#tw: physical harm to reader

[radio-writes]

Going on anon bc this is a bit messed up but can you write Alastor x reader where Alastor uses sex as a form of torture?

Fuck your God and His Righteous Hand(s)

Synopsis: Hasn't Alastor always been such generous partner? Hasn't He always provided for you? Given you everything and anything you ever wanted? Except for your freedom of course.

The night you decide to run away from his graciousness, you find out just how generous he could be.

Warnings: noncon, forced relationship, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, physical harm to reader, degradation, smut, over stimulation, tentacles are used (I probably missed a lot, let me know)

Tags: Alastor x fem!reader; dead dove do not eat

MDNI

Your heart beat loudly against your chest, your breath ragged and heavy. Branches and twigs snapped and broke and fell all around you as you ran.

Not that you could hear any of it over the overwhelming sound of static flooding your ears. 

As if the dark wasn't terrifying enough, you had to stumble through the woods with tears blurring your vision too. Arm stretched in front of you, swatting away vines in your path as you desperately tried to get away.

You had to get away.

You couldn't get away.

You could almost feel the ground shake beneath your feet. You could almost feel his breath that skimmed the back of your head. There was no use in running, but run you did anyway.

You kept running even when you felt his clawed fingers grab at your shirt; the fabric tearing easily.

You kept running even when you could hear his voice right by your ear. "I think it's in your best interest not to anger me any more, darling."

You couldn't keep running when a heavy, velvety tentacle wrapped around your ankle; your breath knocked out of you as you tumbled onto the forest floor.

Your hand outstretched, palm reaching into the darkness. It was a terrifying, unknown, and threatening darkness—but to you it still meant freedom.

That was the last clear thing you saw before you landed flat on your stomach, the weight of your failed escape weighing you down more than the dark shadow around your leg. 

He was laughing.

He was out of breath, panting almost as heavily as you were, but he was laughing.

You heard the crunch of leaves and twigs as he approached your collapsed form. No longer rushing, no longer frantic. He seemed to take his time as he walked towards you, now that he's sure you couldn't get away.

Still, the tentacle holding you down tightened—a warning not to try anything again.

Not that you could. The moment of rest allowed to you as you laid on the ground, made the pain and exhaustion of your body much too apparent for your liking. Your legs felt like led, the numerous scratches from who-knows-where all sung in a harmony of stinging pain.

Even when you knew you couldn't run anymore, your mind frantically whirled through ideas. You tried to think of something, anything, to keep away from the Radio Demon.

At least until his shoes finally came into your view; the red accents bright against the inky darkness. They stopped right by your head, and suddenly it felt too dangerous to even think.

You found the dirt and mud of the forest floor much more appealing than having to look Alastor in the eye, so you kept your head down. Your head shrunk into the ground as the man looked down on you.

"I must admit, I hadn't expected you to run." Alastor said, still a hint of laughter in his tone. Had you looked up then, you would have seen just how much of a mess you've made of the demon. His hand pushed his red hair back from his forehead, sweat trickled down the side of his neck. 

But it wasn't his unusual state of exhaustion that would have been shocking if you looked at him right now. No, what would have been surprising—what would have been unnerving— was the wild, desperate look in his glowing red eyes.

While you were scared, desperate to get away.

He was terrified, desperate to get you back.

The view of your small figure as you weaved through trees, dipping in and out of his sight had filled him with such cold, heavy dread.

Almost as much as the sight of your hand nearly meeting that of another demon's.

"Oh! But you're so filled of the unexpected today, aren't you, darling?" You could hear the spite in his tone, but you didn't dare raise your head.

You felt him step closer.

"I mean, I hadn't expected you to try to sell your soul to another demon, either." You cringed, lifting your arms over your ears as the static warped his voice terribly.

You felt a heavy weight on the back of your head. It rested there briefly, before it shoved you down further into the dirt. Your face pressed down into the mud, but you didn't dare fight back. You didn't dare move. The most reaction you allowed yourself was a small whimper of fear.

The sound fueled Alastor's rage, already barely kept under the surface of his smile. His eye twitched in annoyance. Why were you shaking? Why were you afraid? 

Shouldn't you be kissing the foot on your head right now? Shouldn't you be thanking him for saving you from making a terrible mistake? A soul as unique as yours would have been wasted on a demon like that. 

This ungrateful behavior, this attempt to leave him, just wouldn't do.

His foot left the back of your head, but it allowed no relief. The black tentacle wrapped around your leg swiftly yanked you up.

Your eyes widened in shock and your hands dug into the ground in an attempt to stay there. But it isn't a surprise that your flimsy resistance was easily broken through. The world soon turned into a dizzying blur of colors as you were lifted into the air. The trees floated from above and the sky was a muddy mess of leaves and roots, your arms hung limply above your head. The blood that now rushed to your head didn't help you in making much sense of what was happening.

But none of that mattered when your eyes finally met Alastor's.

As you were held up by your leg, upside down in the air, Alastor's usual wide smile looked like a snarling frown. His narrowed eyes did nothing to help the fear that quickly ate its way through you.

It was silent for a moment. Tension so thick in the air that you found it so terribly difficult to breathe.

But when he finally spoke, you thought to yourself how you actually preferred the suspenseful quiet.

"Have I not been the perfect partner?" Alastor asked. The static over his voice now eerily back to the usual amount. His tone was cheery, light, like this was just another early morning chit chat over breakfast between the two of you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak.

The black appendage holding you up tightened, your skin already beginning to bruise. Although, it seemed that was the only indicator of Alastor's true mood, as the demon remained composed in front of you.

"Have I not given you everything you wanted?" He asked as he brought you closer to him.

When you didn't respond he brought his clawed hand up to your face. 

You flinched, feeling his cold skin against yours, fearing that he'd tear right through your flesh. 

But his touch was gentle. His fingers softly brushed away the mud and grime from your cheek. 

"I've bought you everything you liked. I've protected you. Fed you." His voice was so soft, soothing. Like an old radio show you would have listened to while you drifted off to a restful slumber. 

"I've even fucked you through your pathetic little heats." His claws dug into your skin. Blood gushed down your face, the scarlet liquid stung your eye even as you clenched it closed. 

"I've spared useless, disgusting sinners on your request. I've played nice for you. I've given you everything." His hand shifted from your cheek to your neck, his grip tight, threatening.

The static over his voice once again horrid as it deafened you. His eyes, now drowned in black, narrowed into a glare at your form.

Your hands flew to your throat, pulling at Alastor's fingers. "Please, I'm sorry, Al!" You begged as you struggled. Your body flailed and squirmed as he held you above him, looking almost like a fish torn from the sea, desperate to breathe.

"Oh you're sorry?" Alastor's head titled to one side as he watched you. "That absolutely changes everything then!" He said cheerily, mockingly.

The tentacle holding you up loosened out of nowhere, sending you down into the mud for a second time that night.

You managed to keep yourself up by your arms as you greedily heaved in air back into your lungs. Your head still spun from the rush of blood, and you felt like you were about to vomit out whatever flesh Alastor made you eat earlier that day.

You felt something at your chin—Alastor's microphone it seemed—and it tilted your face towards him. Your teary eyes met his cheerful ones, and your chest tightened. It's been a long time since you've even stepped outside, but you now felt more trapped than you ever have before.

He bent down, lowering his face closer to yours as he smiled down at you. 

"Since it seems like I've neglected my dear darling partner for so long that they've decided to seek attention elsewhere, I think it's best to spend some nice quality time together. Don't you think that'd be nice, sweetheart?" Alastor's voice held no threats. Promises. Only promises.

You shook your head no before he even finished talking. A desperate shaking hand reached up to him. "No, please. Al. Anywhere but the radio tower again. Please."

"Don't worry, doll. This time will a bit different." He assured.

You moved quickly, hurriedly, scrambling to your knees ready to beg at his feet. But before you could even part your lips to start, Alastor had both of you melted into shadows.

You re-materialize in the one place that haunted your dreams. The one place in Hell that truly, actually, did feel like hell to you.

Your blood felt frozen as you remained on the floor. Eyes wide in fear as you stared at the control panel.

Alastor turned his back to you, humming cheerfully, nonchalantly, as he made his way towards the main seat. "There's no need to look so alarmed," He said, you could almost hear the way his eyes rolled at your stupid expression. "We won't be having any special guests for this broadcast."

You finally tore your eyes away from the contraptions. Your gaze landing on Alastor's wide back as he slowly removed his coat. "You...you won't be torturing some poor soul?" You asked confused—and admittedly a little hopeful.

You couldn't count the horrible days he had made you sit and watch and listen as he took his sweet time tearing souls apart. How he joyously broadcasted the tortured screams for his Hell's entertainment.

Alastor's grin widened, stretched just a tad bit too far, before he turned his head to look back at you.

"Oh," Heavy static morphed his voice once more. "I didn't say that."

You didn't have time to react before his tentacles sprouted from his back, his inner shirt ripping to make way for them. They grabbed at your limbs, slithering around to get a tight hold as they pulled you to him.

A scream ripped from your throat at the sheer suddenness of it, and it made Alastor's heart leap in his chest. Oh how he loved those adorable reactions of yours.

"That is delightful! But do save your voice, dear. I do have to start us off first," He said gleefully as he turned around to fiddle with the controls.

You heart sunk. Eyes wide as the realization hit you. He wasn't going to force you to listen to someone being tortured. 

"Alastor, wait—"

"Why hello, you wayward sinners! Hope everyone's having a wonderfully hellish time right now, because boy do I have quite the treat to make your evenings even better!" Alastor spoke into the mic, his eyes gone black as he held your gaze. "Yes, indeed, this one is going to be very special." 

"Al, please—" You bit your lip, cutting off whatever pleas you were going to throw at him.

One of his tentacles pressed against your clothed mound as the others held you in the air. It quickly worked its way under your bottoms, ripping through it easily and exposing you to Alastor's lazy gaze. 

"Don't, please. I'm so sorry, Al. I won't do it again, I promise, please." You whispered, not wanting all of Hell to hear how you begged for mercy.

"What's that, darling? I'm afraid you'll have to be a little louder for our lovely, horrid, listeners." Alastor mocked, just as the tentacle between your legs started to slide between your folds. Another made quick work of your already torn shirt.

You grit your teeth and clenched your eyes closed. Stubbornly, you refused to make a single sound from Alastor's ministrations.

But you know how this ends.

You're hardly the first soul he had broken during a broadcast.

You, of all people, knew that well.

Another one of his appendages slithered its way to your core. It teased at the entrance, pushing, testing your hole.

"I hope everyone has a lovely time!" You hear Alastor speak to his listeners, just as a scream ripped through your lips.

You weren't nearly wet enough to take him. Your walls resisted, but not enough for his strength. The black shadow pushed its way deep into you, others coiled at your legs to spread them apart. One remained by your clit, lazily flicking along. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You cried as Alastor fucked his tentacle deep into you. The harsh thrusts sending your ample chest bouncing.

Alastor didn't respond, he rarely ever does to his victims. He preferred to let the song of their anguish play uninterrupted. But he did find himself paying more attention than he usually did to the way your body reacted to him.

His gaze locked at the way his black shadow disappeared into your slick hole. How it came back to light drenched in your juices, only to push back in harsher. How your little pussy stretched wide around his tentacle to accommodate its size.

His eyes traveled further up, watching as he wrapped one tentacle around your breast and squeezed. A lovely horrified sound coming from your lips from his actions.

He watched as you sobbed, attention fully on him. Only on him. And he couldn't deny the rather unfamiliar heat the pooled in his stomach at that fact.

The tentacle at your clit moved faster, pressing down just the slightest bit more at that little bud. You tried your damndest to silence the screams from your throat, but as your mouth fell open, you could only do so much.

The coil in your gut snapped easily. Alastor tightening his hold on you as he kept your spasming form in the air for his entertainment.

Your juices flowed down his dark appendages as it kept up the pace. Tears forming in your eyes as they gave you no reprieve, no time recover.

You fight against his hold, aching to close your thighs and catch your breath but the dark shadows merely pulled them apart wider. You pulled at you arms, wanting to push away the damned things from your core but you were merely held back the same way.

"Wait, please, stop." You were barely able to form a coherent sentence. The tentacle inside you opting to curl just the right amount to hit that soft, perfect spot inside you with every thrust. That spot that Alastor knew drove you wild when he fucks you through your heat, after a lot of begging on your end, at least.

You clenched down on it, that being the only thing you could think of that you could still do to slow this down. It unsurprisingly did nothing but make you feel more of each drag and pull against your walls.

Another orgasm is stolen from you as a tentacle began to grind itself up and down your sloppy slit, drenching itself in your slick as it attempted to join the one already fucking you. Your screams broadcasted for all of Pride Ring to hear.

It doesn't stop. He doesn't stop. His dark shadows held you still, fucking into your cervix without mercy, playing with your clit, your breasts. Pulling yet another sloppy orgasm from you.

"No more," You heaved. Alastor's assault seeing no end near. "I can't. Al, please." You begged.

You craned your neck over to look back at the demon. You find his gaze no longer on you or your body, but on the papers in front of him. His script. 

He was idly jotting down notes, chin rested on the palm of his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He almost looked bored, but the twitch of his ear as you called out his name showed you he was still paying you some attention. 

"Alastor, please," You tried again. "I am sorry. I won't do it again. I won't leave you again." You sobbed.

The tentacle inside you pulled out to your brief relief, only for it to slam harshly, deeper back into you. It's pace at breakneck speed that even with the tight hold around your limbs, your body was moved with every push and pull. 

"Oh, I'm sure you won't, darling." He finally replies to your pleas, although he didn't even glance your way. He continued correcting his notes, your sweet begging made for a wonderfully sweet background song. "Because why would you ever leave someone as generous as me?"

He ripped orgasm after orgasm from you. Your release dripped and drenched the floor of his radio tower. You begged til your throat was raw for some reprieve, for some forgiveness. But Alastor went about his way around the studio. Fixing this and that. Barely paid you any mind.

It was only when you've stopped pulling against his hold. When your legs had gone slack in the air, and your screams faded into whimpers did Alastor finally approach the control panel again.

"Wasn't that just darling! A wonderful performance, if I do say so myself," He laughed into his microphone. "I'm sure you lewd folks enjoyed yourself as much as our star of the night here, so make sure to keep an ear out for my next broadcast!"

His eyes finally land on your exhausted body. Your chest heaved with every labored breath as Alastor's tentacles finally slowly pulled out of you. A wet shlop of your juices dripping out as it did. 

He slowly lowered you onto the ruined floor, and your dazed eyes locked with his.

"There will definitely be more of where that came from." He said, less of his usual cheer. His tone lower. Threatening—no, promising.

You didn't move—you couldn't move—from the floor. You simply watched as Alastor shut down his broadcast and took his time straightening out and cleaning up his work station. He was humming cheerfully, seeming to be in a much better mood than when the night had begun.

When he was finally satisfied, you watched as he walked to where you were, stopping by your feet as he smiled down at you.

"Well, you've definitely seen better days." A laugh track followed his mockery. 

"I'm sorry." You heaved out. You hoped this was the end of it. You hoped he would just throw you back and lock you in his room again. Anything but stay in this wretched radio tower. "I'm yours. I won't try to run anymore."

Alastor chuckled at your response, moving to rest his cane against the wall before he reached up to his neck. He slowly loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh I know you know that." He said waving off your words as if they didn't matter.

He lowered himself over you, his towering figure blocking out what little light you had. "But I'm afraid I need a bit of a reminder about who you belong to." 

His hand made quick work of his trousers, pulling his hardened cock free.

His claws were at your waist and they pulled your limp body closer to him. Not that you offered any resistance.

"You can do one more for me can't you darling?" He wasn't really asking.

You can't. But you nod your head anyway.

He pushed into you easily. Your previous releases coated him and allowed a slicker entry. 

Your back arched despite exhaustion, and Alastor drank in your pained expression. "There's a good girl. Always ready to ruin herself for her lover." You heard him say. "Don't worry, I won't make this long."

But of course that was a lie. He pulled back so slowly, revering in the way your drenched walls felt around him; how they clenched around his cock like how he saw them do around his tentacle. Then he thrusted himself back harshly into your sloppy hole, forcing what little sound you could still make out from your lips.

He fucked into you, slowly, deeply, maddeningly. Making sure you both felt each and every drag of his heavy cock.

He wasn't one to crave sex as much as most of hell, but when it was with you—his precious partner, he had to admit he didn't hate the sensations all too much. And if it meant reminding you who was in control, if it meant making you owe him, making you dependent on him, making you crave him, then it was all the more enjoyable to see you fucked out and speared on his dick.

One of his hands made its way to the back of your neck, pulling you up into his lap. He fucked up into you as your head lolled to the side, struggling to keep your body upright.

Alastor drank in your expression. Your glazed over eyes, the tear stains that smeared through the mud and blood along your cheeks, the drool dripping from your split lips. Yes, this is what you deserved for even daring to leave him. This is what you needed to be reminded on just how good a partner he is.

He wrapped a tentacle around your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded his cock into you. His free hand now moved between you, to your clit.

Your hips spasmed as he drew quick circles on the bud, but you fought the instinct to squirm away. You wouldn't leave him. 

You can't leave him.

You know that now.

Alastor's grin widened when he noticed your actions. "There's a good girl." He purred again, leaning down to your neck to lick up your skin.

"Let me feel you cum on my cock now, darling. Let me feel how much you want me to fill you up." He whispered, his sweet voice right by your ear as he pressed down harder on your clit.

You whined, tears pouring from your eyes once more as he tore yet another orgasm from your weakened body.

Your fluids drenched his dick, soiling his pants as you came around him. Alastor all but tore your skin as he gripped you tight. His own pace finally picked up.

You felt him twitch inside you, before the hot feeling of his seed soothed your battered cunt. 

"Tell me, would that scum have let you cum like this?" Alastor whispered in your ear. He held you tightly, his head still at the crook of your neck.

"No," You responded weakly. You felt him twitch inside you again.

You tried your hardest not to think back to the poor sinner, ripped limb from limb in a blink of an eye. Their body likely still stomped down into the mud of the forest floor.

"Would any other wretched soul be able to give you what I give you?" Alastor asked again. He playfully nipped at your ear.

"No," You responded again.

"So who do you think can treat you, treasure you, best, my dear?" He pulled back, his smug smile loomed over you as he held your chin for you to keep his gaze.

"You, Alastor. Only you can treat me this good." The words were bitter in your mouth

You hadn't sold him your soul. And he would never ask for it.

But you were his and his alone, nonetheless.

"And don't you ever forget it." He mused, pushing you back down to the floor as he began to fuck himself inside of you again. His previous release slowly pushed out with every slow thrust.

"Be still for me, darling," He whispered sweetly. "Let me have my fill of you for now." 

I don't usually write smut but this request sent me haywire. Hope I didn't disappoint, anon! I loved your demented request ♪

[inkblot22]

Jamil Headcanons

Hmm. This would have been a lot longer if I had no self-control or the desperate need for sleep. Enjoy! (It also just dawned on me that it should be more sensible for me to be more scared of Jamil than of Rook, Floyd, or Jade, and I now think this is a very funny thought. Anyways-)

This one is sort of brutal, so TW for yandere, captivity, betrayal (?), physical abuse, emotional abuse, kidnapping, drugging, bone breaking, and a hint of Stockholm syndrome.

I like to think that when Jamil becomes lovesick for someone, that person already likes him. Between the two of them, you would think that you were the creepier one in this situation, since your little schoolkid crush on him has devolved into your every waking thought being consumed by him, his smug little smirk, the way his eyes change color in the light, the silkiness of his hair… it goes on and on and you can’t sleep without seeing him in your dreams.

While that sounds fine and dandy, it isn’t. You’re trying to keep it a secret because you’re pretty certain Jamil only wants to be friends, floating by on the thin hope that your feelings will fade with time, but Kalim’s narrow behind has caught onto the fact that you like his one-sided best friend and has made it a point to obliviously make your life a living hell.

It comes to a head when you’re hanging out at Scarabia one afternoon, Jamil comes in to serve the two of you tea- you because he considers you a friend and Kalim out of nothing but duty- and Kalim opens his big mouth and just blurts out your secret.

“Did you know that they like you?” If you could die on command, you would. You want the earth to swallow you whole, but because your nerves hate you just as much as the universe, you end up just sweating as though you entered a volcano and laughing awkwardly as Jamil sniffs and responds in the worst way possible.

They always say that the worst someone can say when you ask them out is no. They never say what the worst thing someone can say when you get ratted out for your borderline obsession for them. Jamil answered that question very easily.

“What? I knew they were a creep, but I didn’t know that I was their target.”

Yeah… So it only makes sense that you decide to give him space. A lot of space. He doesn’t see you for several weeks and he is not pleased by your decision to avoid him.

Where you believe he thinks you’re a raving, drooling stalker, he sees someone pathetic who admires him, as he should be admired. And losing that admiration is something he doesn’t handle very healthily.

In those weeks that you don’t see him, he’s snappy, more sardonic than usual, seeing his classmates and even some of those who he respects as writhing maggots wasting his time. All he wants to see is your shy smile as you compliment him for something minor.

A lifetime of receiving nothing but disdain or flat apathy for doing his best has caused something of a fever to engulf him when he loses the one person whose opinion he cares about.

So he devises a plan- it’s easy. You have a bad habit of compromising your comfort for other’s, so he asks Kalim to throw a party and invite you.

Predictably, you show up. He hands Kalim a drink and asks him oh-so-nicely to give it to you. Kalim’s so amicable, he does exactly as told, and you’re so…pathetic, so you drink it all without question.

You’re slumped against the wall in minutes. You rouse in his room, tied by your wrists and ankles, barefoot and jacketless with a pounding headache.

The room reeks of his skin- a mixture of fresh soil, star anise, and mellow molasses. You figure out where you are almost immediately.

And he enters. And your mind immediately goes to panic mode.

See, where he sees you and is pleased by your presence, you see him and believe that he brought you here to kill you.

It’s illogical. Completely bonkers. But after not seeing him for nearly a month and having your last interaction be so bad? It only makes sense that maybe he wants to hurt you.

Besides that, Jamil is a champ at holding grudges. That’s one of his many talents. He can hold a grudge as though it’s sewn to his skin. 

So, unlucky you, for pissing him off by avoiding him. He sort of just talks down to you for a few hours, feeds you some really delicious saffron rice (which he will never tell you he slaved over,) and then unties you so you can go to the bathroom.

That last one struck you as strange, but it makes sense when you reenter his main room and his hand latches onto the back of your neck, dragging you towards his bed. He wrestles you down, ties your arms behind your back, then ties your legs- loosely at first.

He tightens the bonds after he gags you with both a rag and duct tape and stacks your legs, one knee over the other, before he turns to retrieve a few other items. 

A railroad spike, the sharp end ground down, two scraps of cloth and some foam padding, and a mallet.

He smooths the fabric and padding down on your knee before lining the blunted spike up with your knee and giving it one strong stroke of the hammer.

You scream, the sound still loud beyond your gag, and Jamil’s lips quirk into a smirk as he tells you everything will be just fine. And then he strikes down with the hammer again.

See, he could have just hypnotized you for this. He could have decided that this was something he didn’t want you to remember, but you pissed him off.

How dare you not spend time with him! How dare you avoid him after he called you a creep! He deserves your attentions and affections, because despite you thinking he didn’t know and simply wanted your friendship, he knew. He knew and enjoyed the special attention you gave him. But you just had to get your feelings hurt when he called you what you were.

So he breaks your kneecap with one more strong, sure strike of the hammer and sews your leg closed as you sweat and drool and howl and cry under your gag, delirious from pain and unable to think clearly. Pain itself is a great painkiller. You don’t even feel the needle.

Jamil secures your leg, splinting your knee and making sure the wound is clean. He waits for you to calm down before he smiles sweetly at you and shows you his pointer finger as though you are a child.

“If you ever want to walk again, don’t try moving.”

So you don’t. Once your leg heals, you walk with a pretty severe limp, and some days it hurts so bad that you can’t move at all.

And Jamil is always there to support you… even when you piss him off.

He punishes you when you do. Punishments are not something that a caring boyfriend doles out, but Jamil is not really a "caring boyfriend" and will treat you like dirt in a heartbeat.

He’ll smack you around, and when that doesn’t work, he gets creative- sitting up all night with one of his coconut-scented candles in your grasp, disregarding your comfort when tending any injuries you have, hiding the broom after he asked you to clean so he can pretend to be even angrier when he gets back…

The list goes on, but his favorite warning is a well-placed gut-kick. 

Jamil is harsh, and he’s not particularly kind. He knows you prefer being around him when he isn’t insulting you with every other word in that unimpressed voice of his, but he can’t help it.

You just look so cute when you cry.

[sickdokidoki]

You can't get out... even if you wanted. Part 2

Unisex reader x Harry Potter (both are adults and this is post Hogwarts)

TW: | Kidnapping | Physical Abuse | Rape | Mind Break |

909 words

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

It was a honey moon atmosphere in those first few months. He was loving, caring, sweet, a total darling. Ginny didn't know what she was missing, you thought, as he brought you the fourth bouquet of that week, with a loving card written by him. It was like a dream, everyone at work was jealous... you had bagged The Boy Who Lived, the Chief Auror! You didn't care what the others said, though, he was just Harry to you, the sweetest man ever, the one who loved you and the one you loved.

Yet, slowly, as the days went by you started to see little things. At first you brushed them off as being trauma related. He had lost his family and had gone through so much since he was a baby after all... It wasn't weird that someone who had been in a war and died and came back had little quirks and weird tiny details to his personality. Completely normal.

 But then one day you realised that it wasn't normal when you found a magical tracking device in your bag. It was disguised as a keychain, but you didn't remember that keychain being that way... so you took it and ran a diagnostic spell with your wand.

"What is this?! You don't trust me?!" you had yelled, throwing the keychain down on the table one day when he arrived at your house for "alone together" time. He blinked, looked surprised, took the keychain and then looked at you.

You thought there was anger in his bright green eyes, but then he talked to you in worried tones and you realised it had been anxiety and fear... right?

"Oh, my darling, my pet, I'm so sorry... I should've told you. I'm just so scared about something happening to you!" he had said, looking morose and down at his shoes. "I should've talked to you. Being the beloved of the Chief of Aurors isn't a safe thing. That's why... G-she left... that's why I've been single for so long..."

Wait, you had heard differently...! Was all that a lie so the media and the public would leave them alone...? Was it a ruse for their own safety, did Ginny actually leave to protect herself and Harry...? That would explain his sadness, why he can't say her name, and it made so much more sense now!

So you let it slide, the same as you let his outburst after an old classmate had come into the café to say hi slide, the same when he had stormed into your house demanding to know where you had been and why hadn't you answered your daily owl, the same when he had snatched you out of the street and told you in no uncertain terms that he wasn't comfortable with you going to work anymore, that it could be dangerous...

At first you had been very compliant, it was Harry after all. If anyone knew about safety it was him. But as his grip slowly started to tighten more and more around you you started to rebel. 

You had always been independent, making your own way even in school, making your own decisions, ready to handle the consequences of your own actions, learning from your own mistakes... but now...?

Now, curled up in the corner of the dark dungeon, you regretted not seeing the signs. They were so apparent, your friends had told you it wasn't okay... that he was acting too weird at times... but love had blinded you, and now there was no way out...

"Ready to obey me?" Harry's voice carried through the darkness and you snapped up your head so fast your neck popped. "Ready to listen to only me?"

How long had it been since you saw him, or anyone for that matter? Was someone asking for you outside? Looking for you? Or had he made it seem like you left... like... when... like when she left...? Oh Gods...

You screamed, and screamed, and screamed, reality setting in. She had never left, they had never split... HE had gotten to her, she had been down here, that explained the flowery smell that had wafted up towards you as you peered down the chest at his request and then when you were pushed down, landing softly due to his magic. It explained all the paper and broken quills that littered the dungeon's floor. She had been here, and now... where was she? ...Would you end up wherever she was...?

At your screams he pulled you up with his wand and yelled at you to shut up, to stop it, then shook and slapped you hard enough till you went quiet, terrified, his hands big and strong, bruising you. You were a shaking mess, crying quietly, curled up in a terrified ball on the bed.

"Oh, pet... See what you made me do...?" he cooed softly, sitting next to you, caressing your hair softly. "I just love you so much... All you need to do is listen to me! That's all you need to do! Obey me and I'll always be at your feet, my beloved... Why can't you see that...? Why can't you see how much I love you...?"

His hand slowly caressed your bruises, touching them with hot fingers. You winced and pulled away, but you received another slap to the face and you went slightly limp, letting him touch you. His hands travelled all over your body, the same way they had done that day at the forest, during one of your strolls...

[smileysuh]

eat it

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. “I mean, what if we make a deal? For every ‘A’ you get on these three tests in November, I’ll eat you out till you’re begging me to stop. And in December, if you pass your physics final with a grade above eighty-six percent, I’ll fuck your brains out.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, pussy eating, foreplay, face grinding, dry humping, breast worship, fingering, squirting, dirty talk, using sex as inspiration to study, no nut november, blue balls, dirty talk, praise, multiple little sex scenes, big dick Jaehyun, slight phone sex, mentions of masturbation, teasing, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 4.5k

🍭 aus. Uni au, fuck buddies to lovers, no nut november, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. Short but sweet :) was missing Jae

One:

Jaehyun can tell something is off with you, and despite you being someone he holds at a distance with the label ‘fuck buddy,’ he actually cares about what’s going on in your head, especially when it’s clearly taking away from your enjoyment of him.

He’s not the type to bring something up mid fuck session, but when you both finish, he takes the opportunity to address it.

“You seemed distant today,” he notes.

You release a deep sigh. “November is coming up, I’ve got three big tests and then finals in December, and I’m just… I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

The two of you had decided to keep a purely physical relationship with the idea of focusing on school. You both feel as if you’re too busy with your studies to put as much effort into dating as you’d like, so you’d come to an agreement to fuck whenever you’re both needing it, and keep other things as surface-level as possible.

Despite this arrangement, Jaehyun knows he would be the biggest asshole ever if he didn’t act as at least a friend to you. He has massive emotional walls that he keeps fortified, but there’s no harm in checking in with you. Besides, stress relief is a cornerstone of your relationship, and if his cock couldn’t dristract you from the issues in your life right now, maybe being an avid listener can. 

“What class?” he enquires.

“Fucking physics,” you groan, falling back against your bed and covering your face with a pillow.

There’s a reason Jaehyun had chosen Marine Biology instead of a more mathematics-based science when he got to university. Hell, the intro to physics class in first year had nearly killed him, so he understands where you’re coming from. 

“Well…” Jaehyun swallows thickly. “My frat is doing the whole ‘No Nut November’ bullshit, and we both know I don’t like to lose… but just because I can’t fuck you to destress you, doesn’t mean I can’t eat you out and make you cum as a reward for doing well in classes.”

“Huh?”

Jaehyun laughs, shaking his head. “I mean, what if we make a deal? For every ‘A’ you get on these three tests in November, I’ll eat you out till you’re begging me to stop. And in December, if you pass your physics final with a grade above eighty-six percent, I’ll fuck your brains out.”

You stare at him, the cogs of your mind working clearly behind your inquisitive eyes. “What if we agree on an above eighty average instead of eighty-six?”

“Nah, has to be eighty-six, what kind of floozy do you think I am?” Jaehyun jokes.

“Uh… the kind that just dicked me down without me needing an eighty-six average?”

Two:

It’s November, and while the idea of using Jaehyun as encouragement to study had seemed like a good plan to begin with, you find yourself distracted by the notion of him. Numbers and calculations give way to thoughts about the frat boy studying marine biology, and after struggling with it for an hour, you give yourself a breather to unpack everything.

You and Jaehyun have had an on-again off-again fuck buddy relationship for a little over a year now, and in that period, you’ve fucked only a handful times. With Jaehyun, things are strictly business. There’s not much foreplay, not much chit-chatting- it’s entirely about you both getting your rocks off as stress relief, then going your separate ways.

There’s a part of you that’s always thought extensive foreplay is less of a fuck buddy type of deal, and more of a budding relationship experience, which is why it’s generally been off-limits.

Having a man’s dick in you is one thing, having his mouth on your pussy while he’s neglected, looking up at you and doing his best to make you cum without any pleasure for himself- well, that’s something else entirely.

Neither you nor Jaehyun like to be selfish in this arrangement you have, it’s always a mutually beneficial interaction.

But… if you let him eat you out for doing well in physics… if he doesn’t get to cum or be touched at all… then that’s you being selfish, and the flip side is, he’s being selfless with you. 

Selfless has never been a word you connect to the idea of fuck buddies- and sure, some men love eating out women, some men get super turned on from that, but… you worry you’ll just be blue-ballsing the poor man. 

You never want to blue-ball Jaehyun. Despite your relationship being surface level - except for when he’s buried in your guts - you care about him. And you think it’s this care that has made you put up walls.

You’d agreed when you’d met that neither of you wanted a relationship. You wanted easy sex when it was convenient to you both. No strings attached, no emotions, no foreplay- although, that last caveat was never something verbally agreed to or discussed, moreso of an offshoot of the entire arrangement. 

In an odd way, letting Jaehyun eat you out while he gets nothing in return will be a new stepping stone for your dynamic, and you’re not quite sure where the path it creates might lead. 

Three:

You open your door with a grin, holding your most recent test in your hand. Before you can even tell Jaehyun the good news about your eighty-six percent - on the dot, mind you - score, he’s grabbing you and pressing his lips to yours.

A laugh tumbles out of you as you drag him into your apartment, kissing him back eagerly while the door shuts.

He feels so good, and your body immediately reacts to him, your nipples pushing up against the fabric of your thin night shirt. Jaehyun notices, because his hand comes up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing against the bud and making you moan.

When his lips move to your throat, you take the opportunity to speak. “You don’t even know what score I got on my test.”

“You wouldn’t have called me over if you didn’t get an eighty-six or above,” he notes, breath hot against your neck as he licks at your sweet spot.

“What if I brought you here to beg, to plead for that eighty average to be acceptable?” you tease.

“Begging is really not your style,” he insists, his hands moving down to your sleeping shorts to roughly tug them down.

“Looks like I won’t have to beg for this, though.”

“A deal is a deal,” Jaehyun tells you in the most earnest tone, and it makes you giggle.

“Let’s go to my bedroom.”

“No, I’m eating you out here.”

A moment later, he’s lifting you, setting you onto your kitchen island. The cold surface feels good against your hot skin, and it’s hard to breathe properly as Jaehyun pushes your thighs open.

“Lay down,” he instructs, “and let me give you your reward.”

Four:

“So… This time, I got a ninety,” you tell Jaehyun, holding your phone close to your chest so he can hear you clearly as you meander around your apartment.

“Well, look at you go.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, and it has your body tingling with excitement. “When can you come over?”

“Just finishing up a few things,” Jaehyun explains. “How about nineish?”

“But that’s a whole four hours away!” you groan.

“Somebody is eager.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I was sitting in class and taking the test and all I could think about was your mouth.”

“Yeah?”

“Was getting so wet while doing fucking physics calculations- thinking about your tongue, and the way you hold me down when I cum. You’re a guy who just knows how to eat it, and it’s kind of making me go crazy.”

“Did I mention I’m at the gym right now?” Jaehyun asks, releasing a choked cough.

You grin, moving to sit on your couch. “Gonna sport a stiffy while doing bench presses, Jae?” 

“Pretty close to that, yeah.”

“All I’m saying is- you could be a great tutor, if you gave out sexual favours to all the cute girls who need help.”

Jaehyun laughs. “I feel like that would put me on a career trajectory that has nothing to do with marine biology, and I’m not spending all this money every year just to not use my degree.”

“True, true,” you sigh. “Anyways, I guess I’ll be waiting to see you at nineish.”

“Try not to touch yourself before I get there,” Jaehyun warns. “Or it defeats the purpose.” 

Five:

You’d been shocked to discover upon receiving your third test back, that you had somehow managed to score the highest in the entire class. And now, you’re even more shocked to find that Jaehyun has a few cunnilingus tricks up his sleeve that he hadn’t shown you in your first two strictly oral encounters.

His face is buried between your thighs, his lips wrapped around your clit while his fingers are pumping into your wet core. He angles his digits upward, crooking them in a way that has your whole body tingling-

He’d told you he wanted to make you squirt, you know, as a real celebration after your high marks, and at first, you hadn’t quite believed it would happen.

You’ve never squirted, and no man has ever taken the time to work that sort of thing out of you-

Yet here you are, feeling the first few dribbles splooshing out of your core and onto Jaehyun’s fingers.

It’s an intense pressure, but a completely welcomed one, and it makes your entire body tense with pleasure as he continued to finger fuck wetness out of you, his mouth never leaving your clit.

The sounds you’re making are obscene, but you can’t help yourself, can’t bring yourself to care about noise complaints or people hearing you-

You deserve this after scoring so well on your physics test, and you’ll be damned if you tell Jaehyun to stop or slow down.

“Fuck,” Jaehyun groans, pulling away from your clit to look down at you. “That’s it, baby, let it out.”

God, his dirty talk? It’s gotten better- or maybe you were both just not very verbal before, maybe when things were strictly business you were both holding back a lot of talents in the sexual scheme of things.

You release a whimper, more squirt gushing out of you and onto his hand.

“You look so fucking hot like this,” Jaehyun tells you, his mouth returning to your clit.

The past few times, losing yourself to him eating you out had been easy- but this time, you’re aware that finals are looming on the horizon. You’re not going to see Jaehyun for a couple of weeks, and after pleasure like this, you’re not sure you have the patience to wait that long.

You’re also keenly aware that this will be the third time Jaehyun leaves your house with blue-balls, and while he doesn’t make a big deal about it, you still feel bad.

This whole thing has definitely gotten more complicated, and you have the sneaking suspicion that when finals are over, and you finally get to fuck- they’re going to get a whole lot more confusing.

Six:

Jaehyun is about four hours into studying for his marine biology final when your ringtone sounds through his room.

He releases a groan, because sure, you’re a welcome distraction- but the mere thought of you is enough to give him a half chub and about two hours of distracted thoughts.

“Hey,” he sighs, answering his phone and putting it on speaker next to his text book.

“Hey,” you respond. “Studying?”

“Yup, you?”

“Trying to study,” you release a deep breath. “So… No Nut November has been over for a couple of days, how are you feeling?”

Jaehyun groans, putting his head in his hands. “Like I’m about to bust.”

“So come over?”

Jaehyun’s gaze turns to his phone. The temptation is overwhelming- and he can almost imagine how good your wet pussy is going to feel around his cock- how big his load is going to be when he buries it deep inside of you-

“We both know I can’t do that,” he sighs.

“Why not?”

“I told you, I’m not a floozy.” Jaehyun can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at his own words. He kind of enjoys this whole teasing game of not being the guy who puts out unless you do well on tests. He also kind of enjoys it when you release an irritated sigh.

“Be serious,” you insist.

“In all seriousness,” Jaehyun says. “We both know we can’t see each other until after our finals in three days.”

“But three days is so long away! That’s like seventy-two hours from now!” 

“You’re not going to be awake for all seventy-two of those hours though,” Jaehyun grins.

A grumble escapes you. “You know what I mean.”

Jaehyun can feel his cock beginning to rise in his pants, and he knows he has to cut this call short-

“Well, if you’re not going to come be my stress relief, maybe I’ll have to do it myself,” you tell him.

“Huh?”

“I’m rubbing my clit right now, and you wouldn’t believe how fucking wet I am for you. Been thinking about you for hours.”

“Fuck,” Jaehyun groans.

“It would be an awful shame if you didn’t come and fuck me stupid.” 

“I’ve got to go,” the marine biology major says, and it takes every ounce of his determination for the words to leave his lips.

“For a frat boy, you can be such a prude, Jaehyun.”

“I’m just focusing on something we both agreed a year ago. We both said school comes first. We both said grades above sex, and I’m just keeping us both in line with that intention.”

“I’ll try not to be too upset about this, because you’re right, and I hate that you’re right,” you sigh. “Good luck studying, I’ll see you in seventy-two hours.”

You hang up, and Jaehyun lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding.

He looks down at his rock hard cock, which is pressing up against the fabric of his sweat pants, and with one last surge of determination, he goes back to his text book. 

Seven:

You finished your final two hours ago, and you’re now just laying on your couch. Your mind is pretty much blank, your body exhausted- and that’s when there’s a knock on your door.

You release a groan, forcing yourself to your feet.

While you know you’re going to see Jaehyun sometime soon, you definitely don’t expect him to be on your doorstep, and you’re at a loss for words as you stare at him.

“How bad was your final, baby, you’ve got a whole ‘thousand yard stare’ going on,” Jaehyun grins.

“You’re here,” you force out, so shocked that you still don’t know what to say.

“I’m here, and even though your final is done, it looks like you need stress relief.”

A tingle rushes through you, and you nod eagerly, pushing your door open wider so he can enter your apartment.

“How- how was your final?” you ask.

“Wasn’t so bad,” he shrugs, “And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying marine biology is easy, but it’s not physics.” 

“Jae?”

“Uh huh?”

“I’m so exhausted.” The words come out of your mouth and you break a little, your shoulders slumping. “I won’t have results for a couple of weeks and I don’t know if I did well, and I know you have this whole, ‘I’m not a floozy’ running joke thing-”

“Baby, I’m here to fuck you, don’t worry about getting an eighty-six percent, I’m taking care of you right now even if you failed. Do you think you failed?”

“I don’t think so-”

“And you were highest in your whole class on the last test, so let out a breath, shake off the anxiety, and for the first time in two months, let’s just enjoy fucking, okay?”

“Okay.”

You let Jaehyun grab your hand and he leads you to your bedroom. Once there, he begins to kiss you. He cradles you against his chest, and it’s the most passionate lip lock you’ve ever shared with the marine biology major.

His hands stroke your body, and it’s not some quick tearing off of clothes- no, this time, it’s clear he wants to go slow. 

You stroke his muscles, massaging his shoulders through the heavy fabric of his hoodie. The motion makes Jaehyun groan, and he removes the layer, tossing it onto the floor before wrapping you in his arms again.

One of his hands moves to cup your cheek, and he slowly guides you to your bed. He lays you down before getting on top of you. Your thighs wrap around his hips, and you groan at the first amount of pressure on your sleeping short covered core.

The kiss deepens, but it’s not the kind of erratic and eager lip lock, it’s calculated, passionate, and in a way- loving.

Jaehyun cares about you, of that, you are certain. He cares enough to make this experience an act of worship, of self care, to balance out the absolute shit show that was your physics final, and you really appreciate the attention to detail that he’s putting into this.

His hand slips under your shirt, toying with your breast.

You’d been planning on having a nap, so you’re only wearing a shirt and shorts, no underwear or bra, and the sensation of his fingers playing with your nipple is the most relief you’ve had in a week.

You whimper, breaking the kiss to wiggle under him, hoping for more pressure on your pussy.

Jaehyun’s lips move to your throat. “Proud of you,” he whispers. “I’m sure you did well today.”

You don’t even know what to say, all you can do is moan in response, your brain too fried from your exam to think of words.

“Gonna get you naked,” Jaehyun tells you next. “You good with that?”

“Yes, please.”

Jaehyun pulls away, adjusting so he can slip your shorts off. You work on your shirt, and in moments, you’re naked for him. Then, Jaehyun begins to strip, joining you in nudity before getting onto the bed again.

His lips find yours, and his hand slips between your thighs. His fingers tease your clit, making you whimper against his lips.

If this was Jaehyun from three months ago, his cock would already be inside of you, and you’re reminded again that a November full of foreplay has changed your relationship. He’s more caring with you now, and you kind of love it, especially after the day you’ve had.

His digits slip into your pussy, working you open, and his palm continues to put the right amount of pressure on your clit.

His mouth moves to your throat, giving you space to moan and fill the room with sounds of pleasure.

He begins to do the motion he did when he made you squirt, and soon, that pressure in your abdomen is reaching a breaking point. You can feel the small gush as it wets your inner thighs, pleasure consuming you with the release.

Jaehyun descends to your breasts, sucking on your nipple gently before continuing to kiss down- he gets all the way to your pussy, and he pulls out his fingers in favour of licking your slit.

You whimper desperately as he takes position between your thighs, hands massaging the muscles there and keeping you pinned as he eats you out.

When you look down, you notice his eyes are closed. He’s fully immersed in the act of pleasuring you, and it makes everything feel better.

You give in to the sensation, mind going blank, body going numb except for the feeling of intense pressure that’s beginning to build in the pit of your stomach.

His lips suction around your clit, tongue flicking the sensitive bud, and your own hips begin to wiggle. You’re grinding down against his face, breathing hard as your orgasm becomes closer and closer-

There’s a difference between squirting and a clit orgasm, and while squirting had felt really good, this is about to feel even better.

You try not to put pressure on yourself, and that’s something you’ve learned this past month with Jaehyun.

He could stay between your thighs for half an hour and not get upset that you haven’t cum yet- however, you know it won’t take that long.

You give in to the feelings in your body, focusing on the pleasure as it builds and builds-

“Jae,” you whimper. “I’m close!”

He growls against your clit, sucking even harder, and that’s when you explode.

You release a gasp, the tension in your abdomen snapping as your clit begins to throb, sending delicious pleasure surging through your entire form.

Your thighs threaten to close around Jaehyun’s head but he holds you steady, working you through your orgasm.

The feeling of his tongue on your core isn’t one you ever want to give up, and Jaehyun’s the type of man who doesn’t like to lose- no, he continues to eat you out until you’re finished, until you’re pushing at his head, begging for his cock.

“Please, Jae,” you whimper. “I need you so bad.”

“I need you too, baby,” he nods, swallowing thickly as he adjusts on the bed, getting between your thighs again.

He looks down at you as he positions the head of his cock against your pussy. 

There’s a wordless agreement between the two of you as you stare into each other’s eyes, and Jaehyun slowly pushes into you.

You gasp loudly at the stretch, grabbing at his shoulders to steady yourself.

Nothing but fingers have been inside of you for a month, and the stretch is perfect as Jaehyun’s large cock fills up your core.

“Good?” Jaehyun asks with a grin.

“So good!”

His lips find your throat, and he sucks on your sweet spot, making you grip his shoulders even tighter.

Nothing has ever felt this intimate. You’re clinging to Jaehyun like a life line, your hearts trying to push through your pressed ribcages to meet, as if they were always meant to be one.

There are a thousand emotions bubbling up inside of you, but none of them can be vocalized, all you can do is pant in his ear as he lavishes on you, taking away all your stress. 

He begins to fuck you, starting slow as your body adjusts. You can hear him groaning as he licks your sweet spot, the muscles of his shoulders tensing with effort as he holds himself over you.

You get the sneaking suspicion that he’s very much holding back- that this slow build up is torture for the man who hasn’t gotten his cock wet in over a month.

“Let go, Jae,” you whisper, stroking his hair. “Fuck me stupid, you promised you would.”

Jaehyun releases a groan, pulling away from your throat to look down at you. “After all of this, we need to talk.”

“Huh?” your heart sinks in your chest.

“It’s nothing bad,” he’s quick to assure you, obviously having read your scared expression. “Just, fuck- look, I’ve been thinking- this month has proven we can get good marks and also be fucking, be more than fucking- and I just- I was thinking maybe we could try actually dating, if you wanted.” 

“Jae-” your voice cracks.

“You don’t have to answer now-”

“Let’s do it,” you nod. “I want to try that with you.”

“Thank god.” You can practically see the relief in the way he exhales, and then he presses his lips to yours, beginning to fuck you even harder.

You wrap your arms tight around his shoulders, kissing him deeply as he rails you. Your whole bed is shaking with each powerful thrust, and the pleasure of his cock inside of you mixes with the emotional ecstasy that had been triggered by the notion of dating.

You seriously feel like you’re on cloud nine, and it’s such a massive contrast to how you’d felt even an hour ago.

This man can change your entire mood, and you kind of love that. All your stress has melted away, because of his targeted effort to lift you back onto your feet after such a devastating final exam. 

He cares about you, you can feel it in the way his hips move, the way his lips caress your own. You can even hear it in his deep groans, all his inhibitions going out the window as he gives himself to you completely.

There’s also something to be said about fucking missionary.

When you’d first had sex, you’d done it doggy, not wanting to be staring at each other, not wanting to feel too emotionally connected as you looked into each other’s eyes-

So much has changed in the best possible way, the two of you pressed chest to chest, pressed so tight it’s as if you want to consume each other.

You’re connected, like puzzle pieces, and each thrust has Jaehyun hitting a spot deep inside of you that makes you feel so completely whole.

You’re both gasping into your kisses now, the tension rising by the second-

“Fuck, I haven’t cum in so long-” Jaehyun groans, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours.

“Then fill me up, Jae,” you whimper, stroking his hair and strong shoulders. “Give me all of it.”

“Fuck.”  

“I want this,” you tell him. “I want you so bad.”

He lets out a shuddery breath, and then he kisses you, grunting deeply- the last three thrusts are powerful yet erratic, and his entire body shivers as he falls over the edge. You can feel him filling you up, shooting rope upon rope of cum deep into your core.

Your legs wrap tightly around his hips, keeping him buried to the hilt inside of you, and you press kisses along his face, stroking his hair.

His orgasm lasts five or so seconds, and you can tell from the tension in his muscles that it’s an intense one. He all but slumps over you when he finishes, breathing hard against your skin as he buries his face by your throat.

“Fuck.”

“You can say that again,” you laugh. 

Usually, when Jaehyun and you finish up having sex, he immediately goes home and you go to shower, but today, you hold him close, keeping him wrapped in your embrace.

Neither of you say anything as you wait for your hearts to slow down, and you continue to press little kisses along his skin.

“How about we shower then cuddle and watch a movie?” you ask.

“Baby,” Jaehyun releases a small chuckle, “I would love that more than anything.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “This is how you inspired me to study when we first started dating,” you point out. “Encourage yourself with pussy. Get some good sucking now, fuck me stupid, and then, use that as fuel to get your studying done.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral, blow job, hand job, masturbation, use of toy/vibrator, multiple reader orgasms, sucking Jae off while he studies, multiple sex positions, dirty talk, praise, rough sex,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.5k I teaser wc. 110

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader

bonus

You can tell that Jaehyun is struggling. His end of the year final is coming up, and he’s as anxious as you’ve ever seen him. 

You’ve done your best to support him with studying, but after everything you’ve learned at the start of your relationship last year, you think you might just know the best way to help him focus.

“Jae?” you call, looking at your boyfriend as he studies at the table by your bed. “How’s it coming along?”

He releases a deep sigh. “Not great.”

You approach him, resting against the table. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Probably not,” he groans.

“Are you sure about that?”

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@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@meowniee - @learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas - @sourkimchi

And thank you to those who interacted with the teaser :)

@schniti-is-in-the-house - @nanascupid - @luvhaeni - @rainverry

@twistedsistas-stuff - @whereain - @catdonut657 - @belleilichil

@caibeauchicfashion - @suaveee12345 - @vantxx95 - @egojo1st

@pepperedthot - @jaeminthehyunnie - @saranghaesara - @aziriee

@morksbabymama - @cherriestcheol - @ice-bread4 - @probably-rk

[acid-ixx]

to you, my greatest passion (soft yandere! batfam x traumatized! reader oneshot)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

tw: allusions to stockholm syndrome, flawed relationship (they have no concept of boundaries) and mild descriptions of injuries and torture (not by the batfam). read until the end for an author's note. happy 4k followers to me :)) uh leave comments if u like this type of analysis and want to see more. i had no direction for writing this. please don't let this flop huhu i might delete this since i don't like it

as much as i love my angst, we all need something soft at times, and moments with yan!batfam with a reader who is absolutely fucking broken from their past that the mere implication that someone could love them is enough to let them melt into whoever's chest they lay upon that night.

just, hurt/comfort. one that heals the soul in its overly possessive embrace. the same way chapped lips peck softly on your cheeks, muscled arms caress your fragile, shivering body, and legs tangle upon yours in a cacophony of warm, cozy blankets.

where as the longer time passes in the manor, the more you learn to love. to let go of the painful memories your tormenters left you. to allow past scars to heal into a mere visage of what once was streaks coated in blood. your family acts as your new abductors, yes, but how could you hold your freedom against them when it is them that comfort you from drowning through the deepest depths of your nightmares?

nightmares of the past, of the knives that break through your already gashed skin, or the ropes that burn through bruises and laceration— every time you wake up crying, with tears running down your cheeks and a pained cry; a recollection of the torture you were subject to, it is them that come running to your room not a moment after.

it's bruce's tall, domineering form that crumbles into soft, snug pillows for you. your father arms that punches criminals into prison become the shoulder you lean on. calloused fingers rub your cheeks, wiping away your tears, holding your face in his palms like you're the most fragile thing on earth— and you are. every time he looks at your dampened eyes and sniffling nose, he gets reminded of how lonely he was as a child, who lost his parent too young to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and her unyielding coldness. and when he reminisces, he begins to cage you in his arms a tad bit tighter, begins to comfort you longer and softer than he has ever done with anyone else, as if he is reassuring himself. it is with you that his vulnerability, that fear of loss becomes all too stronger. and every time you cry a bit longer, your hold on his sleeves becoming unyielding, does bruce become crueler in his pursuit of fighting crime, a lesson to himself that the people he punishes are those with hands capable enough to harm you, his precious, his pearl that glints throughout the moonlight.

whenever your father is unavailable, it's dick who runs to you, with all the intention to provide you comfort. it's him who calls you his baby bird, as he reassures you that you're no burden in his eyes every time you scream in terror as your sleep. it's him who loves to drown you in his affection, always near, always close, never far and never too much. physically, he's the most doting to a fault. tender, yet tight were his hugs. his kisses to your cheeks and your forehead always linger, as if hesitant to release itself from its rightful place. it's a testiment to how much he loves you, how he's incapable of separating himself from you. god, he loves you so much he wishes he'd just melt right into your skin, so that you actually finally realize how you're the most important thing in the world to him. you, his baby bird. if he had met you sooner, quite earlier, right after his parent's have died, then maybe he could've managed his anger better, could've learned to cope with you through the battles you both fought. it's with you that dick feel unbearably euphoric, ready to spill his love to the point where tears consume his eyes and his head laid on your chest refuses to detach itself.

jason isn't familiar with what warmth feels like, not anymore. but when he sees your hapless state, he sees a reflection of himself in that abandoned warehouse. broken, defiled, hurt. with nothing to comfort you from the cold other than the ropes that burn through your skin and the adrenaline that runs through your veins. he forgots what solace feels like, what it means, but through your shared trauma does jason learn. he learns to talk to you, with you, learns to pinpoint each and every emotion he felt at the time, what you felt inside that putrid basement. he learns to manage his grief because he doesn't want to anger himself looking at you, at just how much justice can only serve so many. the longer you talk to jason, the more he becomes softer, yet hungrier. he learns how to hold you in a way a brother learns to hold his baby sibling for the first time when conceived. he relearns the warmth he felt, like when he was finally able to be good enough to be the successor to the title of robin, when he felt you drool on his chest when you trusted him enough to sleep in his room. yet this time that feeling was accompanied with that ominous, distracting essence. one that makes jason's knuckles crack and have him prepare his guns, as he discovers that you can never truly erase the past. and even though it might take years for him to be your ideal brother, he could at least be your sole protector.

then there's tim, who never truly had the opportunity to develop that deeper sense of love he wanted to feel until he was officially adopted into the wayne family right after his parents' death. don't get him wrong, he loves his mom and dad, and so does he loves his current family— but it's obsession that drives him nonetheless. the need to prove himself, to gather information about everyone to know who they truly are; beyond that there's nothing more than shallowness, a neverending hole he can't satisfy. but with you? oh god, you. to tim, you're his everything. you devour his being whole. with you, there's always something new. the need to track every single thing about you leads him into this cycle of want and need that coagulates into desire, into drive. every time you smile, or laugh, or frown, he gains newer intel about you, one he loops into the deepest crevices of his brain at a constant, you are his constant. but staying right behind you can only do so much. and as he sits right beside you in bed, awkwardly comforting you through the ways he mirrored off from his brothers: a sloppy kiss to your knuckles, a joke cracked here and there, and wiping your eyes and nose with his sleeves; tim learns that stalking can only do so much. he learns what it feels like to be needed for emotional connection and nothing else and that only further motivates him to be perfect for you, and to be with you, his sibling, more often than to simply live right under your nose.

and damian, your baby brother, who's unsurprisingly the one who sleeps in your room, or has you sleep in his room, the most. damian tells himself he's incapable of love, of showing it or reciprocating it. but for you, he tries, and like jason, he learns. he discovers just how depraved both of you are when it comes to love. it enlightens you both and it makes damian feel a deeper sense of connection with you than anyone else. with you, he feels like a child: vulnerable, yet uncaring and free, like the true meaning of being a robin, one the soars through the skies with no grandfather or mother or league to watch your every step as their successor. all the times you cry, he silently sobs with you, holding your cheeks down to his level with scarred palms. silent, yet comforting, he'd allow his smaller form to simply become your teddy bear whilst he whispers consolations. about how strong his older sibling is, how precious you are for being comfortable with him to speak of your problems, how you're everything to damian just as he wishes to be the world for you. it makes you think you're more immature that him, it makes him grateful that he has you. even though he doesn't say it, he shows through actions just how truly important you are whenever he draws a sword towards his enemies, thinking about you and his unsaid promises.

nights where you're reminded of that solitary confinement, of the darkness that creeps into your vision and the voices that pierce through your ears. nights where you feel you've exhausted yourself of hope, where what was once warmth that hugs your heart is now that frigid, yet burning spikes that penetrates into the confidence that you'll somehow, someday, run away from that hellhole— those were nights you thought you'd never live with proper sleep. but as one or two of them holds you in their embrace whenever your nightmares consume your being, you're slowly allowing your established walls to fall apart, all for the mere implication of their love.

who would save you, if not for them? their hushed whispers of consolation, hands that wrap around your figure, and fingers that knead your cheeks provide you that deep sated comfort you always wanted. the sleeves they use to wipe away both saltine liquid and snot, to slowly silence your blubbering rambles, your inconsolable crying; it's warmer than the basement you used to be locked in as a child, with dripping faucets the only source of your water— they saved you once before, who's to say they won't save you a thousand times more?

every time you feel like crying, every time that familiar faulty tap in your eyes begins to dampen against ashen skin, it's them that asks you if you're alright. even if you grit your teeth, even if you seeth or bite or beat or punch or kick, to punish yourself, to cope through the trauma, to not feel nothing.

every time pain begins to sear through your skin, it's your grandfather, father, brothers and sisters that huddle around you and tell you 'you're safe here, in the manor, with us'.

every time they spend hours, ditching patrol nights, cooking your comfort food, reading your favorite books, watching movies for hours, ignoring your assigned sleep schedule, kissing your scarred hands gently, reverently, cuddling your form against their strong ones as a silent promise that with them, there's nothing to harm you no more— you'd feel lighter every time, a tad happier, even. slowly, but surely, melting against the confines of your adorned cage and the embrace of your loving captors.

every time they help you heal, it makes you forgive, and it makes you forget their prior kidnapping in return of building new memories with them, in a safer haven, with nobody to hurt you any longer, with nobody to bash your head against concrete walls, to punish you. you who is underserving of the circumstances bought upon you back then.

safe, a word you thought you'll never feel, a word you didn't even know existed in the crevices of your heart. but it is with them that you slowly start to associate safe with family.

the family that you've come to love and cherish in your own imperfect ways, the same way a stray dog becomes too loyal to a passerby when given bones for leftovers every day.

but you're not an animal, and you're not a pavlovian dog meant to be conditioned. no, you're their baby, their love, their treasure and their only one. the love they feed you exceeds beyond leftovers. only you can devour them wholly, the same way they cloak your world in the love that fills that neverending pit in your heart.

you're not biologically related to any of them in any way, too. yet it was all a matter of coincidence that they stumbled upon you.

but really, past is past.

then is then.

now it's just you and them.

it's you, with them.

just your family. overbearing, overprotective, overpowering.

but nothing is always over to you. their love isn't too much. how could you tell yourself it's too much? not when you were never given a basis of what is too much. how is one too much when you were never even given enough?

trust is built upon a foundation of connecting with others who can relate with you one way or another, who can see past through your flaws and mistakes— it's a bond that precedes mere acquaintanceship.

you might've met them later than everyone else, but it's you that completes them.

you're the puzzle that completes the family photographs, the goal for bruce to continue his legacy as batman and to ward off all evil, the inspiration for dick to be that aspiring hero everyone sees him to be, the reason jason begins to reform himself for your sake, the purpose for tim's endless pursuit of knowledge, the muse for damian's painting, the subject for his love he thought was no more, the ambition for steph's prolongation despite her countless of failures, the motivation for barbara to seek out all the criminals who have harmed you, the influence for cass to be stronger to protect you, the catalyst for duke to use his metahuman abilities for good, to take out those who walk in broad daylight, as if they weren't involved in your past tortures.

you're everything that they are.

their sunshine and moonlight, their companionship and loneliness, their pain and pleasure, their yin and yan.

their greatest passion.

a/n: hii guys erm. this is so sudden and also counts as a rant but yk... i feel like quitting this blog but at the same time not. it's just, i feel like writing has been more of an obligation than anything else. it doesn't help the fact that i've only been getting interaction if i were to actually produce something good. beyond that, it feels like people are expecting more of me. i get it, updates are sporadic, they appear in the blink of an eye when you least expect it, but at the same time it's just hard juggling what i want to write and what i feel like i need to write. this blog was primarily to post about my thoughts and to talk to people but lately, every time i open this app to write, i feel these plethora of thoughts and expectations telling me that if i don't do well enough then people would merely ignore whatever i post or it's just bad by standards. and yes i'm grateful for all the people supporting my writing, but at the same time i'm lead to a cycle of me losing my motivation to continue writing. ugh idk what im doing anymore help :((

tl;dr: will i stop writing? no, but at the same time i don't know. someday, i may deactivate this account out of impulse if i feel too much, or not. it depends hehe.

[axolotl4days]

Yandere! Royal family × Neglected Reader

The Reborn Royal Part 1

Summary: This is one of those storys where y/n is born to royal family but the family treats them horribly and they become reborn and try to change their fate. Except, this y/n has been through the loop many. Many times, always meeting their doom, until one loop it suddenly changes

Tw: violence, abuse, yandere behavior(all platonic), descriptions of death, mentions of suicide and self harm.

Another day of torment has gone bye, as usual.

This time y/n had "embaressed" the family at a royal ball ruining their older siblings proposals. And being punished heavily for it.

Beaten and bruised y/n retreated to the library, one of the only places you know is safe from the torment on account of how large it is. Always finding books that have been hidden away covered in dust for who knows how long.

The library was always so quiet, you always liked that about it, you weren't yelled at here, weren't beaten here due to the importance of the library.

So you were free to explore and read to your hearts content, thats when you found it.

A book unlike anything you've ever seen before, a book with no cover, and seemingly having empty pages until you reach the middle of the book and see it written.

"Ask for it and it shall be yours. But be careful what you wish for"

You wonder what this means, you've seen magic before, even learned it in some previous lives, but you've never known magic, let alone any books that could grant wishes. Still, after so many lifetimes of pain and suffering, you think about what to wish for that could save you from this.

"I... I wish for my life to change, to have a loving, caring family, to go throughout my days not needing to fear pain just for existing" y/n starts to sob, wishful thinking they think to themselves, that is until the text on the book starts to move around and change.

"Your wish has been granted. The next time you wake up your life will be changed forever" the text then fades from the book as if it was never there in the first place. Y/n puts the book back where they found it and filled with hope that they hadn't had in a long time, they head off to bed hoping that the book worked and that finally things will change for the better.

....

.......

It does not.

Nothing seems to have changed. Everything is the same as it was. It's been a few weeks since you've made your wish, and unfortunately the torment hasn't let up, not even a little bit. Your Mother and Father, the Queen and King respectively continue to ignore your existence completely, ashamed to have birthed a useless child like you. Throughout your lives no matter what you did they always saw you the same, it shouldn't still hurt after so long but it does.

Your siblings, have changed, but only for the worst, since your last embaressment on them your older brothers have been pushing you around more and more, your older sister, while she doesn't harm you physically whenever she's near you she makes it her job to remind you about how much of a failure you are. How you always ruin everything.

You never should have gotten your hopes up. You don't know why you even try anymore. What's the point of living through these lives if the outcome is all the same, waiting for the day you'll die in some horrible way, usually killed, but there has been the occasional accident.

Something snaps. You can't live like this anymore, maybe... maybe if instead of being killed... maybe if you kill yourself it'll all stop...

And that's what you do.

While the rest of your "family" is hosting another ball to repair the damage you've done. You make your move, heading to one of the palace balconys and ending it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Royal Family have just announced they are having another child, they should be rejoicing but ever since the Queen discovered she was pregnant they whole family seems to have fallen under a curse of some kind.

Visions of the future, of pain, of... a person? They've never seen this person yet they look so much like them. And they see themselves too but.. somethings wrong with them. The visions are horrible, seeing each of them hurting this unknown person.

At first the Queen thought she was just having pregnancy nightmares, but then she overhears her boys fighting about something they've seen.

The Royal family gathers to discuss and discovers that they've all been getting this visions, visions of different lives, of this persons different lives. They've discovered that their visions line up, but still have many differences.

Preists, Mages, Wizards, they've called everyone they could from all over the kingdom that could possibly explain what's happening to them. To make it stop.

But none of them could figure it out.

This continues for months and they only seem to get worse. At first it was merely people who looked like them being rude, or obnoxious, or bullys, but has time went on the people in these visions got meaner. Got violent. And then the deaths started to show.

They can only watch in horror as this person dies time and time again. They refuse to believe that the people in these visions could be them. Why would they ever hurt this "y/n" this way. They don't understand it. The children wake up screaming so often that for the last month of the Queens pregnancy the family refuses to leave each other's side.

And then it happens. The day that changes everything. The day the Queen gives birth, they all have one final vision, for once, it's the same vision as well. They see this "y/n" holding a book, making their wish, and then... jumping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything is dark, and for a moment, you think this may really be the end for once... so many emotions all at once but there's no time to think before there's a bright light and you open up your eyes.

And you see them. It didn't work. You start to cry, and you cry hard, you immediately expect to be handed over to a maid as always, but instead the queen Your mother, she keeps you in her arms and tries her best to comfort you. Looking at you for the first time and she cries.

This is strange. She's never reacted like this, she's never held you like this she's-

"It's her."

A states, you can't see him but you recognize your father's voice. The voice of a king is hard to forget.

"There she is. Y/n."

You flinch at your name being said, you don't think anything of it, but they notice. They never wanna see you flinch again. Your only a baby. Your THEIR baby.

They have you now. So small, so delicate, so fragile, they won't let anyone hurt you. They've seen the visions, they've seen your deaths, and while you don't know it. They've vowed to never let you go through any of that ever again.

No matter what. You will get what you wished for. They'll make sure of it.

[docile-dove]

Cheating yandere

I Only Ever Loved You.

Tw: cheating, begging(lots of it), bone breaking, manipulation, killing, harming reader, bondage,Emotional abuse, physical violence, captivity, obsession, disturbing behavior, non con

The room was cold, silent—until the door slammed open behind you.

"Wait!" His voice cracked, desperation oozing from every syllable.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. If you saw his face, you knew you might break. You have seen some other girls underwear lying there with the bed reeking with alcohol, sweat and cum. Assuming he cheated, you just clutched your bag tighter, fingers trembling. "I can explain," he said, voice thick with emotion as he approached. "It wasn’t what it looked like—"

You spun on him, eyes blazing. "I've seen enough evidence, Ren!"

He flinched like you'd slapped him, but his expression twisted into something pitiful. “I was drunk,” he whispered, stepping closer. “I thought she was you.” (typical lame ah excuse)

You stared in disbelief. “You thought she was me?” He reached for your arm—gently, but you stepped back. That made something flicker in his eyes.

“No, no, you don’t get it,” Ren said, his voice cracking. “You’re all I ever think about. Even when I’m out of my mind, you’re the only one in my head. That’s why I… I thought it was you. I swear.”

You shook your head, disgust creeping into your stomach. “I made a mistake,” he continued, eyes watering. “A horrible, stupid mistake. But I’ll fix it. I have to.”

He grabbed your wrists before you could respond, grip tightening slightly—not painful, not yet. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”

You froze.

“I already took care of her,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “She was nothing. She meant nothing. Just a stupid, worthless girl who got in the way.”

You looked up, horrified. “What did you do?”

Ren smiled—soft, almost sweet. “She won’t be bothering us anymore.” The room felt colder suddenly, your skin crawling with unease.

“You’re insane,” you whispered.

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “If loving you makes me insane, then I’ll gladly lose my mind.” You tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. "Please don’t leave me,” he begged, lips brushing against your forehead. “You’re all I have. Everything I do—everything—I do for us.”

Your breath hitched, the lines between fear and pity blurring. His voice was warm, soothing, like a lullaby designed to keep you from noticing the chains tightening around your ankles.

“You don’t need anyone else,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll love you the way you deserve. No one will ever hurt you again. Not even me. I promise.”

His promises were poison, sweet and addictive. But you can't trust him.

“No,” you said, voice hard despite your trembling.

Ren froze. Your word cut through the air like a blade. Cold. You watched the smile drop from his face, like a mask slipping. His eyes widened slightly, shimmering with disbelief.

“What… did you say?”

“I said no,” you repeated, standing your ground even though your heart pounded so loudly it hurt. “I don’t forgive you. I don’t want to stay. You don’t get to lay your hands on me. Not anymore.”

His mouth parted, trembling, searching for words. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered. “You’re just upset. You’re hurt. I can fix this, I can, just please—”

You turned and walked toward the door. And that’s when you heard it: the sound of him hitting the floor.

“Please!” You spun just in time to see Ren collapse to his knees, his hands stretched out, shaking. His eyes were wet, red-rimmed and wide like an abandoned puppy. “Don’t go. I’ll die if you go,” he choked out, crawling forward pathetically.

“I swear I’ll do anything. I’ll change, I’ll never drink again, I’ll never even look at anyone else, just—don’t leave me!” You didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

He reached you and grabbed the hem of your shirt like a lifeline, clutching it in his fists. “You’re all I have,” he whispered, face buried against your stomach.

“You’re the only thing that keeps me breathing. You're my lifeline.. please.”

You reached down, pried his fingers off you, like dirt was touching you. He didn’t like that. His hands snapped around your wrists, grip turning harsh.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” he snarled suddenly, pulling you down to your knees with him. Making you let out a yelp. “After everything, after all the love I’ve given you—you want to throw me away?!”

You tried to pull back, but his grip turned ironclad.

“Let go of me!”

“No!” he yelled. “No, no, no, you’re not leaving me like some cheap thing you toss aside! You’re mine! You were always mine! That bitch was just some stupid whore, a fling! She meant NOTHING to me." He slams a hand on the wall beside you, close enough to make you flinch, breathing ragged

His face was inches from yours, flushed with rage and desperation. “Do you know what I did for you? I killed for you. I destroyed everything just to keep you safe! And this is how you thank me?!”

Your voice was small, but steady. “You’re hurting me..”

That made something snap. His eyes flicked down to his grip—and for a moment, just a moment—he let go. You didn’t run or scream. You just looked at him with eyes full of disgust. And that hurt him more than anything.

He fell back onto the floor, staring at his hands like they weren’t his. His breath shook, tears falling silently now. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered. “I just… I don’t know how to live without you.” You stood up. Looked down at him like he was a stranger.

“Then learn.” You turned toward the door again. And behind you, you heard the shift. The moment of silence that comes right before something breaks. Calm before the storm, they say.

You barely got the door open when a hand yanked you back by your hair. You screamed—but only for a second before your breath was knocked out of you.

Ren tackled you to the floor, the world spinning as your head smacked against the hardwood. He was on top of you, shaking, eyes wide and crazed. You felt your head get dizzy.

“You really tried to run?” he hissed. “After everything I said? After everything I gave you?! I even BEGGED you. I was on your feet like you're my goddess.”

You thrashed under him, nails clawing at his arms, but he was stronger—and now, he was unhinged.

“You’re not leaving me!” he shouted, grabbing down at your ankle and twisting. Squeezing harder and harder until..

Crack.

It echoed through the room, followed by a scream of yours. Your throat felt dry and painful from screaming.

Agony flared up your leg. You couldn’t tell if it was dislocated or broken, but the pain was blinding. Ren froze for half a second, looking at your ankle in horror… and then smiled. A sick, fragile smile.

“Now you won’t be going anywhere.” he murmured, trying his best not to laugh. He grabs your hair while you're still shocked in pain of what just happened and then he dragged you down the stairs to the basement. You try to struggle, grabbing the floor, his leg, anything to stop this. Your mind still not over the excruciating pain you felt in your ankle.

The basement was colder than you remembered. The air stale. Damp. The scent of mildew mixed with something worse—something rotting. The smell of blood. Wait....rotting—?

You were thrown against a mattress on the floor. Wincing as your leg hit the mattress harshly. One leg being useless and the other tied with a coarse rope that burned your skin. He worked fast—bindings around your ankles, then your wrists.

You turned your head slowly.. to see the girl he cheated on you with lying there dead. That's what you thought atleast, it was unrecognizable with the acid melting her face and privates right off. You could see the multiple stab wounds and various other torture devices around her.

You felt like puking, your chest feeling pain at this point, from the horrors u just witnessed. You gagged, kicked, screamed and cursed him. It only made him grin wider and feel some sick arousal in his pants. “You’re so pretty when you’re scared and struggling,” he whispered, brushing hair out of your face with a bloodied hand.

“Like a wild trapped animal. So stubborn. So full of fight. It’s cute.” Your chest rose and fell in quick, panicked bursts, trying your best not to whimper. The last thing you wanted to do was make him feel even more pleasure.

“Let me go, Ren. You’re sick. You need help..”

“I need you,” he snapped. “But you… you were gonna leave. Like I was some mistake to be erased. Like I was nothing.” His fists clenched. His voice cracked again.

“I was drunk—I thought she was you! Why can’t you just understand that?! Why can’t you just forgive me?!”

You glared at him, even through the tears. “Because you’re a monster!”He stopped. Then he turned slowly toward you, head tilted and laughed. It was soft at first, then louder. Hysterical.

“A monster?” he repeated. “No, no, no, sweetheart. A monster would’ve left you. A monster wouldn’t beg on his knees for you. A monster wouldn’t kill for you. A monster wouldn’t try to make you his whole world.”

He crouched next to you, pressing his forehead against yours. You tried to pull away, but the ropes held you firm.

Then his hand closed around your throat—not tight enough to kill, just tight enough to make you gasp, to feel like the air was always just out of reach.

“You don’t get to run anymore,” he whispered. “You don’t get to say no. You’re mine now. Forever.” Your vision blurred from the lack of oxygen and the dizziness you felt when he crushed your head on the ground.

He choked you harder. Pushing himself onto you, making you feel even more panicked and suffocated. He captured your lips and bit down harshly, licking the blood off your mouth.

You tried your best not to fall unconscious, afraid of the things he'd do to your body. You turned your head to the side with all your strength. He smiled and gently guided his lips down your neck, thinking you were inviting him to kiss your neck too. His sick, twisted mind.

You whimper seeing the rotting corpse again and close your eyes tight. He grinds on you, feeling your body, his hands caressing your hips and stomach. You felt disgusted.

"Stop.. ugh.. i dont—"

"Oh? Youre still awake?" He coos gently. He then covers your mouth and nose harshly, enjoying seeing your eyes shoot up suddenly as your sounds muffle in his hands. "Just fucking go unconscious. I need this more than you and i dont have the energy to put up with your begging and whining. Let me fuck you in peace, slut."

You struggle with the last of your strength before everything goes black.

[nagaytoe]

Tres Ictus

(Latin) [noun] Three strikes

Solivan Brugmansia X Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Requests: Open

TWs/Tags: Violence, drugging, abduction, established relationship, betrayal

Note: This was inspired by some of fantasias answers from her askbox!

(Next post will probably be some Crowe angst teehee)

Solivan Brugmansia was the picture-perfect boyfriend.

He was loving, protective, and reassuring, you could always bask in the warmth of him and his words.

“I love you, Pumpkin. More than words could ever describe.” He smiled down at you, his big, strong arms wrapped securely around your waist. You couldn’t help but smile back as he gazed at you so lovingly. “I love you too, Sol.”

The two of you laid on your bed, limbs entangled, and it seemed as though you couldn’t be pried away from one another by any force on this earthly plane. He radiated a comfortable warmth on many levels; physically, emotionally, and in his gaze as well. Whenever Sol looked at you, you suddenly felt like you were the only person in existence alongside him, like you were the most precious being he ever had the fortune of laying eyes upon. You loved cuddling sessions like these, sometimes they felt far more intimate than anything else, sex included.

Sol tilted his head downwards a little, pressing a kiss to your forehead and tightening his grip on you further. “I don’t think you understand how much you mean to me… I’d do anything to ensure your happiness, Pumpkin. If I could, I would spend all my days by your side, though in my mind you never leave anyways.” His smile was radiant and made him seem like the happiest person to have ever walked earth. You could feel the love he radiated, almost as if he was transferring his very heart from his chest to yours by the simple gesture of lying this close.

“I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, your smile that never fails to brighten up my day, your contagious laugh, your gorgeous eyes…You’re the most perfect person I ever met, no other living being can compare…”

Your heart swelled at your boyfriend's words. Just how did you get so lucky? You knew some people who would kill for a boyfriend like Sol. Someone compassionate, who never leaves your side no matter how hard times may get. Someone invested in you, who surprises you with little gifts all the time. Someone who does little day-to-day things for you, even though you are perfectly capable of doing them yourself. Someone whose words always affirm you. Someone who protects you from harm, no matter what. Someone who doesn’t just love your outer shell but everything underneath as well. Someone who knows you in a way like no one else knew you before. Someone who still views you as perfect, despite all your flaws, because you are the most perfect partner for them nevertheless. All these traits made up your lovely boyfriend, Solivan Brugmansia. There was no way he was actually this perfect, was there? Usually, there was always a catch to everything seemingly perfect, though perhaps you were lucky enough to get the jackpot.

“Sol…” , you whispered, your cheeks flushing red as you hid your face in his chest. No matter how many times he told you all these sweet nothings, you would never get used to it. Probably because it didn’t feel like nothings, it felt like he carved those words out from the depths of his heart, for your ears to hear only, “You are far too sweet to me… I am so very lucky to have you with me, I can’t even begin to put it into words.”

“There is no need for that, Pumpkin, I can feel how much you love me.” Sol bowed his head down once more and pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your hair, which conveyed everything words failed to. A warm feeling flooded your chest, and your heart felt as though it might break out of your chest, past your ribs, any moment now.

“Please do promise me this however,” you could feel Sol’s chest vibrate a little as he spoke, his grip tightening once more, as if afraid you might slip away any second were he not careful enough.

“Never leave me. Please, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you ever left me.”

You glanced up at him, a sorrowful gleam in your eyes, being well aware of his fear of abandonment. Craning your head further up and pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, you assure him, “I won’t leave you, Sol. Not ever. How could I? I love you far too much.”

Sol was an amazing partner – most of the time.

He tended to lovebomb and was a bit overprotective, but that’s alright, he just cared a lot about you, right?

Crowe awkwardly excused himself, uncharacteristically for him, before walking back into the building of Olympeius University. Your gaze flicked up to Sol, who wrapped his arm around your waist a little too tightly the second Crowe approached the two of you in the school garden. The two of you had been standing in the garden under the shade of a tree and studying the flowers present, when Crowe had interrupted your fleeting moment of peace. You didn’t mind, having not talked to him for quite some time, though Sol felt different about this predicament. If looks could kill, your dear friend would probably already be six feet under with the way Sol was glaring daggers into his back. Nudging his side, he quickly averted his attention back to you, gaze immediately softening. “Is everything alright?”

Sol hesitated before answering, glancing back into the direction of the doors that led back into the building and were just falling shut again. “Why would it not be, Pumpkin?”

You studied his face for any sign of anger, but you could hardly read any emotions off of the stone-cold mask he put on whenever he was asked such question. “You were staring at Crowe like he had the plague.”

Your boyfriend’s gaze immediately darkened, and he muttered something under his breath which you failed to catch as he averted his gaze once more. “He is the plague…”

“I didn’t quite catch that-”

“Don’t worry about it, Pumpkin.”

You couldn’t help but frown at his words and decided not to back down for once; you needed to find out what his problem with Crowe was, “Sol, why do you dislike Crowe this much? I’ve noticed before but never thought much of it, but I would like to know, especially since he is one of my closest friends.”

Sol sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment while gathering his thoughts.

“I just… I can’t shake the feeling that he likes you more than a friend should…”, His voice was dripping in venom as he admitted his feelings through gritted teeth.

Taken aback slightly, you had to take a moment to process your boyfriend's words.

“Are you implying that Crowe has a crush on me?” Sol nodded in response, the action almost seeming a bit too forceful as he averted his gaze.

“So what if he does, Sol?” His gaze snapped back to you the moment those words left your mouth, shock and anger brewing in his piercing red gaze.

“I’m with you, Sol. For a reason as well, might I add. If Crowe truly has a crush on me like you think, then I feel sorry for him; I really do, because I only love one guy, and that is not him. It’s you.” His stare softened in an instant.

“I’m sorry, Pumpkin, I just can’t help it… I love you way too much, and the thought of someone else stealing you from me feels like a dagger to my heart. I’m worried that you might find someone more worthy of your time…”

You shook your head at his words, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I can’t think of anyone who could ever be more worthy of my time than you, Sol. There’s no need for you to worry, alright?” Wrapping your arms around his form, you pulled him into a hug. He quickly returned the gesture, burying his face in your neck and muttering that he loves you, asking you to never abandon him. He was really overbearing at times, but there was no reason to further worry about it, was there?

Perhaps Sol wasn't that good of a boyfriend after all.

He was obsessive, jealous and possessive, so much so that sometimes it scared you.

“What the fuck was that about, Sol?”

You were enraged. Just about half an hour ago, Sol and you had been about to head back to his apartment after date night, the initial plan being that you’d sleep over at his place. You had dropped off your things at his place before going out since you didn’t want to have to carry them with you while going out.

In light of Sol having to use the restroom, you had waited outside of the building, wanting to get some fresh air and stargaze a bit. You had leaned against the cold brick wall of the building, looking up at the sky, which had been blanketed in pitch-black with specks of white scattered all over in seemingly random patterns. As you had studied the constellations in the sky, a middle-aged man had come up to you, asking for directions, and naturally, you helped him out. Unfortunately for both the man and you however, Sol had mistaken the scene for the stranger making a move on you. The moment Sol had stepped outside, he strutted up to the two of you, slithering his arm around your waist and forcefully pulling you closer to him as he snapped at the man about what his deal was.

You didn’t bother to hang up your jacket and take off your boots as Sol closed the apartment door. Unbeknownst to you, he locked the door and pocketed the key.

“That man was clearly trying to hit on you, did you not see his smug smirk?”

You walked towards his bedroom where your backpack was located, snapping back at him, “He asked me for directions!”

“Don’t you know how often that is used as an excuse to ask someone for their number?”

You scoffed, unable to believe how he was acting right now, “You’re overthinking this.”

“I am simply worried! That guy could’ve started molesting you, just like those guys back at the arcade a few months ago!”

As you were re-entering the hallway, you stilled in your movements to look at him in disbelief, your backpack slung over your shoulder. “Not every person out there is a criminal.”

“How do you know whether or not they are? One can never be too sure, you are simply way too trusting!” Sol argued and he wasn’t completely wrong. You were a trusting person, sometimes a bit too much for your own good, however, he was being unreasonable right in this moment.

“I’m not too trusting, you’re just too overbearing!”

“Overbearing?”, he repeated far too calmly, “How am I too overbearing if I end up being the one to get you out of trouble every time? It’s not that I am complaining, I would never not help you, but I would prefer if you stopped getting into those types of situations in the first place.”

The two of you barely ever argued. Sol was the perfect partner, at least he used to be. Just what was going on lately? The other day he grew irritated because you wanted to spend some time with your friends, something you hadn’t done in a long time, a while before that he punched a guy in the face for hitting on you.

This was your third strike, you can't keep on letting him get away with this type of stuff, he had to learn to accept your boundaries.

“Sol, I believe it might be better if we take a little break, at least until you learn to respect my boundaries.” It hurt to say it, but you couldn’t keep doing this, it was taking a toll on your mental health by now; Always worrying about whether your boyfriend might snap if you talk to the wrong person, then again, everyone who wasn’t Hyugo or him was the wrong person.

He stared at you in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape but no sound coming out until a few beats later, “What?”

“I can’t do this, it’s just… too much. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to have to keep stressing about who I can talk to and who I can’t talk to without you getting mad.”

“Pumpkin, Darling, I’m not mad when you talk to others,” Sol was clearly stressed out, almost a bit panicked, dread reflected in his eyes as they were locked on your every movement. “I just care about your well-being, is that so wrong?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose with one hand, resting the other upon your hip. “There’s a difference between caring about someone and being controlling.”

“I’m not controlling, [__]. If I were controlling, I wouldn’t allow you to talk to anyone, go through your phone, tell you what to wear, but do I do any of those things? No, I don’t and why is that?” He stepped a bit closer with every instance he listed, looking at you expectantly, before answering his own question, “Because I am not controlling.”

“Sol, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

He swallowed, his left eye twitching ever so slightly, as he took a deep breath. “You’re really going to break up with me over that?”

“I’m not breaking up with you, I said I need a break, some distance, not that I want to end things between us.”

“If you need distance, then I can sleep on the couch. You need a break? Take a warm bath, I’ll get it ready for you, but you won’t be breaking up with me, Pumpkin.”

You could feel yourself growing more and more agitated, why did he fail to understand the problem?

“You don’t get to decide over that.” Walking towards the door, which he was still standing in front of, you were about to make your way outside.

“A relationship consists of two people, I get as much of a say in this as you do.”

You stared at him, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lashing out at him.

“If you learn to respect my boundaries then I have no problem in continuing things as they were, but right now I simply can’t.”

Sol turned to face you, placing his right hand on the front door, effectively blocking it.

“I can work on myself, I can start memorizing all your boundaries right now, you don’t need to break up with me for that.”

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes as you did before meeting Sol’s stare again. “Please get away from the door, I want to get home while the street lanterns are still on.”

“Just stay here for the night, it’s far too dangerous to walk around outside all on your own anyways. I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s what you prefer.”

That’s it, you couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Sol, if you don’t let me leave right now, this will turn into an actual breakup.”

He froze for a moment, eyes wide as they scanned your agitated expression. Sighing, he finally stepped away from the door, walking off into another room. You reached for the doorknob, however much to your dismay, it wouldn’t budge.

“Did you lock the door?” You called out to Sol, while still trying to open the door. In your desperation, you failed to notice Sol walking up behind you, a small pill in his hand. “This isn’t funny, Sol. Open the doo-”

You were cut off by his fingers entering your mouth, causing you to gag a little. Reaching up to grab his wrist, you tried to pry away his arm, but he was far stronger than you. Panic spread throughout your body as Sol wrapped his arm around you from behind, a gesture which was once a source of comfort was now reason for terror. His right hand was still in your mouth, the other securing you in place and grabbing your jaw. Sol dropped something small on your tongue, quickly shutting your jaw with his left hand as soon as his fingers left your mouth and squeezing your nose. He wrapped his now unoccupied right hand around your shoulder as he shut off any oxygen source with his left. You struggled against him, refusing to swallow whatever he just put in your mouth.

“Please stop struggling and swallow it, [__].” His voice was ice cold, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you swallowed reluctantly.

His grip loosened a little, becoming less bruising as you greedily inhaled as much air as your lungs let you, before coughing violently.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Something to help you calm down.” He was still eerily calm. Then again, no, he wasn’t really. He only put on a calm facade; you could feel anger boiling up deep down inside of him and gushing out of every pore.

Sol led you towards the bedroom, but not without you putting up a fight. However, no matter how much you thrashed in his grasp, it was no use, he overpowered you in every way. A trait of his which you once found attractive was now the thing you dreaded most about him.

It didn’t take long for the drug to enter your system, as you could feel yourself growing dizzy and your vision fogging up.

Your boyfriend sat you down on the bed, and you could barely fight back anymore. Your limbs were growing weaker by the minute, your vision slowly fading to black.

Sol gently pushed you down and brushed your hair out of your face, the gesture way too loving, considering the situation. You muttered words incoherent to his ears as he gazed upon your nearly unconscious figure.

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be your boyfriend, could it be? Was everything he told you, everything he showed you nothing but lies? Did he really manage to trick you like this, trick you into believing he was a good person, a loving partner?

He laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms and entangling his limbs with yours. You wished you could pry yourself free from his grasp, run as far away from him as humanly possible but alas, such luxury will not be granted to you.

“Don’t worry, Pumpkin, I’ll take care of you. Rest well…”

Sol bent his head down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, like he did everytime when the two of you cuddled or before you went to sleep. It made you sick to your stomach, it hurt you and tugged at your heart, ripping it out of your chest. All these loving gestures, you didn’t want them, you wanted to be at home, you wanted your old Sol back, just like how he was at the beginning of your relationship. You briefly wished you wouldn’t have gotten with him, hadn’t told him you loved him, hadn’t met him in the first place.

Perhaps you were just as much at fault as he was, you should have noticed the warning signs earlier, for in hindsight they were so very obvious, or maybe you shouldn’t have pushed him like that. This was his third strike and he wouldn't let you leave him, especially not after you promised not to.

After all, it’s what you agreed upon the moment you told him you loved him, didn’t you?

[on-leatheredwings]

request: “how damian would handle learning reader is dating somebody?”

Yandere! Damian Wayne / GN! Reader > romantic > tw/cw: possessive thoughts, yandere-typical behaviors > word count: 741

“So, remember when I told you I thought my chem partner was kind of hot?”

You both are poring over your books on one of Wayne Manor’s many balconies. Damian, on a break, looks up from playing with Alfred the Cat with her favorite fluffy wand. He and Alfred have identical pairs of glassy green eyes, now trained on you. Damian blinks, face impassive.

“... I do–”

“I finally asked him out!” you squeal. You hop out your seat and around in a circle, not caring to feign coolness. You were excited, dammit, and Damian has seen you do much more embarrassing things.

While you celebrate, Damian simply stares. You don’t notice his breaths deepening subtly, as he tries to subdue the burning acid that starts to run through his veins. You had been interested in your chemistry partner for weeks now, and he didn’t think much of it. You’re young. You’ll have crushes. They’ll pass. He’s learned the art of patience by now. Mainly, for the sake of any who catch your eye, and for the sake of his father’s chagrin. Damian Wayne is not above slander or physical harm. 

Damian Wayne also has a timeline. He knows when he’ll start to hint at his feelings for you. He knows when he’ll make you his significant other. When he’ll bring you to meet his family, although they are already aware of your place in his life. Damian even knows when he’ll someday propose. He has, quite literally, already planned out your nuptials. Stephanie had him make a moodboard on Pinterest, for goodness sake. 

Damian’s benevolent enough to let you choose the date… as long as it’s within a year of his proposal. He’s been so benevolent, and yet here you were, squealing over a date with some frivolous boy. 

Taking Damian’s silence as him being stunned, you continue waxing at length about your date. He admires the naive abandon at which you describe the events – one of your charming qualities. However, in his mind, Damian pokes holes in every sentence.

You met the boy there? Meaning, he didn’t pick you up? Embarrassing. 

He didn’t pull out your chair for you once you both reached the table? Insulting. 

You tripped on a stair, and the boy simply helped you up? Infuriating. If it were him, Damian would’ve picked you up and carried you to your next destination. 

“You can’t be serious,” Damian snaps, sneering against his better judgment. His blood has finally boiled over – he cannot sit here listening to this drivel anymore.

At his tone, you flinch. Your babbling ceases. Hurt flashes across your face, before you smother it away.

“... What?” you say defensively. Damian straightens to his full height, dropping the feathery wand entirely. He strides over to you, looking entirely striking. Two emerald eyes stare down at you.

“You were treated like garbage the entire time, and here you can’t stop gushing about it all.”

You stare at Damian agape. “Okay, I wasn’t treated like garbage–”

“Did he even pay for the meal,” Damian asks flatly. You bristle, frowning.

“We split it–”

Damian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. You fill with embarrassment, staring at your feet… Your thoughts are interrupted by two warm, calloused hands landing on your shoulders. Your head snaps up. 

“You deserve to be treated like royalty.” Damian’s eyes pore into yours intensely, as if you’re the only thing he sees. “And as your… friend, I would hope you would entertain only those who could be your equal.” 

So he says, but no one will ever have his approval. He will sway you against them no matter who they are. Because only he deserves you. Some days, he doesn’t even know if he does. Regardless, you and him are meant to be.

You are dumbfounded by the sudden gravity of the conversation.

“I– yeah,” you say, nodding shyly. Damian overtakes your field of vision at this distance… you know, you noticed how handsome he was long ago, but at this closeness, you can truly admire it. He’s quite the domineering figure, with his perfectly-cut jaw, elegant aquiline nose, and even brown skin. You cough, stepping back.

“... Yeah,” you say again. “Uh, thanks, Damian. Let’s go over these problems again, yeah?”

Damian bristles.

The look that was just on your face...

He blinks. If he was correct… Perhaps he had just accelerated his timeline. And if so, such a development would be more than welcome.

[radio-writes]

I Don't Know if I'm Real Without You

— Part 2 of 2 (Read Part 1 here: What is Left of Me Without You)

Synopsis: He didn't love you, but he needed you—that's what he said, at least. He needed you to show him just how deep your devotion to him really was.

Warnings: abusive relationships, power imbalance, some misogyny, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, murder and violence, physical injury to reader, major character death(s), angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader

MDNI

"Why, just the other day a green fuzzy caught sight of another stiff by the river! Poor green egg went green in the face!" A laugh track followed the voice on the radio.

Alastor sat on the couch as he riffled through his briefcase, making sure he had everything he needed today.

"What poor taste," You commented absentmindedly from behind him. "Is that really any way to start off a Sunday morning?" 

Alastor let out a distracted hum at your words. He hadn't really been paying you much mind. A lazy smile simply played on his face.

Just one body? Seems they missed the other two friends it had in there.

"Well, it takes talent to entertain, my dear. Something these hacks clearly lack," He said casually, waving a hand at the radio's direction. 

"And speaking of stiffs! We've got a fresh one today, folks—" The host's voice was chipper as it came from the radio.

Alastor sat a little straighter, as if on instinct.

"Darling, do you mind fetching my script?" Your husband spoke over the hack radio host. "Seems I might have forgotten it in our bedroom." 

"Not a problem, dear," You replied almost instantaneously. Your hand landed on his shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze before you left the room. 

Alastor stood up, cooly making his way towards the radio as he turned the volume down slowly. 

"Glue stuffed in his mouth, chilled off, and absolutely tattered by nails, people! Brutal new body found behind the local—not so secret—juice joint!" The radio continued, but Alastor's smile remained calm despite the gruesome news.

His eyes stayed at the doorway you left through, making sure you had actually gone.

There was no need to sully your little ears with useless chatter like this. You were much more use to him all oblivious and naive, so he'd prefer to keep you that way. 

When the radio host finally finished talking about his the most latest victim, Alastor turned the volume back up to how it was. He made his way back to the couch, hands gathering his script neatly into his hands from the top of his briefcase.

He chuckled to himself before calling out to you. "Never mind, dear! The little bugger was at the bottom of my case this entire time!" 

He wasn't the type to forget these things. He was always so organized, sometimes to a fault.

And you knew that.

And Alastor knew that you knew that.

But he wasn't worried. You'd never doubt him. Whatever pesky little thought you had related to him, you'll just brush off easily.

He'd made sure of that.

Alastor heard you playfully scold him, your soft laughter rung through his home.

"—I guess you can say he really nailed that Chicago overcoat!" The annoying little shit on the radio joked just as you entered the room.

Alastor spared it one quick glare before his sight fell on you once more. You didn't seem to care for the joke much, but your eyes did linger on the dials of the radio for a second too long Alastor thought.

"Does the radio seem a bit louder to you, Al?" You asked him.

Ah, he must have turned it back a tad bit too far.

He looked at you with faux confusion. "'fraid I don't know what you mean, dear. Why would it be louder?" He stood up, closing the briefcase in front of him and straightening out his collar. "But I do have to split now, darling, or the ol' big cheese would have my head."

Your eyes met his warm chestnut ones. Alastor could practically see the way you brushed away your silly concerns in your head, a soft smile once again gracing your lips. 

He knew you were confused as to why his boss supposedly needed him at work on a Sunday.

He knew you wanted to ask why.

He knew that, at least some part of you, didn't fully believe that he was headed off to the radio station. 

If you were smart you'd have listened to it.

But you were his wife. 

So you simply nodded in understanding, moving closer to where Alastor stood. You made to grab for the suit jacket that still hung on his arm but the tall man was quick to pull it high above your reach.

"Not so fast there, darling." He teased, smiling down at you.

"It's cold out, dear. I'll help you put your coat on," You insisted, small, delicate hands reached up for the jacket.

Alastor stepped back from you, briefly tapping his fingertip against your nose. "And who said I was in any hurry to cover up this lovely new shirt my wife got for me?" He teased, snapping the suspenders he wore against the crisp white shirt.

He simply adored it when he made heat color your soft cheeks. He loved seeing proof of his effect on you.

His eyes drifted to the clock behind you, his smile straining just a tiny bit when he realized what time it was.

He'd miss his mark if he wasted any more time here.

"In any case, darling, I really do have to dash," He smiled back at you, already heading towards the door before you could say anything else. "But do keep yourself free, baby. I'll be back before you know it." He shot a wink at you.

He grabbed his hat from the coat rack and plopped it neatly on his head, then he was out the door in a second. 

Alastor let out a short, tired breath.

Sometimes, he did find your love to be a bit tiring. But he supposed, at the moment, it was still worth much more than the hassle it caused him.

He hurriedly strolled down the street, smiling and greeting everyone that passed by him politely. His ego stroked just a little bit with every flustered dame.

He didn't care for any of them, but he never grew tired of knowing the charming effect he had on people.

Alastor tried to clear his head of you as he hopped into a taxi. He laughed as the cabby recognized him almost immediately, but he didn't pay the man any mind as he yapped about how much of a fan he was.

Instead, he found that his thoughts have annoyingly strayed back to you. He's found that you've been so persistently present in his mind lately.

One would think that sounded so romantic, that he was a cold man finally falling for a sweet little thing.

But in reality he was weighing his options.

You've always been so behaved, so meek.

He found you endearing, that much was true.

You were great company, after all. You loved the same music he did, kept up with his dancing, and sang so beautifully along whenever he tickled the ivory keys.

You dressed up to compliment his style, even if it wasn't to your comfort. Smiled at all the wretched people, even as they gossiped behind your back. Perfectly prepared and happily ate every dish he liked, even stranger ones you found hard to stomach.

Because you shaped yourself to be his partner. You did everything and anything that you could to gain his approval.

And that was indeed endearing. The lengths you went to, just to hear a simple praise from him.

Alastor used to wonder if there was ever a limit to it, but as the times flew by he realized you were just too happy to rewrite even your own logic just to stay by his side.

And it was also true that you were a brilliant cover.

As a taken man, there were much less people prying into his life as opposed to when he was an eligible bachelor. And no odd rumors ever spread about him thanks to how behaved you were.

People saw him as soft, gentle, caring. Because a violent, murderous, psycho could never keep a delicate little thing like you as his wife, could he?

Yes, you definitely had your perks. That much he already knew.

But you've been so restless lately. So oddly, insistent on being by his side more. 

He'd tried to talk it out of you. Whispered how he was so lucky that you weren't like other wives. How you trusted him and respected his space. How you didn't nag him like a terrible partner would.

And it worked...for a while.

Until you've been fixated on getting the darn basement door open, at least. Somehow, you had it stuck in your brain that opening that stupid lock would have proved your worth to him.

You've been visiting that mug of a shopkeep at the locksmiths so often that Alastor just simply had to get rid of him already. He returned the useless tools he sold you last time too of course. He didn't quite like others making a fool out of what was his.

Only he could do that.

The cab stopped by a rather classy bar, the driver letting out a low whistle, going on about how they also wished that they could live up the big life.

Alastor tipped him generously, bidding him a great day as he stepped out.

He tossed his jacket on quickly before he adjusted his bowtie in the reflective glass window of the building. This was, he thought, his second favorite part of it all.

For such a detached man, Alastor loved many things.

He loved meeting his victims for the first time in person. The thrill of so many eyes on him as he clasped their clammy palms in greeting.

He loved talking to them, watching their eyes light up as he mentioned what they wanted the most. That moment where he knew he had hit the nail on the head and found out exactly what made these scum tick.

He loved using it against them, luring them to a false sense of security.

And, his absolute favorite part, he loved dragging the sharp edge of his knife against the skin of their necks. The lovely shade of red bleeding down their stiffening bodies.

He just can't help but love—

"My darling?" A voice—your voice—rung out in the dark alley. 

There wasn't time. There was no time to hide the body, toss the knife, flee from the scene.

There was no time to come up a with a story, a lie, a cover.

Because you were right there, standing in the alley with him. His blood stained hands and the corpse by his feet plainly in your view.

Even with the blood smudged on the lenses of his glasses, he could see the fear in your eyes, the gears turning in your head as you tried to process the scene in front of you.

It's a real shame. Earlier today he had decided that you still had more purpose to serve him. That he could still put up with you. That he would still be able to stomp out whatever stubborn will riled you up lately.

Clearly that wasn't the case anymore.

"Now, now, dearest," He started, hand reaching out to you as he held the knife still in his hand.

Your feet moved, but to Alastor's shock you ran to him.

Your panicked eyes took in the violent red that stained the pristine white shirt as you took his outstretched hand in both of yours.

"We should go," You hurriedly whispered, fearful eyes met his confused ones. "You can't be seen here."

You tugged him along the streets, careful to keep yourself in front of him as you tried to hide most parts of him stained with red.

Alastor's eyes were wide, his long legs working on their own as he tried to understand what exactly was happening.

"Dearest?" He whispered to catch your attention. "I just chopped off a man, you know that, right?" 

Your steps didn't falter as you hurried along, but you didn't turn your head to look at him either.

"Yes," You responded. The tight knot against your throat kept you from saying anything more.

"I sliced his throat open," Alastor continued to prod more. "His blood is all over me, in fact."

You whip your head around in urgency. You meant to shut him up. You meant to warn him not to talk so loud, that you couldn't be too sure who could be around to overhear.

But when your fearful eyes met his calm, warm, sweet, ones you ended up swallowing against your dry throat. Adorning a shaky smile instead.

"And I'm sure you did it to keep yourself safe, dear." You said, although it seemed as though you were trying to convince yourself of that.

It was as if a light bulb lit up in Alastor's head. He finally understood what was happening. He fought against his own body to keep himself from smiling as he stared into your uncertain eyes.

"I knew you'd understand," He feigned a sigh. His hand, that was previously unresponsive in yours, curled its fingers to hold onto you. "I knew I would be safe with you, my darling wife."

Alastor noted the way your stiff shoulders slacked at his words. As if you were waiting for his praise; as if you were waiting for that little bit of confirmation to fully push away all those pesky, silly, little doubts you held.

As if you were begging to have the slightest bit of reason to cling onto, to prove that there was no cause to leave your spot beside him.

"If anyone asks," You said softly, your hand reached out to wipe away the little bit of blood on his cheek. "I'll tell them you came home early to me. You did promise that you would come back quickly, anyway."

Alastor smiled down at you, letting himself lean into your touch as you seemed to love it when he does. "I am so lucky that you love me, doll."

You continued to lead him down the streets, sticking to less lit areas as you did so.

Alastor couldn't stop the grin from spreading widely across his face.

Because you did love him. You loved Alastor with all your sanity it seemed, but he was, unfortunately, far too happy to take advantage of that.

It was a huge weight off his shoulders really. 

Alastor enjoyed the hunt, the kill, but the clean up? Not so much.

While yes, he did enjoy tricking people into eating up his stories, misdirecting them this way and that, silently mocking how clueless they were. It was still such a pain to have to constantly make sure his stories were air tight. 

He didn't have to do that anymore, though. Not when all his darling wife had to do was smile shyly at people and hint that he was back home all night busy with more usual pleasures.

It wasn't even that hard to convince you to let him stay out late, hunt to his heart's content.

It was all just bad, terrible people. Scum of the earth. Dangers that could hurt you, or others. And Alastor, the dashing, selfless, secret knight in shinning armor was willing to dirty his hands if it meant keeping people safe. He'd taken on the burden so everyone else didn't have to.

Your husband, a great, tragic hero.

And besides, it's not like he asked you to kill someone. All you had to do was lie a little. Nothing grand, nothing elaborate—he wasn't so sure you'd be able to handle it after all—just smile, and hint, and spread a few insignificant white lies. 

It was easy enough, wasn't it?

And your little love for him did everything else. Your own lovesick mind fought your instincts without Alastor even doing much of anything else.

You convinced yourself so quickly that all this blood, all this violence, all this murder, just made your husband an even greater man.

Ah, he truly did love the way you loved him.

You were with him now down in the basement—Alastor conveniently finally figured out how to open the stubborn padlock—and if he was being honest, he never really imagined you joining him here.

Well, not alive anyway.

You watched him as he neatly packed the most latest body into a bag and burn the gloves he used during the act. Going through his simple routine to make sure he could continue to get away scot-free.

Alastor noticed how your eyes always averted from the corpses, insistent on staying on his form instead. He didn't really mind it, but oh did he enjoy that little spark of fear you worked hard to stomp down whenever your glance landed on a limb or two. 

He heaved the bag over his shoulder, before finally fully turning to you. "Well, let's get a move on, shall we, darling?" He smiled cheerfully, motioning with his arm for you to head up the stairs first.

You were glad to do so it seemed, you always were. You didn't have to watch your husband dispose of bodies, but Alastor found it rather cathartic how you've now started to cringe away from the basement door, after weeks of pestering him over opening it.

A little lesson, he thought. Well deserved. 

And look how behaved you were now again.

The walk to the nearby woods was uneventful. Silent. Routine.

Unlike the first time around he dragged you along. You kept wondering and wondering until you finally asked out loud how Alastor knew the streets so well. How he knew where to go where no one would see him. The man you saw him kill was the first one, wasn't he?

He laughed at your unsure smile, brushing your worries off with the flimsiest excuses. How he'd been home late so many times already because of work. How he just preferred to take the quieter roads so as to decompress from all his adoring fans—fans who weren't you.

And it was enough.

Because you foolishly trusted him. You wanted to believe him, and so you did.

Alastor hummed cheerfully as he continued to shovel dirt over his most recent victim. He was certainly far enough into the woods not to care too much about being overheard, anyway.

A sudden soft beeping noise joined his melody, and he looked down at his—rather expensive—watch.

"Would you look at the time! I hadn't realized it was already so late. Time surely flies when you're saving the world, right, darling?" He looked over his shoulder at your unsure form.

You stood hunched over, your back against a tree, and your arms wrapped around yourself, a fair distance from the man burying a body.

Your eyes avoided the hole in the dirt as you painted a strained smile on your face. 

Saving the world.

Alastor could practically see the way you tried to remind yourself that that is what your husband was doing.

"It's hard to keep track when you've got a lot do," You vaguely answer, choosing your words carefully.

It's not that you worried Alastor would do anything to you. But you were, unknowingly, cautious of any single thing that could trigger any more silly concerns within yourself.

Alastor hummed in response, his eyes staring at the mangled corpse he threw in the ditch. "They'll be looking for me at work if I don't show up soon, though." He thought out loud. "But I can't exactly leave this rotten stiff like this, can I?"

He sounded troubled. He looked troubled, with that wrinkle between his brow.

A good wife would soothe him.

A good wife wouldn't stand around watching her spouse do all the hard work.

He didn't need to say it though, not that he had any mind to. You heard his voice in your head regardless. 

Your timid, unsure voice spoke up. "I...I could stay behind and continue burying it?" It sounded like a question.

One that it seemed like you hoped the answer was no. 

Except you'd be a horrible wife for thinking that. You should be praying that he'd say yes.

After all, a good wife would do anything to help her husband.

Alastor froze for a second, his eyes catching yours from above his glasses before he adjusted them up his nose. 

Then you were rewarded with a smile.

"My darling wife, always so helpful," He cooed, walking towards you. He dropped the shovel to the ground and wrapped his arms around your waist, almost lovingly.

Alastor could feel how fast your heart beat in your chest, almost fighting to get out. "But I could never ask a lovely doll like you to do such a dirty job like this." He tsked as he looked down at you.

"I can handle it, my dear," You responded, eyes bright with stars at his praises. It was almost as if you'd forgotten what exactly it was you were agreeing to.

Alastor pretended to think for a moment, but his eyes caught sight of the watch on his wrist and decided he didn't exactly have time to enjoy playing with you more.

"Only if you promise not to get caught, my darling." He smiled down at you, and you quickly nodded, promising you'll do a good job and meet him at home.

He pressed his cold lips chastely against your forehead, and left you with a corpse in the woods to bury.

But it's just that, anyway. Nothing too much to ask for.

It's not like you killed him.

And he was probably a horrible person to begin with.

Right?

You brushed away the heavy, gnawing feeling, as you met the glassy unseeing eyes of the corpse in the ground.

Alastor surely knew what he was doing. And you loved him enough to do this simple thing to help with that.

Just as you shoveled in one patch of dirt to cover the man's eyes, you heard a loud gun shot echo through the early morning woods.

You jumped out of your skin, cold hands gripping the shovel as the sound rung out.

Your heart was at your throat as goosebumps littered your skin. 

Alastor.

You ran. You barely registered your own body moving until you felt the cold air whipping against your face as your legs carried you to where your husband went.

Worry. It all but consumed you, as your blood rushed loudly in your ears and your heart pounded.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Please—

You didn't know what you were doing. You didn't recall it. You didn't feel any of it.

You remembered seeing your husband's body collapsed and bloodied on the forest floor.

You remembered seeing someone with a gun standing panicked over him. 

But no, you didn't remember when you ran at the culprit.

You didn't remember the feeling of stabbing the shovel into their side, nor the warmth of their blood as it splashed on your cold skin.

You didn't remember bashing the steel against their skull with all your might; the metal dented and morphed as it disfigured the man's face.

You didn't remember screaming until your throat was raw. You didn't remember the tears scrolling down your bloodied cheeks. You didn't remember the horrible, unbearably cold, ache in your chest.

You didn't remember staring down the barrel of a shaky gun.

You didn't remember dying.

All you remembered, was the feeling of Alastor's warm arms embracing you as he pressed his welcoming lips to your forehead. 

And how you knew you'd never feel it again.

At least, you didn't think you would.

You blinked in confusion as you stared up the man—thing?—that caught you in their arms like a bride.

"I guess someone ought to rewrite those wedding vows because death didn't seem to do us part!" It laughed. Its voice sounded as if you were merely listening to it from a radio.

No, wait. Sure the thing that caught you also laughed, but you could have sworn you heard a whole crowd do so as well. Strangely, almost like a laugh track.

It's sharp yellow teeth showed proudly as it grinned down on you, and you couldn't help but cringe away a tiny bit from fear.

What are you? You wanted to ask, but you knew better than to be blunt.

You wouldn't want those nasty paper folk to catch wind of Alastor's little wife being rude—

Except. Were you still his wife? Where was he anyway? Where were you?

The thing that held you laughed cheerfully as it gently set you down onto your own feet. "Darling, I will never get enough of how easy you are to read," The thing said, twirling it's cane—microphone?—in it's hand before it leaned on it to study you. 

You got a strangely familiar heavy feeling in your gut, but before you could think much of it, your arm was looped through its as it pulled you along to a shop window.

"It seems you're a tiny bit confused, my darling," It said with a bright smile. "It's alright, you weren't always the brightest bulb in the room, but you certainly made up for it with your passion." It chuckled, once again a laugh track following its words from seemingly nowhere.

You felt the tip of its microphone at your chin, tilting it so that you'd turn your gaze from him to the shop window.

You almost jumped away, like an animal not recognizing itself in the mirror.

It took you a minute to realize that you looked at your own reflection.

You even waved your hands around and tilted your head to make sure it followed your movements. To make sure this was real.

You looked nothing like yourself. Hell, you looked nothing human.

"Truthfully, I'm a little offended, dear." The thing beside you spoke up, now turning to his own reflection as he adjusted his bowtie and dusted off his red pinstriped suit. Something oddly familiar.

"It took me less than a second to recognize you, and you still seem to not even know who I am." It said, glancing at you from the corner of its bright red eyes.

Your gaze trailed up to the top of its red hair, seeing two small horns—at least that's what you thought they were. 

"The devil?" You asked cautiously, still confused. "Am I in Hell?"

It let out a hum at your response. "One of two. I suppose it's one of your better shots, my dear." It said.

It turned to face you, suddenly leaning down close, so as to have it's mouth right by your ear. Your body freezes on instinct as it spoke.

"Must I really bed you again for you to remember me, darling? Or would watching me bury another body be enough to jog your memory?"

You leaned back, only enough to catch a look at the thing's face. The knowing eyes that seemed so warm, so inviting, so charming, despite how monstrous they looked. The smile that seemed incapable of falling.

The familiar feeling that brewed in your gut.

"Alastor?" You asked, your now clawed hands reached up to caress his cheeks, and the thing—your husband—leaned into it. His eyes briefly closed.

"Took you long enough, really." He said, a joking exasperation in his tone. 

The thing—your husband, you had to remind yourself again—abruptly pulled away, his tone bright and cheery as he began to drag you along the streets with a heavy clawed hand on the small of your back. "Now enough of that! Time for more important business, darling!"

"Wait, Alastor? How? What?" You stammered, attempting to pull away to take a second to breathe and clear your head.

The hand that guided you slid to the side of your waist, pulling you tightly against it's Alastor's side. "Ah, my darling thing. Always so slow on the uptake." He shook his head as if he found it adorable. "We're in Hell, dear!"

The words rang loudly in your ears, your heart sinking to your stomach.

"And we have important business to take care of, yes indeed!" Alastor continued, not letting you process a single thought. "And for this, I'll need a partner I can trust! I'll need a partner who I can rely on! I'll need someone absolutely devoted to me." His eyes met yours but he saw how the alarm still outweighed his words.

His eyes narrowed, lowering his face abruptly to yours, to the point where you could feel his breath on your skin. He wanted your attention, all of it, and didn't really care all that much about what else you had to think about.

"Hellooo? Anybody home?" He joked, tilting his head as he saw your eyes come back to focus on him. "Ah, there you are, dear. Thought I lost you for a moment."

You supposed you could think things through later. Even if Alastor looked terribly different now, this was still your caring husband after all. And he needed something.

A devoted parter? Was that what he said?

"Well, you know I'm always here for you, Al. Whatever this plan of yours is." You tried to paint a smile on your lips as you always have.

"Oh, but how exactly do I know that?" Alastor stood back up to his full height, his head tilting as he smiled down at you.

Your brows furrow. You don't quite know how to tell him that. You swore you've done so much for this man, and yet when trying to think of an example, none came to mind.

You cooked and cleaned and looked pretty for him? Spent time with him? Loved him? Lie for him? Hide a body for him? That's just what a good wife would do.

But you supposed—you think—you killed for him.

"I avenged you?" It came out more of a question than an answer. "I killed for you."

Alastor didn't blink as he responded. "Then do it again."

Your mouth ran dry.

Had you heard him correctly? Was it a joke?

You waited for the laugh track to play but none came.

"What do you mean...exactly?" You asked with a nervous laugh, your lips straining to keep the smile.

"Kill for me again," Alastor casually said. He turned, eyes locking onto a random demon further down the street you walked along on. He raised his microphone to point at them, turning his head—unnaturally—to face you again.

"Like that one. I suppose he'll do." His tone was still as cheerful as ever.

You follow to where he pointed, eyes hesitantly looking at the creature. 

You quickly looked back up to meet your husband's gaze. That feeling was there again.

And you weren't sure if it was the fact that you just died, or the sheer lunacy of the request, but you finally realized what it was.

Doubt.

You doubted Alastor.

"Why?" Your voice was small. "Is he a bad person too?"

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Hell, if I know dear. I've only just seen him now. But we are in Hell, you know?" His shoulders casually shrugged as if he didn't really care. "So, maybe?"

You tried to hide the tremble in your voice. Tried to hide how you doubted him. "But I already killed for you. Why do I need to prove my devotion even more?"

"You killed out of passion, darling. It hardly counts." He laughed, as if you were being so silly.

You're left with even more questions when Alastor grabbed your wrist, and you melted into shadows before re-appearing right in front of your supposed victim.

"What the fuck?" They exclaimed, jumping back.

"Good day, good fellow! The name's Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure!" Your darling husband stepped in front and forcibly shook the confused sinner's hand.

Alastor waved a hand in your direction to showcase you. "This right here is the Mrs., and she'll be killing you now."

You flinched as Alastor's voice further distorted.

Black tentacles wrapped around the now thrashing demon. And to your horror, you realized they came from your still-grinning husband's back.

His red eyes now consumed by black as he looked down at you expectantly.

"I...I don't have a knife." You avoided his eyes and looked away.

Alastor's head tilted. "You have claws now, dear."

You felt bile raise to your throat at the idea of ripping some stranger apart with your own hands.

"It'd be terribly difficult if these clothes get stained. Who knows where I could get new ones in...Hell." You had to spit the word out. "A-and, we're out in the open. Anyone can see us, there might be police here o-or their friends and family."

"You won't do it." Alastor cut off your rambling, more of a statement than a question.

You didn't meet his eyes.

You heard him sigh in dismay. "Well, it's alright, my dear. I suppose I knew your love for me had its limits."

Your eyes widen in shock, head whipping to look at him in panic. There was disappointment in his gaze as he looked away from you. Even as his smile remained painted on his lips, you could see how he seemed to shrink away from you.

"That's not true!" You half yelled, ignoring the struggling demon still held off the ground. "I'd go to the ends of the earth for you. I'd give up my life for you. I followed you to Hell, even! How could you even think that my love for you isn't boundless, Alastor?"

"Because it isn't." He sighed, his clawed hand gripped his microphone tight as he started to walk around you. "You say you'd do anything for me, that you'd give everything up for me. But I'm asking you for something so simple, and you couldn't even do that."

Your shoulders stiffen, you try to turn your head to follow him around. "This is not simple, Alastor." You said, a tinge of hysteria creeping into your voice. "You're asking me to kill someone for you, again."

"Wrong." Your husband said in a rather, sing-song manner. A jarring buzzer effect played at his words.

"I'm asking you to kill someone who is already dead." Alastor explained, barely paying mind to the sinner who now just looked very uncomfortable. "And you're already in Hell."

He looked at you as if you were stupid not to have put this together yourself. "He won't lose anything. You won't lose anything. There is nothing to give up with this tiny request of mine."

He stopped walking in front of you, but a greater deal of distance away now than when he started.

"And yet you can't even do that, my love."

You glanced down at your hands—your claws—in uncertainty.

That persistent feeling—doubt—swallowed you whole as you stood there willing your body not to move.

You should stop.

Run.

Never look back.

But instead your body moved toward the sinner; sharp, shaking, hands hesitatingly sinking into their flesh.

Once. Twice. Thrice. You couldn't be useless to your husband.

Their muffled screams sounded so far away from you, even as they yelled right by your ears.

You felt it.

Their skin giving way and the blood dampening your clothes each and every time you sank your soft, delicate, clawed hands into him.

The feeling of your long claws coming into contact and tearing through whatever bone or muscle stood in their way.

The awful, gut wrenching, guilt that swallowed your chest.

You hated it.

Alastor's hand clasps affectionately at your shoulder as he watched you cheerfully. Enjoying the conflict in your eyes as your heart died with every drop of blood that spilled from your hands.

"I think I may have just fallen so deeply in love with you, my dear wife." He cooed into your ear.

And your chest didn't flutter, or grow, or skip a beat like you had thought it would at those words.

But it's probably just the guilt, right?

It's just because so much has happened that you couldn't process anything.

Because you still loved Alastor, didn't you?

You loved him with your very soul, but he was a liar, and you may have finally started to see it.

Taglist @lil-bexie / @mizukikyong / @amurtan / @fokrilove / @fairyv-ice 

[041ahy]

3 STRIKES

‎‏➤ badboy niki x badgirl female reader

(enemies to lovers trope)

➤ synopsis ᝰ.ᐟ : Their minds were cages, and neither knew how to escape, they hated each other—until hate wasn’t enough. Now it’s three strikes. One night. One chance.

⭑ wc: 3.9k ┆ ⭑ tw !! ➤ Sexual content, underage drinking and smoking, self-harm, physical violence, domestic abuse, toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, profanity, mental health themes, mature language.

⚠︎ This story contains mature and potentially triggering content. Please read at your own discretion. If you are sensitive to any of the topics listed, feel free to skip.

ꪆৎ

“You’re staring again,” YN said, not looking at him. Her lips glistened under the neon lights.

Ni-Ki leaned in, voice low. “You’re not that interesting.”

She smirked. “Then why do you look at me like you wanna ruin me?”

He didn’t blink. “Because I do. Break you. Taste you.”

Her breath hitched. Just barely.

“You wish,” she snapped.

He smirked back. “Keep telling yourself that.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

She looked like sin and she knew it.

Mini skirt, glossed lips, and a strut that made people part like water. But she wasn’t here for the attention. Not really. Not for the music either, or the cheap liquor, or the fake laughs from fake friends.

She always ended up at parties like this—dark lights, loud bass, sweat in the air—not because she enjoyed them…

But maybe, just maybe, he’d be here.

Not that she’d ever admit it. Not even to herself.

And there he was.

Of course he was.

Leaning against the back wall like he owned the damn place, black shirt, cigarette dangling from his lips. Ni-Ki. Always with Jake and Jay, always too cool to care, and always watching like he knew something she didn’t.

Their eyes met.

She didn’t blink. Neither did he.

He smirked. Slow. Arrogant.

And then—

The audacity, he winked.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered under her breath, jaw tight.

She turned on her heel, straight to the table lined with shot glasses. If she had to see his smug face all night, she might as well be drunk for it.

The vodka burned going down. Good.

So did the feeling crawling up her spine.

She was partying like she gave a damn—dancing, laughing too loud, letting the bass replace the thoughts in her head. Her so-called friends were around, glittered and drunk, but YN felt like she was floating through it all. Detached. Sharp edges dulled by alcohol and attitude.

Then she felt it.

That stare.

Hard.

Heavy.

Burning into her skin.

She didn’t look. Wouldn’t. Whoever it was could fuck off. She kept dancing.

But the feeling lingered.

The bathroom reeked of tequila and vanilla perfume. Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped out of the stall, adjusting her top, patting under her eyes. The mirror told her she looked good.

Too good to care.

Until—

There he was.

Leaning against the wall like the hallway was built just for him. Same damn smirk. Same cigarette behind his ear. Same cologne—spicy, warm, and toxic like him.

Ni-Ki.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he. That smirk was louder than words.

“You run from every mirror or just the ones that show too much?”

His voice was low, casual, too close.

YN rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “Get a new personality. That one’s expired.”

She pushed past him, but his hand shot out—grabbing her arm.

Too hard.

Right there.

On the bruise she’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t healing.

She hissed.

His eyes dropped to it.

No smirk now.

He didn’t say a word. Just stared. Hard. Like he saw through her skin, down to whatever was left.

YN yanked her arm back, fury and shame rising like acid. “Touch me again, and I swear to God—”

But she didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

She walked away.

Didn’t look back. And Ni-Ki?

He didn’t call after her. Didn’t follow.

He just watched her walk away.

And for once, the smirk was gone.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Hallways packed. Noise. Movement. Too many people trying to matter. Ni-Ki sat slouched in the corner of the school courtyard, legs spread, hoodie half-off, smoke curling from Jake’s mouth beside him. Jay was talking shit about someone’s car. Dumb. Loud. Stupid friends. But he loved them.

Then—grip. Hard. On his shoulder.

Before he could react, he was yanked up.

“You’ve got a fucking problem with me, Nishimura?”

Of course.

Him.

The same greasy punk always trying to prove something. Always stepping where he shouldn’t. Blonde highlights, leather jacket, eyebrow piercing that screamed wannabe villain.

Ni-Ki tilted his head, lips twitching. “Yeah,” he said simply, eyes dark. “Your face.”

Then it was fists. Cracking bones. Shouts. Blood on knuckles, laughter in his throat. Ni-Ki fought like he didn’t care about anything. Because maybe he didn’t. The guy landed a solid punch—right across his mouth. Blood. Sharp. Hot. Ni-Ki licked it off his lip and grinned. And then—his eyes shifted.

Her.

Across the crowd, standing still. YN. Looking straight at him. Unmoving. Unbothered. Unblinking. He smirked wider, even with blood dripping down his chin. Raised an eyebrow. Slow. Mocking. Like the whole fight had been for her. She didn’t flinch.

But he knew—she wanted to punch him too.

Maybe more than anyone else here.

And maybe… he wanted her to.

Ni-Ki cracked his neck, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned away. Walked off with Jake and Jay like nothing happened. Behind him, the blonde was sprawled cold on the floor. Unconscious. Forgotten.

But that look in her eyes?

He’d be thinking about it all night.

ꪆৎ

He wasn’t even trying to clean the blood right. Just smearing it around with the back of his sleeve like that would fix shit.

Then he heard her.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Her voice—sharp, smug, familiar.

The kind that made him want to choke her or kiss her depending on the minute. Ni-Ki rolled his eyes without looking up. “Didn’t realize I asked for commentary.”

“Didn’t realize you were this stupid,” she shot back, stepping closer.

Before he could answer with something nasty, she grabbed a cotton pad from her bag—God knows why she even had one—and started dabbing at his busted lip like it was nothing.

Until—

“Shit—what the fuck, YN?”

He jerked when she pressed too hard.

“Don’t be a baby,” she said flatly, not even looking at him. “You don’t know how to clean wounds, apparently.”

He glared. She ignored him.

“You like taking hits, but you don’t know how to take care of yourself. Typical.”

He scoffed. “So you do care about me.”

She paused. Brief. Almost dangerous. Then shoved the cotton harder into his cheek. “I care about not watching you die from an infected cut, dumbass.”

He hissed again. She smirked—evil.

By the time she finished, she tossed the bloody cotton away like it disgusted her, spun on her heel, and started walking. Naturally, Ni-Ki trailed after her like the menace he was.

“Didn’t know I needed a nurse. You got any other hidden talents, Princess?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, not stopping. “I can disappear. Wanna see?”

“Feisty. Damn. No wonder I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She flipped him off over her shoulder. He grinned wider.

By the time they reached the school gate, the sun had dipped just enough to cast shadows. Ni-Ki swung one leg over his motorcycle, helmet dangling from one handlebar. He revved it once, loud and proud, before calling out:

“Bye, Princess.”

She turned. Eyebrow raised.

He winked. “Thanks for patching me up.”

Full smirk. Bleeding lip. Hair messy. Still hot.

YN?

She gave him the middle finger. Held it up nice and proud.

“Fuck off, Ni-Ki.”

He laughed—loud and real—and finally slipped his helmet on. As he sped off down the street, dust and attitude in his wake, YN kept walking, and then— Smiled. Just a little. A stupid, small, fucking smile.

ꪆৎ

Home.

If you could even call it that.

The second she stepped through the front door, the yelling hit her like a wall. Her mom’s voice sharp, her dad’s deeper—both slurred, both violent, both full of venom they couldn’t swallow.

Crash. Shouting. Slap.

She didn’t flinch anymore. She just walked past. But it didn’t matter how quiet she moved. The second her dad’s eyes landed on her—

“Look at her—standing there like a fucking princess while we rot.”

She didn’t even look up. Just kept walking.

Didn’t stop them.

“Fucking answer me when I’m talking to you!”

She turned—slow, empty.

Then came the blow.

His hand. Her mother’s shove. Someone’s bottle smashing near her feet.

Familiar bruises. Familiar ache.

She didn’t scream. She never did.

Her room was her grave and her shelter. She locked the door, flicked the light off, and sank to the floor.

The yelling still echoed through the thin walls, but she’d learned to block it out. A lighter flicked. Cigarette lit. She pulled the smoke in like it was oxygen. Let it burn. Her arm throbbed. Not from the hit— From earlier.

From the fresh cut she made last night, shallow and careless. Just enough to feel something. She was numb everywhere else.

YN was bad.

Not because she wanted to be.

Because that’s what life made her.

She drank.

She smoked.

She skipped class.

Her grades were trash.

She vaped between school buildings, kissed strangers when she felt nothing, and laughed when things were too quiet. No one knew what went on behind her locked door. No one knew that being a “bad girl” was just her version of surviving.

And if Ni-Ki ever found out?

She didn’t know if he’d laugh—

Or see himself in her.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The bass was shaking the floor, lights low and bodies everywhere — but all eyes turned when she walked in. Mini dress hugging her curves like a second skin, smoky eyes sharp, lips glossed and wicked. She didn’t walk — she owned the room. But she wasn’t here for the attention. Her eyes scanned the crowd with purpose.

“Looking for him?”

A voice, low and teasing, pulled her from her thoughts. She turned, already knowing.

Jake.

Messy hair. Dressed like he didn’t try — still looked like a sin.

She smirked. “Maybe. Maybe I was looking for you.”

That made him raise a brow, leaning in. Their faces were close. Too close.

“Is that so?”

His voice was a low purr now, the kind that curled under your skin. YN didn’t back down. She tilted her head, fingers brushing lightly against the hem of his shirt. Flirting? Flaming.

“Wouldn’t mind getting lost in your accent for a night,” she whispered.

Jake let out a deep, throaty laugh —

Then stilled.

“Well, shit…” he muttered. “Looks like we got someone’s attention.”

She didn’t even have to turn, she felt it. That stare.

Burning. Heavy.

She turned her head slowly — and there he was.

Ni-Ki.

Fist clenched at his side.

Jaw locked.

Leaning against the wall like a demon freshly carved from marble —Jealousy radiating off him in waves.

Their eyes met. Locked.

And YN?

She turned right back to Jake. Laughed at something he didn’t say. Let her fingers trail a little higher up his chest. Close enough that their lips nearly touched. Jake? Enjoying every fucking second.

“He’s gonna murder me,” Jake whispered with a grin, eyes still on her mouth.

YN smiled sweetly. “Then maybe you should kiss me before he gets the chance.”

But they both knew. She wasn’t Jake’s. She never was.

And deep, deep down?

Jake knew it too. She was off-limits.

To who?

He didn’t even need to ask.

ꪆৎ

The night was colder than expected, but YN didn’t feel it. Not with the vodka burning her throat and the cigarettes burning her lungs. Stick after stick. Drag after drag. Her heels dug into the gravel as she leaned back against the brick wall, exhaling smoke like it was oxygen. The music thumped through the walls behind her.

The laughter. The chaos. The lies.

She lit another. Took a swig straight from the bottle. Her throat screamed. She didn’t care.

“Had fun flirting with my friends?”

She didn’t need to look. That voice was etched into her bones by now.

Ni-Ki.

She let out a low chuckle. “Aww, baby. You jealous?”

Another drag. “Didn’t think you cared.”

He stepped closer, pulling a cigarette from his jacket, and she caught it — the brand. Same as hers, typical.

“Didn’t say I cared,” he muttered, lighting it. “Just asked a question.”

“Then yeah,” she said, still not looking at him. “Had a great time.”

They stood side by side in the dark, under that goddamn flickering streetlamp, smoke curling between them. No words. Just silence. Heavy. Loud. Dangerous. Until— He turned, and stared. His eyes dragged over her arm — the way her dress had shifted slightly, exposing the bruise.

Bright. Ugly. Raw.

YN caught it. Saw the way his gaze hardened, jaw tightened. She exhaled smoke again and smiled lazily. Like it meant nothing.

“Oh. That?” she said, lifting her arm slightly like she was showing off jewelry. “Dad. Bad aim tonight.”

Ni-Ki blinked. Once. Twice.

Like he didn’t hear her right.

“Are you fucking serious?”

YN snorted. Took another shot from the bottle.

“What, you surprised? C’mon, Ni-Ki. I thought you knew I’m a mess.”

He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Like all the sarcasm was just a shield he’d never noticed was cracked. She smiled again. But this one… it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Still wanna fuck me now?” she asked, voice dripping.

Ni-Ki didn’t answer.

Just dragged in another breath of smoke. And the silence returned. Thicker this time. Like a secret neither of them knew how to hold.

The silence was thick—

Heavy enough to choke on.

“You’re staring again,” YN said, not looking at him. Her lips glistened under the neon lights.

Ni-Ki leaned in, voice low. “You’re not that interesting.”

She smirked. “Then why do you look at me like you wanna ruin me?”

He didn’t blink. “Because I do. Break you. Taste you.”

Her breath hitched. Just barely.

“You wish,” she snapped.

He smirked back. “Keep telling yourself that.”

YN took one last drag, watching the smoke curl like venom from her lips. Ni-Ki turned to her, eyes unreadable under the flickering lamp. Then, slowly—too slowly—he flicked his half-burnt cigarette to the ground and stepped in front of her.

Close. Too close.

“You done pretending you don’t want me?”

Her heart skipped. But her face? Still smug.

“You done acting like you’re not obsessed with me?”

That grin. That fucking Ni-Ki grin spread across his face. He tilted his head, eyes dragging from her eyes to her mouth, to her bruised arm. And then he grabbed her wrist. Firm. Not rough. But firm.

“Let’s go.”

“Excuse me?” she scoffed, pulling back, vodka bottle clinking against her thigh.

He didn’t even blink. Grabbed her hand harder, tugged her toward the curb—toward his parked black motorcycle. She resisted. “Ni-Ki, what the fuck—”

He shoved the helmet over her head, ignoring her shoves, her swears, the bottle falling from her grasp and rolling away.

“If you don’t want me to do this the hard way,” he murmured against her ear, voice dark and filthy, “then I suggest you shut your pretty little mouth.”

And that did it.

Her breath. Gone.

She froze. The air was suddenly too hot. Her thighs pressed together without thinking.

He smirked — knowing.

And got on the bike.

“On. Now.”

So she climbed on. Furious. Breathless. Drunk. Turned on.

“So,” she purred, kicking her heels off at the door. “How many girls have you dragged here, Nishimura?”

He dropped the keys onto the counter, not turning to face her.

“What, jealous?”

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “As if I’d be jealous of the girls who’ve already had your dick.”

He turned then.

Slowly.

Eyes raking her up and down like she was the only girl in the world.

“Trust me,” he said, voice low and sinful,

“None of them made it past the front door.”

Boom.

Her stomach flipped. She hated it.

Loved it.

His bedroom was messy. Cold. Stark. But he didn’t waste time. He pulled open his drawer and tossed a first aid kit on the bed, motioning for her to sit.

“This again?” she rolled her eyes but sat anyway. He sat beside her. Too close. The tension could cut flesh. He dabbed alcohol on the bruise and she hissed, grabbing the bed sheets tight.

“Still terrible at this,” she muttered.

“Still pretending you’re not into it,” he whispered back, pressing harder.

Her eyes shot up to his—dark, half-lidded, consuming. They were too close.

The air? Gone.

Every breath was loaded. Their faces inches apart. His hand still holding her arm. Her lips parted. His gaze dipped.

“Say the word,” he said, voice like fucking molten sin, “and I’ll ruin you.”

And YN?

She just smiled.

“You already are.”

His hand still held her wrist — thumb pressed just below the bruise. Too close. Too long. Too much.

Their breathing had synced without permission.

Her chest rose. His jaw clenched. Their eyes locked like a goddamn battlefield.

“Why are you still touching me?” she sneered.

“Or do you just get off on pretending you care?”

Ni-Ki smirked, cocking his head.

“Nah,” he drawled, voice thick like smoke and sex.

“I just like watching you squirm.”

Her breath hitched — barely — but he caught it.

Of course he did.

“And I really like how your thighs keep fucking clenching every time I speak, princess.”

YN’s eyes narrowed, fire licking her spine.

“In your dreams, Nishimura.”

“Sweetheart,” he leaned in, breath ghosting her lips, “If I dreamt it, you wouldn’t be wearing this much clothes.”

And that fucking did it.

Snap.

She grabbed his collar — sharp, fast.

He gripped her waist — hard, like a promise.

And then—

Lips crashed.

Teeth clinked.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was war.

Her nails scraped down his neck.

His hands were already under her thighs, pulling her into his lap like he owned her.

“I hate you,” she spat against his mouth, biting his lip.

“Say it again,” he growled, rutting against her like an animal. “Say it while you grind your needy little hips on me.” She moaned — fuck, she hated that she did.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re dripping,” he whispered darkly,

“Say you don’t want me, but your body’s screaming like a fucking liar.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back.

“You’re a mistake.”

“Then make me again,” he hissed, lips at her neck,“Let me fuck that hate right out of you.”

And god, their bodies were chaos. Clothes still on, but shifting. Writhing. Heat and heat and more heat. Hands on skin. Mouths everywhere. Every moan had a curse under it. Every touch came with a threat.

“You’re still the same broken girl,” he whispered in her ear, “but I’ll be the one who breaks you properly.”

And she?

She kissed him harder — like she wanted to drown in him just to prove him wrong. Because hate never felt this fucking good.

The second her back hit the mattress, his body followed — pressing down, caging her in, breath fanning across her skin like a warning.

“Still pretending you don’t want this?” he muttered, voice gravel and sin.

“Still pretending you’re not replaceable?” she shot back.

His laugh was low — dark.

His fingers hooked under the hem of her dress, dragging it slowly up her thighs, knuckles brushing skin like a dare.

“If I’m replaceable,” he whispered against her knee,“why haven’t you let anyone else touch you like this?”

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked.“Because no one’s been as fucking annoying.”

“Liar,” he smirked, sliding the fabric higher, inch by inch.

“You like it when I ruin your night. You love hating me.”

And she did. God, she did.

Because right now, his mouth was on her thigh, biting. Teasing. And she couldn’t breathe. Her hips rolled up on instinct — he caught it.

“See?” he rasped. “Your body’s desperate for me.”

His lips trailed higher. Over bruises. Over secrets. Over places no one else had ever dared touch. And when she moaned — soft, bitten — his hands dug into her thighs like he’d earned it.

“Say it,” he murmured, teeth grazing her skin.

“Say you want me.”

“I’d rather choke,” she hissed. He smirked against her stomach. “Then open that pretty mouth, baby. I’ll give you something better to choke on.”

Her legs locked around his waist before she could stop herself. And then everything blurred. Hands pulling. Mouths crashing. Her dress hit the floor. His shirt was gone. Skin on skin, sweat slick, breathless curses and matching bruises. Her nails left scratches down his back. His hands roamed like he was mapping her body — just to destroy it.

“You think I’m weak?” she panted, biting his jaw.

“Think you’ve got power over me?”

“No,” he growled, lips at her ear.

“I think you’re already mine.”

And when he sank into her — slow, deep, deliberate — They both broke. Because the hate didn’t matter. Not when she clung to him like a lifeline. Not when he kissed her like he couldn’t fucking stop.

“Ni-Ki—”

“Don’t say my name like that unless you mean it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then moan it instead.”

And she did.

Again.

And again.

Their bodies moved like violence, like poetry, like war. No love. Just lust. No sweetness. Just need. But when they collapsed together, limbs tangled in the sheets, hearts hammering and breath uneven— he didn’t move away. And neither did she. Because somehow, in the mess of sex and spite— they found something that felt dangerously close to home.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

She woke to heat.

Not from the blankets. Not from the room.

From him.

His arm was draped over her bare waist. Their legs tangled. Her body sore in all the right places — and his gaze?

Burning.

Ni-Ki laid there like he owned the goddamn morning. That same smug look painted across his stupidly perfect face, one hand lazily tracing circles into her hip bone like they hadn’t just ripped each other apart hours ago.

“You done staring?” she snapped, voice hoarse.

“You done pretending you didn’t like it?” he fired back, tongue sliding across his bottom lip.

She groaned, shoving the covers off her naked body and grabbing the nearest shirt — his, obviously. Oversized, black, and still reeking of cologne and sin. He watched her move — shameless. Like she hadn’t shattered under him. Like she hadn’t clawed at his back and moaned his name like it was her only language.

“Leaving already?” he muttered, arms behind his head now. “Didn’t even get to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” she scoffed, pulling her shorts up with jerky hands.

“For what? The emotional damage?”

“For the best fucking night of your life,” he said casually, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her bend. She rolled her eyes and turned for the door. But he moved fast — faster than she expected. Suddenly, her back hit the wall, his body caging her in again, eyes dark, lips parted, still breathless.

“You’re not walking out like that,” he said lowly.

“Not after the way you were moaning for me.”

Her pulse jumped.

“Get off me—”

“You sure?” he whispered, hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, gripping her thigh, pressing in slowly.

“Because your body’s already begging.”

She tried to glare. She really did. But her hands were already clutching his shoulders, breath catching, lips just a breath away from his.

“We shouldn’t,” she said, but it was shaky. Weak.

“You’re right,” he muttered, lifting her effortlessly against the wall, sliding her up until her legs wrapped around his waist again.

“We really fucking shouldn’t.”

And just like that—

Their mouths collided again. Hot. Messy. Desperate. Nothing soft. Nothing clean. It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was something —

Something dangerous.

Something they couldn’t walk away from. And when she whispered his name again, half-choked and breathless, he cursed under his breath like she was the sin he’d die repeating. Her nails dug into his shoulders. His breath fanned hot across her lips.

She hated him.

God, she hated how he smelled like sweat and smoke and midnight. She hated how his grip bruised. How his fingers curled around her thighs like he owned them.

“You want this?” he murmured, teeth grazing her jaw, lips ghosting over her throat.

“Say it.”

“I want you to shut up,” she spat, but her hips betrayed her — tilting closer, pulling him in.

“You’re so fucking full of yourself, Ni-Ki.”

“And you’re so fucking full of shit,” he growled back, voice rough against her collarbone.

“But your thighs are wrapped around me again, princess. So which is it?”

He kissed her like it was punishment. Teeth. Tongue. Bruising lips. Fingers rough, yanking the fabric of her shorts higher, just to hear her gasp against his mouth.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was war.

Their mouths clashed, teeth knocking, her hands tangled in his hair, his in the back of her shirt. The heat between them burned, reckless and unspoken, all the tension from every smirk, every stare, every insult— “You act like you hate me,” he whispered, sliding a hand under her shirt, thumb brushing skin.

“But your body? It’s fucking begging.”

“Touch me,” she dared, voice low. “See what happens.”

His mouth curved — dark, dangerous.

“I’ll ruin you.”

ꪆৎ

They never said “I love you.”

Not in the traditional way.

Not with flowers. Not with promises.

They said it through bruised lips and blood-warm hands. Through cigarettes lit in silence. Through whispered insults that bled into kisses.

He held her down — not to control her, but to steady her. She let him — not because she was weak, but because he was the only thing that didn’t lie to her face.

“Can you hold me down for one night, like I got three strikes?”

She asked once, voice quiet in the dark.

He didn’t answer. He just pulled her closer. Laid her chaos next to his. And stayed. They weren’t healing — not completely. But wrapped in each other’s vices, chests rising slow, breath hot with liquor and lust, they found something close.

“I need you to free me, it’s a prison inside my mind.”

And he did — in his own reckless, fucked-up way.

He broke her.

He tasted her.

He rolled her up like northern lights and made her feel again.

Lit up, burnt out��� closer to God than we’ve ever been now.

They still cursed. Still fought. Still clawed at each other like survival.

But when the world went quiet, when the lights went low— He was hers.

And she was already gone.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Maybe we were each other’s third strike — the final hit before it all burned, but fuck, at least we went down holding on.”

FINISH

[vigilante-3073]

Harm

Edward Cullen x Female Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Y/N has always had issues with physical contact and Edward never understood why until an accidental touch brings up unpleasant memories for her.

TW: Mentions of sexual assault, death and molestation, angst.

*Contains mature themes that could be triggering*

Y/N had always had an issue when it came to physical contact, she would shift away like any kind of unexpected touch made her squeamish. Edward had never questioned it, simply assuming that it had been a matter of personal preference. Physical contact had never been a big factor in their friendship and Edward found it easy to respect her boundaries.

Most people were willing to accept her dislike of physical touch, but there would always be people who didn't understand or respect her wishes.

They were walking down the hallway talking about their biology assignment when Emmett ran up behind Y/N and grabbed her waist. She let out a panicked scream as memories began to race through her mind. The memories were so powerful that Edward couldn't keep himself from hearing them.

"Here, munchkin, I got you a toy, but you can only have it if you promise not to tell anyone about our little game," The man said to a 5-year-old Y/N.

The sound of a belt buckle clinking and a sudden unyielding feeling of fear overcame everything.

"Such a good little girl," The man said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before leaving her bedroom.

The memories continued to fly by, each one more unpleasant than the last. It was years of torture, fear and abuse. Her emotions were overwhelming as the memories began to resurface, like a festering wound that never healed.

Emmett set her down on her feet and she immediately broke free of his hold, running down the hallway and into the girl's bathroom.

"The hell was that about?" Emmett asked.

Edward shook his head before quickly following after her. He pushed aside his discomfort and made his way into the women's restroom. Edward moved over to the stall where Y/N had fallen to her knees, coughing and retching as she threw up.

Edward held her hair back, providing silent comfort as she continued to get sick. The memories obviously weighed heavily enough on her to produce such a visceral response.

She finished getting sick before slowly shifting onto her butt, leaning back against the wall of the bathroom stall. Tears rolled down her cheeks as Edward reached past her and flushed the toilet. He stepped away and wet some paper towel for her before returning to her side.

He held out the paper towel to her and she took it silently, wiping her mouth. Edward watched her, listening to her erratic heartbeat as it began to return to normal.

"Who was it?" Edward asked, she gulped, "My uncle," Y/N admitted softly.

"How long?" Edward asked.

"Until I was twelve," She stated.

"Where is he now?" Edward questioned.

Y/N shrugged, "I don't know," She said, toying with the paper towel in her hands.

"Did you ever tell anyone?" Edward asked.

She shook her head, "No, I was-I was scared and I just- I felt like it was my fault," Y/N said shakily, more tears gathering in her eyes.

"You were a child," Edward said, kneeling down beside her.

Y/N scoffed, "I could have said something but I didn't... I thought that no one would believe me," Y/N said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry that you felt like you were alone in that, Y/N. No one should have to go through that," Edward said.

Touch had become an evil thing for her. That man, that family member, had taken her choice away and robbed her of her innocence. Y/N was just a child when he took advantage of her and it went on for years before she was able to escape him.

Y/N was abused and manipulated into thinking that no one would believe her. She endured years of pain and lived in a state of constant fear of this man who was supposed to be someone she could rely on.

He was family.

...

Edward took some time away from school after that day. He told Y/N that he was going to see his cousins, but he wasn't going to Alaska. Edward went to Y/N's hometown and found her uncle stumbling drunkenly out of a bar.

The stench of alcohol permeated the man's entire being as he staggered over to his truck. He fumbled for his keys in his pocket, dropping them down onto the pavement with a mumbled curse. The man bent down to pick them up and Edward had appeared in front of him when he straightened up.

"The hell do you want, kid?" The man asked.

"I'm a friend of Y/N's," Edward said.

"Oh, wow, I haven't seen her in years," The man chuckled.

"You mean that you haven't assaulted her in years?" Edward questioned, eerily calm.

The man scoffed, "Now, I don't know what she told you-," He started.

Edward didn't allow him to finish, grabbing onto his throat and slamming him back against the side of his vehicle. The metal caved in from the force, knocking the wind out of the man.

"I know all about what you did to her and you deserve to endure a lifetime of suffering for it," Edward growled, leaning closer to him and tightening his hold around the man's neck.

He sputtered, hands shoving desperately at Edward's chest to try and push him away.

Edward felt like an avenging angel in this moment, choking the life out of such a vile man. It brought him comfort to know that he would be removing a very evil person from the world.

Edward leaned in and bit into the side of the man's neck, shredding the arteries and spilling his blood in the parking lot brutally.

He pulled away, watching the life drain from the man's face, "You will never hurt her or anyone else ever again," Edward said before letting him go.

He watched the man's body slide down to the ground, gasping and gurgling on his own blood as he died. This man was a predator and he finally knew what it felt like to become the prey.

...

Edward returned to Forks a day later with red eyes, Carlisle knew what he had left to accomplish and chose not to acknowledge it. Even Carlisle had to allow him leniency in this case, violence was never the answer until it was the only answer available.

That man was sick and he deserved to suffer for what he had done to such a kind person, a child nonetheless. He could not be saved or changed and the world would be a better place without him in it.

Edward never told Y/N about what he had done that day, but he would never forget the day her mother had told her the news. They thought it was an animal attack, her mother called it 'gruesome' and 'awful.' She had said that the animal responsible hadn't been located, but assured Y/N that they were searching for it.

Edward watched the look of recognition cross Y/N's face before her glossy eyes slowly came to focus on him. She hung up the phone, dropping it down on her bed.

"What happened?" Edward asked.

"My uncle is dead... They said it was an animal attack," Y/N said.

"Seems to be happening a lot lately," Edward stated.

Y/N stepped over to him, sliding her arms around him and pressing herself against his chest. Edward slowly wrapped his arms around her, holding her gently.

"Thank you," She mumbled, a few warm tears soaking into his shirt.

"You're welcome," Edward said.

She let out a soft breath before her body began to shake with sobs. Y/N cried until she had nothing left in her, standing silently with her head on his chest and her arms wrapped tightly around him.

His shirt had been saturated with her tears and he could feel her beginning to shiver from the ice cold temperature of his body. Edward wanted to get her a blanket or a warm cup of tea, but he knew that she needed this. She needed to hold onto him and feel safe.

Edward had protected her more than anyone else had and Y/N finally allowed herself to enjoy the touch of another person. Y/N would never have to live in fear of that man again and maybe she would eventually be able to tell her family about what he did to her. And if she didn't, her secret would rot in the ground with her abuser.

[wisteriaiswriting]

Physical Headcanons

These are my versions and what I see for each survivor, killer and reader, these will be used in any future fics written.

Words: 1600

Small tw for Two Time: Self harm scars, if there's anything else please let me know!

Overall:

Whenever someone is transferred into this world they suddenly stop changing, no more aging, hair doesn’t grow etc; It’s as if time has just stopped suddenly.

With the small exception to anyone who enters with pre existing injuries, if they’re small they automatically start healing, larger/fatal ones need help from others before naturally healing.

Everyone has some level of amnesia, some have it worse than others but it’s always there.

He/Him

Has those ear wings and a pair of extra large wings on his back, the back pair were forcefully clipped when he entered this realm.

Which has caused him to hide them most of the time, leading to unkept feathers and pain when stretching. Although they do move and flap when he’s excited, it takes him a minute to realise and calm them down.

He also has little bunches of feathers over his body, they tend to blend in with his skin and fade into a brown.

His hair is just slightly greasy, it’s not a greasy feeling but it looks like it. It’s a lighter brown that's curly.

I just feel like he’s 5' 8, idk what it is but he just gives that vibe.

I WANT THAT FAT MAN! /j

Fr though, definitely has some chub on his bones. Before and during forsaken he had/has no shame, and he makes that clear.

He/Him

His hard hat has a few scuffs and scratches all over, although they are small and barely noticeable.

Has a belt full of tools, it’s one of those magical bags as he’ll pull stuff out to make dispensers, things that shouldn’t fit.

Messy, unkempt gray hair that matches his skin tone, only reaches his shoulders but is tied into a low ponytail. Outside rounds he has his hair loose and he’s so glad it doesn’t grow.

We know how short he is, standing at 4’ 9 and that doesn’t change here.

Has a (Not so) surprising amount of strength, although his muscles are mostly covered by a layer of fat.

He/Him

His hands have multiple burn marks from the pizzas and ovens, none of which have disappeared since being forsakened. Also has small and larger stains on his shirt, some are pizza sauce, others are drinks, doesn’t know or care what the other ones are at this point.

His hair is a messy and fluffy mix, constantly moving it out of his eyes but never got to get a haircut. Because of this his hair is always tied up in a lower ponytail that reaches around his shoulder blades.

An even 6 foot tall, stands over a few other survivors but definetly isn’t the tallest. (Doesn’t like it, was the tallest at the pizza place.)

Tall and lean, has some muscle but nowhere near Guest level, enough to carry pizzas and the occasional full crates.

He/Him

Nearly every round causes his glasses to break or crack, becoming fixed as soon as he returns to the cabin.

Always has deep and obvious eye bags, due to his time as a parent the stress never left him, so in this realm no matter how much he sleeps they don’t change.

His hair is short, shaved on the sides but mullet-like on the back dark brown and clean.

He’s a short man, only 5’ 5. Was taller in his hacker days but somehow shrunk over the years, was only 5’ 7 though.

Has a dad bod, gained after his hacker days and adopted C00lkidd.

He/Him

This man is covered in hair, rarely shaved before this but now he can’t.

Has his fair share of scars, small and large, none disappeared since dropping into this realm.

Short, roughed up blue hair, same texture as Shedletsky. Always uses some gel after waking up.

6’ 4, I mean look at him (And the fanart) and tell me he isn’t tall.

Is all muscle, doesn’t get to work out as much here but his body doesn’t change.

He/She/They

Was a new scenekid, so he has those striped gloves and legwarmers.

Has a small crossbody bag to hold all his supplies, sometimes it holds more than it should but he learned not to question it.

I’m a long haired Noob believer, always tied up in a bun. Also has raccoon stripes and a fringe that gets in his eyes.

Noob is a whopping 6’ 1, with his voice and how he carried himself when he first dropped in, the others were surprised at his height.

He has some muscle but nowhere near Guest.

They/Them

Is almost covered in a variety of scars, although plenty aren’t visible. The others can see some cuts on their wrists.

Their hair is very short, almost pitch black and is so uneven. They cut it themself so it’s never even or neat.

They stand at 5’ 7, although they do seem shorter to others due to how much they lean over.

Two Time is so lanky, was likely malnourished before being forsakened and it carried over.

He/They

He has three pairs of wings, all three are so small that Taph could never fly, they sit on their shoulders, face and on his lower back. The back pairs are normally hidden under his robe.

All the gold accessories tend to glow slightly, not enough to bother others or himself but he’s a nice little light source.

Their height tends to fluctuate between 5’ 5 and 5’ 11, though he does prefer to stay at the taller end.

It’s hard to see what their body looks like, but he is quite lean. Can take a good hit or two though.

He/They

His sunglasses are always cracked, it happened after he was killed, they cracked when his head hit the ground.

Has a few playing cards stuck in the band on his fedora, the King of spades and the ace of hearts.

I was stuck between long haired Chance or short hair, so I’m going with neck length. Slightly greasy, light gray with small curls at the ends.

He’s also pretty short, standing at 5’ 5 like 007n7. But is the opposite of Two Time, he sounded and seemed taller.

His body is pretty average I believe, has some fat on him but tends to look skinny.

He/She/They

She is constantly glowing, like every single second they are a walking glowstick. The brightness though tends to become brighter or dimmer depending on his emotion. If he’s angry then she’s glowing brighter, finally stops in their sleep.

While all the other accessories are still there, they are quite hard to see.

In my heart they always have and had the white hair. Long and surprisingly smooth to the touch, it surprises everyone who manages to touch it. (Mainly C00lkidd.)

He just screams tall, like just taller than the survivors so I settled on 6’ 8.

Her body type is pretty lean with a bit of muscle, where you can see his bones are surrounded by a jelly type material, just a bit firmer.

He/Him

His fully corrupted arm tends to drag along the ground with how large it is, at first he held it up but overtime he lost the energy to do so.

All limbs are corrupted to some degree, his arms are the worst.

I was debating between short, slicked back hair or bald, but his hair is short and slicked back, a pale yellow.

6’ 10, idk, he just gives the vibe of being unnaturally tall, now the second tallest killer.

Has plenty of muscle but most is hidden under a layer of fat, so others tend to forget how strong he actually is.

He/Him

In my eyes he’s just the whimsical skin, which means he always has a little propeller hat, it’s as if it’s stuck on his head. Like it never comes off.

Alongside the giant lollipop, it tends to break through the rounds but always fixes itself afterwards.

BALD, HE’S BALD! But fr though this kids head is smooth.

Before forsaken he was shorter than the other kids, only being 4 feet tall, but now he was stretched, standing at 6’ 6.

Is so lanky and lean, you can see and even feel his bones. That alongside being a kid his injuries hurt more than normal.

He/Him

Has one of those real fluffy scarves/fur on his coat, idk what it’s called, but it’s soft to the touch and white.

His bunnies are actually one rabbit, it’s pure white and quite large. No clue where he keeps her. (Yes it’s a girl, I don’t have a name though)

Always has a shadow from his hat, it looks darker because of his face crest.

Short, shaven on the sides, black hair. Has a goot amount of stubble as well.

Even 7 ft, being the tallest killer. It throws everyone else off seeing him compared to John.

Is mainly muscle but due to the coat it’s hidden most of the time.

Reader

He/They (Depends on the fic)

Was a friendly hacker and exploiter, often being found in tycoon or hangout games, so they are known but uncatchable to the admins.

Has a different version of c00lgui, it has the same things available but doesn’t use them. Mainly using it to fly/float around, increase money or stats and (nicely) mess with others.

They tend to float a few inches off the ground even without the help of their commands

Calling it the EZgui, was meant to be a placeholder but it just stuck.

Is normally hidden under hoods when they aren’t sure if any admins are around.

[little-lizardzzz]

─ ❝ Cute Aggression ❞ ─

> A psychological phenomenon where seeing something extremely cute triggers an urge to squeeze, pinch, or even "crush" it, even though there's no intention to cause harm.

───────────

Yandere! Bully x Bullied Reader

Tw: Honestly I’m not good at writing trigger warnings, just imagine it based on the title😭 it’s not that explicit anyways, I have read worse than what I wrote here💀

Also, reader is a little bit (a lot) stupid, she’s in love with her bully and don’t want to accept the fact that he is hurting her on purpose, also, Cole is the stereotype of that stupid momma phrase “He’s just mean to you cause he likes you but it’s to shy to say it” he wasn’t always like this, he was a sweet boy before but something happened and make him change and act like this, if this story gets enough love maybe I could write a little bit about the past of reader and Cole to explain why he acts like this.

English is not my first language, I’m doing my best with the little bit of knowledge that I have, so, please excuse my grammar mistakes, also, if you would like to leave a correction or any recommendations, I’m willing to hear it<3

-⎽__⎽-⎻⎺⎺⎻-⎽__⎽--⎻⎺⎺⎻--⎽__⎽-⎻⎺⎺⎻-⎽__⎽--⎻⎺⎺⎻--⎽__⎽-

You can’t even remember when it all began to be like this, at least not anymore but if there’s something that you know for sure is that it wasn’t always like this, he wasn’t like this.

Maybe it began like a game, something innocent, just a silly joke here and there, a snarky comment about your personality, then your appearance and eventually, all about you. It was okay though, you used to be best friends, you assumed it was normal, after all Cole has known you since childhood, why would he just change his timid and sweet persona overnight?

Then it wasn’t that innocent anymore, the physical abuse started, subtle at first, shoves, hair pulling, grabbing your wrist a little bit too hard, still normal. It was silly of your part to assume he would hurt you on purpose, right? He’s your best friend, right? He still loves you… didn’t he?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

And here you are once again, repeating this words in your mind like a mantra, over and over again, thinking about the past, the memories you shared, back when everything was fine, when Cole was the sweetest boy on earth, when he showered you with praises just for breathing next to him, when he used to hold your hands carefully in his, the same ones that now are holding your neck so tight that you feel like you’re about to loose consciousness but not enough to really make that happen.

He’s talking to you, you know that you should pay attention, Cole hates to repeat himself but you’re busy looking into his eyes, his big blue eyes, the ones that used to resemble a warm summer sky, precious, calming, soft, there’s none of it into them anymore, just a pale shadow of what they used to be, now cold, greedy and calculative.

Without knowing what’s gotten into you, you extend your arm and caress his cheek tenderly, with all the care and softness that his hold on your neck it’s lacking. And for a second, you see it, deep inside in those deep blue eyes, maybe it is the nostalgia of the memories that plague your mind, maybe the burning love that you still feel for your now tormentor, it could even be the lack of oxygen taking it’s toll on you, those would be more realistic options, possible explanations to the glimpse of the old Cole that you saw looking back at you, deep blue eyes dripping with love, care, fondness and infinite adoration and if you’re not mistaken, even with regret…

But just as fast as it came, it was gone not a second later, emotions buried once again under a thick layer of falsehood and frivolity.

His face contorted with anger as he moves his hand from your neck to your hair to forcefully pull your face closer to his, harsh words breaking the silence and bringing you back from your dizzying state.

“Don’t ever touch me again without my permission, you disgust me”

And with that, he throw you to the floor as if you meant nothing, as if you were worst than trash to him.

You were left on the floor trying to catch your breath, new marks slowly forming on your neck over the other not so old ones, feeling miserable for being incapable to understand him, to understand what happened to him that made him be like this, was it you? Is it your fault? Was it something you did or said? It has to be, Cole wouldn’t treat you like that out of nowhere, not your sweet boy, it has to be a reason, an explanation.

Maybe next time, if you put more effort into it, he would actually let you talk to him when you approach him like every morning, like every time that you roam around the hallways trying to catch a glimpse of him again and again, hundreds of times every day, maybe tomorrow he would actually listen to you instead of just rushing to tackle, hit you or choke you. You just gotta be patient and everything will be alright, just like before, and maybe then you would be able to finally confess your feelings to him and be happy together, like it was supposed to be since the start.

Yeah, tomorrow will be different, for sure.

-⎽__⎽-⎻⎺⎺⎻-⎽__⎽--⎻⎺⎺⎻--⎽__⎽-⎻⎺⎺⎻-⎽__⎽--⎻⎺⎺⎻--⎽__⎽-

[sikayeto]

I Own U

☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱

[ simon "ghost" riley x reader ]

[tw: suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, accidental narcotic overdose, dub-con]

[summary: you owe ghost, technically.]

☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ♱

You’re not depressed. You wouldn’t call what you have, depression. Sometimes afflicted with a melancholy so strong that you become catatonic. That’s called catatonia. Not depression. You’re not suicidal either. No matter what the base shrinks try to imply. Suicidal means that there’s intent to commit suicide. That there’s a plan to harm yourself. And yeah, jaywalking into busy traffic seems really nice once in a while, but that’s hardly a plan. Just because you crave a sweet treat doesn’t mean you go get one. 

But every now and again, you do get a treat. Maybe it was a really hard day, and the bakery is on the way home. Or somebody brought treats to share at the office. Perhaps a coupon finds itself in your email.

A burlap sack over your head, kidnapped by enemy combatants, isn’t what you would constitute as a treat. 

Hands are tied behind your back with rope. Scratchy fibers rub against the skin of your wrists. You don’t know where you are, or where they’re taking you. Dragging you by the armpits, your senses are dulled. Pulsation reverberating in your eardrums. Blood rushes through your limbs, leaving a tingling sensation. The amygdala has taken command, and not a single legible thought runs through your brain. All energy and control is being redirected to try and survive. 

A blunt force and ache bloom in synchronization on your knees, as you’re pushed down on them. Bright, white light invades your vision, and you squint in an attempt to adjust. The last person you thought you would see in front of you, is Ghost.

Unlike yourself, he’s sat on a chair, his own wrists tied behind his back. There’s shoddily wrapped gauze around his right forearm and abdomen. A dark shadow slowly creeps to engulf each count of thread in contact. The lieutenant’s eyes are haggard and unfocused. As they focus on you, they widen and his pupils become pinpoint. Realization strikes him as the bag was removed from your head. You don’t know him outside his position, but somehow, he knows you. 

A cold metal is pressed to your temple, and a chill shoots through your nervous system. You didn’t need to look to know there’s a gun against your head. 

“Talk, or they die”, the voice’s origins didn’t matter. Whoever was pointing the gun at you didn’t matter. If you played this right. Everything was going to be okay.

The lieutenant’s gaze on you is unwavering. His stare is uncomfortable. You're a nobody in the chain of command. Why the hell is he looking at you like that?

There are 2 hostiles in the cellar you and Ghost are being held captive in. Both are armed. No doubt they’re high-strung considering the guest they’re currently hosting. Despite his current state, it doesn’t diminish the feeling of danger that wafts off him. Just because the tiger is caged, doesn’t make him any less dangerous. 

Regardless of the beast barely restrained, your last minute plan can still come to fruition. It’s unlikely that they have another base analyst kept hostage at this location. Grabbing you was risky enough. So you're their only leverage. These men were desperate, and desperate men make mistakes. Whatever information they want from Ghost, they have to get it before he loses consciousness, or bleeds out. Neither of them look to be in good enough shape themselves to have seen a medic. The amateur bandages on your superior officer look rough at best. This wasn’t a prolonged stay then. Ghost must know that too. 

Okay, this looks like the last bus stop. Really, you’re the only one who pushed the stop button and needs to get off. 

You fling your whole body and weight to the person holding the gun to your head. Small you may be, physics is on your side, as he wasn’t prepared to retaliate against your sudden exertion. A shot is taken, and misses. Ringing overcomes your ears. The lack of expectation as he was body slammed, means that your target couldn’t soften his fall. The back of his skull audibly cracks as it impacts with the concrete floor. Blood pools from the fount of the vessels that crowd his occipital. 

Simultaneously, as you took action, Ghost moves his enormous frame with wretched oppression towards the other hostile. Chair and all. Wood flies all over the surrounding area. Ghost breaks free of his restraints, and for a man who’s been shot twice, he moves as if it never happened at all. There’s a wet squelch that repeats in the same rhythm as your heartbeat. Flesh and bone, pounding upon flesh and bone. Fury, wrath, and rage concentrated into one man’s fist and colliding into another man’s face. Asteroids and celestial bodies crashing into each other. 

A moment passes, and the only thing you can hear besides the ringing, is Ghost’s panting. You make an observation of your current situation. 2 hostiles down. 1 friendly injured. You’re still alive. 

Mission failed.

From your prone position on the ground, you attempt to sit yourself up. A sharp, stabbing pain pulses through your left ribs. You press a hand against the area and pull away to reveal blood. Your blood.

He didn’t miss after all. 

The adrenaline is wearing off. You can tell because suddenly your whole body is engulfed in agony. 

The ringing is the only thing you can hear now. You think you hear someone yelling your name, but it’s muffled. Darkness creeps into your vision, an oncoming fog. Eyelids flutter shut.

You get off at the last bus stop.

___

The months following your subsequent kidnapping and near fatal death were, strange, to say the least. After waking at the base med bay, The doctor debriefed you on what happened after you had passed out from blood loss. The Lieutenant had radio’d for immediate med-evac. They said it was a miracle that you survived, having lost far too much blood. You should’ve been dead by the time the medics got to you. But Ghost had kept enough pressure on your gunshot wound to further prevent your precious life from slipping out of your body. 

Yeah fucking right, a miracle. It would’ve been a miracle, if you had actually managed to die that day. Now, you were suffering with a hole in your thoracic and a chance of getting addicted to opioids. 

When you were deemed stable and out of the woods, they put you back on desk duty. No rest for the wicked, especially not in the military. Fellow analysts give you pitying looks and their well-wishes, but none of them actually want to help. That’s the nature of the job, you can’t blame them. But in a community where, even if you get shot, no one helps. It’s a wonder more of the analysts aren’t suicidal. 

3rd week post op, you wake up with excruciating throbbing in your wound. Taking more than the recommended daily dose of opioid analgesics, before you make your way to your station. The pain is dulled, but the side effects of the oral morphine you just took are hitting hard. Bones like fragile glass. Muscles that can barely twitch. Vision that starts to blur as your eyes glass over, staring at the ineligible words on your computer screen. It’s getting more difficult to take deep breaths, your chest is too heavy. Lay your head down on your desk. No one will blame you if you take a nap.

Your short slumber is interrupted by the shaking of the foundation beneath you. An earthquake? Raising your head slightly to figure out what’s going on, you see it’s not a natural disaster, but a man made one. Ghost, is stomping his way over to you. 

Any other day, he would’ve looked absolutely terrifying. But today, you were hopped up on morphine, providing you the sweet sweet bliss of pain relief. Also, effective for pain in the ass Lieutenants who foil suicide plans. 

He stands over you, full of imposition and menace. Giant of a man, used to getting what he wants by showing off the privilege and brute force of his stature. Mustering all your strength, you open an eyelid to look up at him. Your singular glass eye, meets his set of an endless abyss. He gives you a once over, and there’s a look of recognition. It’s pity. He’s pitying you. 

Blood rushes from your head, as your whole being is lifted into Ghost’s arm’s, bridal style. You squint at him in confusion, unable to complete any words of incredulity, much less sentences. He leaves the space the same way he entered. Imposing presence and thundering boot steps. Now, with cargo. 

He brings you to, what you assume, are his quarters. Places you on his bed, and tucks the covers over you. Tobacco and gunpowder flood your nose. It fills your lungs, and infiltrates all your senses. Your mind drifts, and imagines standing in a battlefield, smoking a cigarette. Engulfed and sinking into the mattress. Surrendering to the warmth and comfort. 

Ghost kicks off his boots, and strips down to a shirt and pants. He joins you under his covers, and mirrors your fetal position, facing you. 

Your memories of what happened, during these moments, are fuzzy. The extra dose of morphine you took, peaked at this time. Nothing felt real. Not you, lying in Ghost’s bed. Not Ghost, lying next to you. And certainly, not the one-sided conversation Ghost has with you. 

“You were bloody reckless,” he murmurs, “Think I didn’t recognize the look in your eyes?”

He places a hand on your throat, and his other pressed to your wound. His eyes burrow into your half asleep consciousness. This is just a dream to you. And in this dream, Ghost squeezes your throat and wound with prejudice.

“You don’t want your life, that’s fine.” 

Maybe this isn’t Ghost after all. Maybe this is a figment of your imagination, and the reaper chose to take this form. The last person you see, delivering your soul to the afterlife. If there even is one. You would discover it soon enough. There’s no reason for Ghost to rationally be acting this way. So maybe this is the fever dream that people have before they die. Maybe you are overdosing on the morphine you took. 

He lightens the force against your body. 

“I’ll have it then. As far as I’m concerned, if you don’t want it, then it’s mine.” 

He releases the places where his threat was once imminent, and wraps his arms around you. Pulling you to be smothered by his own large chest, your head under his chin. As the dark fibers of his shirt enter your vision, so leaves your will to be awake. 

tbc

[axolotl4days]

Oh my god im so sorry it took so long I got so distracted

Yandere! Royal Family x Neglected Reader

The Reborn Royal Part 2

Summary: After being reborn once more y/n expects everything to be the same as always. However this time around, their family is going to be the ones changing things.

Tw: violence, abuse, neglect. Yandere behavior(all platonic), descriptions of death, mentions of suicide and self-harm.

Before anything continues, im gonna write down the names of the characters for reference.

Queen Charlotte and King Vincent somewhere in their 30s

Oldest and heir to the throne: Prince Edward, roughly 13

Next is: Prince James, roughly 11

Next is: Princess Eleanor, roughly 9

Then last, baby y/n who's... just been born.

The ages are just rough estimates, the numbers themselves, dont matter, just the older sibling dynamic and that they'd be adults while y/n would be a kid/teenager (yay angst)

Alright! On with the fic!!!

Part 2: No specific pov just yet

The youngest child in the Royal family has just been born, the King and Queen have ordered the staff to give them some alone time for the whole family.

"Its them... it's really them" Queen Charlotte says, holding the new baby y/n

"They're so small. Are babies always this small?" Eleanor asks

"That usually depends on the baby but... gods.. they really are small" King Vincent replies

The siblings watch as the little baby starts to fall asleep, Edward tries to reach out to hold little y/n but the poor thing flinches at the contact. Edward and James recoil in horror. All of the visions they've seen over the past few months of watching their future selves hurt future y/n so much. And now. Now that they're seeing, the real y/n in front of them for the first time. They have never been more horrified. How could they ever hurt them. Hurt you. No one should ever go through that sort of pain. They can't let it happen again.

Eleanor watches as the boys shake from witnessing the baby flinch, and she doesn't understand. Your only a baby.

"Mom? Is the baby okay?" She asks

The queen stays silent for a moment but even she cannot hold back her worried tears, so the king steps in

"Darling, the baby is going through quite a lot right now, they have just been born after all. Everything is new and fresh to them, so it'll take awhile for them to adjust. Don't worry, we'll make sure theyre okay." He says, that last bit is mostly for himself, while the visions he saw didnt involve as much physical violence as the boys did, he saw how, isolated the little one was. How bad it got. And how badly it ended. No. No. He can't think of that now. What matters now is they have you. And they'll make sure your treated right

Your mother holds you close. She can't fathom the idea that she would ever give you away for someone else to take care of.

"Your highness? Here, you need rest, we can take the baby and-" "No." The Queen glares at thr maid who dare suggest such a thing.

"But your highness, you need time to recover"

"I will be fine. All I need right now is my family. I suggest you leave now before I decide to make you." The queen threatens

"Of course ma'am, sorry ma'am."

The maid leaves the room but the king steps to his queen's side, "the maid is right about you needing rest dear, dont worry, I'm here. No one can take our baby from us, isn't that right kids?" Your father turns to your siblings who nod in agreement.

Vincent manages to get the baby into the crib and as Charlotte finally sleeps, the children joining her, he stands guard and thinks about everything hes seen in these past few months.

King Vincent POV:

Though the visions mostly focused on you, and your pain thats not all they saw. The king specifically saw the things that led him down the path of neglectfullmess and why he was absent so often. Plans. War. Betrayals. The things that kept him away from the castle. The things that allowed your mistreatment to slide by without repercussions.

He'll have to take care of those. That way, he can be there for you. Make sure you're raised properly, with love and care from your family. Nothing will come between him and his family.

He pulls out a journal, after the nightmares began and he noticed the patterns between them he would take notes about each event, each person's perspective, and the outcome of each action. He doesn't know where these visions came from or what caused him, but what he does know is that according to the recent intel on other kingdoms it seems that one of the wars is brewing, he searches through his notes to confirm, checking the interactions between other kingdoms, seeing how the other him would talk about the other kingdoms.

If he wants to keep his family out of harm, he'll have to take care of the threat before it can even happen.

He walks over to the baby's crib, looking down at his youngest child sleeping comfortably.

He knows what he has to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi 👋 Author here, I am so sorry this took so long and that its so short, I like just finished finals so im just now getting around to working on this series again.

Now that its summer hopefully the next part will come out quicker, but I dont have a planned schedule cause I am horrible at planning things,

But!! I have notes and plot points for where I want this story to go/what I have planned

Please be patient with me, this is like, my 2nd time writing something like this on Tumblr and due to the, extreme, breaks in between parts the writing style may not be very consistent

But hopefully the next few parts will be written in a timely manner so they should be both more consistent, and longer!

Down below is my attempt at a taglist, there were a few people who wanted to know when the next part came out, feel free to let me know if you wanna be added, ive never made one of these before and its surprisingly hsrd

@randomlyappearingartist

@enchantingarcadecreation

@thatpersonnamedrook

@reni502 (idk why this one isn't doing the thing I tried)