#“he needs to be bound gagged and squirming with terror

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

Rock Bottom Part 6: A Moneymakers AU

This is a fanfic series based on the Moneymakers series by @coldresolve. Masterlist for Moneymakers is here, masterlist (and content warnings) for Rock Bottom is here.

~~

Renee jolted back to reality, hand throbbing no less furiously, face tearstained, to the smell of something burning. His jaw ached from biting so hard on the gag, and despite owing Corbin nothing, he was glad not to have bitten his tongue off instead. The camera still blinked in his face, the steady red light a constant reminder he was being watched—  he must not have been out long enough for Corbin to give him a break. 

And sure enough, the man paced in front of the camera, spinning a thin steel rod between thickly gloved fingers. 

“Our friend Wyvern suggested something fun, Renee, wanna hear it?” He asked brightly. 

He shook his head ever so slightly, barely able to comprehend Corbin’s words through his agony. Whatever would be done to him, it would hurt. That was all he needed to know. 

“Looks like you’ll just have to wait and find out then,” he said ominously, setting the piece of metal down with a clink on the table. He slid a chair towards Renee from the far corner of the room, the rattling sound of chains unmistakable. 

And without so much as a warning, he was dragged upright by his arms, his back flashing with fresh pain when he was shoved into the chair, cuffs tightened over his wrists and ankles. Corbin grabbed his wounded hand, forcing it flat against the armrest and holding the bar up to the tattered hole, and his world flashed white with agony. 

“Close enough,” his captor  murmured. “Now don’t fucking move or you’ll regret it.” 

Renee bit back the urge to snap back that he could barely move at all, instead watching silently as Corbin moved towards a small fireplace he hadn’t noticed before, throwing the rod into the hot coals. 

Fuck. 

He stammered incoherent pleas around the gag before his mind caught up to his terror and he forced himself into silence, gaze frantically darting from the glowing blaze to his tattered hand and back again. 

“You told me you didn’t want to know, dear,” Corbin said sympathetically. “And I’m a man of my word, aren’t I?” 

About as much as I am, Renee thought bitterly. 

When Corbin grabbed a pair of tongs and pulled the red-hot rod from the fire, Renee couldn’t help but squirm desperately against the restraints, inching away from the heat radiating off the thing even from a solid few feet away. 

“Sit still,” Corbin snapped.  “Stop being so fucking pathetic.” 

He grabbed his wrist, fresh pain flaring through Renee’s hand as he did so, and lined the rod up to the small, gushing hole the drill had made. 

“Gotta stop the bleeding somehow,” he said deviously. And with that, he jammed the molten bar through the wound. 

The agony that followed was beyond words.

The gushing, gaping mess in the center of his hand sizzled and boiled with fury, the nauseating smell of burning flesh filling the air. He screamed before he even registered the sound had come from him, thrashing desperately against Corbin’s grip and the cuffs that bound him further. 

When Corbin tugged the rod from his hand with a sickening squelch, his vision blackened at the edges, the wound stabbing pain up his arm so furious he could barely bite back another cry. 

“There we go,” he murmured cheerfully, giving the camera a twisted grin and seizing Renee’s wrist so the lights above them flooded through the hole punched in his hand. “I think that’s all he can handle for today, thank you, my viewers, for your wonderful ideas. Be sure to think up some even worse ones for next time!”

He blew a kiss at the lens, reached over to turn off the camera, and eased his laptop shut with his other hand. 

“Usually I don’t end a stream so abruptly,” he murmured, his voice lower, subtler now that he wasn’t speaking to an audience. 

“But I wanted to see. Now that your choices have been laid out to you, what do you prefer? Answering my questions the first time, or spending an extra hour in front of the camera?” 

Spots swam in Renee’s vision. His back spiked with pain where he’d been forced against the chair, his hand nothing but a bloody pit of agony.  

And with the gag still wedged between his teeth, all he could do was give a halfhearted shrug followed by a sharp, pained intake of breath as the wounds across his shoulders screamed with the movement. 

Corbin smirked. 

“That’s what I thought. Now, if you want me to take this gag out, you’re gonna have to answer my questions. Honestly. And if not, you’re going right back on camera. So what’s it gonna be?” 

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, just stalked around the chair and unbuckled the gag, tossing it haphazardly onto a table as Renee gingerly flexed his jaw, relief mingling with the steadily creeping sense of dread twisting in his gut. Corbin wouldn’t stop demanding answers until he’d utterly humiliated himself, whether it was the truth or not. But if he just gave it to him, he’d be written off as a weakling, an object of whimsy to be discarded just weeks later. 

He had to make himself worth it, enough for him to bide his time and escape. 

The setup was nothing like what he’d done to his house— they’d installed locks, sure, but here it was nothing but concrete and hard steel and despair. No glass to be broken, no doors to kick down. He’d surely prevented enough escapes to work out the slightest chink in the system. To get out, he’d have to kill Corbin or die trying.

A sharp backhand sent him crashing back to the present, the sting of the slap sending a shock of agony down his tattered back. 

“Vaughn. You with me?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

His voice was shockingly hoarse, pathetically weak. He cleared his throat, posture stiffening. He could do better than that. 

Corbin nodded, flipping open a butterfly knife and absentmindedly toying with the blade. “So what is it, then? Why’d you spend the last of your money on that one way ticket? Why’d you get in the car, knowing what was going to happen?”

“I’ve done crazier shit and put less thought into it,” Renee said simply. How could say any more than that when beyond reckless impulse, he didn’t quite have an answer himself? But Corbin’s impatient expression told him it wasn’t nearly enough, so he kept talking. 

“I was already at rock bottom, so I didn’t think it could get worse, not like this. Usually red room arrangements are just a way to make an extra buck with less effort on both ends, nothing more. And withdrawals fuck with your brain. Why do you care, anyway? It’s not like it makes a difference.” 

What he would do for an oxy at the moment. Hell, he’d gamble his life and take a fentanyl if given the chance. The pain wracking his body was eating him alive, and he couldn’t take much more before he broke. Before he proved himself disposable.  

“So you would have sold yourself another way, then, just as easily?” Corbin pressed, eyes flicking over Renee’s body once more at the mere suggestion. His gaze lingered on his tattoos, his piercing, the bloody lash marks where the whip had wrapped around his shoulders and torso. “You’d certainly get plenty of customers.” 

“Or you just have bad taste,” Renee snapped. “I know what’s going on in a red room, I’m used to it. It isn’t that deep.” 

“You’re really not good for anything else, huh, not even as a fucktoy?” Corbin’s eyes glistened dangerously. “That’s what you’re saying.” 

“Or maybe I’m just lazy and I want something quick and easy,” Renee shot back, forcing a strained smirk. “You’ll never know.” 

Corbin shook his head, stepping closer to Renee and crouching down until their faces nearly touched. 

“Well, whatever it is,” he hummed, breath hot on Renee’s cheek, the tip of the knife ghosting against his collarbone.

 “I’ll find out one way or another.” 

Taglist: @coyotehusk @befuddled-calico-whump @just-horrible-things

[korereapers]

Title: La pugna

Fandom: DC, Batman

Pairing: scriddler, Edward Nygma/Jonathan Crane, Riddler/Scarecrow

Rating: E

Warnings: ............. masochism

A birthday present for @sexyinaratkindaway, I know you like your Edward more dominant so I'm just delivering

AO3

Jonathan struggles fruitlessly against his restraints, the rope just tight enough, the gag just comfortable enough but still keeping him unable to talk.

What’s the Scarecrow, without his words? Enamored with them, he always chooses them carefully, as he knows the power they hold. Words give him control, give him power, give him the ability to inflict fear and play with people’s minds as he pleases.

Still, he has to admit, this powerlessness is not quite unwelcomed. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Well, well, well,” Edward says theatrically, the heel of his shoe dangerously close to Jonathan’s crotch, gently resting on his thigh, still adding some pressure when Jonathan looks at him with visibly bored eyes. He is just pretending, of course, but he loves to rile the Riddler up. “Defenseless, aren’t we?”

Jonathan says nothing. Mostly because he can’t. Irradiated eyes face Edward’s ones, raising an eyebrow, as if daring him.

What now, boy?

Unimpressed, still not needing his words to make Edward’s cheeks get red in annoyance. He loves that. He loves his expressions so much he wants to make him even redder with how much and how hard-

But it’s his time to be bound and gagged, sadly. Or luckily, giving the circumstances, because Jonathan loves this game of waiting. Of tempting. 

The expensive shoe is now pressuring Jonathan’s hard cock, not with strength, but enough to make him hiss. It hurts. It hurts deliciously. He wants more of that.

“Oh, a freak like me. You love your little punishment, don’t you?” Edward asks, knowing he owns the show, his face closer to Jonathan’s, his blue eyes so wild behind his glasses Jonathan falls in love all over again. “A good catholic boy, isn’t the world a dark place? Don’t you want it to get darker?”

Jonathan wants to say that yes, that he wants that, and much more. That he has known, since birth, that he was born to suffer and bring suffering to others. That there is no pain without a twisted enjoyment, no enjoyment without pain. He loves it, he loves him, and he wants him to know.

He hopes that his expression and his desperate moan when Edward moves his foot are enough to convey the message.

“I can do that for you. Ruin this cursed city, burn it to the ground. Or even better.”

Jonathan perks up at his words, and Edward smiles knowingly, his smart mind having already figured it out, figured the whole city out and its hard rules.

“Or we could play this game forever. You and me. What do you say?”

But before Jonathan can even try to utter a word, Edward’s heel presses harder. The friction, the pain, the promises. Jonathan wants more victims, he wants more, and more, he wants to see the city consumed by fear again and again, with this man by his side. Hell, he would even give anything to make him squirm like he is, pupils dillated in both terror and pleasure.

It’s the thought that makes him come, fully clothed, shamefully. Edward raises his dark eyebrows in surprise, but he chuckles slightly, his foot back on the ground in a second.

“Wow. That was quick.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes, already too aware of his own twistedness to be ashamed. Edward takes the gag off, saliva pouring from his comisures. Unsightly, but understandable.

“Too much?” Edward asks, and sometimes, Jonathan thinks he is too nice to him.

“Just the right amount,” Jonathan assures him, still breathing hard from the recent orgasm. “Just a thought, though.”

Edward plays with a strand of his dyed hair, thoughtfully.

“Do tell.”

“I like my revenge cold and well prepared, Nygma.”

He swears that this time, Edward is fully and ashamedly blushing.

[womanofwords]

Giggle Bot’s Rampage

This is based on this masterpiece by @fuzzy-featherz-art, which I have been thinking about for ages.

Security Guard was trying not to breathe so loud as they locked themselves inside of a closet. They were trying not to do anything too loud right now, as the A.I stalked the premises searching for them. “Oh, Security Guard?” Giggle Bot cooed. “You don’t need to hide from me; I won’t hurt you! I’ll just tickle you until you go crazy!” Security Guard didn’t dare move a muscle, and Giggle Bot’s voice grew more firm and almost angry. “Security Guard, if you surrender yourself for more tickles, I will be slightly more lenient than if you had not. But if you even dream of running, I will make sure you never walk or move or breathe without thinking about how much I wrecked you.”

Giggle Bot’s footsteps grew closer, and Security Guard wanted their heart to stop, their breathing to cease, anything so they wouldn’t give themselves away, so this robot wouldn’t hear them and drag them away to their doom.

Why did they possibly decide to take the damn night shifts anyway? Everyone knew that this was when that evil robot was allowed to run around and basically hunt down the guards on duty at the time. But the pay was almost twice the pay for day shifts, and Security Guard was a really big fan of paying rent, so he technically didn’t have a choice.

His choice of staying still and silent seemed to be working, as the noise of his gleeful hunting travelled away from them. Security Guard sighed and stretched out just for a second to stretch their limbs.

Big mistake.

Security Guard stretching their arm tipped over an inconveniently placed broom handle leaning against the door of the closet. The loud clattering alerted Giggle Bot to their presence, and the footsteps came rapidly closer and louder.

“Hello, Security Guard,” Giggle Bot purred. The security guard’s face was a picture of terror as they were dragged out of their hiding spot and towards the arts and crafts room.

Why were they here?

And then Security Guard saw the pile of feathers waiting from him.

Oh no.

“So, you thought that you could hide from me, huh? I find hiding little kids all the time, you blockhead!” The yellow and orange robot was grinning sadistically as they pinned Security Guard to the floor face down and jammed cold fingers into their armpits as they squealed and giggled, squirming pathetically as the robot sat on their back to secure them in place, wrapping his tail around the flailing guard’s ankles.

“SOMEBODY PLEHEHEHEASE HEHEHEHELP!” Security Guard screamed. Giggle Bot grinned down at him cruelly.

“You’re not getting any help, honey. You’re all alone down here. Well, except for me, that is.” Giggle Bot drove this point home by activating the vibrating pads on his fingers and moving them to Security Guard’s ribs. The shrieks of laughter grew louder. “Hmm, I wonder how adorable you would be if I were to just stick one of my fingers inside your little belly button. I bet you’d die laughing!”

“BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! MAHAHAHAHAHAHAKE IT STOHOHOHOHOHOP!”

“No can do, honeybunch,” Giggle Bot grinned. “Now, you are going to be helping me with a scientific enquiry. How long does it take for a fully-grown adult to pass out with laughing too hard?” An arm stretched out towards the pile of feathers, which revealed itself to be a large feather duster instead of a pile of feathers like Security Guard had thought, while the other arm removed the security guard’s shoes.

This was going to go wonderfully.

But not for Security Guard.

_______________________________________

Other Security Guard was doing the rounds the next morning when they heard moving from the arts and crafts room. There weren’t any kids in there yet, so who was in there? They unlocked the door and found Security Guard, bound, gagged, and generally dishevelled, with their shoes and socks discarded on opposite sides of the room. Giggle Bot was charging peacefully, looking remarkably innocent for a robot that had been so brutal just moments before.

“Oh, god, are you OK?” Other Security Guard yelped, rushing to remove the bonds on their co-worker. “OK, you’re definitely staying off work for a while. No way can you return to work in this state; you must be exhausted!”

As Other Security Guard blathered on, Security Guard made themselves a promise.

They were never going to do another night shift again.

[doomdaysdecays]

The thing with whumper forcing whumpee to touch themselves in front of whumpers friends is really good, but I think we should consider the flip side where they are forced in front of whumpees own friends who can't do anything to save them. The humiliation would be even worse, demonstrating to ppl who care about or even look up to them just how broken they are

Nonnie, you’re so right.

CW: sexual explicit language, creepy intimate whumper, forced to watch, reference to dubcon/noncon, nothing spicy occurs yet because this is pt. 1

“Please.” Whumpee whispered in a constant chant, pleading to their captor and the God that had abandoned them long ago.

The hands were firm and left no doubt about it: This was not going to stop.

Whumper toyed lazily with their waistband, pulling it and letting it snap against an especially colorful bruise. Whining, Whumpee wriggled against their prison of rope. Their bare legs were spread uncomfortably, skin prickling under Whumper’s eyes, each ankle bound tightly to a chair leg with rough rope, the kind that chafed your skin raw.

“Please what?” Whumper said, brow furrowed as though he genuinely didn’t understand. “Look, your little friend is waking up. We don’t want to make them wait.”

Whumpee couldn’t bring themselves to look up now, to face the sheer terror in Caretaker’s eyes when they came to. The sound of their name, muffled through a gag, made their head snap up against their will.

Caretaker was crying.

They knelt on the ground across from Whumpee, restrained by the very same manacles that had once left deep red marks around Whumpee’s neck and wrists.

Whumper regarded them with the sharp grin of a predator. “Oh, quit your squirming, Caretaker. You don’t want to miss a second of this.”

“N-No!” Whumpee choked back a sob when Whumper’s gaze snapped back to them, piercing them. “D-Don’t, don’t,” their cheeks burned, “not in front of them, please...” They felt something twist deep inside them when Whumper’s expression remained unfazed. “Sir...”

The silence was almost too much to bear. Whumper leaned down to their level, clicking his tongue. The sound was heavily linked to punishments in the past and had Whumpee gasping out the breath they’d been holding.

“Oh, poor thing,” Whumper teased, drawling the words as if relishing in them. “That silly little mind, always leaping to conclusions.”

Whumpee, breath shallow still, tensed against the hand resting around their neck.

“I’m not going to touch you,” he said, smile and eyes flashing brightly. “You are.”

Caretaker wailed behind the gag, tossing themselves forward in spite of the restraints that fret their skin.

Bashful heat rose to the tip of their ears, Whumpee’s fingers curling and digging into their own skin. Whumper took note of their reaction, laughing, “What did you think I left your hands free for?”

Caretaker choked out words that barely resembled “Don’t!”, “Sick bastard” and “Whumpee”, heartbroken to realize their friend wouldn’t look at them anymore. Their eyes were on Whumper. No matter how humiliating, no matter how torturous.

“I thought a simple demonstration of your obedience would be just what Caretaker needs,” he said as he purposely tightened his grip on Whumpee’s neck like the possessive bastard he admitted he was. “You’re going to make yourself feel good because I say so, Whumpee. I want a show.” A provocative glance in Caretaker’s direction. “And you know how to give one.”

What kind of a sick, broken thing would feel the need to obey such a command? Who in their right mind would even consider to oblige?

Whumpee would.

Whumpee did.

They wanted to do as Whumper told as bad as they wanted to hide themselves and sob freely, somewhere Caretaker couldn’t see the pathetic little ragdoll they’d become.

“And you, Caretaker.” Whumper strode across the room and sent them backwards hard against the wall with a nonchalant kick. Their eyes were ablaze, cheeks tear streaked.

“You’re going to watch very, very closely. If I catch you looking at anything besides that gorgeous little plaything of mine...” He shrugged like he couldn’t help it, like he wasn’t the one calling all the shots. “I’ll see it as my cue to fuck Whumpee raw until they pass out in front of you.”

The latter let out a plaintive whimper, not at the first part of the threat, nothing new, but that in front of you drew a shudder from them. Whumper could show them off to all his friends. Let them have their way with Whumpee and show no mercy.

Anything but Caretaker watching.

Though it was no secret Whumper was too jealous to pass his toy around.

“Do we understand each other?” he inquired of Caretaker, smiling with a dangerous edge to it. Whumpee dared to spare them a glance. They could see the pain Caretaker was in when they met eyes and nodded.

With deliberate, echoing steps Whumper returned to stand behind Whumpee and placed his hands heavily on their shoulders from where they wandered to their neck once more.

“It’s showtime, sweetness.”

[to be continued]

tags: @neutron-stars-blog @whump-time-babey @deluslon-exe @yet-another-heathen @tsoa-enthusiast @happy-whumper @freefallingup13 @mascmasochist

[addition/removal via ask! thank you]

[inhuman-obey-me]

Melody of Revenge

Word Count: 2.4k Description: Everyone knows not to mess with Lucifer Morningstar. Some, however, make the mistake of going after his family instead. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Lucifer was next, and this ended up getting really long, so uh ... yeah. Can be found on AO3 here. content warning: torture, so much torture, blood, body horror/mutilation

Fear and intimidation. Lucifer knew how to use both effectively, striking terror into any and all who looked upon him. The Avatar of Pride rarely had to remind others of just who he was, but every now and then, someone decided to step out of line. It couldn’t be helped -- imbeciles could be found wherever beating hearts or souls resided.

Tonight, however, he was dealing with a very particular kind of imbecile. One that had crossed a line so gravely that he had planned an entire torture routine in his mind as he made his way through the halls of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Flames of anger licked his insides as he made his way to the dungeons, but he had to keep his rage under control. Lucifer always had to be in control, every action and word deliberate and planned. He didn’t have a choice to be anything less.

“Barbatos.” He greeted the loyal butler and friend, who stood at the entrance of a particular hall of cells.

“Greetings, Lucifer.” The usual polite smile alighted his lips, though a knowing look gleamed in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to handle this one?”

“Absolutely.” He responds firmly, immediately. Barbatos usually had the pleasure of torturing those who crossed the Devildom, and he took great delight in it -- far more than even Lucifer would. After all, Lucifer found torture and punishment as a means to an end, a form of discipline.

Barbatos simply did it for fun.

“Then by all means,” the royal servant bowed slightly, gesturing with one arm towards the dark hall. “She’s all yours.” With that, he left the dungeons, having a great many other tasks to attend to for the day -- though couldn’t help leaving with a melodic, “Have fun.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Lucifer’s lips. Oh, he planned to make this a very enjoyable time indeed. Taking a deep breath -- making sure that he was in control -- he dropped his glamour to reveal more of his demon form and walked forward to unlock one of the metal cell doors. It creaked open, allowing for the sounds of muffled screams to leave the dark room.

“Hello, Abyzou.”

The protests suddenly stopped, a chill seeming to settle in the air. Lucifer slowly lit the torches along the dungeon’s walls, bathing the room in a hellish orange light. There, in the middle of the cell, sat the traitor, bound and gagged. Her serpentine eyes looked up at Lucifer with a mix of fear and anger, but she otherwise remained silent and still.

“What’s wrong? Suddenly decided it was a good time to be quiet?” His voice is calm. Too calm. He eases his long coat off of his shoulders, hanging it on a hook by the door. Gloved hands begin to roll up his sleeves as he turns to look at the other demon again, a sigh leaving him. He stepped forward, and with a yank removed the gag from her mouth. “Is that better?”

Abyzou coughed, spitting to the side as she flexed her jaw after it being bound for so long. He allowed her to adjust -- he was a demon of patience, after all.

“Lucifer … “ She begins with his name, spoken with a certain kind of reverence. “I didn’t realize you would be visiting me here.”

“You didn’t?” The surprise in his voice is almost genuine. “Strange, I figured you would have been expecting me any day now, considering the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she directed her gaze elsewhere, not wanting to look upon the greater demon. There was a hint of shame in her expression, but it gave way to a twisted smile as she shook her head. “I see . . .”

“Do you?” He speaks sharply, his hatred for her beginning to show. He grabbed her jaw with one hand, forcing her to look up at him. “Do you see, Abyzou? Or are you still trying to play innocent?”

She hissed as his fingertips pressed into her skin, the red leather of his gloves saving her from the wrath of his claws -- for now. She stared into those magnetic ruby eyes and all the power they held, all of the destruction they could unleash, all of the pain they could bring.

“But was I wrong?” Abyzou knew her end was imminent, especially if the Avatar of Pride himself had requested to punish her personally. So what was the use in being anything but honest? “Was I truly wrong, Lord Lucifer?” The reverence once held in her voice was gone, replaced with mockery. She shifted in her bonds, leaning into the hand that held her jaw. “You know that the Devildom is stronger and better than the other realms, and yet we’re forced to grovel to the likes of angels!” Stretching out her neck, she continued with a jeer. “Or do you and your brothers miss having those white wings and halos for yourselves that much?”

Lucifer roughly pushed her face away from him, hand releasing her jaw. He took a step back, eyes full of cold fury still focused on the other demon. His gaze then swept the cell, taking note of the various torture instruments on display -- but grinned when he saw that Barbatos made sure to include the absolute essential. A vinyl player, the perfect record already in place to set the mood. He set it up to play, allowing the first notes to spill into the air before resuming his interrogation.

“So, you thought yourself better than the others who had agreed to His Royal Highness’ vision?” Lucifer begins to tug at the seam of one of his gloves, steadily peeling it off his hand. “Of course, we knew that plenty of the nobles had their concerns, and many voiced them, yourself included.” He sets the removed glove to the side, now beginning to take off the other. “And yet, you still decided that you would try and work against us behind the scenes,” The second glove joins its pair. “And, what I’m really trying to understand -- truly, I am -- is why you thought it would be a good idea to try and undermine the Seven Lords?”

Abyzou shifted in place, her earlier burst of bravado dwindling, and goosebumps rose along her skin as she listened to the music he decided to play. It was common knowledge to never get on Lucifer’s bad side, but she had taken the risk -- and now she would be answering for it. She lowered her head, staring at the cold stone floor, suddenly finding the way the orange light from the flames bounced and shimmered of great interest. “I . . . “ She started, trying to choose her next words carefully. “I wasn’t trying to undermine you or your brothers. I was doing what I thought would be best … including for you all! Can’t you see that I was trying to protect you, protect us?”

A piercing, incredulous laugh left Lucifer’s lips, his deep voice sending chills down Abyzou’s spine. He picked up the spool of twisted rope and approached her once more, the steady clack clack from his shoes’ heels echoing throughout the cell, mingling with the slowly increasing crescendo.

“Aby, Aby, Aby . . .” Lucifer clicked his tongue before he roughly collected a fistful of her long raven locks, eliciting a sharp cry as her head was wrenched back to look up at him. “That was your first mistake.”

The Avatar of Pride was nothing short of an expert when it came to stringing others up from the ceiling, though in this particular case, he wanted to make sure it hurt. The imprisoned demon thrashed and squirmed, but he was able to lift and tie her up with ease, making sure that the rough jute cut into her scaly skin just short of making her bleed -- for now. He tied the rope up to her waist, then put each wrist in a metal clasp that was chained to the floor, stretching out her arms to either side.

“You thought you needed to protect us? A sweet gesture,” He derided her, a claw coming up to slowly trace from her chin down through her cheek, drawing blood as it broke skin. “And an absolute lie. Your little act had every intention to put my brothers at risk, in harm’s way … “ A second claw followed the first, creating a ribbon of shredded skin. Abyzou hissed at the pain, biting back anything else in an effort to save some sense of dignity. “ … and you had the audacity to think you’d get away with it. Truly incredible.” The faux amazement in his tone felt like thorns in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look into his face.

“What’s the matter, Abyzou? Shouldn’t you be used to being in this kind of position, or at least … something not too far from it?” Lucifer smirked, delighted to see her eyes shoot back open, bright yellow irises staring at him in disbelief. “If I remember correctly … Solomon had you tied up in front of his temple, and by your hair, at that.”

That riled her up. Forked tongue lashed out to flick at his face, a series of curses leaving her lips soon after. Fangs bared, she hissed, “Don’t you dare bring up that bastard! To think that I wasn’t allowed to lay a hand on him the moment he stepped into our realm. He deserves to have his neck twisted, but you … !”

“But I . . ?” Lucifer took out a handkerchief from his back pocket, nonchalantly wiping away at where her tongue and spit landed on his visage. “Please, do go on.”

“You … you, all of you, let him in with open arms! Even after knowing everything he’s done, how he’s treated our own kind! I don’t care if you say he’s changed, HE NEEDS TO BE TORN LIMB FROM LIMB!” She screamed, thrashing about in her binds, chains rattling as she struggled.

“Temper, temper, Aby.” Oh, that sadistic, pointed grin. A wave of euphoria washed over him, seeing her like this. “You have no room to talk, considering what you’ve done.” He watched as the blood from her face dropped and dripped to the floor, a hum leaving his lips.

“Perhaps you need some more reminding of just how badly you fucked up this time.” He raised a hand, chanting a curse that caused a swirl of glowing energy to encircle both of her hands. It weaved through her clenched fists, forcing them open, and wrapped like binding around each finger. She cried out in pain as she felt the magical binding began to gradually crush her fingers, cutting off circulation knuckle by knuckle.

“You tried to have some of my brothers poisoned,” All five claws of one hand pierced the skin of her upper arm, retracted, pierced again a bit lower, and repeated -- gradually making way down her entire arm. More and more blood began to drip, the usual greenish hue of her scaly skin now awash in dark red. “You tried to gather enough support to attack them, because you were too much of a coward to come face any of us yourself. Though, it’s laughable that you thought you could do damage to us in the first place.”

“I … I’m sorry!” She knew any apologies here were useless, but the pain that she now felt at every point in her body was becoming too agonizing to ignore. “I felt like I was left with no choice!” She felt her vision get hazy, the smell of her blood and the sharp strikes of pain -- from the rope, from his claws, from the curse -- overwhelming her senses. And that damned music, it was driving her insane.

“No choice?” Lucifer scoffed, his claws now repeating the treatment on her other arm. “Abyzou, you did have a choice.” His brows furrowed, wings stretching out as he brought his face close to her upside-down one. “You just chose the wrong one.”

Tears stung her eyes, the magic binding on her hands crushing her fingers until there would be nothing left. She could hear her blood drip in puddles on the floor, and yet the bleeding wasn’t enough for her life to end anytime soon.

“Please … please, Lord Lucifer … just finish me already.” She begged, though deep down she knew her cries for mercy would be futile.

Lucifer’s usual stoic expression settled on his features. He watched her for a moment, then turned around and walked to the table by the door where he had laid his gloves. A cloth was folded neatly next to them, which he took to wipe the blood off of his hands, murmuring a spell to help fully rid his skin of any that remained. Then, he pulled his gloves back on, tugging on the seams to make sure that they were on properly, fingers flexing in the red leather.

“I’m sure that’s what you would like, Abyzou.” His voice is eerily low, his back still turned to the demoness. She could hear him setting something up, but was unable to make out what it was.

Then he started humming, a haunting sound added to the sharp strings and bellowing percussion.

He dragged the table closer to her suspended body, stepping aside to show what was left on it.

She nearly choked. There, next to the record player, was another similar device -- but this one wasn’t for playing.

“However, I have no intention of giving you a quick end. You’ll remain here, like this, until every last drop of blood leaves your body, and your hands are thoroughly crushed, and those ropes cut through you. But, you won’t be completely alone.”

He gingerly raises the needle, setting it onto the record at the correct position. Resuming his humming, he hit the Record button, and the disc began to spin, the needle etching everything it heard into the vinyl. “We’ll have a lovely keepsake to remember you by. Ah, and don’t worry … this is all using magic, so it will document everything up until your last breath.”

Abyzou tried to thrash about with what strength she had left, but in the end only caused herself pain, the chains shackled to her wrists ringing and clanging.

“Farewell, Abyzou.”

With that, Lucifer left the cell, the large metal door shutting to a close behind him. He made his way back through the dungeon halls, a smirk on his lips as he heard a loud, wailing shriek in the distance.

[corruptedconfessions]

Hi hi!! Could we please see Yandere Mirio spanking his s/o for trying to escape?

Sure thing! Tw: Spanking, daddy kink, very very slight hints at infantilism

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

“You know I don’t like to have to do this, sweetheart.”

Another loud thwap echoed through the room, followed by a strangled sob from your throat. Your ass ached horribly from where it was draped across the blonde’s lap, the soothing strokes over bruised and raw skin only hurting worse instead of rubbing the sting away. You weren’t sure how long you had been stuck here, wrists and ankles bound, mouth gagged as you were settled across his lap for your punishment. It felt like hours, long enough that pain shot through your ass every moment now, even in the brief pauses between hits. Mirio wasn’t holding back this time, either. Every smack that left you jolting and sobbing in agony was a painful reminder of how strong the hero was, and how much he had held himself back before.

You had tried to escape one time too many.

Clearly he was done waiting patiently with a sweet smile and soft touches for you to adjust to your new life, for you to stop fighting him tooth and nail. Sure, you had been punished before, this wasn’t your first escape attempt, but before it had been so...different. Tv privileges revoked, sent to bed without dessert, denied your daily free time. Never bent over his knee and smacked until you were sobbing like a toddler. You had never felt so much pain in your life. It was almost enough to make you reconsider your actions...almost.

Another smack landed down on your ass, bringing white hot pain along with it as you bit back the scream that clogged your throat. You writhed on his lap, trying desperately to escape the pain, to escape this situation, but you were trapped, held roughly in place. “Please stop!”

You sobbed harder, voice shaking, cracking at the end as you reached back to grab his thigh, your face falling deeper into the couch as you blindly groped for him. It only took a moment before your hands were lightly smacked away.

“Hands back in position, princess.”

You sobbed harder, moving your shaking hands back above your head, elbows resting on the couch as your wrists crossed. You couldn’t stop the full body trembles that took over you now, snot dripping down your face along with your tears as you babbled weak desperate pleas, unable to stop the begging once you stopped. It hurt so bad. You didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“You know what to say to end all this, baby.”

You supposed the hands cupping your ass, lightly rubbing over and massaging the bruised and tender flesh was suppose to be soothing, to rub away the pain like it had before. But this time it just sent jolts searing hot pain through your entire body, leaving you jerking helplessly on his lap. Still, you hesitated for just a moment, the slightest heat of anger boiling in your belly. It was humiliating, you didn’t want to do it. Reasons like...that were the very reason you had tried to run so hard, tried to break up with him in the first place, leading to being locked down in this childproofed basement.

You were ready to fight back, you really were. Ready to spit in his face and tell him where he can shove it all. The second you felt one of his hands pull back, ready to deal another strike, cold terror replaced any pride you had left.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please!” You felt your vocal chords ache from the strain as you screamed, voice raw and guttural. He wouldn’t like that, wouldn’t like you raising your voice at him, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were pushed too far, left too raw, strung up too high to come down. Ready to snap.

Even over your own loud desperate sobbing you could hear the soft tsk of disapproval as that calloused hand that had caused so much pain instead moved to gently pet your head. You could feel him twirling it in his fingers, clicking softly in disapproval down at you like one would a misbehaving toddler.

“You know thats not how you say sorry. Proper apology, baby. Do you need a reminder?”

Your breath caught in your throat, stuttered little gasps coming from you now. You shook your head rapidly whimpering up at him, knowing exactly what would come along with that little reminder. You were sure he could come up with a way to...make sure it stuck this time.

“No…” “Well, then, im waiting.”

You could hear the pleased grin in his voice, could feel the way the air around the two of you lightened. No longer did his presence feel like a heavy weight, suffocating you as his anger filled your every pore. You didn’t want to go back...you just wanted to go to sleep. You didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“I-im sorry, daddy! I w-wont do it again!”

The sobs that had just started to settle picked up again, your body shook with the force of them. You could feel something inside of you break. Your pride, maybe? The last of your will to fight? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

“There’s my good girl.”

Your head ached as you were finally pulled up, settled on his lap ever so carefully so your ass wasn’t even brushed. Tears still blurred your vision, streaming down your cheeks as you tried to breath in through your stuffy nose. Still, you saw no hint of pity in his eyes, if anything the grin on his face grew more condescending as he reached out to rub away one of the tears with his thumb, cooing softly. “It’s okay, princess~ We’re all done now. You did so well!”

Your face was peppered in kisses and for once you leaned into them instead of squirming away. You'd take these over being hit again any day. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and under your thighs, gently lifting you from the couch as you leaned into his chest, burying your face into his neck.

“There you go, I knew you’d come around.”

You felt the kiss being pressed against your head as he carried you back to your room, ever so gently being lowered down onto your bed onto your stomach. Even the soft silky sheets felt like needles against your overstimulated skin, but you sunk into them, desperate for their comfort. You could hear Mirio fiddling around the room, grabbing a first aid kit and giving soft reassurances and praises in a sweet tone. You found yourself staring at the pink bedazzled wall sitting across from you as exhaustion weighed on you. You didn’t even last letting your daddy dress your wounds and tuck you in before you were asleep, finally letting yourself go under.

[jordanstrophe]

Be a Good guest, collab part 6

CW: Whump, held captive, cutting implied, choking, restraining, forced to mildly strip(nonsexual, at all) *inhales* Parental, possessive, controlling, intimate, creepy whumper 

YAY! I finally got around to doing the colllaaab :D @whumpasaurus101 Thank you for being patient with me <3

Pheonix’s masterlist -  Gabriel’s masterlist

Previous chapter

“Oh sweetheart I missed you so much!” Walter chirped, pinching Gabriel’s cheeks and planting a kiss on his forehead. Gabriel just stood still and took it, his arms hanging limp at his sides. 

“Mateo! Thank you so much for taking care of him while I was gone. Was he any trouble?” He asked, taking Gabriel’s arm and pulling him to stand by his side.

“Supongo, he was good enough. You’re got quite a fun one on your hands.” Mateo gave him a concerning smirk, his eyes darting to the car where Pheonix was bound with a belt at his wrists hanging from the handle.  

“A-... A fun one?” 

Gabriel wasn’t quiet, er... “fun” as he would describe it. Watching and caring for a young boy was lots of hard work and dedication! They were fragile little objects that could easily be broken if not cared for properly. He glanced down at Gabriel, who was frozen in place like a frightened cat stuck in a tree. “We have to go. Come, Gabriel.” Walter said, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs. 

“Ay! Before you leave, are you sure you gave me every detail about what happened with my mi amore’s escape?” Mateo spat with accusation. Walter slowed his pace for only a moment. 

“I told you everything I saw.” He cranked his head around just enough for one cold eye to burn contact. Mateo’s eyes narrowed, trying to find these ‘lightbulbs' of lies Walter described, but he could see none. 

“Doesn’t matter anyway. He’s your boy, deal with him.” He turned his back and left before Mateo could say any more. He sighed as he walked to the vehicle, watching Pheonix squirm around in the seat at his approach. He ripped the car door open, placing a foot against the car steps with an elbow resting on the doorframe looming over him. 

“Some stunt you pulled back there, did you enjoy your little recreo?”

<><>

Walter marched Gabriel back to their hotel room. They were supposed to be driving back to the cabin by now… But something was wrong with Gabriel. He wasn’t acting like his usual self. Walter shut and locked the door behind him. 

“Gabriel, take your shirt off.” He instructed. He could hear Gabriel let off a horrified gasp in terror.

“WHY! I-I di-didn’t do anyth-thing wrong!” Gabriel was quick to wrap his arms defensive against his chest. He fought back his tears… It wasn’t fair! Mateo was cruel and heartless, he didn’t have a choice but to be used and abused.

Just.. N-not the belt… Not again! It hadn’t even been a day! It wasn’t fair… None of this was fair!

“I know! I know you didn’t, little dove. I’m not going to hurt you. You are not being punished, okay?” He said, moving closer to place a hand on his cheek. Gabriel violently flinched at his approaching hand, like he was dodging an attacking blow. 

“Ga-Gabriel!” Walter hissed with offence. “Why are you acting this way? What happened?!” He asked. Gabriel didn’t dare face him after getting yelled at, getting more and more frightened. Walter took a deep breath, before as calm as he could order, “Shirt. Off. Now. Or I will take it all off myself.” 

Gabriel’s face burned red as he turned his head away, slowly fumbling to undo each and every tiny pearly button. Water’s eyes grew even more skeptical when he realized that wasn’t even his shirt… It looked like the one Pheonix was wearing on the first day of the restaurant! Why was he-?

His thoughts were cut off as the white shirt slipped off his shoulders, fluttering to the floor. Two deep cuts ran down his chest, he could no longer hide the bloody bandaged wrist with the long sleeve. 

Walter’s face went pale. Then red with anger. He quickly turned his head away as he took deep breaths, cooling his temper. 

He wanted to loom down the hallway right back to Mateo and rip his throat from his neck. 

Leave nothing behind but a ruined corpse.

A crippled husk of death.

He took another deep breath. Gabriel came first. He would always come first.

His eyes shot open as his mind was back to earth. Gabriel was covering his chest with his arms tucked up as he cried with his head turned away. “Sit down on the bed, sweetheart.” He said, with a voice calm enough to lull a frightened rabbit.

Walter took both his wrists and pulled them up so he could see his chest. He could see them clearly now, running deep and neglected. Blood that had dripped was left to dry in streaks down his chest. 

He had to swallow down his anger once more. “How badly does it hurt?” He asked. Gabriel let out a sad little whimper as he kept trying to pull his wrists down, which was enough for Walter to know he was hurting. 

Gabriel’s head fell forward as his forehead claimed his shoulder, Walter instantly pulled him in as he held his crying child. His sobs were heart-breaking to his ears… His poor darling didn’t deserve this! “It’s okay… You’re okay, my little dove. No one is going to hurt you anymore.” He whispered.

He took a warm cloth and cleaned up the blood, taking out a long bandage strip and tended to what was neglected. He took his hand, turning it over and running his fingers over it. Seems that Mateto already treated whatever happened here, but he didn’t trust anything he had done. 

Not anymore.

Never again.

“What happened, little dove?” Walter asked, as Gabriel automatically leaned against his shoulder with a sniffle. “He t-took me to the restaurant.” He quietly explained. “-To your wrist, darling.” Walter stopped him, crouching in front of him. Gabriel’s eyes widened as they darted down, not brave enough to make eye contact. 

“He..He took a knife...  And dr-drove it-t through-” Walter instantly shot to his feet, scaring Gabriel as he gasped and flinched back. Walter threw his coat back on and slammed his hand against the door handle.

“W-wait! Where are you going?” Gabriel squeaked. 

Walter didn't answer, or even turn around to face him. He failed Gabriel. It’s his job to protect him. He left him for thirty minutes and he comes back to… to this! This was his fault and he would never let him out of his sight ever again! But now, he had to take care of someone else. Someone else who was a threat to his dove. 

Someone who lost their privilege to live. 

<><>

Mateo unbuckled Pheonix’s restraints and grabbed his arm, ripping him from his seat, he staggered as he struggled to keep up. “Come now, don’t tell me you forgot how to walk already.” Mateo sneered. “No sir!” Pheonix yelped, as he did his best to appear obedient. 

He didn’t know what Walter had told Mateo, but he did promise him he would bring down some of his seething anger. Noah was waiting outside the hotel door, his brow raised with surprise when he noticed Pheonix getting dragged along. 

“Jefe! You found him! What happened?” Noah asked. 

“Shut it! You’re not off the hook either, Noah. I’ll deal with you later.” Mateo hissed as he pushed passed him. Noah quickly shut his lips as he took a small step back. He was given one job~ Bring Pheonix to the car and secure him and he didn’t even do that much. 

Mateo slammed the door behind him as Pheonix was kicked to the ground at his feet. “So. You wanted to come back to me, hmm?” He clicked his tongue, resting the toe of his boot against his cheek to force his head down.

“Wh-wha?” Pheonix asked, before quickly shutting his mouth. 

“Walter said you got scared and came back. That you wanted to come home, is that right? How… Interesting.” Mateo traced his jawline with his boot.  As badly as Pheonix wanted to jerk away, he was given a small amount of grace from Walter’s lies, it would be a waste to throw that away and get them both into deeper, hotter water. 

“I… I regretted it as soon as I ran.” Pheonix musters some fake sniffles in an effort to look regretful. Mateo’s eyebrow raised as his boot was replaced with his fingers wrapped around his chin before dropping an inch, tracing a nail down his neck. Pheonix let out a shaky breath as he forced himself to lie still and accept the unwanted touch. 

“My dearest mi amore, if I didn’t have anything else to go off of, your story would be a spit in my face. I have no reason to not believe Walter, but my gut-.” He takes his fist and taps his knuckles to his chest. “-Is letting me otherwise.”

His hand slammed against his neck, his head hitting the hardwood floor beneath him as his hand shot out to fight the wrist that was choking him. The first tightened as his airways were cut, he let out a choking sob as he fought for a breath, for a hint of air, anything! 

“P-nng. Ple-se…” He rasped, his head held to the floor by his own neck. Mateo’s eyes were almost blank as he stared him down, ignoring the tears that streamed down Pheonix’s face as his color changed from the lack of oxygen. 

“Ma-eo please….”

The door behind them opened as Mateo let out a huff of annoyance. “Noah! I said I would deal with you later! Get out!” He hissed.

“Is that any way to talk to your old friend?” Walter said, his voice low and unreadable. Mateo let off his grip as he spun around to see Walter. His eyes were dark but emotionless, an unreadable mist hovered over his face. 

‘’Walter! What are you doing here?” Mateo asked, rising to his feet. 

“We need to have a talk.” His eyes flashed with a spark of malevolence for only a moment, fast enough Mateo didn't catch it. Mateo smirked as he wiped his hands with a rag. Pheonix laid helplessly on the ground as he gagged and choked for air. 

“You’re kid doing alright?” 

“I told you to take care of him.” Walter hissed, as his nerve was quickly struck. He instantly took a deep breath as he became visibly calmer. 

“Come now my friend! You know how these boys work! They need to be taught respect. They are nothing but wild animals without it! You’re like me, you understand how important command and control is.” 

But you did it wrong, and you’ll burn for it. I’ll burn you until there’s nothing left for what you did.

He was mine. MINE. I trusted you with him. I trusted you with everything.

Ripping your heart from your chest would be merciful.

“Why of course I understand! We are the same indeed, my friend.” Walter’s smile was kind and sweet. So trusting and innocent. “My little dove is always the most well behaved fresh after discipline, after all. I just like it when there’s actually something to discipline, not just having “fun”.” He grinned. 

“Hah! I honestly was expecting you to be furious with me! I thought I would show you what it’s like when you put them in their place. Why wait for them to misbehave, eh?” He roughly patted Walters shoulder as he got knocked off balance.

“Leave him, come have a drink with me. There’s something I left out.” He smiled, tilting his body just enough so he could see Pheonix, giving him a small wave. Pheonix was clutching his throat as his breath was weak and wheezed, staring up at him with mistrusting eyes.

He wouldn’t… Would he? Was he taking his story back? Why?

“I’ll say, I’m not surprised. Something was fishy about your little story in the first place...” 

“Not here, come, have a drink with me.” He smiled, waving him to his room. “I’m not leaving Phoenix, he doesn’t deserve even a moment of peace. I was about to get to the whipping. ” Mateo smirked. Pheonix’s face went pale as his tears ran freely, he had no more dignity to keep anymore.

“Then bring him.” Walter shrugged, already halfway out the door. He grabbed Pheonix’s hair in an effort to catch up with him as he let out a cry, he was drug down the hall with his feet struggling behind him to gain a footing. 

“Noah! Watch the door.” He ordered as Walter pushed open the door. Gabriel was sitting on the bed as he instantly gasped and crawled back a few feet further. “No no! It’s okay sweetheart, go wait in the bathroom for just a few minutes, okay?”

He didn’t have to tell him twice as Gabriel bolted off slamming the door shut behind him. The table by the window oversaw the whole city, with two hot cups of tea sitting at each side. “Black tea, your favorite.” He smiled, extending his hand inviting him to his place. Mateo sighed as he sat down, running his fingers along the elegant golden handle of the delightful tiny teacup. His spare hand was wrenched in Pheonix’s hair as he held him at his feet against his leg roughly. 

He took a sip from the cup, Walter could always pull off the best killer tea in the house. He could feel Pheonix’s chest breathing heavily against his leg as he let out a smirk. 

Good, he should be scarred after all the trouble he caused him today... Embarrassing him was bad enough, but his biggest crime was disrespecting him. “So what’s this story? If it’s this important you drag me out here to get me all comfortable then why didn’t you say so in the first place, amigo.” His anger bubbled up from his own words as he took another sip of the tea to calm his nerves. 

He pulled a lighter from his pocket with a cigarette pack, Pheonix flinched at the loud click of the lighter sparking into flames. He already knew that cigarette would be pushed into his skin when he was done. Every second that ticked by drew him closer to the promises of pain. 

“If I’m being honest, I think Pheonix simply deserves better that you.” Walter’s smile twisted into something darker. 

“WHAT!?” Mateo’s fists slammed onto the table, as both teacups clattered and fell, spilling onto the floor.

“You… I tolerated you for long enough because I valued you as a… a-as a…” His voice trailed off after he jumped to his feet, his vision warped and spinning around the room. 

“Fr-friend...?”

When he opened his eyes as he found himself lying on the ground with his vision flipped, watching his cigarette roll across the floor out of his vision between him and Walter’s well-polished boots standing over him. 

“Wh-what did you do!?” Phoenix asked, scampering away until his back hit the wall as soon as his hair was released. 

“I drugged him.” Walter smiled proudly with a wink.

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading!

(If you would like to be removed from this laglist, please let me know)

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[whumpering-heights]

Immortal drowning

A/N: I found a prompt of tying a weight to an immortal whumpee’s feet and drowning them, but I couldn’t find it. So, while I can’t take full credit for this idea, I do like how it turned out. CWs for drowning and some gore/light body horror near the end (after the caretakers are introduced) ___________________

“Kill it!” Screamed the crowd. “Kill the witch!” Johnathan would’ve liked to see them try.   “I’m not a witch!” He yelled. “I’ve never hurt any of you!” This only riled the crowd up more. A rock flew from the mob, hitting Johnathan square in the temple. A loud crack sounded and lights danced in front of his eyes. He staggered, only the guards holding him keeping him on his feet. But after a moment, the wound healed itself and he could see clearly again. The guards who weren’t occupied with dragging him, had to keep the crowd from tearing into him right then and there.   Johnathan wondered what they were going to do. Most likely they’ll try multiple things, once they realised no execution would stick. He felt sick to his stomach. This was going to hurt. But he should be able to escape. Human attention spans were imperfect, and he had all the time in the world. They were bound to slip up sometime. With some bewilderment, he suddenly realised they weren’t headed for the town square. Not the prison, either. Instead, his captors were dragging him outside of town. For a second, Johnathan was puzzled. Then, he saw the shore. It was noon, but the dark clouds made it look like dusk. A small boat lay ready for take-off, next to it an anvil and many chains and rope. When Johnathan realized what was about to happen, his legs gave out. The guards grunted in surprise, but kept him upright. All sound around Johnathan faded, as the only thing left in his awareness became the anvil. Once he regained control of his legs, he struggled like a feral animal.   “No, please!” He begged. “Y-you can’t, please, I beg you!” The crowd only jeered. As they dragged him ever closer to his imminent doom, his struggling feet finding no purchase in the sand, his pleading became less comprehensible.   “No, no, please, good people, I-I swear onto God, I’ll do anything, just, please-” His pleas were cut off when one of the guards shoved a rag in his mouth and tied a gag around his face. Johnathan could only whimper as two of the guards held him down in the sand, while the rest started binding the anvil to his legs. Some ropes and chains were looped though his handcuffs in front of him, ensuring a proper bond. Johnathan was crying openly now. The crowd cheered as he was dumped in the boat and two men came with to dispose of him.  

The clouds opened up and rain fell down. The men rowing the boat didn’t seem to notice. Johnathan lay in between them, shaking with terror. This terror intensified when the men stopped rowing. They had arrived. Johnathan tried to plead with his eyes. I have never hurt a soul, he tried to say. Please, have mercy. But his pleading went unheard. The men raised the anvil and dropped it down the side of the boat. As it hit the water, Johnathan was scraped over the wooden planks. He tried dig his nails into the wood, leaving long scratches along the bottom and side. With a last, desperate cry, he disappeared into the sea.  

The cold water shocked him, the salt stinging his eyes. He felt the water rush around him as he sank. He knew it was futile, but he instinctively held his breath. Soon enough, the anvil hit the bottom. He continued sinking a bit more due to momentum but bounced back until the line was taut. His lungs felt like they were burning. A small part of his brain thought he might as well get it over with, but he was still too scared to open his mouth and face the pain. He squirmed and struggled, as his throat spasmed for the need of air. Involuntarily, he opened his mouth to gasp. Salt water rushed in his mouth and throat, and he tried to cough it up. This only made him take on more water. His chest spasmed, trying to expel the liquid. His muscles cramped and twitched as his body tried to swim despite the chains. Finally, a darkness creeped in from the corners of his eyes. His struggling slowed down. He stopped trying to breathe, a strange kind of comfort tugging at his conscience. He slipped under.

He awoke with a sharp pain in his chest. He screamed, pushing the water out that settled in his lungs and letting new water in. It made him go unconscious faster, but that was a mercy. It didn’t make his frantic struggeling any less terrified, though.

He didn’t know how long it had been. Despite the proof to the contrary, his brain was still convinced he was dying, and didn’t allow any other thoughts. Plants had started growing on the anvil, the chains, and on him, yet his instinctive struggles stayed just as desperate. Sometimes, if he had the presence of mind to hold his breath when he woke up, he could be shortly aware of the light dancing so high above him, shining though the surface. But those moments of conscience thought never lasted long, soon replaced by the desperate panic that had become his existence.  

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

Lisa stared into the sea. She had never gone big game fishing before. Her safety vest made her feel a bit better, but being on the small boat in the middle of the sea still made her a bit nervous. Her uncle threw a bucket of dead fish overboard. “Bait.” He explained. Lisa went a bit pale around her nose. If the bait was the size of salmons, how big were the fish they were going to catch? Her uncle laughed. “Now, don’t you look so worried, Lisa. I’ve been doing this since I could walk, so I should know what I’m doin’. You’re in safe hands.” Lisa smiled. “Thanks, uncle Rick.” She walked away from the edge of the boat and sat down on the deck. Her uncle took his place near the fishing rod. It was attached to the boat and motorized.   “Now, remember,” said her uncle. “It might take a while for something to bite, but that’s just what’s fun-” His eyebrows raised as the rod bent down. “Oh, I’ve caught somethin’ already! Lisa, a hand!” Lisa ran over and helped reel in the catch. It was a little exciting, she thought. She wondered what kind of fish they would see. Her uncle laughed. “My, that feels like a big one! 800 pounds, at least! I should bring you for trips more often, you bring luck!” Lisa chuckled and peered into the water. As the catch slowly came into view, her blood ran cold. “Uncle Rick?” Her voice trembled. He looked up in concern. “What is it, girl?” “I... I think that’s a body.” Shaking, she pointed to the silhouette in the water. Her uncle put the reel on brake and followed her finger. He turned white as a sheet. “Oh... Oh my god.”   Below them, a vague outline of a person hang on the hook. It had caught on the many chains and ropes binding it. They couldn’t see the details of it, yet. Lisa’s eyes teared up. Her uncle threw an arm around her. He was shaking, too. “You can wait in the cabin, love.” He said softly. “You don’t need to see this.” Lisa looked up at him. “You’re reeling it in?”   “Well, I can hardly leave it here.”   “But what if it was... Y’know. What if it’s a crime scene?” Her uncle stared at the barely visible figure. “I reckon it might be. But if I leave it, I won’t be able to find it again.” Lisa nodded. “Okay. I’m staying. I want to help.” “Are you sure? Who knows how long it’s been in there. I really don’t think you should see it.”   “Well, someone has to. I’m helping.” Lisa insisted. Her uncle sighed, and they solemnly reeled in the corpse.

Lisa felt bile rising up in her stomach as the body was lifted from the water. The body seemed to be of a young man with long, tangled hair. His clothes were barely recognisable as such, and barely covered his skeletal body. After soaking in the water for god knew how long, his deathly pale skin had become bloated and blotchy. It was even peeling off in places. It took Lisa and her uncle some effort to lift the anvil into the boat. Lisa caught sight of the ropes and chains around the body’s leg. They had been embedded into his swollen skin. The blood supply had been cut off, and his feet had turned black. She gagged. “Well,” her uncle said. “It’s actually not that bad.” “Not that bad?” She cried. “He looks awful!” “Yeah, but you’d think he’d be rotting and stuff. Must not be dead that long. Poor soul. I’ll contact the shore, let them know what we found.” He went into the cabin. Lisa studied the corpse’s face. He did look terrible, but he still had his eyes and nose and such. He almost looked like he was just unconsious. In fact... she rubbed her eyes. Did she just see his eyebrow twitch? Before she could mention it to her uncle, the corpse’s eyes flew open and it gasped. She screamed and fell back. The corpse turned on his side and started vomiting up water. The heaves and wet coughs sounded like no sound a human should make.   “Uncle Rick! It’s alive!” Her uncle came outside. “That impossible, there’s-” He stopped as he took in the man, who was wracked with raspy coughing fits. A small fish leapt out of his mouth. Her uncle’s eyes showed white all around them. “That’s... that’s impossible.” He grabbed a mop lying around and brandished it like a weapon.   “What’s wrong?” asked Lisa. “We saved him just in time! We should help-” “Dearie, that thing has been underwater so long, it has barnacles.” Snapped her uncle. “Whatever it is, it should be dead.” The former corpse had finished coughing up the contents of his lungs. It lay gasping and trembling on the deck, still wrapped in those ropes and chains.   “What are you?!” Yelled her uncle. He stepped in between Lisa and the man defensively. At the question, the man flinched in on himself. With effort, he raised his shaking hands.   “Nh-please, good sir.” His voice sounded wet and raspy, and he became overtook with another coughing fit. “I-I mean no harm, I swear-” He gagged and curled in on himself, shuddering and dry heaving. “Uncle,” Lisa said carefully. “I don’t think he can hurt us.” Her uncle looked uncomfortable and lowered his mop a bit.   “Uhm, you’re right, but... what the hell is it?” he called over to the man   “Are you a ghost or somethin’?” The man looked up at them through his tangled hair. He shook his head. “N-no, sir. I swear.”   “What the devil are you, then?” The man flinched. He tried to scramble back, but he was so weakened, he didn’t get far. He took a breath to answer, but it caught in his throat and triggered another coughing fit. Though the gasps for breath, he tried to answer. “I-I don’t- I’m not sure, but-” Some more water sprayed from his lips. He looked about to faint. “I-I-I'm no devil, good sir, miss, I-” Any further attempts at speech were too wet to understand. Lisa pushed past her uncle, despite his protests, and knelt down next to the man. She wanted to slap his back to help him with coughing, but when he looked at her, his eyes were filled with abject terror. She leaned back from the intensity.   “Nh-please, miss, don’t put me back. I-I couldn’t, please, no more-” Another cough cut off his pleas.   “Don’t worry.” Lisa said.  “We’re not putting you back. I promise.”

[whitecatindisguise]

An Unwilling Accomplice

Inspired by another @wheredomelodiescomefrom​ picture (link). I had fun writing this one. Even more fun, as I actually had a dream how it would go before actually writing it ;) Hope you guys like it.

------

“Okay, when the guards come, I’ll distract them and you two grab the keys.” Varian repeated for the uptenth time. 

“And why shouldn’t we distract the guards while you get the keys?” One of his inmates asked and Varian groaned inwardly. 

“Because you two can’t hold a conversation without looking suspicious, Sideburns.” He replied, annoyance seeping through his teeth. “While I was able to convince the Princess, stealing the Sundrop Flower is the best course of action.”

Two redheads exchanged glances, still not entirely convinced. Varian sighed. They were so close to escaping, he can’t let those two idiots ruin it. 

“Besides, you have more experience in stealing than I do.” He tried a different approach and that seemed to do the trick. The brothers looked at each other and finally nodded. 

Just in time, as soon they heard the rustling of armour and the guard appeared in their view. Varian smirked as he noticed it was the same guard that took truth-serum cookies from him and gave it to the whole castle stuff. This is going to be easier than anticipated. 

“This is going to backfire bad, kid.” He heard a voice of another prisoner and he growled. 

“Shut up, Andrew.” The alchemist hissed and nodded at the Stabbington brothers, before turning to the guard who was just passing by their cell. “Hey there. Pete, wasn’t it?”

The guard stopped and looked at him surprised and somewhat cautious. 

“Um… you need something, Varian?” Pete asked and Varian smiled as innocent as he could. 

“Only talk. You can’t really have a proper conversation with these guys.” He nodded his head at his inmates. “You, on the other hand, struck me as intelligent.”

“You really think so?” The man beamed at the compliment and Varian refrained from smirking. This was just too easy. 

“Of course! Trust me, I know a genius mind when I see one.” The alchemist flashed him a genuine-looking smile, eyeing his inmates cautiously. 

Pete started rambling something that probably was supposed to be smart. Varian only half-listened to the guard, making sure to nod and comment at right times to not raise suspicion. Finally, he saw Patchy closing his hand around the key ring and gently tugging it off, hiding it in his pocket. 

“Well, it’s nice to hold a properly intelligent conversation once in a while, but I don’t want you to get in trouble for talking to me.” Varian cut off Pete’s rambling, trying to sound genuinely concerned. 

“Oh, you’re right. I’m still on duty.” The guard laughed and Varian suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The guy was an idiot. “Well, see you around, Varian.” 

The man waved his hand and strolled away, not noticing the lack of keys at his belt. Varian sighed and rubbed his temples. Good he only paid half attention to his rambling. He turned to the Stabbingtons and smirked. 

“So… tonight?” He asked and they laughed and nodded. 

~~~~~~

After that it was fairly easy. They waited until the night watch passed their cell, knowing well it won’t be for another hour that someone finds their cell empty. By that time they would be away from the castle, free as birds. 

Andrew, of course, kept trying to persuade Varian from trusting the redheads but the alchemist shook him off. He was getting out tonight, and he needed the men, if they met any guards on their way out. Besides, they worked on the plan together, so it only seemed fair they escaped together too. Not that he was planning to stay with them for the whole time. He still had to free his dad and he knew brute force won’t help him in the slightest. 

They somehow managed to get out of dungeons and the castle without raising the alarm. Varian led the brothers through the hidden tunnels and soon they were outside city limits, looking for a place to hide for a few days. They found an abandoned cabin in the forest, perfect for laying low. It was close to the river and there were berry bushes growing all around, so they didn’t have to worry about food or water. 

Finally, after a week, Varian deemed it safe to leave the cabin. He was eager to go back to Old Corona, wanting nothing more than free his father. So he brought it up with the Stabbingtons when they came back from gathering food and water. 

“Actually, we’ve been thinking…” Patchy started and looked at his brother, both exchanging evil grins. “We’ve heard a lot about you and your inventions. And we still didn’t set the score with Flynn Rider.”

Varian raised his brow in confusion and crossed his arms.

“Well, that’s between you and him.” He said and started to walk towards the door. “I’m going back to Old Corona.”

“I think you misunderstood, brat.” Burnsie stepped in front of the boy and smirked. “You are going to help us get our revenge.”

“Yes.. Rider will soon be dead.” Patchy added and laughed. Varian’s eyes widened and he took a step back.

“What? No!” He argued, eyes filling with terror. 

“Huh, I didn’t think you and Rider were friends.” Burnsie said and the boy shook his head. 

“We’re not, but murder-? I-I won’t help you!” He shouted in defiance. The brothers laughed as they stalked closer to the terrified boy. 

“Oh… you will help us, brat. Whether you want it or not.” Patchy laughed maliciously.

~~~~~~

It’s been another several days with the Stabbingtons planning their revenge. Varian squirmed in his binds, a gag over his mouth. He didn’t want to help them, not in murdering anyone. Sure, he and Flynn (Eugene, he had to remind himself) weren’t exactly friends but murder? He would never willingly kill anyone. 

Even during his last encounter with Rapu- the Princess, when he held Cassandra and the Queen in automaton’s grip, he didn’t actually plan on killing them. He only wanted to scare the Princess, to make her finally listen to him. 

“... and then you’ll help us kill Rider, won’t you brat?” He heard Patchy say and his head shot up. They were looking at him expectantly, these terrifying grins on their faces. 

Varian whined disapprovingly and shook his head fiercely. Burnsie smiled evilly and approached the defiant boy.

“No? Are you sure?” He teased, grabbing a fistful of the boy’s dark hair, pulling him up. “I suggest you reconsider.” He hissed into the alchemist’s ear.

The young prisoner whimpered and shut his eyes. Why did he think it was a good idea to team up with these men? His mind reminded him of Andrew’s warnings. Turns out the other man was right in the end. 

Burnsie let go of Varian’s hair and he slumped back to the floor, hitting his arm painfully. He whined in pain, trying not to cry. He was tired, his stomach empty and throat dry. The brothers were trying to break him by denying him sleep and food, only giving him enough water to not die. 

The Stabbingtons were discussing something again and promptly left the cabin, probably to gather some food or supplies for whatever plan they had. Varian didn’t even have strength to push himself up, so he just laid down on the wooden floor, vision blurry. 

Just then, he heard some shouts outside and a clash of metal. His heart skipped a beat. Did the guards find them? Were they going back to the prison? He didn’t want to be back behind the bars, but at this point, anything was better than his current situation. 

The fight continued for a little while, and then everything went quiet. Varian waited in anticipation, not knowing who won. He prayed it wasn’t the Stabbingtons, that whoever they were fighting with was able to overpower them. Then, the door creaked open. 

“I really wanna say I told you so right now, buddy.” A familiar voice said and Varian looked up shocked at Andrew making his way towards the bounded alchemist. 

He quickly cut the ropes tying the boy’s arms and legs and helped him take off the gag, the alchemist finally able to breathe properly. 

“A-andrew.” He said surprised. “What..? But how? Why?”

“My friends from Saporia broke me out soon after your escape.” The man explained, helping the boy up. “With the guards already looking for you three, it was quite easy. Our hideout is actually quite close by, so when one day we heard those brutes talk about making the brat cooperate I knew exactly who they were talking about.”

Varian nodded lightly, and smiled a little. 

“I… Thank you for saving me.” He said, looking up at the Saporian. He smiled back and ruffled his hair. 

“Hey, anytime, buddy. I kinda like you, so what do you say you stick with us from now on?” He suggested. “We could use your expertise in taking over the kingdom. But, only if you want, of course.”

Varian mulled on the idea. On one hand, he really wanted to get back to studying amber and freeing his dad. On the other, however, Andrew did help him out, so he owed him. 

“Okay.” He finally agreed. “But I want freedom to work on my own project too.”

“No problem, buddy.” Andrew grinned and led him outside to meet other Saporians. “Now, let me tell you about our plan…”

[kikyozoldyck]

crappy birthday

PAIRING: hidan x reader SUMMARY: your soulmate is shit at birthdays WARNINGS: swearing, violence, descriptions of murder, shitty poetry courtesy of hidan

You wake up on your birthday and don’t feel any different. You go about your daily routine like you do every other day because, as far as you’re concerned, today is like every other day. You’re hardly expecting chocolates because you have no significant other or even friends who might give you sweets to snack on, and even before the incident, you were hardly one to celebrate yourself, although you vaguely remember your parents throwing some ridiculous party for you every year, in fact, your last real, clear memory of them is the three-tiered, casino-themed birthday cake your mother made for you (and proceeded to bleed out all over later that same evening.) 

Oh, well. C’est la vie, and all that, right?

It’s a nice day, you notice once you’ve gotten dressed and wandered out into your kitchen. Not too cold, and certainly not too hot, with a nice breeze, perfect for enjoying a morning that cute little tea shop down the street, with some tea and scones and a book to keep you company.

It’d be nice to share it with someone, if you had anyone. 

(You do have one person, your mind supplies unhelpfully, you’ll always have him.)

You ignore that one, disgusting, traitorous thought in favor of grabbing a worn paperback off your shelf, tying your coat around your waist, toeing on your shoes, and opening your front door.

And then you stop in your track and stare. At the body. On your doorstep

“What the fuck, Hidan?” You swear to yourself, though, you can’t say that you’d be too surprised if the creepy fuck just happened to be close enough to hear it. 

And then Mrs. Sato from next door comes out, humming merrily under her breath as she locks the door behind her before turning to you.

“Good morning, dear. Such a lovely day, isn’t it?”

You smile back, just a little fixedly. “The loveliest.”

“Oh, well! Best enjoy it while it lasts!” Mrs. Sato bobs her grey head a few times and toddles past, stepping around the corpse, like it isn’t there. “Have a nice day, dear.”

“You too, Mrs. S.” You reply politely, finger tapping impatiently against the doorframe as you wait for her to disappear down the stairwell. Then you’re crouching down in the blink of an eye, every sense zeroing in on the body, and that’s when you realize, the body is still breathing.

And that means there’s definitely some weird, ancient, Jashinist ninjutsu involved because aside from the fact that your next-door neighbor didn’t so much as bat an eyelash as she passed, there’s also 1) a hole carved into the chest of the body, meticulously and precisely heart-shaped, just big enough for you to peer inside and watch the exposed organ beat, and 2) the body isn’t just anybody, it’s your childhood rival — Funai Yuka.

You stare for a moment longer, oddly mesmerized by the physical thump of the blood-red heart that you can both hear and see. It is so gorgeously delicate in this one moment, under your complete mercy.

Then, cautiously, you reach out and tug lightly at one tail of the intricately tied bow around Funai’s arms and torso, just below her breasts but above her bound wrists. It is also linked with a red ribbon.

And there’s a card tucked between Funai and the ribbon, one that you retrieve now. It isn’t anything fancy, note hastily scrawled on what looks to be the back of a soba shop receipt with a doodled version of Hidan, covered in Jashinist symbols and what looks like blood, handing a heart — the conventional symbol, not the organ — out to an equally crudely drawn version of yourself. 

You flip it over, and in a slightly messy black scrawl, the card reads,

This dumb bitch thought she was better than you so I Killed her to prove that Nobody is as hot as you P.S. Happy Birthday 

It isn’t signed, but you read it a second time, then a third. And then you laugh, bright and bold in the crisp winter morning, genuine and amused because you didn’t even know Hidan knew what a tanka was — let alone that he could write one.

You look down at Funai again, and it really is sobering to see her like that. Your mind travels back to your childhood, all those long days spent practicing your taijutsu in your parent’s yard in hopes of maybe surpassing her. 

She’d been your worst enemy sure, but she’d been your best friend too. She was the first person you told when you turned twelve, and Hidan’s name appeared on your arm. 

(“Just Hidan?” She’d sneered as you showed her, “hmph. Guess he’s not from any clan. Makes sense, an average soulmate for such an average —”

“—shut up, Bug Queen!” You’d interrupted, tackling her into the dirt, because the name on her hip was Torune Aburame, and everyone knows that the Aburame are total bug-fucking creeps.)

You realize that you’re still smiling when the memory fades. You can almost hear Funai in the back of your mind scolding you about how it’s bad practice for shinobi to show their emotions so freely. 

So, first thing’s first then.

You seize Funai by the throat and haul her inside, slamming the door behind you. Not a drop of blood spills from the open wound as you drag your friend onto your kitchen floor. The tile might have to be sacrificed to the cause, but you’ll just have to deal.

You pull the bow loose, and just like that the genjutsu breaks, Funai’s eyes begin to flutter. She goes from unconscious to fully awake in about three seconds. It’s honestly a little impressive, her memories clearly unaffected if the terror and the fury bleeding into her golden irises are anything to go by, but it’s already too late. 

You’re already rooting around your drawers for a knife clean and sharp enough to mercy-kill her with. She says something, but it’s muffled by the gag and all the blood in her mouth — though you know her well enough by now to know that it’s probably not happy birthday. 

Whatever it is, it’s too late anyway, because you’ve already sunken your entire hand into her chest, palm and fingers wrapped snugly around the rapid-fire recoil of your rival’s heart, by the time she can do anything more than fail at squirming away.

You sigh, because you’re sympathetic, really.

“If it’s any consolation, Bug Queen, you make a great birthday present.”

Then you rip her heart out with one smooth twist of your arm. That weird, old-world soulmate magic floods your system, running along your veins and imprinting into the very essence of your being, with a single glowing soul bond pulsing at the back of your mind and anchoring you to reality so that you aren’t overwhelmed.

--

(And you weren’t always like this, okay?

You used to be a normal person, with normal friends, and normal hobbies, and normal parents that loved you.

But on your twentieth birthday, you received a letter in the mail — the envelope was big and red, and it had the words ‘to my soulmate’ stamped on the front. You were so ridiculously excited.

When you opened it, it went off and destroyed the entire house and killed everyone inside, everyone except, well — you. 

You didn’t show the team of ANBU investigators the card that came a day later. 

It was a stick-figure drawing of your home blowing up with your friends and family inside it. Their bodies are scattered to bits over the page in a bloody mess with the words:

‘Sorry I couldn’t be there in person. I hope you liked the gift! :) Love you. — xoxo your soulmate’ scrawled hastily at the bottom.)

(After that, you begin to mark the calendar. It is a simple red X on a single day out of the year. There is no indication of what it is for, but you know.)

— A year later, you get home from a few hours spent at the training grounds, only to find an innocuous-looking briefcase leaning against the door of your apartment. 

Your heartbeat quickens, and you groan, stooping to pick it up, plucking up the card as well from where it’s slipped into the handle.

Another Hidan original, you note as you duck into your apartment and place the briefcase on the dinner table. 

The drawing is surprisingly minimalist considering Hidan’s usual style, it’s an artlessly drawn picture of you, butt-naked holding miniature globe in your poorly proportioned hands.

Is he gonna blow the whole world up this time? You think with a sigh and flip the card open. In the same sloppy handwriting as before, you read,

Don’t be a pussy. This is not a bomb, okay? You will like this gift.

You thumb the dark lettering before turning to the briefcase and opening it. It actually takes you several long seconds to realize what it is exactly that you’re looking at.

There are files inside, sheaves of papers tucked surprisingly neatly into folders, and—

You reach inside, where two passports are shuffled into one corner. 

One has your name, your personal information — all chillingly accurate. 

One doesn’t. 

Both have your face.

You set those aside, and with a sense of growing urgency, you fumble to open the folders and rifle through the papers.

They’re-

They’re identification papers. Two sets. One is fakes. But the other—

Hidan has restored your identity, you realize, and for a moment, you don’t even remember how to breathe.

(These days, you can get by. You have plenty of cash to use, so you don’t need a job, and so long as you’re not crossing country borders, you have no use for travel papers.)

But it also shackles you, the lack of an identity, walking around like a corpse.

Paying for Hidan's crimes, all these years, even now, as if almost burning alive and watching your entire family die and losing your goddamn mind weren’t enough to atone for the crime of simply having a soulmate.

And now…

You pick up another file with trembling fingers and flick that open. It’s a manuscript. It’s your manuscript, from when you were a writer, a really fucking good one—you might add, and despite having to always battle that hack Jiraiya for the spot on the best seller’s list, which honestly never made sense to you because your works were clearly better — but you suppose there's no accounting for taste, you enjoyed what you did, creating, building your stories.

And now you can do it again. A piece of what you’ve lost, returned.

And it isn’t even just that. The other set of papers – the fake ones – mean something too. It’s a way out, a new start if you ever want to leave. To walk away from this godforsaken country and begin anew. To not only lay your past to rest but also leave it behind so that it will never drag you down again. There’s one last file at the bottom, tissue-thin, and it only contains a single slip of paper.

It’s another note: “Sorry, I fucked up your life and shit. Won’t do it again. Happy birthday.”

— The next year, it’s another card, but only a card, with a classic birthday cake superimposed on a baby pink background. An invitation, with a time scribbled on the inside cover, but dead center on the right, a katauta,

I am running out of ways to show you that I love you lets fuck? (Couldn’t fit this in the katauta but I do oral.)

…The way that it makes your heart skip is ridiculous, and honestly, probably an indication of how fucking lonely you are. It’s not even remotely sophisticated, certainly no Henjo or Kisen. And yet…

Your face. Your face feels hot. God, you’re blushing. And your mouth is doing something funny. It takes a moment to realize you’re trying to pull a truly goofy smile. You’d probably never it live down if anyone else were there to witness it. You take a deep breath. Then you glance at the time one last time before pocketing the letter and heading for the bathroom. 

You have a night to prepare for because, apparently, your soulmate is a closet romantic.

— The door swings open, and you’re already smiling as you drink Hidan in. The man has grey hair slicked back with enough grease to start a forest fire and distinctive purple eyes. Still, they suit him, and when he smiles back, it reaches all the way to his eyes – like sunlight reflecting off whiskey, like sunsets when they spark with magic.

Wordlessly, you step back and let Hidan in. He takes a second to toe his shoes off – because he may be a murderous freak, but he’s still your soulmate, and it pays to be polite – but when he rises, he promptly crowds you right up against the nearest wall and kisses you for the very first time, hard and hungry and thorough.

A possessive hand sinks into your hair. Another pulls you close by the waist, and then you’re arching up into him, a twist of his hips sending sparks of pleasure darting across your nerves even as you open your mouth and let Hidan devour you.

The air is heady with the heat of your combined arousal by the time you part for air. Hidan’s lips are swollen red, and you’re both more than a little breathless. You’re not dry humping anymore, but Hidan’s hands remain cradled around your hips, and you’re absently tangling Hidan’s hair around your fingers. Your faces remain close enough that your noses brush.

Hidan’s eyes gleam like firelight as he peers at you, smug and satisfied, warmed by something softer.

“So, like, did all those fucking poems pay off? Do you, like, love me and shit?”

“Yeah. They did.” You smile, and your own words spill over Hidan’s lips, “I love you and shit.”

Hidan smiles and you feel the soul bond glowing bright and solid right down to the atomic level.

A new bond stirs between you, tentative, and fresh but already luminous with potential. Before you can blink, you’re being shoved against the wall again as Hidan flings his arms around you, laughing, laughing, laughing, joyous delight and overwhelming relief.  

[punsandfuturekingsmen-archive]

Arthur was on the road-- he’d been driving until Tempo was far behind him. The tears had long dried, but his hands shook until he squeezed the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip. He was staring at the road, but it felt like it blurred by. His head was too loud, and he kept snapping as if waking up, somewhere further than he had been.

He wasn’t sure where he intended to stop. This wasn’t a planned trip, and if-- he was going to go through what he knew he had to, what nearly every Lewis had... he was sure he might scream.

So it needed to be a secluded place. He’d been rescued enough, everyone putting themselves out there for him enough. He didn’t want this but-- he’d survive. He wasn’t going to make this worse by making the others deal with his bullshit too. 

At some point a sign for a park trail slipped by his vision. He almost missed it, zoned out as he was. But the second one caught his eye better, and he started following them. A hiking trail in December, at night? Sounded like a good place most people wouldn’t frequent. Maybe if he was careful he could go off the trail somewhere and find a place far enough to deal with this. It’d just be an impromptu camping trip. 

He was only a few miles out when something flashed, and he wasn’t in the van anymore. He was back almost immediately, disoriented, and the van swerved hard as his hands jerked on the wheel. He managed to right it, before immediately pulling onto the shoulder. 

It was a good choice. He was seated on the bench, resting against the headrest and looking out the windshield-- and then he was somewhere warm. 

He was small again, hands gripping the shoulder straps of a backpack with tiny fingers. He could feel the weight on his back of books in the bag, and he was walking somewhere along a road, humming something in a voice that wasn’t his.

Arthur felt the contentment welling in his chest, and thoughts of school and homework filled his head. The thoughts came quick, in Spanish, but he understood perfectly-- he was decent at it from Lewis teaching him growing up, but he never had the fluency he did at this moment, wondering when the next test would be.

Arthur tried to shake his head, but couldn’t.

Don’t forget it’s not real. This isn’t you. This is Lewis. Splatter Lewis.

Maybe if he managed to keep that in his head he could survive this. Could focus on what was happening without getting mixed up. It’d be fine. 

But.... why was.....this a memory he was seeing? Weren’t they supposed to--

The answer came with squealing tires. They screeched on pavement as a large car without a license plate stopped beside him while he walked. He felt brief confusion and a nervous frown pull at his face, before men started to climb out. He started walking faster, clutching his bag harder and keeping his eyes down. 

Hands grabbed his shoulders hard enough to bruise before he passed by. He yelled and tried to squirm out of the grip, but it didn’t work. More hands grabbed him, one twisting in his hair and another clamping over his mouth so he’d stop screaming. He could feel tears tracking his cheeks and he kept crying, kept screaming through the hand, until a knee slammed up into his gut. The oxygen came out in a thin wheeze and he slumped, before getting thrown hard against the ground. He still fought for breath, a new scrape on his shoulder and cheek where he landed in a bruising tumble. 

Before he could catch it, harsh hands ripped his wrists behind him with a yank that bloomed pain along his arms. He gasped and cried out, before a shoe found his side and someone barked something at him. He couldn’t hear what they were saying because his ears were ringing, but their tone was a threat.

Something bound his hands together, too tight behind his back. It felt like a cord, and moving his wrists just made it feel worse. Someone grabbed his hair in a thick handful and he sobbed, stumbling to his feet. A gag of some kind was shoved into his mouth and his jaw hurt from how open it was forced to be. The tears were so thick he could barely see as he tried to stay close enough that his hair wouldn’t burn or rip and make this worse.

When they let go to open the trunk, he tried to run. He made it almost ten steps before someone big tackled him to the ground, slamming his shoulder and head against the dirt. he was flipped over and yelled at but the words were nothing, and he could only stare with wide eyes, terror welling so thick in his chest he could scarce breathe and body wracking with pain. 

They must’ve wanted an answer, because his head swung sideways with a sharp twist, when their hand connected with his cheek.

Choking, he nodded, and none too gently, the man hoisted him up by his shirt, dragging him along like a sack of potatoes. He was thrown into the trunk, felt rug burn on his arm where it scraped the uphostery, and heard something else. Laughter. 

The trunk closed and he was in the dark.

His eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping out and his shoulders shaking.

And then he opened them, and he was in the van again, forehead beaded in sweat and lip split. His hair was tender, more than it had been from when he pulled out his own, and a bruise throbbed on his cheek.

That was horrifying. He was still shaking, still felt his heart beating fast in his chest and still felt the terror in his chest so heavy he wanted to scream. He was still slick with a cold sweat and twitching. He’d gone through that? Gone through that so young?

Arthur tried to catch his breath. He was still shaking, still struggling for breath. He patted at his cheek to try and help and regretted it when the bruise there reminded him it was there. But at least the metal felt cool against his skin. That was nice.

Swallowing, Arthur shook his head. That..... was that one of his memories? One of Lewis’s? That....

...What else had he gone through...?