, and placed your hand on top of his. Your fun voice was toned down to your regular speech again.

“No, I’ll share it. No worries.”

He said and looked back to you. You nodded and turned completely towards him. Crossing your legs and resting your arm on the backrest of the sofa, ready to hear his story.

“My first time was around one and a half year ago, in your office, with the girl of my dreams.”

He said dead serious. You snickered at him, thinking he was joking. But he didn’t laugh.

“You can’t be serious.”

You stated, he nodded proudly.

“Why wouldn’t I be, like I said you’re my dream girl. Why would I waste my time on others when the only one I want is you?”

He asked rhetorically. You crossed your eyebrows in confusion.

“You’ve never had sex? Ever?”

You asked in shock. His image did not fit the virgin title whatsoever.

“Once. With you.”

You smiled, but shook your head in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious. You probably have girls throw themselves at you.”

His hand found your knee again. This time it was placed a little further up.

“The only one I want is you. I waited for you because I knew you would be worth it. Because I love you.”

He said in a low tone, slightly stroking the inside of your thigh. The two of you were close, so close that you were aware of the proximity. The tension in the air got thicker and thicker from the power of his last words. His face started moving slowly towards you, and you gave in. Meeting his lips. The kiss started slow, but he was quick to rush it. Grabbing your neck to deepen the kiss. You were suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of what you were doing, and pulled away.

“We can’t do this.”

You simply said. Focusing on your hands on your lap. His hand went to push a strand of your hair out of your face.

“Why?”

He didn’t sound angry or impatient. He sounded like he cared. It was so much different from the first time the two of you shared a moment like that. He had really changed, and that was the problem.

“I’m not your patient anymore, y/n. I don’t want anything from you.”

You looked up at him again, and he caressed your face in a loving matter.

“Except for you of course.”

His face got closer again, but this time you didn’t kiss him. You abruptly got up from the sofa, and opted for looking down at him instead. You took a deep breath.

“You’re not doing anything wrong by having sex with me. Again, I’m not your patient.”

He said a little bit louder, trying to calm you down.

“I can’t have sex with you because I’ll fall in love with you.”

You couldn’t believe those words came out of your mouth. You had been in denial this entire time, but you knew yourself. This would not end well. You couldn’t bare to fall in love with someone that would ruin your image and reputation. You just couldn’t. He looked at you like you were some kind of god. Like all his wishes were finally answered.

“Why is that a bad thing?”

He asked, you shook your head.

“I can’t let that happen, Jungkook. It’s going to ruin my career.”

You sat back down, leaning your elbows on your thighs and your head in your hands.

“I have done nothing but help your career. Why can’t you just trust me?”

He put his hand on your back, stroking you lightly. You looked at him again.

“Please, trust me y/n.”

Fuck it, you thought, before you caught him off guard with your forceful kiss. He was quick to get the memo, kissing you back with the same hastiness and lust. You found your way onto his lap without breaking the kiss. Once you were straddling him, you felt his already hard cock grinding against you. He was desperate for you. A muffled groan escaped his lips when your hand went down to remove his belt.

“Wait.”

He said as he pulled away from you. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were wet and plump.

“Let me taste you.”

It sounded more like a question than a statement. His whole aura was so different from the needy rough man you remembered from the last time.

“Please.”

You got off his lap, taking your top off slowly. Watching him as his face turned in awe of the sight of your tits. His eyes were only on you as you shimmied out of your skirt, letting it pool on the floor. You laid down on the sofa, spreading your legs for him. He quickly removed his shirt, before getting on his stomach. His hand ran slowly down your abdomen, before he reached your slit. He split your lips with the same hand, before he dove right into you. You could tell he was inexperienced, but the rapid use of tongue on your clit sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. You let out extra pound moans whenever he would hit a good spot, and luckily he was a quick learner.

Once he had the hang of it, his hand moved down to your vagina, pushing two fingers in. Your back arched at the speed of the overstimulation. Feeling your orgasm approach quicker than usual. You grabbed his hair, pushing him deeper into you, preparing for your release.

“Don’t stop, Jungkook! I’m close.”

He moaned by your words, the vibrations making you tip over the edge. Your legs closed in on him, locking him in place. As you rode out your high. Once you had calmed down, you let go of his hair. And his face popped up from between your legs. He climbed on top of you, kissing you passionately. You tasted yourself on his lips.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.”

He said in between kisses and moans.

“I almost came just from eating you out.”

He started fiddling with his belt, but you stopped him. Placing a hand on his chest carefully.

“Let me.”

You simply said, before he moved off you. He sat down again, and you crawled onto the floor. Seating yourself between his legs. You looked up at him as your hands slowly traveled up his thighs. He was even more flushed now, his hair sticking to his forehead. You could tell he was impatient. Flicking his eyes between your hands and your eyes.

“Please, y/n.”

He uttered with a heavy breath. You smirked up at him, finally reaching his belt. You took your time with it as well. Once it was open, he was quick to pull down his pants and underwear. Letting his cock spring free. You got on top of him again, slowly lowering yourself onto his cock. He jerked up the second he felt your pussy on him. His thick cock stretched your walls out, and a moan escaped both your lips.

“Just relax, I’ll take care of you this time.”

You said in a low voice, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hands went straight to your ass, giving your cheeks a tight squeeze. You kissed him gently before you started riding him. His head fell back in pleasure once you started your movements. Bouncing up and down his cock. His hands dug deeper into your skin. He filled you to the brim, and every bounce felt amazing.

“Fuck! I’m not- gonna last long.”

He moaned and looked back at you. You then leaned your hands backwards onto his thighs. Your head fell slightly back as you moaned at the new angle.

“Y/n, slow down!”

He moaned as his hands moved to your thighs. Trying halfheartedly to stop you. But you didn’t stop. And suddenly you felt him coming inside you. His hips lifted you up, as he released himself. And when you felt like he was finished you stopped. You rapped your hands around his shoulders as you fell onto his chest. The room got quiet, the only sound being your heavy breathing.

You weren’t able to think about the consequences of your actions at that point. You only felt satisfaction and lust. And maybe even love…

Thank you for reading! Do you want to read more?

Masterlist

[chains-of-destiny]

Few families can say that they've been blessed by the gods, and even fewer can count ancestors as illustrious and celebrated as Niemon, your great-grandfather. He was the very man who led the rebellion against a tyrannical magocracy and laid the founding stones for a free and fair republic. Your family was destined for greatness and respect, but your grandfather ruined it all… You are the heir to House Serin, and the burden of your family's legacy weighs heavily on you. However, your destiny is much greater than that of your forefathers, maybe even the great Niemon's. So, let the chronicles begin! But remember, the chains of destiny are strong and will not be easily broken. Do you have the power to defy fate?

This is the first book of Chains of Destiny, a planned trilogy where you step into the shoes of the heir to House Serin. Set in the fictional continent of Runsas, your choices will not only shape your life but also impact the lives of those around you and the future of the republic. Uncover the secrets behind your grandfather's betrayal, break free from the chains that bind you, and finally take control of your destiny.

The game is more character/story-focused and places less emphasis on stats.

[Link to the demo]

Total word count: ~450k words (as of 2025/06/28)

ROs | Forum Page  | Update Log

The intention is not to make the story as dark as possible but to establish a living, breathing world that exists within the setting it found itself in. So, you will not be swimming in a sea of blood and body parts, it is not the point of the story. Still, I feel obliged to warn any potential players before playing this game, as certain scenes contain things that may not be for everyone.

Reader Discretion Advised: This content may be disturbing or triggering for some players. Proceed with caution and consider your own emotional well-being before continuing.

[Content warning] - this game currently contains (or will contain in the future):

Strong language

Graphic scenes of violence

Graphic depictions of injuries, wounds, and corpses

Scenes of physical and emotional abuse

Blood and gore

Dark and disturbing themes

Body horror - Transformation (skippable)

Alcohol and drug use

Mentions and references to animal death

Mutilation

Physical and psychological Trauma

War crimes

Manipulation and gaslighting

Themes of authoritarianism and oppression/discrimination of certain groups of people

Themes of war and conflict

- The list may or may not expand as the development progresses.

Also, this story was created purely out of my passion for writing. It does not intend to preach or lecture anyone about any particular topic or belief.

If you feel that any part of this game is preaching or trying to convey a specific message, it is unintentional, and I sincerely apologize. The primary goal is to provide an enjoyable and fun experience for everyone.

PS: I should've already made a post like this in the beginning, but somehow I just forgot to.😄

[crack-whore-who-fuckedup-already]

Be My Witness Masterlist

Summary: Follow Y/n through her afterlife's story. From movie star to sex worker, to one of Hazbin Hotels first and only residents, witness the wonders and horrors alike in this multipart series about blood, manipulation, friendship and resilience.

Pairings: intimate!platonic Reader x Angel, Reader x Stolas, Reader x Alastor

Series Trigger Warnings: sexual abuse, medical abuse, descriptions of needles, descriptions of blood, drug and alcohol use, cannibalism

THIS SERIES IS NOT SUITABLE OR INTENDED FOR MINORS OR SENSITIVE READERS. THIS WORK OF FICTION CONTAINS DISTURBING, SEXUAL AND GRUESOME THEMES. READER DISCRETION ADVISED.

Minors, do not interact.

Part 1 - Introduction

Part 2 - Val and Angel

Part 3 - Falling Star

Part 4 - Turn of the 21st Century

Part 5 - Prince Stolas

Part 6 - b i g f e e l i n g s

Part 7 - Actions

Part 8 - Consequences

Part 9 - i can't get high

Part 10 - Charlie and Vaggie

Part 11 - Almadel Party

Part 12 - Extermination Day

Part 13 - Alastor, The Radio Demon

Part 14 - Intoxication

Part 15 - Coming Soon!

Heyo!!!! Happy to have yall here!! i love feedback so dont be afraid!! if youd like to be tagged, just let me know :)

[librarygarten]

#2 Chain x Isekai! Reader - You Play Their Games

Part 2 includes Legend, Four, and Wild Slight trigger warning for Wild's part? He grabs your wrist harshly Part 1 ✿ Part 2 (you are here) ✿ Part 3

When you first met the chain, it had quickly come to everyone’s attention that you already knew them. At first, they thought perhaps you had somehow heard tales of them, passed down through the generations. But you knew things about their adventures they hadn’t told anyone. You knew the names of people and places that surely wouldn’t have survived the thousands of years the stories would have taken to reach you.

You tried your best to explain to them how you knew what you did. Thankfully, you had your Switch, which made explaining what a video game was to them a bit easier.

Legend

Oh this is seriously pissing Legend off. He’s glaring daggers at your Switch like it just insulted his entire bloodline. His adventures? Games? Children’s games? It’s disturbing. It’s degrading. His uncle died! Zelda was imprisoned! He had to fight Ganon in the freaking Dark Realm! And that was only his first adventure! You apparently had ALL of his adventures as games on that device. His life wasn’t some cool toy! (He is slightly smug about having the most games of the chain though.)

He knows you’re not the one who made the games. He understands that you had no reason to view his adventures as anything other than some story a person in your world made. But the fact that until recently, you viewed him as a fictional character? That before you met him, you had seen him as a toy? That hurts. 

Legend starts avoiding you. When the group walks somewhere, he’ll change his pace to make sure he’s not next to you. When the group settles down for the night, he keeps himself busy rearranging his items. He tries not to make it too obvious, always having a reason ready if someone asks what he’s up to. Eventually, though, the others catch on to his behavior.

✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧

“You know, you can’t avoid them forever.”

Legend looked up from his bag, which he had been reorganizing for the last half hour. Warrior was standing next to him, arms crossed in the “I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed” dad stance. (How he had snuck up on Legend without him hearing was a mystery).

“I’m not avoiding them.”

“Yes you are.”

Legend sighs. He’s not getting out of this conversation, is he?

“It’s just…How are you not bothered? They have all our adventures on a little device. They went on our adventures from the safety of their couch! Do they even see us as people? Are we just a game to them?” Legend snaps his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to start rambling. Warrior raises an eyebrow, considering the younger hero.

“Go ask to see one of your games. Watch them play for a bit.” Warrior puts up a hand to silence Legend when he begins to protest. “I can’t have you treat a teammate like this. Go.”

Later, Legend begrudgingly found himself sitting next to you. The group had come across a town, so most of the chain was off exploring and gathering supplies. Warrior had practically dragged Legend over to where you were sitting, but you were just happy Legend was finally okay being near you.

“So,” you smile, turning on your Switch “I know Wars is kind of forcing you to do this, but which game do you want to see? There’s A Link to the Past, A Link Between Worlds, Link’s Awakening…”

“Are all my games puns?” he scrunches up his face, cringing at whoever decided on these names. He could guess which pun correlated to each of his adventures, except for one. “What’s Link’s Awakening?”

“Oh! That one’s probably my favorite. It was actually so popular they re-made it a few years ago.” You open the game, and begin moving the game Link around the world.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Legend asks, “Why is my head so freakishly big?”

“It’s not that bad! It’s just the art style! Everyone looks like that. See?” You tap the screen, pointing to another character. Legend recognizes her immediately. Of course. Of course you had Koholint in your device.

“So, how much of my adventure do you see in this game?” Legend asks hesitantly, a blush creeping onto his face.

“From talking to the others, all of the enemies and places are the same,” you explain while moving game Link up a staircase. “But the things you guys say to other people aren't. Links don't talk in games, like, ever.” He nods, and watches as you enter the Wind Fish’s egg. When you finish the final boss fight, you hesitate to walk up the stairs.

“Sorry, I always get a bit emotional at this part.” You give him a half smile, “If I go up the staircase, the Wind Fish will talk, and then the game ends.”

“Isn't that the point?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, but I’ve never liked this game’s ending. It’s… frustrating. And sad.” You throw your hand up, clearly frustrated. “Like, I get that the stupid fish needs to wake up, but what about everyone else? I hate that I can’t get a happy ending for everyone.”

“Why do you care? Isn’t it just a game?” Legend crosses his arms, but his expression softens.

“It is- er… was.” You blush. “I don’t know. Even before I met you guys. Back when I thought none of this was real. I still wanted a happy ending.”

He lets his bangs fall in his face. You can’t see his expression when he talks again.

“I wanted one too.”

Four

(I know Four Swords is on the Switch now, but before that it was so ATROCIOUSLY difficult to play that I had to include The Struggle)

Games? About him? That's… concerning to say the least. It's not that he minds. He's honestly a bit flattered! But also. That means you know about the colors. Which he hasn't really told anyone in the group about.

He's preparing himself for an awkward conversation, but it never comes. Whenever another member of the chain asks about his games, you either only talk about his adventures with the Picori, or go on a half hour long rant about how hard it is to play the games.

Then during one of these rants you mention that Four Swords is your favorite game, and he nearly chokes on his own spit. He had thought you hated it from how much you complain about getting it set up. Something about emulators and linking cables? He doesn’t understand most of what you say, but knowing that he’s your favorite (well, his games are) makes him break out into a huge grin.

He watches you play occasionally, mostly out of curiosity. He usually has other things to be doing, like fixing Wild’s sword. Again. But on the rare occasion he has free time and is feeling especially bored, he’ll watch you.

✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧

Four finds you and Wind buried in a mass of wires. Your Switch, another box, and several smaller devices are scattered around the ground. You curse under your breath as you attempt to untangle the cords and plug them into the box.

“That’s it. I’m out.” Wind gets up and lets the wires that were in his lap fall unceremoniously to the ground . “Four’s adventure can’t be worth this much trouble to see.”

Wind walks away, and Four takes his place next to you.

“So… what is all this?” he asks, picking up a mass of wires and attempting to undo some of the knots.

“This, my friend, is all the equipment needed to play your game.” You say exasperatedly, trying yet again to plug the still-tangled wires into one of the devices.

“Are all your video games this complicated?” Four grimaces at the mess in front of you. He’s inclined to agree with Wind on this one. His adventure can’t be worth this much effort to play through.

“No, just yours.” You scowl and jam the end of one of the cables into one of the devices, hoping it will stay put this time. You have no such luck. “Four Swords is only a multiplayer game, and each person playing needs to own a copy of the game, plus have a way to connect to the other players. Hence… this mess.” You motion tiredly at the pile in front of you.

“Multiplayer?” he tilts his head questioningly.

“It means you can’t play it alone,” you stick out your tongue as you concentrate on finally putting the cords in their proper places. “You need to have multiple players.”

He nods. It makes sense, he guesses, considering how much focus he had to put on teamwork during his adventure with the Four Sword. He watches you try to boot up the game, then curse again as you fiddle with the wires again. Finally, you get it working.

“Sweet!” You clap your hands together, and Four smiles at how happy you seem to finally be able to play his game. To his surprise, you hand him one of the controllers. “Want to play with me?”

“Uhh… What about Wind?” He’s not sure he wants to actually play his adventure. Doing it once was enough, thank you very much.

“He ditched me during setup. Now he doesn’t get to play,” you say. “That’s been the rule at my house since we started playing this game.”

“Seems fair.” Four reluctantly takes the controller. He doesn’t want to seem rude and say no. Then who would you play with? “So, how do I do this?”

“It’s basically just a contest to see who can collect the most gems in the level. Not much story. Fastest wins.” you explain.

“Wait, really?” He's a bit surprised. He was expecting his game to be a bit more complicated. He suddenly doesn’t mind playing so much. “That sounds… really simple.”

“Yeah, it’s an older game, so it doesn’t seem like a lot of your adventure actually transfers over to the game.” You pick up a controller and smile mischievously. “Ready to lose, Smithy?”

“As if!” He grins, matching your enthusiasm. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

Wild

Wild isn't sure what the feeling that's settled in his chest is. He's not thrilled at the idea of you playing games about his adventure. He’s been through a lot, and the idea that it was all just a fun game to someone? It hurts. It’s upsetting. He’s honestly a bit annoyed at you for a while. You also seem to know something he doesn’t? What’s that about? Why won’t you tell him?

He decides that if you won’t answer his questions, he’ll trick you into showing him. He watches you play Breath of the Wild while he cooks, or while the group is walking, or really any chance there’s downtime. He quickly realizes that most of what you do is just run around killing monsters and finding Koroks. Nothing very noteworthy or interesting. Certainly, nothing worth hiding from him.

Then, you let it slip that his games are your favorite, and oooh boy is he smug. For about a day. After the initial ego boost, he realizes you said games. Plural. He’s only seen you play the one, though? What’s that about? He’s not getting answers, and it’s starting to eat at him. Eventually, he just steals your Switch and tries to find out for himself.

✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧

Wild throws the Switch at the ground next to where you’re sitting. You look up and see that he is absolutely fuming. Anything you could have said dies in your throat. Without another word, he storms off.

“What was that about?” Twilight asks, watching Wild walk away. You shrug, completely bewildered, and pick your Switch up off the ground. There’s dirt in the headphone jack, and a corner of the screen is cracked. You turn it on, testing how much damage has been done, and all the color drains from your face.

“Oh.” Is all you can think to say. Tears of the Kingdom is running. It looks like Wild started a new save file on your account. He’s still in the underground area at the beginning of the game, so he must have just finished watching the opening cutscene.

Before Twilight can ask any more questions, you drop your Switch on the ground again, probably cracking the screen even more, and take off sprinting in the direction Wild went.

“Wild? WILD!” You yell into the forest as you run, trying your best to follow which direction you think he might have gone. “WILD!!? LINK?!”

You stumble into a small clearing, and stop dead in your tracks. Wild is furiously swinging his sword at a tree, each strike is less precise than the last. After what feels like hours, but in truth was only a few minutes, he drops the weapon and falls to his knees. His breathing is ragged as his fingers claw into the dirt beneath him.

“Wild?” you whisper his name, tiptoeing to his side. Hesitantly, you kneel down next to him and place your hand on his shoulder.

“You knew.” His hair hides his face from view, but his voice has an edge you’ve never heard before. He sounds ready to murder you, but he doesn’t move from his place on the ground, only digging his fingers deeper into the ground. “You knew I was going to lose everything again. And you didn’t tell me.”

“I…” you gulp. What can you even say? What comfort can you offer? “I was planning to tell you… sometime.”

“Oh! Sometime!” Wild grabs your wrist and his face is suddenly inches from yours, eyes dark with anger. “And just when was this sometime going to be?”

“I don’t know!” You twist your wrist, attempting to escape his crushing grip, but are unsuccessful. “I was trying to figure out a way to tell you! Or to stop it from happening in the first place!”

“Stop it? Just how do you expect to stop that from happening?” Wild releases your wrist and combs his hands roughly into his hair, pushing it away from his face angrily. You take a moment to rub where he had grabbed you. It aches, but there isn’t even a bruise.

“Well,” you speak softly as you stand up, taking a few steps away from him. “I figured, if we ever passed through your time, all ten of us could go wail on him before he even breaks the seal. There is the chance of him escaping and wailing on us instead, though.”

“THAT’S your plan?” He laughs as tears roll down his cheeks. “Sure! Let’s just go in, guns blazing, and all die of gloom poisoning!”

“That’s why I was waiting to tell you!” You throw up your hands. Your words sound louder than you intended them. Are you yelling now? “I have a couple design plans in the works for the Purah Pad and Sheika Slate, depending on which one is available, but none of them are finished yet!”

“Design plans?” Wild’s anger melts off his face, replaced with hesitant hope. “What are you designing?”

“Three words: Weaponized. Spinning. Top.”

[wordsarelife]

⛧༺ NO BODY, NO CRIME ༻⛧

EPISODE 04: somebody’s gotta catch him out

pairing: theo nott x potter!reader

summary: bonding with hermione, theo tells you the truth and new theories come up..

warnings: extremely big trigger warning for the whole series, in this chapter: mentions of murder, illegal activities, grooming

note: welcome back to the fourth episode of nbnc! i’m so excited to have you all back and to hear your opinions on this weeks episode!!

and because i’m not a monster and know that you guys are patiently waiting for the ball chapter, the next episode will be out either thursday or friday, depending on when i get to finish it!!

you had fallen asleep around 4 am, repeated thoughts about burbages murder and theo’s letter plaguing your mind. the night had been awful, sleep only ever granting you a few minutes of calmness, until you shot up, another thought in your head.

you still felt uneasy when you got dressed before sunrise. hermione was still asleep when you got up, which honestly said a lot. 

you didn’t want to risk, running into theo during breakfast, so you walked to the great hall as soon as it opened, ready for students to eat. you couldn’t concentrate. the loneliness of the morning only fueling your thoughts. 

some part of you just couldn’t believe theo really was the type of person to do something like that. he was so different from every slytherin you had ever met and him being the killer seemed so unlikely. 

at the same time many things made sense now. you thought about monday evening. theo had been late to dinner, just like professor burbage. they had strolled in only minutes apart. and while theo barely looked at her, professor burbage hadn’t been able to stop glancing at him. she had been nervous and scared. maybe theo had been the reason for that. 

he had been at the astronomy tower just minutes before you had found the womans body. he never offered a real explanation for his presence, only saying he hadn’t meant to disturb you. but what was the truth? could all of this really be coincidences? how many could there be before they stopped feeling like chance?

had you been so wrong about him? so terribly wrong? 

when you left the great hall, you almost ran into hermione, who silently commented your strange behaviour with a quirk of her brow. 

“i’m going to the library” you quickly muttered, not allowing her to say anything before you continued your fast pace. 

hermione stared after you in disbelief, before she abandoned her original plan for breakfast (which was nothing like her, because she was a great believer in breakfast being the most important meal of the day) and followed you. 

to both of your surprise you really ended up in the library. you had walked inside the room by accident, but quickly decided to do some research if you were there already. you had often enough watched hermione do it, it couldn’t be that hard. 

you only noticed her presence when you were in the third row. “hermione” you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to calm the beat of your heart. 

hermione was not even fazed by your reaction. “you’re acting strange” she noted, a look of disbelief flying over you, as your hand wandered along the row of books in the shelf. “i have never seen you pick up a book from here that wasn’t fiction” 

“i—“ you tried answering something but were at a loss for words. 

“what’s going on?” hermione crossed her arms, sending you one of her typical strict looks. “the truth, please”

you sighed, knowing it was to no use to lie to her. “it’s theo” you said finally. 

hermione searched your face for a hint of emotion, for something to tell her what was bothering you about the boy. your expression remained stoic and unreadable, even for her.

you sighed, before you sat down at the desk in the middle of the two shelves. hermione followed your movement and sat down next to you. you turned your head to look at her. and then you told her absolutely everything. from what you had found out in burbages office (which hermione interrupted, lecturing you) to the kiss and finally the letter theo had send burbage. 

when you had finished, you were keeping your eyes on your fidgeting hands, ashamed and afraid of hermione’s reaction. there were a few seconds of silence, which you spend wondering how fast she would get up and tell your brother everything you had just admitted to her. 

instead, she grabbed your hands with her own, making you look up in surprise. 

“it’s going to be okay” she assured with a calm voice. she smiled at you softly. “you’re not alone” 

“but theo—” you muttered “what if he really..?” you couldn’t even say it. 

hermione shook her head. “he didn’t” 

“what?” you asked, confused, unsure if you had heard her right. “how can you be so sure?”

“well” hermione smiled mysteriously. she stood up and studied the shelf for a few seconds, before she grabbed a thick book, throwing it down between you. she began turning pages, while she explained. “the smell of the poison you described, you said it was a mix of burnt herbs and something metallic” 

she skipped the pages, past liquid luck and into the more advanced section. “i only ever encountered one potion that was described to smell like that. theo is absolutely smart enough to brew that, that’s for sure” your hope sank. “but” she noted, pressing her finger down on the page, seemingly having found what she was looking for. “mors fumes is a binding potion” she looked at you with a smile. 

“which means..?” you drawled, unsure what she was telling you. 

“it means that the potion binds itself to the person” she explained. “that timeframe has to be atleast six hours before the person drinks it to have any effect. it matters when she drank it, because she must’ve received the bottle atleast six hours before that. the poison works fast. burbage died around ten, right?”

you nodded and hermione’s smile grew even bigger. 

“that means she drank the wine at around half past ten.” she calculated in her head, before she continued. “so she received the bottle between three and half past four.”

“but couldn’t she have received it a day before or something? wouldn’t that work too? more than six hours?”

“no” hermione shook her head, before she aggressively pointed down on the page again. “mors fumes is shortlived. it can only survive in it’s measured timeframe. it could’ve been brewed whenever and over weeks or days, dependent on the wizards time to brew. but as soon as it’s hexed, the six hour timer starts. after that you only have four hours to use it until it’s worthless, so considering it still worked, it could’ve only been given to burbage during that timeframe”

“wow hermione” you almost couldn’t comprehend how your best friends mind worked so effortlessly and precisely. “that’s honestly amazing, but sadly i have no idea where theo was between three and half past four that day, so it changes nothing” you sank you head into your hands, frustration taking over. 

“of course you don’t” hermione muttered, rolling her eyes. “but i do”

“you do?” you were ready to jump out of your seat and plaster her face with kisses. “how?”

“how often did i tell you to visit the library?” hermione asked, raising her brows. 

“so theo was in the library? the whole time?” you asked hopefully. “and he didn’t leave for some time?”

“he was here the entire time i was” hermione nodded. “from two until half past five. he didn’t leave. he sat two seats from me, i would’ve noticed.”

“not even to, you know, go to the bathroom?”

“no” she shook her head. “he definetly drinks way too little, you should tell him that by the way” 

“oh, hermione” you almost cried, as you leaped over the table, throwing your arms around her body and messing up her curls. “you’re amazing, seriously” 

“i can’t let you run around suspecting the wrong people” she muttered into your hair. “and i can’t let you run around suspecting theo. he might be a slytherin, but he’s better than all of them”

“i know” you nodded, sitting back down and quickly freeing your face from a few stray tears. “but i’m still angry with him”

“of course” hermione nodded. “he should’ve told you about the letter and his whole relationship to burbage, considering his weird remarks. you definitely should ask him about that. just because he didn’t kill her doesn't mean he didn’t do anything wrong”

“yeah, i will” you nodded. she was right with everything she had said. you just didn’t know why theo felt the need to lie to you, if he hadn’t killed the professor. you had sworn to work together, that would only work as long as you could trust each other. 

“and all of this..” you muttered, pointing in the air between you. 

“stays between us” hermione assured. “no word to the boys, just like i promised, as long as you stay safe”

“thank you” you smiled, thanking her for nothing defined and everything all at once.

“always” hermione promised, before she got up, excusing herself to go to breakfast. despite having just eaten yourself, you decided to accompany her. confronting theo could wait a bit longer and hermione was glad about the company, was she always lonely breakfasting so early during the holidays. 

it was actually quite wholesome for hermione and you to get some time alone. you had the chance to catch up and discuss topics you normally wouldn’t when harry and ron were sitting with you. 

hermione was not in a rush like she usually was, enjoying your time together, and you felt a bit bad, that you had focused so much on theo and only relied on her when things got difficult. hermione assured you that you didn’t have to worry about it considering she was working most of the time and also most efficiently when she did it alone. 

still, she was there whenever you needed her and you promised the same. 

after an hour, you were joined by harry and Ron, who strolled into the hall behind neville and ginny, who were in deep conversation. you could see that harry was trying to catch what they were talking about, while ron talked your brother's ear off at the same time.

theo came to breakfast at nine and made obvious gestures for you to follow him outside around ten. you quickly excused yourself from the table and followed the boy. harry and ron reacted confused at your sudden urge to leave, while neville and ginny both waved at you and hermione send a smile.

ron quickly concentrated on his food again, but harry kept an eye on the entry of the hall, peeking around hermione, and saw you drag theodore nott down the hallway behind you. 

“she’s not honestly—“ he muttered, while he made a move to get up and follow you. hermione stopped him before he could do so. 

“calm down, harry” she said. “she has to ask him something about their final project, she couldn’t sleep last night, wondering if she had forgotten something important.” hermione effortlessly lied.

“hermione” harry muttered sternly. “there’s just been a murder and the slytherins—“

“—are just as suspicious as anybody else” hermione finished. “don’t get your knickers in a twist. she has her wand, she’s fine” 

“she could’ve at least discuss whatever she had to in here. nott was sitting at his table the entire time”

“discuss a mistake in a potions project next to draco malfoy, really harry?”

harry muttered something neither ron nor hermione could understand, before he picked up his toast and bit into the strawberry jam atop it. 

you had gripped theo’s arm, before he had been able to say something, dragging him down the hall behind you, until you reached an empty classroom. you let go of his arm, like it was on fire. 

“ow” theo muttered, rubbing his skin. “you have a hard grip, sparrow”

“no, don’t call me that” you crossed your arms, leaning your back against the wall. “not after you did nothing but lie to me”

“lie to you?” theo repeated confused. “i never—“ 

“sure you didn’t” you spat, throwing the letter, you had kept in your pocket, at him. 

all colour drained from theo’s face in a second. he didn’t even have to look at the paper, he knew what it was immediately, which did not help his case.

“i swear this isn’t what it looks like” he muttered, picking it up and scanning the lines of his own writing. 

“i bet it isn’t” you nodded sarcastically. “for a few hours i really thought you were the killer”

“i? i would never—“

“you can be glad hermione cleared that up or this conversation would be a lot more physical”

theo seemed like he had temporarily forgotten the topic of said conversation as he looked at you, a dirty smile on his face. 

you send him a deadpan look and he quickly remembered the severity of the situation. “oh” he muttered “you mean..”

“yeah” you nodded. “i would’ve bashed your head in”

theo’s eyes quickly fell on the paper again, not daring you to make your statement reality. 

“i’m ready for a good explanation” you encouraged, as he continued to stay quiet. 

“it’s not as easy” theo muttered, averting his eyes and trying to find a spot in the room he could focus on. 

“theo” you muttered, a bit softer now. “you threatened a teacher and told her to meet you on the evening of her murder, i don’t have to tell you how it looks” 

“yeah, i’m sorry.” theo whispered and if you weren’t mistaken, you noticed tears in his eyes. “i never meant to drag you into this”

“drag me into what?” you stepped closer, forcing him to look at you, tears now clearly rolling over his cheeks. “you’re scaring me, theo” 

maybe there really was a good explanation for all of this, but right now you just hoped theo hadn’t murder-in-the-orient-express-ed professor burbage.

“okay” he finally said. “i’ll tell you, everything, but you have to listen until the end”

you nodded, waiting for him to begin his story.

“it all began two years ago. that’s when i had to take muggle studies, because i had too few subjects. professor burbage was amazing. she was attentive to all of her students and over all a great teacher” he smiled upon the memory, before it quickly evolved into a frown. “but then she asked me to stay back one day after class. she made a few comments i found unsettling, but decided to forget about. maybe i had understood her wrong, she surely hadn’t meant it like that.”

you looked to the ground, not liking in which direction his story went. you felt sorry for the way you had treated him. for how you had spoken about burbage like she had been a saint, how judgemental you had been when theo had disagreed. 

“she passed me notes during class when no one was looking. she asked me to stay back more often. she made obvious advances. and she continued and didn’t stop until i couldn’t excuse it anymore. until i reached a point where i understood that i hadn’t been the one who had gotten the wrong idea, she was. she read into the things i did, not the other way around”

tears spilled over his cheeks quicker than before, but he did not falter, as he continued to speak, his voice trembling through both of your crying. 

“then, one day after class, she tried to kiss me” 

your breath hitched, waiting for him to continue. 

he shook his head. “i stopped her and rushed out of the room. i was too scared to tell on her, but i went to dumbledore and requested to drop the course because of personal reasons. i had enough luck never to be caught with her alone again for the rest of the year”

you thought about everything he had just told you. how someone you had respected was so different to the person she had shown everyone around her. you thought about theo, the fourteen year old version of him, who’s trust got betrayed so badly. fourteen year old theo, who had no one to tell about a teachers wrongdoing. fourteen year old theo, who had probably felt so alone. 

you stepped across the room and hugged him. the way he had calmed you, you were now trying to calm him. “you’re safe” you whispered softly. “you did nothing wrong, you didn’t deserve it”

you could feel him nod, as he buried his face in your hair. his body still spread warmth, it felt the same like yesterday in the closet, when your lips had connected. 

“i never told anyone” theo admitted. “you’re the first person”

“i’m sorry” you muttered, breaking the hug to look at him. “i shouldn't have made you”

“no” he shook his head. “i should’ve been honest from the beginning. i didn’t want anyone to know, i didn’t want you to know. i thought you might think i’m weak or less of a man”

“i would never think that, theo” you shook your head. “you’re not the person this information should damage. she was in the wrong, not you, you’re right the way that you are. i doesn’t matter what she did to you, it doesn’t change anything about you, you’re still the same to me”

theo nodded. “i wrote the letter out of frustration, not because i intended to kill her” he continued. “a few months ago dumbledore gave me something i had to deliver to burbage. when i came into her office, she was busy writing a note. i was able to read what she had written before she saw me”

“what was it?” you asked carefully. 

theo sighed, before he recalled the words from the top of his head. “your insights in class are so refreshing; i truly appreciate how you see things differently. can you stay behind after class today? i’d love to discuss some of your ideas further—just between us, of course. it’s important to me that this stays our little secret.”

“wow” you huffed disgusted. “what happened then?”

“i told her she should not be doing that” theo mumbled. “she agreed and i believed her. she had lied, i should’ve been more persistent”

“you’re not responsible for her actions, theo” 

“of course i am” he shook his head, fidgeting with your hand, he held in his own. “she tried the same with me, she was just able to do it again, because i never reported her, because i was too scared to admit what she had done to me” he breathed, his voice steady again. “and then after all, i just believed her, because it was easier than to admit that i had a responsibility for this child”

“it’s not your fault” you assured. he continued to shake his head. “it’s not your fault!” you repeated, louder, more firmly. 

“i only found out a few weeks ago that she hadn’t stopped like she had told me she would” theo said softly. “i don’t know who her victim was and it honestly didn’t matter, because then i wrote the letter. but the one you read wasn’t the first i sent. in the first i threatened to report her if she would not immediately resign and leave her position as a teacher, nothing happened so i send a second one, the letter you found. i gave her a last chance to do what i had told her, to resign and leave the castle as well as the poor kid she had used all this time. i didn’t want this to have any effect on them, so i only threatened to report and tell dumbledore about my own experience. i asked her to meet me so she could tell me about her decision"

“and?” you asked, interested to hear how the conversation had went. 

“she told me that she had resigned, like i had asked her” theo explained. “she asked me not to tell anyone about this and i agreed, because i honestly was not ready to tell someone myself. but i told her i would if i should find out about any of this happening again or if she would resume to a teaching position at a different school. she promised she wasn’t planning on doing that. and that was it. we split up and went to dinner”

“okay, but that would explain the note on the wine bottle burbage received: ‘consider this a parting gift’. that’s why she wasn’t suspicious before drinking it. it made perfect sense in the context of her resignation”

“yeah” theo nodded “i know that my involvement seems to make sense, y/n. i had reason enough to kill burbage, but i didn’t, please believe me, i’m not a bad person”

“you’re quite the opposite of a bad person, theodore nott” you shook your head, proudness flushing your whole body as you looked up at the brunette boy in front of you. “you did everything to make sure burbage could never hurt someone again. you had absolutely zero reason to kill her, considering she did everything you had asked her to and also, you possibly couldn’t have done it”

“i know, but how do you know that?” 

theo listened attentively as you told him everything hermione had told you. 

“that's incredible. and it reveals a time frame we can follow” he nodded. 

“exactly" you smiled, before your expression turned serious again "thank you for telling me all of this. i’m sorry for all of it, but i’m still glad you had a good reason to send such a letter”

“yeah, it probably looked pretty bad without context, now that i think about it” theo admitted. 

“but i do still have one question: was it really coincidence that you were at the astronomy tower too, right before burbage’s death?”

“yes and no” theo nodded. “it was a coincidence that i was there when she died, but i followed you on purpose”

“you followed me on purpose?” you repeated confused “but why?”

“because i wanted to talk to you” theo admitted, his voice steady yet vulnerable “i’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now”

you raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued “really? about what?”

he hesitated for a moment, searching your eyes as if weighing his words. “i’ve fancied you for a long time, you know?”

your heart skipped a beat, surprise flooding through you. “you fancied me? me?”

theo laughed, the sheer disbelief on your face amusing him. “how couldn’t i?” he replied with a playful grin, his eyes sparkling “you’re smart, you’re fierce, and you don’t take any nonsense from anyone. plus, the way you stand up for your friends? it’s impossible not to notice. it’s honestly quite entertaining to watch draco and you fight”

you grinned, somewhat proud someone had taken an interest in your debates with malfoy. you always made sure to be ready to break him. “who do you think wins?” you asked, a brow quirked. 

“you, of course” theo smirked. “draco is not half as good. it’s honestly amazing how good you are at telling him off” 

“you’re making me blush” you smiled, as you stared up at him. “i always liked you most, you know? out of all of them. you were so nice every time i encountered you and i think i really took a liking to you during our project”

now it was theo’s turn to smile proudly. “so, are we good again?” he asked softly, waiting for you to make a decision. 

you nodded, mirroring his expression. “we are” you assured, before you reached for his neck, connecting you lips with his for a short peck. 

when you pulled back, theo grinned at you with a lopsided grin, his worries fading away as his eyes wandered over your face. 

the next thing to do, you had decided, was to wait for mattheo’s invitation to reveal the infos you needed to find the masquerade ball of the nocturne society. someone there would probably know more. 

that led to your next problem: the right clothing. theo suggested to make a trip to hogsmeade, which you quickly noticed to be impossible because of the storm. that’s when you remembered the convenience of the room of requirement. you had always used it the year before, so it had become manageable for you to find. 

theo walked next to you through the halls cluelessly, ready to follow your lead. 

“so, motives” you muttered, looking at him. “who would’ve had an interest in killing burbage?”

“someone who was after the artifact?” theo suggested. 

“not impossible” you shrugged. “maybe that was the only way to steal it. maybe she had hexed it and there was no other way than to kill her.”

“but that would mean that whoever was trying to get access to the artifact also knew about burbage’s resignation” theo noted, he thought for a few seconds, before he added. “so far, the only people who know about it are you and me and of course dumbledore and maybe also mcgonagall.”

“i don’t think that will lead us far, theo” you remarked softly. “we don’t know who burbage might’ve told. she was thinking about if for some time. i mean, remember your first letter? that was months ago. she could’ve told people as far as we know”

“you’re right” theo nodded. “so back to the beginning, if we exclude the artifact for now, what else could’ve been a reason to kill her?”

silence errupted between you as both of you thought about the question. 

your breath hitched. “what if it’s unrelated? what if someone found out?”

“about?” theo quirked a brow, not able to follow your stream of thoughts. 

“her inappropriate relation to a student” you explained. “i mean think about it. you found out, how unlikely is it that someone else did?”

“not unlikely at all” theo nodded. “it wasn’t even hard to uncover. i mean, if someone was just a student in her class, they could’ve easily picked up something”

“i’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, so tell me if we should stop talking about it, but—“

“it’s fine, sparrow” theo said honestly. “i can take it”

“okay” you nodded, before you continued. “if we assume that she had a preferred age, fourteen, like you were, then maybe the killer is not an unrelated student, maybe it’s someone who didn’t witness the relationship first hand during class, but someone who knew her victim” you explained. “someone, who would go to lengths to protect that kid, someone who wanted to take revenge”

“a sibling” theo breathed. 

“exactly” you nodded. “i would kill for my brother, no questions asked. we just have to find someone who would do the same”

you both dwelled on the thought as you walked around a corner, the doors of the room of requirement welcoming you as if they had waited ages for your arrival. 

“what about this?” you held a blue dress against your body, twirling from side to side for theo to inspect it. 

“beautiful” theo complimented, before he scrunched his nose. “but too blue. most members of the society will be slytherins, remember?”

“how can you be so sure about that?” you questioned, putting the dress to the side and picking up a dark green, almost black mask and holding it in front of your eyes. 

“well, it’s illegal and dangerous and—“ theo grinned “—have i already said illegal?” 

you shook your head, throwing a similiar mask like yours in his direction. theo caught the thing with ease, wiggling his eyesbrows as he held it in front of his eyes. 

“you recognize me, sparrow?” 

“your smile is uncanny” you giggled, holding a hand up to hide his mouth. “maybe you should just wear a whole bag” 

“well, your options don’t seem the most practical to guarantee a fast escape. i mean can you even run in these shoes?”

“i’m not running” you crossed your arms, raising your nose. “i’m a lady, theo” 

“of course” theo shook his head, before his gaze dropped to a beautiful emerald green ballgown underneath part of his tuxedo. “wait” he muttered, holding the dress up against your body. “this is the one”

your smile grew bigger as you took in the gorgeous dress. it was made up of a thin lace fabric, adorned with highlights of shimmering ivy. as you put it on, it was clothing your body beautifully, fitting like it had been made for you (that were the perks regarding magical clothing; they fully took on the form of the person wearing them, clinging to every curve of your body). 

“wow” theo muttered when you stepped around the shelf you had changed behind.

your cheeks grew rosy, glancing up and down his body, admiring how well the tuxedo fit him. “you look very much wow yourself, mr nott” 

he laughed, shaking his head like he wasn’t believing one word of what you were saying. “it’s time” he grabbed both of your masks and the note mattheo had given you, that was now slowly revealing letters. one after the other until more and more words were forming. 

moonlit atrium, it read, portrait of the lonely witches daughter, in the dungeon

luckily, theo read the words with a hint of recognition in his eyes. you would’ve been completely lost without him, probably strolling through the halls, desperately searching for a portrait admist thousands. you would’ve never made it in time. 

“come on, my lady” he watched you fasten your mask around your head, looking into the corridor to check for people, before he took your hand in his, leading you to the nereast stairs down to the dungeon. 

the air grew cold around you as you walked down, the chilly setting of the hogwarts dungeon making it's presence known and casting your body in goosebumps. theo didn’t let go of your hand for one second, squeezing it to reassure you anytime you would cross a dark hallway that send shivers down your spine. 

finally, theo started walking slower in a particularly dark corridor. his eyes wandered along the walls, searching for the familiar portrait, before his gaze locked onto the artwork. 

you were searching the wall opposite from theo, when a hand reached out and touched your arm. “did you—ahh!” you screeched, jumping back when the person the hand belonged to was not theo, but someone else. 

the unknown person was a man, well, more a boy, blonde hair peeking out behind his mask. he wore an even darker tuxedo than theo, the black on his body almost making him invisble against the dark of the corridor. 

theo behind you, spun around, ready to meet your attackers face with his fist. before he hit him, you stopped the movement, pulling the dark haired boy back by the arm. “malfoy” you said simply, sharing the gathered piece of information with theo, who relaxed immediately. 

“potter” draco malfoy greeted almost bored. he moved the mask from his face, revealing his ice blue eyes staring at you and theo in displasure. “theodore”

“draco” theo breathed. “i almost killed you”

“sure” malfoy rolled his eyes, not believing it for a second. “luckily potter here kept you from murdering any more people”

“haha” theo nodded. “very funny” 

malfoy shrugged, not caring one bit about his unsolicited joke against theo. rather than on his friend, malfoys gaze was fixated on you. you lifted your mask too, deeming it weird to act like your identities hadn’t been revealed. 

“i should’ve known you were involved in this club” theo crossed his arms, making not even the slightest move to take off his mask too. 

“well, theodore, i’d say it is in my blood” malfoy took his eyes from you for a mere second, before his unnerving gaze returned. “unlike you, halfblood”

“careful” theo warned, voice filled with a sharp edge. 

malfoy’s gaze flicked back to him, eyes narrowing with an unspoken challenge. he tilted his head slightly, the question clear in his expression, almost daring theo: have you forgotten where you belong?

“it’s alright” you mumbled, not even moved by the blonde boy’s words. he had insulted you and your friends too often for you to still care about it, unlike harry, who almost enjoyed throwing a tantrum. maybe that was the reason malfoy hated you a little less than your brother. you knew how to behave and that was something he respected.  “what do you want?”

“i didn’t come to murder you, if that’s what you’re thinking” malfoy replied, his tone almost playful as he hinted at your reaction of panic at his sudden presence “nor to give you more proof. that’s not why i’m here.”

“then what?” theo snapped impatiently, eyes still on malfoy. “what’s so important that you had to deliver it in person?”

draco paused, his gaze darkening as his playful demeanor faded. his next words were spoken softly, almost ominously. “a warning.”

the air in the corridor grew thick, the weight of his words pressing down on you. theo stiffened beside you, his guard going back up as malfoy’s expression turned deadly serious.

“a warning about what?” you asked, your heart pounding now, knowing that this wasn’t just another one of malfoy’s games.

malfoy stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “someone’s watching you. and it’s not just the castle’s usual suspects.” he hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, as if deciding whether to reveal more. then, quietly, he added, “you're not safe. neither of you.”

before you could question him further, malfoy backed into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he had come.

“malfoy!” theo called after him, but it was too late—he was gone.

the tension in the air remained, your heart still racing. you exchanged a glance with theo, both of you realizing that whatever danger was lurking, it wasn’t just in the form of cryptic messages or secret clubs. it was something much darker.

and now, someone knew you were onto them.

go to the next part

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🕯️ Rules & Warnings 🕯️

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

This blog delves into the Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji) universe, exploring dark and potentially disturbing themes. But of course there will be fluff contents. Please read the following rules and warnings carefully:

⚠️ Content Warnings:

Contains dark fiction, including themes such as non-con, dub-con, gore, psychological abuse, death, obsession, gaslighting, and moral ambiguity.

All content is fictional and does not reflect real events or endorse harmful behavior.

If you may be sensitive to such content, it's advised not to follow this blog.

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This blog is intended for mostly 18+ audiences.

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Respect other creators. All content here is original; please do not repost or use without permission.

Posts are appropriately tagged with necessary trigger warnings (TW). However, readers are expected to take personal responsibility for their content consumption

✦ Characters I Write For ✦

Demons

✦ Sebastian Michaelis

✦ Claude Faustus

✦ Hannah Anafeloz

Phantomhive Estate

✦ Ciel Phantomhive

✦ Mey-Rin, Bardroy, Finny (upon request)

Shinigamis

☠ Undertaker

☠ Grell Sutcliff

☠ William T. Spears

☠ Ronald Knox