#HEED THE WARNINGS

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking: part two

the art of breaking, part two: theory of decay

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. this fic contains themes of abuse and extremely dark content.

words: 10k

summary: joel knows just how to make you his forever. a sequel to "the art of breaking"

warnings (new warnings in red) and story under the cut; reader discretion is advised.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, glory hole, reader gives tommy a blowjob (joel and tommy do not touch), body modification, permanent marking, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, whipping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, vaginal, reader x other men, degradation, humiliation, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare, blink and you miss it piss "play," straight up abuse this time guys, overstimulation, forced eating, needles, voyeurism, objectification, human furniture/ashtray, cigarettes, consumption of non-food items, nipple/clit pumps, this one might be worse than the first idk sorry

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

i. dessication

When he goes to work, he leaves you free to roam the house and do your chores. For shorter trips out, he tends to put you in your cage. There’s no real reason, but it keeps you in a good place. You’re always softer, quieter when he gets back and lets you out. 

He couldn’t do it all the time, of course. There are things needing to be done. Plus, every day, he gets to come home to you knelt, waiting by the door with dinner kept warm. He could afford a housekeeper, but then you’d have nothing to keep your mind and body occupied when he’s away. 

Of course, sometimes he leaves you chained up in the basement. He can’t always be nice, after all. And the thing he loves to come home to most, second only to you kneeling at the door, is your exhausted body still tied where he left it, bearing the marks of his latest pleasure. 

Sometimes, he just leaves you in stocks to contemplate all the raw kisses from his favorite whip. Sometimes, he has you pinned to the table with a vibrator strapped to your clit for the day. On the lowest setting—he’s not a monster. 

Well. It starts on the lowest setting. He can do whatever he wants with it through a handy app. It was the only way Tommy could convince him to upgrade to a smartphone.

But today, you’re just set about neatening up. Neither you nor Joel are messy— though he does have a tendency to empty his pockets wherever he’s standing—and it’s not a huge house. You finish up early and have time to read while supper’s in the oven. 

You’re already kneeling when you hear the key in the door, eyes down, hands behind your back, but you have to tense up not to flinch when you hear a second pair of boots.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” drawls a voice you don’t know. 

The only reason you don’t panic is because Joel’s boots enter your field of vision. You’re intimately acquainted with them—literally—and despite the fresh layer of dirt, you’d know them anywhere. 

“Ooh, damn, she’s good,” says the voice.

Joel chuckles and reaches down to stroke your cheek. “Told ya.” 

You melt a little against his hand, letting the pride in his voice warm you.

He rubs his thumb over your cheek and lets you press a little kiss to the digit before stepping back to take his shoes off and dump the handful of change and crumpled receipts on the foyer table. “C’mon,” he says, snapping his fingers so you know he means you, too.

You resist the urge to look at the stranger, but you don’t like the way he lingers to follow you instead of following Joel. You can feel his eyes on your exposed flesh, the dress just short enough to show off your cunt when you crawl. 

No one has ever come into the house before. At least not when you’re out and about. You don’t know if Joel’s had company while you’ve been in the basement or something; you’ve never even thought about it. All you know is that it’s been a long time since you’ve seen another person. 

It’s terrifying. 

You go to kneel between Joel’s feet, but he stops you. “Turn around,” he says, guiding you with firm hands to face forward. 

He laughs when he sees that you’re still staring very carefully at the carpet. “Y’can look at him; he ain’t gonna bite.”

The other man, who has settled in the armchair facing the couch, laughs too. “I might,” he says.

“No, you won’t.” Joel’s voice goes hard for a moment, and you don’t need to see to know he’s glaring. 

It makes you feel better. So what if someone’s looking at you? Joel’s still protecting you. 

He lifts your chin up so you have to look at the other man. He’s broad, though not as much as Joel, with dark curls and dark eyes that make you feel like he wants to cut you open and see how you tick. 

“This is my little brother, Tommy,” Joel says. “Go tell him hello.” 

“Hello,” you say quietly. 

“C’mon, now, go give him a proper greeting,” Joel nudges you with his foot. You crawl over to Tommy and kneel between his legs. Your gaze darts from him to Joel, teeth worrying at your lip. 

“Don’t embarrass me, girl,” Joel warns.

Tommy lifts your chin with his hand. “He wants you to suck me off. Go ahead.” 

It’s nice, but it’s not his permission you need. You risk one more glance at Joel. 

“You heard him. You got two seconds, sweetheart, before you’re gonna regret it,” he growls.

“You goin’ soft? You usually have ‘em trained better by now,” Tommy teases, but his words have Joel seeing red. 

You sit back. “What?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, did you think you were special?” Tommy says with a nasty smirk. He pats your face. “Poor thing.”

You look at Joel, tears welling up. 

“What, you think I had a house full of equipment that’s never been used? Y’should be grateful. All my toys before you had to suffer some trial and error. I got it perfected now, and you’re wasting it, being a fuckin’ disobedient bitch.” 

You close your eyes tight and choke back a sob. He’s never, ever spoken to you like that before. When you turn back to Tommy, you have your mouth open wide and waiting.

He leans back. “Well? You gonna make me do all the work?”

“Can I use my hands, please?” you say, eyes darting from Tommy to Joel. 

“Great, now you got her all nervous,” Tommy bitches, and Joel rolls his eyes. 

“Go ahead,” Joel tells you gruffly. You’ve been so good. So obedient. Maybe he shoulda warned you that he wanted to show you off. No, he thinks, it’s not his fault. He didn’t owe you a warning. You should just accept it and obey.

You’re shaking when you tug open the button of Tommy’s jeans, fumbling with the zipper. Apparently, it takes long enough that he grunts and knocks your hand away, pulling his cock out. 

It feels like a trap. Joel has not explicitly ordered you to do this. But he doesn’t usually try to trick you. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Tommy snaps, and yanks you forward. You get with the program quickly, wrapping your lips around him and trying to do your best. 

He’s smaller than Joel, but it’s a decent cock. Not that it matters to you. Despite not having to gag on him, you can’t breathe anyway, too preoccupied. Why is Joel doing this? Is he going to punish you for it later? 

And the worst thing, the thing that keeps bouncing around your brain as you try to get Tommy off: What happened to the other girls? Did he get tired of them and kick them out?

Was he not going to keep you?

You don’t notice you’re crying, but Tommy clearly enjoys it. He moans and holds you down as he cums down your throat. You aren’t ready, though, and sputter a little, coughing and leaking his cum down your chest. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel snaps. He gets up off the couch and yanks you away from his brother by the hair. “What the hell's the matter with you today?” 

“I’m sorry,” you cry. 

“Shut up,” he says, and drags you out to the place you visit in most of your nightmares, despite only having been there once in reality. 

The Pit. 

ii. consumption

When he comes to get you in the morning, you’re wrecked. Deflated, no more tears left to pour down your cheeks. For now, at least.  

The sun is against his back when he opens the gate, reaching down for you with one strong arm. Bathed in the golden light, he is every inch your savior, and when you’ve climbed out on shaky legs, you prostrate yourself at his feet the way he likes. 

He’s still mad, though, so he steps one filthy boot on your head and grinds your face into the mud. He pisses on it for good measure, the hot stream dripping down your hair and face onto the soil. 

He’s got a switch in one hand. With you effectively pinned in place, he wastes no time in swinging it down on your ass. 

You scream and sob as he beats you. When he finally stops, when he’s drawn every bit of his anger in welts against your skin, he lifts his boot from your head and squats down. 

“Why d’you have to make me do this?” He’s solemn, sorrowful. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say, focusing on controlling the hysterical sobs wrenching from your chest. 

You don’t know what will follow, so you remain still, not daring to move without an order. 

“I should drop you off at a fuckin’ whorehouse,” he mutters. He pulls you up by your hair, and you scramble to your knees. “You can learn to suck who you’re told to suck.”

“Please, sir, please don’t, please—” It’s too much. You stumble, sobs wracking your body hard enough that you can’t move. You collapse in the grass with his hand still holding your head up. 

He lets go, letting you fall. 

You crawl to his boots and kiss them, mud be damned. It wasn’t like you weren’t covered in it anyway. “Please, sir, I’m so sorry, please don’t—” you say between sobs. 

“Please don’t what? You think you’re in any position to be askin’ for anything?”

“Don’t get rid of me, please; I promise I’ll be better; I can be good.”

“I’ll think about it, if you can fuckin’ earn it.”

“Please, please let me try to earn it.”

He squats down and helps pull you to your knees in front of him, cupping your filthy face in both hands. “I don’t wanna send you away. You know I love ya. But if you can’t be good, then what’s the point, baby?”

Your sobs are subsiding out of the pure elation that comes from his gentle touch. “I’ll do anything,” you whisper.

“I know ya will. You don’t really have a choice.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m gonna get you fed and taken care of. But you’re about to have one of the worst days of your fuckin’ life.”

You choke on a sob and sway a little. The fear and the hunger are like a fog over your brain. 

“Hey. Listen t’me.” He holds your hands in one of his. “You’re gonna learn, and it��s gonna be real hard for ya. But at the end of it all— if you take it all like a good girl—you’ll be forgiven. Got it?”

You look up through tear-sodden lashes, lip quivering, and nod your head. 

There’s no part of you anymore that registers an issue. No warning bells, no red flags, no hair raising. 

You follow him to the bottom of the patio steps, where he nudges you to kneel back down, folding over so your face rests against the soil. You wait while he goes inside, unsure of how much time has passed until he comes back out with a plate of eggs, scrambled with cheese and little bits of sausage. 

That raises some alarms. Not to the way he treats you, but more of a signal for what to expect. It’s protein-heavy, which isn’t necessarily unusual, but it smells delicious. And there’s no way you’re getting to eat that after behaving so badly. 

You’re half right. He squats down next to you and scoops up a bite with the fork. You don’t take the bait; you know that’s not for you. 

He moans exaggeratedly when he chews, grinning all the while. And then he scrapes the rest off the plate into the dirt in front of your face. 

“Ah, ah. Not yet,” he says, and you close your eyes at the sound of his zipper being yanked down. 

“You get wet from that beating earlier?” he asks.

You nod, even though he’s already reaching down between your legs and shoving his fingers in your cunt. He brings back his shiny hand and strokes his cock. 

“Look at me, baby,” he says, shifting onto his knees so when you open your eyes, you’re faced with his fist pumping away at the red, angry head. “Coulda been you. Shoulda been, but bad girls don’t get what they want.” 

You whimper. It really does hurt your feelings, but you know you have nothing to say for yourself. 

“Open. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and get some fresh.”

You obey immediately, squeezing your eyes back shut as soon as he starts to cum. A little bit lands in your mouth, which you hold open.

“You can swallow that. But don’t eat yet.” 

He walks away, puttering around on the patio. You try to work up the nerve for his command, stomach churning. Maybe it’ll still taste fine. Maybe cold semen and dirt won’t ruin it that much. Maybe. 

If you hadn’t earlier, you believed him now about it being the worst day of your life. He certainly wasn’t starting out small. Sure, you’d eaten off the floor before, but inside the house. The house you clean, so you know how sanitary it is. 

But thinking about doing this makes you want to cry. And when he tells you to get started, you do cry. Just a little. 

“You got about six minutes,” he says, checking his phone for the time instead of the eternally broken watch on his wrist, “and there better not be a single crumb left. Get your ass up here as soon as you’re done.”

You’re not sure how long it takes you, but it must be nearly the whole six minutes, because by the time you’re knelt at his feet on the patio, he says, “Cuttin’ it damn close, sweetheart.” 

He’s playing fucking Candy Crush, legs kicked out on the little wooden table in front of him. He’s got you knelt at his side, and after a few minutes, he digs into his breast pocket and hands you a smushed carton of cigarettes. 

You draw one carefully out of the pack and extend it to him, letting go once he’s pinched it between his lips and pulling out the lighter. Carefully, you ignite the tip for him and tuck it back away. You go to give the carton back, but he shakes his head.

He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth to blow smoke. “Hang onto that for me. And this,” and he hands you his coffee cup. 

It’s not the first time he’s used you as a table. He tried using you as a footrest but found it less satisfying. You try to sit and work through your nerves, try to ignore the terror that he might not keep you if you can’t endure the day. 

It’s a good thing that he drained you of any concept of dignity long ago, cut you open, and let it ooze away like pus from an infection.  

“Open,” he says absently, not bothering to look away from his game.

Your eyes and mouth snap open, and he taps the cigarette against your lip, letting the ash fall onto your tongue. You jerk back a little but correct it immediately.

He quirks an eyebrow. “I’ll give ya a pass this time. But keep your mouth open, tongue out, and don’t fucking swallow.” 

He’s clearly happy to spend the afternoon like this. He goes through a second cigarette and still doesn’t let you swallow or spit. Your knees ache from the planks of the deck. 

He gets up and goes inside for a few minutes, taking his empty coffee cup with him. You don’t dare drop your position, though. 

When he comes back out, he hands you a bottle of beer, condensation already dripping. He resettles to watch the game on his phone. 

Anything resembling hope is trickling out. He hates watching things on the little screen, peering at it through his glasses. But he never smokes inside the house, so he’s resigned himself to this for the sake of your punishment.

It makes you feel less than the ash on your tongue. 

By the time it’s over, your mouth has long gone dry, itching with the ash of four cigarettes, when he stands up and stretches. He leans down and holds your chin before spitting in your mouth.

“There ya go. Swallow.” 

And you do. When you cough a little as the ashes cling to your dry throat, he pries your mouth back open and spits again. 

It helps a little. 

iii. dismemberment

You’d only been in the Pit once before. The first time was arguably your worst offense, which was good, Joel thought, that you still hadn’t topped that misbehavior. 

But as glad as you are that it hasn’t happened a lot, it means you don’t really know what to expect. When he brings you into the ensuite, you know this routine enough that you kneel on the shower floor, barely flinching when he turns only the cold tap, and the faucet sputters to life. 

He never gets in until you’re shivering, so while he gathers fresh clothes and towels, you scrub the mud from your body. When he checks and finds you satisfactory, he turns the knobs until the water runs warm. 

Your shivers don’t subside for a few more minutes, though. Not until you’re practically done cleaning him with the spongey loofah. Hot tears burn in the corners of your eyes, though only a few slip loose.

When he turns around and takes it from you, you thank him for letting you wash him. 

He gives you a smile, hand cupping your cheek.

“Of course, baby. Don’t worry. I’m going to help you remember how to be my good girl.”

But first, before he can follow up on the threat, he washes the mud and piss from your hair with gentle hands, massaging your scalp. You hold still, head tipped back, and let the tears come harder.

He notices but doesn’t comment. It’s normal now, when he takes care of you after a hard punishment. Or, in this case, in the middle of one.

You go to speak, to pour out your regrets and devotion, but he shushes you.

“I want you quiet ‘till I say otherwise,” he says. “Nothin’ outta you unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

You nod, and he helps you to your feet, drying you with a soft towel and taking care around the raised welts on your ass. There will be some nasty bruises tomorrow, but when isn’t there? Your tits have mottled spots of yellow fading, and the shape of Joel’s hand around your throat basically never leaves. 

He gives your raw, burning skin a sharp smack, sending you off to put on the dress he’s laid out for you.

He tells you nothing, just leads you to the truck. The drive is quiet, apart from the crooning voice on the radio. It’s a bit of a drive, and you park in a broken-up lot surrounded by rusty chainlink fence. He grabs your hand and takes you across the street to a dilapidated building. A cheap banner is tacked above one of the doors. 

Joel hands a bill to a man, who opens the door just enough for you to squeeze in. It doesn’t take long to figure out where you are.

“Been a while since I brought you someplace nice, baby. Hope you like it, ‘cause we’re gonna be here most of the night.”

That’s the understatement of your life. He hasn’t taken you out of the house in over a year. You’re not sure you remember how to exist away from home, clinging to his arm as he leads you through the club.

You can’t decide what will be worse, but you don’t have to wonder for long when he drags you around to an empty stall. He’s not there to use a hole. You’re there to be one. 

He clips your collar to the wall with just enough slack that you could pull back to breathe if the person on the other side doesn’t let you. 

He takes the ring gag out of his pocket and dangles it in front of you. “You need this, or are ya gonna be good?”

“I’ll be good,” you say immediately, a phantom ache in the hinge of your jaw. 

“You sure? ‘Cause if you have to ask later or I have to make that decision myself, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper. 

“Good.” He pats the side of your face, two sharp smacks in lieu of a caress. There will be no softness for you tonight. 

He waits to talk to you until your mouth is full. You look miserable, but you don’t hesitate. It’s not to the standard he’d usually require, but you’re both aware of the hours ahead, so he lets you pace yourself. 

He crouches down near you. “You like that? Some random dirty prick in your throat?” 

You, of course, can’t answer, but your eyes close against the hurt.

“It’s fucking disgusting. You think I want to let just anyone use you? I could fuck any hole I want. I could go out there and have every cunt and ass and mouth. You know why I won’t?”

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t try to answer, don’t stop what you’re doing. 

“Because they ain’t you, sweetheart. You’re my perfect girl. Nicest I’ve ever had. And if I got something this nice, and I don’t share it with my brother? You don’t even suck him off right? How do you think that made him feel, baby?”

He keeps it up, past the point where he feels like carrying on, but he can tell it’s wearing you down faster than the relentless facefucking. You’re starting to work your jaw, joints popping in between visitors, but even that doesn’t compare to the way you’ve started to shake when he’s scolding you.

“I know you’re tired, baby. I hope you remember this fuckin’ lesson because I’m not sacrificing two nights of sleep again to repeat it.”

You whimper around the stranger’s cock, which encourages them to fuck into you harder. But Joel knows the tears in your eyes aren’t from that. 

“Yeah, you were bein’ selfish, huh? I couldn’t fuckin’ sleep with you out there, and now I’m up all night with you here.”

There it was, he thought, watching you break. A little too early; it was going to be tough to keep you going. But nothin’ did you in like the thought of having hurt him in the process. 

And it was true. He never slept with someone out in The Pit. Too fuckin dangerous. He kept watch on a camera. He needed you scared and sorry, not dead. 

He watches as you choke down the stranger’s seed, looking like you might retch. He shuts the little sliding door for a few minutes and gives you some water. After you’ve rehydrated and seem a little less green, he opens it back up.

“Alright, get ready for the next round.”

In the truck on the way home, he keeps you tucked close to his side. Between the dark, empty highway and his coat wrapped around you, you start to doze off. 

He nudges you a little. “None of that now. Ain’t finished with you yet.”

You whimper, not in protest but in exhaustion. Despite how hard you try to fight it, you’re fast asleep when he pulls into the driveway. 

He thinks about waking you up anyway, to follow through on his word. He carries you inside and up to the bedroom, still deliberating, but when he tries to set you down on the bed, you cling to him desperately, even in your sleep. He manages to wriggle the coat off you and lays down beside you. He’ll just let you both rest for a little while.

You wake up, mid-afternoon, shaking all over. Joel awakens moments later, eyes wide as he tugs on your arm to roll you over. 

“Oh, baby,” he says, and moves to get out of the bed. “Knew I shouldn’t have let you go to sleep.”

But you grab onto him, lip trembling. 

He knocks your hand away. “I‘ll be right back, jus’ hold on.”

You’re curled into yourself, sobbing, when he gets back three minutes later. 

He hands you a water bottle anyway. “Sit up; you need to eat. It’ll help.”

Somehow, you find the strength to struggle and wriggle your body into sitting. He brings you to lean against his chest while he leans against the headboard. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a kiss pressed to your head. 

You start crying hard all over again. 

“I know. M’sorry. I should have talked to ya last night, huh? S’that what you’re all worked up about?”

You nod. There you are, sitting in his bed, when you hadn’t fucking earned it. But he doesn’t shove you off or hurt you for it; he just feeds you a protein bar and lets you sip at the water between bites. 

After he’s given you the last of the bar, he has you slide down to your knees by the side of the bed.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I disobeyed and embarrassed you.” 

“I didn’t ask you what you did wrong.”

“Oh,” you say softly, and have to think. “I didn’t understand, at first. That you wanted me to suck his cock.”

“And after you did?”

“I—” you don’t want to say it. You know he’s going to be mad. He doesn’t like when you question things like this.

“Is this because Tommy said you weren’t special? ‘Cause you know better.” 

“No, I just… why did you get rid of the others? What did they do?” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, and cups your face in one hand. “I don’t think that’s anything you gotta worry about. Not anymore.”

“But how will I know how to do better?”

“You already are. None of ‘em ever made it this far. They talked big talk but couldn’t back it up. Some of ‘em didn’t want to give up the things you have, some of ‘em couldn’t handle my expectations. I told you, you’re the nicest thing I’ve ever had. You’ve let me make you exactly the way I want you to be.”

“Even though I was so bad the other night?”

“Yep. Because you took every consequence, and I know you’ve learned your lesson. And you’ll probably fuck up again someday. But if you keep wantin’ to be better, I’ll keep teachin’ ya.” 

You can’t help but cry again. You’re so tired and so tired of crying. 

“What, were you worried I was gonna replace you with some new young thing someday?”

You nod, and he clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“I’m gettin’ old, sweetheart. I don’t want to keep breakin’ in toys that ain’t worth my time. I just finished puttin’ you back together exactly the way I like ya. You stay my good girl, and you’ll be mine ‘till I die.” 

It doesn’t stop your tears.

“Hey,” he says. “What do you need?”

It startles you. “What?”

“What do you need? What’s gonna make you feel better, baby?” 

You’re not sure when the last time you’ve had to think about something like that is. He’s been taking care of you for so long now. 

“Whatever you want,” you say. 

“No, baby, that’s not what I’m asking.”

“That’s my answer, though,” you realize. “I need to feel whatever you want me to.”

“God damn,” he whispers. “I fucked you up, huh?”

Your lip trembles.

“No, baby, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just kinda incredible. Jesus. How could you think I’d ever get rid of you? There’s not a fuckin’ bit of you that isn’t mine.” 

Your cheeks burn, so you bury your face into his palm and press a kiss to the center. 

“You want to know what I want, is that right?”

You nod. 

“I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth. And then I want to order us some fuckin’ takeout and eat it in the bath.”

It makes you smile just a little. 

“Yeah? That sound good, baby?” His thumb rubs against your cheek. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, open up for me.”

You wrangle yourself into position. The initial weight and taste of him sends warmth through your bones for the first moment since he dragged you outside. 

It’s sloppy, the way he fucks your throat, in a way it usually isn’t. It’s always messy, but his thrusts are erratic. You can’t keep up with his pace because there simply isn’t one. It’s not long before he’s holding you down and pumping his cum down your throat.

It trickles down and cleanses everything in its path. You’re lighter, like you can breathe again. You thank him sweetly, pressing a kiss to his twitching cock. 

He’s panting, but strokes your cheek with one hand. “That’s my good girl. Feel better now that I washed all those other guys outta your mouth?” 

Technically, he had done that last night, had shoved three soap-covered fingers in your mouth in the gross club bathroom. Wretchedly, it had the side effect of making you nauseous, and he had insisted on doing it over after you threw up.

But this felt more pure to him, more consecrational in a way. The soap might have cleared the actual evidence away, but his come was your wine and wafer. 

“Yes, sir,” you say into the flesh of his thigh where your head rests. You kiss there for good measure, eliciting a pleased hum from him that sends you preening a little. 

He lays back on the bed, leaving a hand on the top of your head to stroke your hair while the other gropes around for his phone. “What do you want, baby? Lo mein?” 

“Oh, yes, please.” 

He feeds you noodles in the bath and then eats you out until you fall asleep. 

iv. reduced to bone

You’re on your knees in the basement, bent forward over a metal pipe placed at just the right height to nestle into your hips and keep them tilted up in the air. Stocks hold your head and wrists in place, tits hanging just below. The wood is slowly dampening as you drool around the ring gag. 

“Got a surprise for you, baby,” he had said when he led you down. “You know how you keep beggin’ me to hurt you worse, and I have to keep tellin’ you I’m not tryin' to wear you out?”

“Yes, sir?” 

“Well, I think you’re going to like this.”

That had been… well, you’re not entirely sure. A while ago, maybe, but your brain wasn’t the best judge of time right now. After he had secured you here, he had dragged out the little machine. It’s sitting under your torso somewhere, thin clear tubing stretching out like a web he’d caught you in. 

There’s no noise but the hum of it, which you’ve gone pleasantly numb to. The pressure is unending, each nipple and your clit being tugged into the tiny cups relentlessly. 

It tingles, just on the side of too gentle to be fulfilling on its own. That’s okay. You’re pretty sure you’ll be in delicious, mind-shattering agony soon. 

This you know because, well, it’s Joel, but also because of the tools he’s laid out on the little wheeled cart and left for you to stare at. 

A thin cane. Clover clamps with a length of chain. A tawse with a tapered, pointy tip. A wand. 

It makes you dizzy to look at. 

Also, you know because it’s a Friday night. Joel enjoys you however he likes any day of the week, but he’s careful about saving the deepest of his cruelties for Fridays. Because mind-shattering wasn’t really an exaggeration. When he gets like this, you sometimes don’t surface enough to take care of yourself for a day or two.

On those occasions, he never leaves you alone. Doesn’t want to, both because he loves when you need him that deeply and because you’re so soft and pliant. Truthfully, he thinks he could do anything to you then and you’d thank him for it. 

Which is why he’s got Tommy coming over tomorrow. It’s not that he thinks you need to be out of it to avoid a repeat of last time. He knows you learned your lesson and you’ll be good. 

But he’s got something special in mind that he needs help with. It’ll just be easier for everyone if you’re at your most agreeable. 

And yeah, you owe Tommy a blowjob. One of the ones that make Joel feel like he mighta died and somehow gotten through the pearly gates by the grace of your devotion. 

Plus, he’s pretty sure you’re going to love his plan, and he wants you unprepared, so you’ll cry real pretty and be truly desperate to show him your appreciation. It’s been on his mind since that night a few months back when you didn’t seem to believe him about never letting you go. 

He’s never fucking letting you go. There’s nothing in this world that could take you from him. He’s made sure of it. 

Sometimes, he has to remind himself that you don’t know you’re married. 

He thought about telling you that night, so you’d understand the depth of the commitment he’s made. But he doesn’t want you to take it the wrong way. Doesn’t want you thinking you need to act like a wife . 

He’d had a whole bucket of bullshit cooked up to excuse it, but when he told you to sign the paper, you hadn’t questioned it. Hadn’t questioned that you couldn’t see what it was, only the line where he pointed. You’d signed the fucking paper and never asked a goddamn thing. 

He was glad. He didn’t like lying to you. This was just one of those hoops to jump through in a world that didn’t understand what you shared. 

When he comes back down, your eyes are already glazed over. Your body shines with a thin layer of sweat, and your chest is heaving as you squirm. It’s gone beyond gentle. The waves of suction have you whimpering soft and high, barely louder than a breath, but nearly constant. 

He chuckles and strolls over, crouching down to wipe the sweat off your brow with the bandana from his pocket before it gets in your eyes. You give him a truly pathetic look, eyes wide as you drool helplessly. 

“Not so nice now, huh?” 

You whine. 

He strokes your cheek with an exaggerated pout before sliding two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the back of your tongue. It tries to curl around them, eliciting another cruel laugh. 

“Jesus, girl. S’there anything that would stop ya from gagging for my cock?”

You shake your head. Even if you weren’t spread by the ring gag and choking on his fingers, you’re beyond speech. Too far deep. 

Joel actually doesn’t mind when you talk. He’s got no rules restricting your speech (well, most of the time). As long as you’re respectful, he likes the company. 

But he really likes when you go quiet like this. When he’s pushed you so far that you can’t . 

“Look at you, all worked up. We haven’t even gotten started, baby. You gonna be able to take it?”

You nod, whining, and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes them on your cheek. 

“What was that, baby? Couldn’t quite understand ya.”

Tears spring to your eyes as you whine again. 

“I’m just teasin’,” he says and kisses your forehead. “I got ya. I know you’re gonna be my good girl and take everything I fuckin’ want.”

He reaches down and tugs the tubing until the cups pop free of your breasts. You cry out, but it turns into a desperate moan when he tugs the one off your clit. 

Yeah, he coulda turned the pump off first so they just fell off, but where’s the fun in that? 

He’s grinning wickedly as he reaches back up to your breast. He barely, just barely, brushes over the side of your nipple, and the sound you make goes right to his cock. 

“Fuck, you’re so swollen.” He has to remind himself he’s playing the long game; he just wants to pinch and pull so badly. He’s pretty sure you’ll scream, even though normally it wouldn’t be much at all. 

But he wants to fuckin’ torture you tonight, so he’s going to drag it out. He wants you incoherent and beaten down when he’s done, so far gone you’ll stay there for days. 

So he’s gotta start soft. He drags his fingertip around your areola, not quite brushing the nipple but tracing the ring left behind by the cup. You twitch, shoulders jerking back, and he grips your breast. 

“None of that, now,” he croons, letting go and switching sides to torment your other breast. 

It’s holy, in that way you never quite understood. Not like the Jesus kind, though you never were much for church either, but in the way that people chase salvation through empty bottles and sharp needles. 

With the wand and the tawse, he breaks you down again and again and again. But that’s the thing about Joel. He reduces you to pain or pleasure or the delicious apex of both that brews between your thighs, and then he cleans you back up, puts the pieces back where he likes them.

He makes you come until you cry, and then, when you’re sobbing and exhausted, that’s when the night really begins. You’re twitching and jerking at the barest contact, writhing with every snap of the cane. 

It’s so, so good. Until it isn’t. But he’s running that damn mouth of his, that sweet, filthy mouth, and you can’t not take it. Your tears are gone, all run out; he likes to wring you dry. And he keeps rubbing his hand over your hypersensitive flesh, already raw and ruined, and murmuring soft words and sweet taunts. 

“Look at you,” he croons. “My pretty little toy. You’re so beautiful, suffering for me like this, baby.”

And so you do. You suffer for him. There’s nothing left in your little subby brain right now but Joel Joel Joel. 

You’re dry. He almost can’t believe it. The only time you’ve not been a sloppy, soaking mess was when he broke your finger. 

He whistles low and slow. “Shit, baby. Guess you have some limits after all, huh.” 

It’s impressive that you can even lift your head enough to shake it weakly. An overwhelming fondness washes over him. 

“ Aw. Takin’ it for me anyway, were ya?” He comes around and squats near your head, unhooking the gag and easing it out of your mouth. He rubs gentle circles on the hinges of your jaw as you whimper.

“Did so good for me, baby. Lemme get you outta there, and I’ll give you my cock.”

You shake your head, tears spilling over, but you don’t have a voice. The words don’t come together in your mind, just devastation.

His grip turns tight, forcing you to look at him. “No? You tellin’ me no?”

You shake your head again, lip quivering. 

“You don’t want my cock?”

You shake your head harder and try to reach for him, hands flexing where they’re bound in the stocks. Trying to make him see just how bad you want his cock. 

Luckily, he understands that much. “You wanna stay there? Baby, my knees ain’t gonna like fuckin’ you here.” But he can tell from the way your face crumples that he still isn’t quite getting it. 

“Are you tryin’ to tell me you want me to keep goin’?” 

You nod and he slaps you, a sharp strike that catches you by surprise.

“Stupid girl,” he says, scowling, and gripping your chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “I decide when we’re done. The whole point of this was not to ruin ya. This ain’t a punishment. Well, it wasn’t. Might be, next time.” 

He stands up, shaking his head. “Dumb fuckin’ cunt.”

It hurts worse than the cane did. 

When he sees the heartbreak on your face, he sighs. “Ah, shit. Look, I know you’re just tryin’ to please me. But you’re makin’ me feel bad for tryin’ to be careful with ya. If I take it too far today, you won’t be able to take as much anymore. I ain’t breakin’ you.” 

You’re sobbing too hard to respond, but you don’t try to argue or struggle when he releases you. You crawl to lay kisses to the toes of his boots and nuzzle your cheek against them.

He sees it for the apology it is. 

v. parched to dust

This time, when Tommy Miller takes out his cock in front of you, you’re ready. And there’s no way in hell you’re disappointing Joel again, so you wrap your lips around him, not quite eagerly but with enough determination that no one could fault you.

When you drag the second consecutive orgasm from him, he tugs you away with a fist in your hair, panting and gasping. Joel swats his hand away and beckons you back to his lap. 

“ Jesus,” Tommy finally says, tucking himself back into his jeans. 

“Told ya it was just a bad day,” Joel snipes. 

“Sorry,” Tommy says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shoulda figured. It’s just… you’re a little soft for her, yeah?”

“Course I am. But I’m not soft on her.”

You know he loves you. You do. But hearing him admit that he’s soft for you makes your chest ache. 

“Got another surprise for ya, baby,” Joel says, rubbing his hand over your back. 

You’re overwhelmed. It’s not that he doesn’t give you things or do things for you; it’s that it’s never such a big deal. It just is . He takes care of you. That’s how this works. Not gifts and surprises. 

You bite your lip so you don’t question it, but he sees through you.

“Now I know you don’t remember. D’you even know what day it is?” 

“Saturday,” you say. “You’re home.” 

He shakes his head, but it’s betrayed by the smirk. “You’re right, baby. But what’s the date?”

You actually have to think for a minute. You hadn’t crossed off the calendar this morning like you usually did, and yesterday’s activities have you a little rattled. “It’s um, it’s August 19th?”

“That’s our anniversary, baby.”

Your brows scrunch as you try to think back. That’s not right. Your first date was in February. You moved in sometime early in June. You’re not sure what his metric is, but August doesn’t make sense. “Um. Are you… are you sure?” 

He doesn’t get mad like you thought he might. He just laughs. “Course, I’m sure, baby. It was the night we came home from your folks’. When you agreed to be mine.”

Your face heats. “I’m sorry—”

“Y’ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about, baby. I didn’t expect ya to remember. But you’ve been mine for two years now, and you’re still worried I ain’t gonna keep you. But I’ve been thinkin’, and I know how to prove it to you.” 

If this doesn’t convince you, he thinks, nothing will. Never mind that his whole goddamn life revolves around you. Never mind that you’ve worn his collar for the last 731 fuckin’ days. 

You’re busy wondering why he made you suck another man’s cock today if he cares about your anniversary. But then again, you’ve long accepted that what he wants won’t always make sense. It’s not your job to make it make sense. It’s just your job to do it. 

“C’mon, let’s go downstairs,” he says. 

You swallow hard around the sudden fear, and he laughs. 

“What? Had enough yesterday?”

“No, sir,” you say. It’s mostly the truth. Mostly. 

He shakes his head. “Not today. C’mon.”

Now that he moves, you follow. 

Tommy’s already in the basement, which almost gives you pause, if only because his movement startles you. 

Joel has you hop up on the padded table instead of the metal one, typically a sign that either you’re going to be here for a well-extended time or that he’s going to fuck you on it. 

Tommy’s setting things you don’t recognize out on the little cart, but you don’t try very hard to look. Looking makes your breathing get a little ragged, so you look at Joel instead. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, bending slightly to give you a kiss before he begins to slowly circle the table, fastening straps over your body. 

He’s left the dress on, which is weird, too, but you’re not complaining. It’s always a little chilly down here and even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re glad he’s not made you bare yourself completely in front of Tommy. 

It’s a lot of straps. You watch curiously, if not a little dazed, as he secures your ankles, thighs, stomach, chest both above and below your breasts, arms in three places, neck, and head. 

The one around your neck clips to your collar, not adding another band or choking you. But you’re unable to lift your head and neck at all. 

When he’s done with the strap across your forehead, he smooths away the worry lines that crease beneath it. 

“Just need ya to hold real still. You’re probably going to like this, but don’t fuckin’ come.”

“Yes, sir.” Your eyes are wide and worshipful as you wait for further commands. 

“Be real good for Tommy, okay?”

Your heart pounds in your throat, but you promise immediately. 

He hops up to sit on the spanking bench nearby. 

“Where first?” Tommy says. 

“Hip,” Joel says, settling in to watch. 

Tommy goes about his business and pulls the bottom halves of the table apart, wrenching your legs open slowly. He spreads them wide and slides a stool over, situating himself right up by your cunt, and flips the hem of your dress up over your belly button. 

You whimper and try to look at Joel for any indication of how you’re supposed to behave, but the restraints don’t allow enough wiggle room. 

Something cold smears across the front of your left hip, and, much to Joel’s surprise, you break. You’re still raw in more than one way from the previous day. 

“Please, sir,” you blurt, lip trembling and eyes squeezed tight. 

He hops down, brow furrowed, and comes closer, raising a hand to Tommy to pause him. 

He cups your face. “Please, what, baby?” His other hand rubs up and down your side. 

You force your eyes open to look at him, blurred through waiting tears. 

“Please, can I have a gag?” you say. Your eyes are scrunched, and fists clenched. 

He strokes his hand over your cheek. “‘Course you can. Good girl.”

The praise keeps you calm while he steps away. When he comes back, you open your mouth wide, and he settles it between your lips. 

You nearly cry in relief when you feel the little bulb press inside, not much different than the head of his cock. A few tears spill over when he leans down to kiss your forehead. 

“Atta girl, he says, pinching your chin before returning to his perch. 

The warmth of his touch lingers, and you let the pressure of the gag distract you from where Tommy starts to move again. You suck on it steadily, eyes fluttering shut when you feel the unmistakable scrape of a blade across your hip. 

Shaving. He’s shaving you. You can’t fathom why, with only peach fuzz reaching there. And you think maybe it’d be a cold day in hell before Joel let anyone shave your pubic hair. He liked it kept trimmed but not too neat. 

“I’m from the seventies, baby. Women’re supposed to have a nice healthy bush,” he had told you fairly early on when you were just dating. He hadn’t told you to stop shaving and waxing, but of course, you had. 

Warm water washes over the area with a washcloth not far behind. Tommy’s firm hand does a final sweep with something cold. 

“Alright, honey,” Tommy says, his voice almost seeming fond , “just hold still and be a good girl, okay?” 

As if you’d do anything else. 

You startle a little at the loud buzz that kicks up, and Tommy rubs gloves fingers over the opposite hip for just a moment. 

And then he gets to work. It hurts . But the pain clues you into what’s going on, and you come to the only logical conclusion: Joel’s having you tattooed. 

You start to cry, the feeling of being loved and owned overwhelming. You don’t hear Joel’s chuckle, buried as it gets under the gun in Tommy’s hands. 

You thought it was overly cautious of him earlier, to worry about you having an orgasm during anything involving Tommy. But you get it now. The pain itself is bearable, almost delicious, but the rush of euphoria in your veins from the mere concept is intoxicating. 

It goes on and on. Maybe it’s only half an hour. Maybe it’s four. The pain cycles, fading to a soothing heat before building back up to a scald. 

You don’t realize it’s over right away. The buzz of the gun plays on in your brain even when the room falls quiet. And Tommy’s doing something to it, probably wiping it down, but your skin still rages. 

Joel hops down and comes over to the side of your left leg. “Shit, that’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says to his brother. 

“Looks damn good. Hey, she’s got a real pretty pussy, huh?” He says, elbowing Joel. “S’funny, watchin’ her leak all over.”

Joel peers over, running a finger over your cunt, and laughs. “Knew you’d like that,” he says.

You whimper. 

He pulls out his phone and snaps a photo. “Want to see, baby?” He asks though he’s already turning the screen to you. 

The skin is red and irritated, but the ink takes your breath away. In shiny black, right there on your hip, sits a blocky “JM” surrounded by a circle. It looks like a fucking brand. 

Your eyes fly to his, whining desperately and praying he understands. A sly grin spreads across his face, and the tip of his middle finger traces oh so gently up your slit. 

“Come for me, baby,” he says, not bothering to touch you further. He knows you won’t need it. 

Vision blacking out, you writhe uselessly against the restraints as the pleasure batters through you. You’re only vaguely aware that the loud keening sound is coming from you, but it’ll register later when you feel the raw ache in your throat. 

Tommy whistles. “Sorry I doubted you, princess.”

You whine through the aftershocks, tears welling up again at the thought of the tattoo. You hope Tommy would leave so Joel will fuck you. 

Then you remember him asking, “Where first?” just as Tommy drags his stool around to the right side of your torso. 

Joel comes with him, rolling up his sleeves and tinkering with something on the cart. They both touch your arm a lot, fingers roving and adjusting you. You start to tune it out until Tommy lathers a spot on the inside of your wrist. 

Once it’s been shaved and cleaned, someone presses something against the spot for a moment. 

“Well?” Joel says. 

“Lines look clear to me,” Tommy says. He’s leaning close to your arm. 

Joel doesn’t walk away this time. As the gun kicks back to life, he stays with his hand resting on your upper arm, looming over Tommy’s shoulder. 

It’s easier this time, now that you know what to expect. It hurts, but you’ve had worse and probably will again. You’re feeling a bit too dizzy, though, when it finally stops. 

“This one’s for you to see,” Joel says, starting to unlatch the straps. He frees your arm first and then your head and neck, plus the gag. The ache makes itself known as soon as you shift a little. 

You peer immediately at your wrist, and a strange clenching tears through your chest. A few inches below your palm lays the dark outline of Joel’s thumbprint. 

“Oh,” you whisper, a strange tingling spreading through your limbs. “Oh.” 

“Knew you’d like it,” he says, lips curling into a smug smirk. 

Once you’re untethered, he peels your dress off so the fabric won’t brush against your hip. 

“There’s a protein bar and a bottle of water on the coffee table,” Joel says. “Go eat and wait by my chair.”

You’re swaying a little but he helps you down and makes sure you can stay on your feet before he removes his hands from your waist. 

You make your way upstairs in a daze. Truthfully, you don’t really remember it. When they come upstairs, you’re knelt in your place, wrapper and empty bottle on the table. 

“Good girl,” Joel says, lowering himself with a little groan into his recliner. He shifts around and pulls his cock out. “C’mere.”

You hop up immediately, and he takes you by the waist to help you settle where he’s fully hard already.

“Don’t move,” he says, to your great disappointment. “None of that,” he scolds at your pout. “It’s my turn. Just relax.”

Tommy sets the gun and equipment up to the side of the chair. You settle against Joel’s chest, snuggling in and resting your head on his shoulder so you can watch. 

Joel’s other hand, the one not waiting in place, comes up to cup the back of your head. He bends his head down to kiss where he can reach. “You’re being so good. Just a little bit more, and then you can take this cock.”

“Do not come on her tattoo, Joel,” Tommy says. 

Joel laughs, but Tommy smacks his arm. “I’m serious. It’ll fuck it up and probably infect it. Don’t fuckin’ do it.”

“I’ll wait ‘till it’s healed, don’t worry.”

You moan and clench around him at the idea, which only encourages his pleased chuckling. 

Tommy takes your hand, peeling it from where it rested against Joel’s chest, idly brushing through the hair there. You let him, letting it go limp and unresistant.

He presses your thumb against an ink pad and pushes it down on a piece of paper, rolling it carefully. He repeats the process a few times before he’s satisfied. Wiping it clean, he coats it one more time before pressing it against Joel’s wrist.  

You stare, rapt, as he traces the lines of your fingerprint onto Joel’s thick arm, framed by dark hair. It sits in parallel to the watch on his other wrist. 

“Where d’you want these?” Tommy says after he’s wrapped up and started to pack away the equipment. He’s holding the papers where they tested your print.

“The safes. One in each office,” Joel says. 

It’s weird, certainly, but so is Joel, so you don’t give it much thought. 

He’s cradling your face in his palm, looking at you with something so tender and ferocious that you can’t possibly look away. He thrusts up into you, his other hand tight on the hip opposite the tattoo.

It hurts, but, well, you don’t mind. 

The way he fucks you open now is slow, cruel after making you sit still for so long, but he’s savoring it. Savoring the way you can’t help but stare at him in worshipful bliss. It’s like a drug, the way his attention makes you hazy. He’s got you hooked, addicted, right where he wants you. His. 

Not a damn part of you that isn’t. 

The smirk curls across his face, and his hand curls around your neck, abandoning the gentle caress for something you both understand as love. You come on his cock when he tells you, every time he tells you, as he leaves you gasping and clutching his forearm, not prying him away but holding on as the room spins. 

When he fills you, he kisses you deeply, hand back around your throat as his mouth takes the rest of your air. You collapse against his chest when he lets go, and he holds you there with a smug, satiated smile and a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You doze in and out in his lap as he and Tommy share a bottle of bourbon. 

“Damn, I shoulda brought Daisy over. You haven’t had someone for her to play with in a while,” you hear Tommy say through the fog of your brain.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Joel says. His hand is scratching at your scalp and it feels so good you almost forget Tommy is talking.

“... my wife and your little pet—” he’s saying.

You don’t mean to open your eyes, but you catch his as soon as you do. He laughs. “Yeah, I got a wife. I’m not as mean as my brother, here.” 

You find that hard to believe, but also, you don’t really think of Joel as mean. He’s strict, sure, and he has high expectations. But he takes such good care of you, and you want for nothing. 

The phrase stirs something odd in your head. Do you want for nothing? Well, it’s at least partially true. You don’t want anything, not a thing you have or don’t have. You’re happy with whatever Joel gives. 

It’s probably the same thing. Besides, you wanted that career; you wanted to put on a face, a mask, and pretend to be someone who gave a shit about the company’s reputation. And you were wrong, so wrong. And Joel’s always been right. So what do you know about what you want?

Joel’s rumbling voice startles you a little where you’re tucked against his chest. “She was one ‘a mine, y’know,” he says to you. 

Tommy’s wearing a sly grin. “Yeah, until you scared the shit out of her,” he says, laughing. “Poor little thing didn’t know what to do with herself.” 

“She wasn’t like you,” Joel says. He waits as if he expects a reaction, but you don’t stir from your safe place in his arms. 

“Nah, not everyone’s as fucked up as y’all,” Tommy says. “I ain’t a sadist,” he says to you, a glint in his eye. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love puttin’ her in her place, but mostly, I just like havin’ my pretty little wife at home.” 

Joel’s watching you; you can feel the heft of his gaze. But you’re so blissed out, so calm right here in his lap, dripping his seed slowly around where his cock still fills you. 

“Would that bother you? Playin’ with a girl who used to be Joel’s?” Tommy goads.

You think about it for a moment. “She ever get his mark?”

Tommy grins, teeth like a shark. “Nope.”

You hum, unbothered, and nuzzle your cheek against Joel.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “Knew you’d learn this time.” 

You gaze at his thumbprint on your arm. The cells around it will grow and die, but not his claim on you. 

It’s almost comforting, you think, that by the time that fades, there’ll be nothing left of you anyway. 

bonus: the art of breaking playlist

thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who asked for a part two and expressed love for the first. I will admit I am INCREDIBLY nervous to publish this both because it's kind of fucked up but also because so many of you loved the first part and I'm scared this won't live up to your expectations.

please, if you enjoyed this, let me know! soothe my anxiety lol. and if you don't want to publically do so, anon is always on.

i love you!

[leonkennedygvrl]

The Beauty of Embalmment.

re2r neighbour leon kennedy x vampire fem reader

💋 warning — 18+, biting, blood kink, stalking, cannibalistic thoughts, necrophilia, gore, weird stuff, dick biting, just lots of biting, marking, p in v, forced orgasm, mentions of self harm, virginity loss, leon’s 27 but re2, reader is 30, reader is really weird and icky, dead fucking dove guys seriously it’s gross and all of that so mind what you read!

Cold and dark. This was your type of night, surrounded in the stench of decay in a room where only a faint buzz would emerge and abolish the silence. You’d open a fridge, stare quite blankly at the feet of someone with a tag hooked to their toe. This was a man, you’d only gotten him yesterday. He could do with a little bit of… corrupting, as they’d say.

Pulling his tray you guided him to the middle of the room, washing your hands in the sink, nails razor sharp before covering them with blue gloves. You had thought about filing them down, after all scratches leave DNA, DNA leads to evidence and that leads to jail time. Oh well, as long as you got your fill there as well.

See, the life long dream you had was to become a surgeon. Cut into bodies and remove abscesses and all those types of bits and bobs but luck was never on your side because you were a little different or a lot and who would ever trust a leech near a body? So instead, you became a mortician. There’s no point in trying to feast on a corpse, there’s a word for it but what’s it called… rigor mortis? No, not that one. You had studied it in forensics so long ago. Livor mortis, that’s the one. Blood didn’t taste good post-lividity, just bland and bitter and you were picky.

Being a vampire meant nobody in the world was attracted to you, that’s why you undressed corpses and touched their cold bodies. You covered their face for their diginity (?) more like to satiate your delusions that you were a better person.

This guy, you’d looked at his name on the tag, Edward with a long surname that you couldn’t be bothered reading. Hm, he was a little green settling into bacteria, scrawny and lifeless. His body stiff but to your dismay his dick was flaccid, and small. And ugly. It looked like a worm, but you’d have to make do. You stroked it, feeling no sense of arousal because he wasn’t packing many inches! You liked a big dick, or even average. Edward was perhaps… four inches?

“Edward, you must’ve had little women on your dick.” You mumbled dazed, you were kind of angry at him. Why was he so small? You hated it. You retracted your hand and pulled the cover off of his face, he was cute. Must’ve been Balkan, his nose was big. Maybe the saying was false, because his dick wasn’t much. “You need to be punished, Edward.”

You’d reached into your coat, pulling out a pretty pocket knife the blade rusted slightly. You’d used this a few times as a teenager, mutiliating your wrists because it looked nice and you liked the taste of your own blood. Then on some corpses, just like right now. You moved back towards the phallus, pressing the sharp edge of the knife against his foreskin and digging deep, sliding down. His blood flow was halted so it oozed out in a way you didn’t enjoy.

But his dick opened like a lotus flower blooming the more you cut into it, you observed the muscles and how limp they looked. This man was a mistake, he deserved to die. Half an hour in, you’d searched every nook and cranny until you were bored and he was unrecognisable — his organs hanging out, your pocket knife gripped in your hands as you slid down against the wall and brought it to your lips.

Just taste good, for once. You were hungry. Starving. Your tongue darted out and swiped across the blade, eyebrows frowning at the bitterness. The blood was clotting and thick, you much preferred the smooth silky texture of an alive person’s one. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. You packed everything up and went back to your gloomy apartment where you wallowed in self-pity.

You needed wanted blood. And dick. Good dick.

Oh, hail to the universe. The guy you were looking at, he was just… delectable. Could you say that? Boyish, strong-looking and alive. He wasn’t too pale, he looked warm. Mm. Warm blood. His thick forearms were straining as he held boxes, he was your new neighbour. You just stared at him while standing in the doorway of your apartment. Thick veins, more blood. Pulse, pulse, pulse. Your pussy was screaming in her panties, she wanted that boy.

You couldn’t describe how you felt, he was tall but not too tall, his hair was soft-looking and a pretty colour of dirty blonde with eyes resembling an azure sky. But what got you the most, apart from how warm he looked, was his sharp features. A bump on the bridge of his upturned nose and brows bushy yet groomed, his jawline chiseled. Perfect. God, you wanted to po—

“Hey there, mind opening the door for me please? My hands are in a bunch.” He said to you. He spoke to you. The fucking psycho who got off to dead bodies because she was so miserable in her own despondency. You watched his face contort intoperplexion, waiting for you to respond instead of standing there like a shunned fish. “Or… not.”

“No I can.” You rasped, scurrying in front of him and twisting the knob open. He smiled, a lively look in his pretty eyes. Life. Not dead. Not empty and dull. Not smelly. He smelt good. Oh, so good. Heightened senses meant you could smell the sweet coppery scent of his blood mixed with his odor of… maybe pine? Cherry? Nah, it was like citrus. Like Mountain Dew. He walked into his apartment and dropped the boxes, wiping his glistening forehead.

“Hey, thanks. You’re my neighbour right?” Leon asked with a tilt of his head, he could tell you were a bit weird and initially he took the hint that maybe you were austistic with the way you lacked social skills. Oh, that’s mean and downright disrespectful. He took it back. You were pretty though, something about you. He didn’t know what though.

Nod. Nod. Nod. Almost too eagerly, you cursed yourself but you didn’t fucking care! You wanted his blood, his body, all of him. And if he didn’t want you, then it’s alright. Straight to the morgue. Unless…

Unless say, he magically died and ended up in your care? Though you hoped he wouldn’t be as small as Edward. You know what they say about white guys. You heard him speak again but you honestly weren’t paying much attention.

Eon. Your expression became bashful, your brain was fried. You needed blood. Eon? Oh. Leon.

“Leon? Nice. I like that.” You blurted out and gave him a once-over, and he flushed. He wasn’t good with women. Especially forward ones. It’s the way you stared at him. “I like your name. Do you want help?”

“I mean, with unpacking? Yes, please.” He replied, watching as you moved to inspect his boxes. He followed after you, doing the same. It was a little awkward if he was being perfectly honest because whenever he looked at you, you weren’t looking. You were thinking. But what were you thinking about? Who were you? Why were you so surreal?

“So… have you lived here a while?” Leon asked, grabbing numerous glass cups and shoving them into a cupboard. He wasn’t a neat freak, he just wanted things out of the way. He noticed you took more time observing his items then actually putting them away. Weird…

“Born and raised. It’s a bad town, too subfusc. Did you notice it lacks bars everywhere? It’s industrial, cold and depressing.” You replied with a shrug, the next item you held was a frame. Of Leon. Must’ve been his graduate photo, with the outfit and all as you ran your index finger down the line of his face. Sharp nail grazing the glass. So pretty. So handsome. He had the type of head you’d hang on your wall.

Leon listened to you, yeah, you were weird. But he chuckled. It was kind of endearing. He hoped you’d put the photo away though, that’s when he had acne and his eyebrows were hairy. A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t look at that, shouldn’t see the bad phases. “Really? And here I was thinking it was the perfect vacation spot.”

No laugh. As expected, he sucked at jokes. But you were just so focused on the photo, only the slightest little hint of a crooked smile appearing. He watched you shake your head, finally meeting his gaze.

“No, it’s horrible. Even this apartment, my pet bunny got dismembered by teenagers three years ago. On Halloween. So I don’t celebrate it anymore in honour of Mrs. Tinkel.” Oh, there it was. You watched the discomfort creep onto his expression. Maybe, if you were a little smarter, you would of kept that to yourself but hunger meant stupidity. Blood kept you sane. Sort of. If you could even keep an insane person sane.

“That’s… um, wow.” Leon breathed, clearing his throat. Maybe it was best to end the topic because you’d turned away and eventually most of the house was done. He thanked you for your help and closed the door once you exited. You still wanted his attention though, you debated cutting open your wrist like old times just so he could pamper you. But you didn’t. You figured he was creeped out enough.

That day plagued your mind for the following week, you worked night shifts only — hey, how else can you make it through as a nocturnal? So every evening, you rugged up, left your apartment but with the new addition, you’d stand right outside Leon’s door for a minute or two and stare. Just stare. Then you’d walk away and take several trains to the morgue. Do your deed, go home, sleep and repeat.

But during the day? Apart from a short nap, you started to watch over Leon. It was compulsive, you weren’t bored at all like normal. Your heart didn’t feel so cold, unless of course you weren’t watching him. Everything he did, you were writing it down in your brain, at the beginning it was just watching him through the window.

Although recently you started walking behind him in public spaces, taking photos with your flip phone. Yeah, they were grainy and kinda shit but you couldn’t be bothered upgrading it’s not like you cared about the media at all. If your eyes had good vision, why would you need a camera?

What bothered you was how Leon hardly spoke to you apart from the occasional greeting, was he really that pressed when you’d told him about your bunny? It’s not like you dismembered the poor thing. Some sicko did. See, you weren’t a sicko even if you harassed dead bodies. You were just… curious? Hungry? Dahdahdah, who cares. You needed to find a way to get him to speak to you again, and a rather silly idea popped into your head.

When the sun went down you journeyed off to the morgue and moved into the cold room, flicking through the fridges. You had so many goddamn females and with what you were planning, that simply would not work. The only male you had in stock was no other than fucking… small-dicked Edward. You shoved door open and pulled the trolley out, washing and gloving your hands before grabbing your trusty best friend.

The squelches that resonated from the corpse when you sliced into his chest accompanied that buzzing noise, the laceration splitting open wide until you saw his ribcage. You brought your fist down onto the fairly weakened bone and punched, again and again and again. The crunching was so… comforting. You severed the aorta carelessly and then shoved your hand into his chest, ripping the heart out.

You’d box it up, make it all nice and pretty and write a HEART warming letter. If Leon would, mind the smell, that is. You were eager, desperate at this point, you squeezed the organ a bit in your hands before moving to properly wash it. Hey, at least you were considerate.

And the very next day you knocked on Leon’s door, to your surprise he answered quickly. Yeah, you could have orgasmed right then and there. He had sweats on with a small towel draped over his shoulders, his hair slightly damp and he smelled as good as he always did. You quite literally resisted the urge to pounce on him.

“I got you a present. A gift.”

Leon’s eyebrow raised, looking down at the box in your hands. You’d need a lesson or two on learning how to wrap ribbons, but he was no expert himself. Props to you. He smiled. “You didn’t have to.”

You did. You did. You absolutely did.

He opened the door a little wider, ushering you inside with a wave of his hand. Large, calloused. You wanted to sink your fangs into his fingers. Nibble on his flesh, you imagined how good he’d taste. Fresh meat. But he was too perfect to die.

When you’d made yourself comfortable on his couch you handed him the gift with a smile that didn’t quite your eyes, you avoided toothy grins so that you didn’t need to deal with the inevitable consequence of people freaking out at the sight of your canines.

“Read the card first.” You muttered quickly, he needed to understand that you weren’t were insane. Just loving. And caring. And thoughtful. Leon nodded, pressing his lips together as he fingered the card and opened it up.

I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing, my darling. Only a fool would give up such a vital organ.

You every reaction he made, which was mostly a sense of mystification. But hey, no negatives so far. Your noticed a pain in your palm from how hard your nails were digging into the skin. Were you really this anxious?

“Wow, that’s uh…” Leon began with a dry chuckle, looking at you briefly before putting the note down and opening the box.

His eyes went wide. Not in the best way. You frowned, no; he has to like it. You did it all so he could like it. But he was frozen. Why was he frozen? After all the effort you put into it? Was he ungrateful? Did you read the signs wrong? It’s just an organ. Just an organ. A vital one.

“What… the hell?”

“It’s a heart.”

“I can see that.”

You tilted your head, you loved him. This wasn’t just some obsession. You felt a warmth around him.

“It’s clean. I didn’t murder someone,” You figured it’d be important to mention that. Though, would mutiliating a dead body be considered unlawful killing? Whatever. You moved to him, pushing the box to the ground. Baring your teeth, he gasped lightly at the sight of your fangs. Razor sharp, like your claws. “Nobody could ever love you like I can, Leon. You’re all I think about, all I know. I’m not dangerous, I just want a taste.”

“A taste? You’re—“ He tried, but was quickly interrupted when he felt your hot breath ghosting across his neck. He internally slapped himself, every woman he met was a bit cuckoo in some sort of way but why did he feel a pulse in his pants? It had to be some natural reaction because A: you happened to be attractive. B: You smelt nice. C: You were close to him. “God, you’re not going to kill me are you?”

“Taste.” You whispered, hand pressing onto his knee to keep him grounded. “It’ll hurt.” You sunk your fangs beside the two bite-shaped moles near his adam’s apple, his body convulsed as he groaned and attempted to push you off for a moment. No, you really were glued like a leech as you retracted your teeth and licked the blood.

Oh, it had to be the sweetest you’ve ever had. Your pupils dilated, blowing out your iris as Leon panted. He didn’t know why he was letting you do this, you were clearly a bit mental but at the same time… maybe he liked it, just a little bit. Old virgin boy like him was quite the pervert behind closed doors, so he let you mark him. His shoulders, chest, thick biceps, fingers, anywhere you could name.

“You’re draining me.” He whispered, blue eyes narrowed as he watched you crawl down his body. His dick was so hard it hurt and you gazed at it like you were starstruck.

“You taste too good.” You mumbled, fingers hooking into his sweatpants and underwear and shoving them down to his knees. He jolted, feeling the cold air hit his cock like a miasma. You were convinced you’d won the lottery at this point, he wasn’t small. His girth really got you going, so much flesh to play with that you weren’t feeling so tedious anymore.

Your lips were a little red from the blood as you lapped at the head of his cock, his thighs visibly tensing. He’d never felt something like that and mark him the biggest liar if he claimed to hate it, the way you swirled around his frenulum like you knew what you were doing. Although, thoughts might beg to differ if he discovered you’re a necrophilic.

“Fuck, it’s—“ Leon breathed with a rasp, his fingers tapping the couch in sensitivity. The sensations were so strong and when you finally wrapped those soft lips around his dick, he’d melted into a puddle of goo. Just like his brain. Absolutely mush as strings of whines left his lips and he trembled and twitched.

You loved it. But you wanted to take him by surprise and finally listen to that intrusive thought as you pulled him out, took him way back to the base and then out again. You licked the side of his dick, extracted your fangs and dug them into the meat.

“N–no! Fuck, fuck!” Leon cried out, quickly entangling his fingers into your hair as pain overrode his pleasure and he clenched his eyes shut. The stinging was almost too much to bare on such a sensitive area, it was like plucking hair on his balls. He pulled at your hair in return but you were latched on, moaning against his flesh. You were just addicted to the taste, it was indescribable. But at the same time, you felt ws though you genuinely liked him and you didn’t to cause him too much pain you did.

Unhooking your mouth, you lapped at the blood as his grip relaxed a little bit but tears were imbedded into his lashline as he shuddered. You cooed softly, moving back up and situating yourself onto his lap.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you… you just taste so good,” You whispered, lacking sincerity as you kissed away his tears and he sniffled, cock semi-hard but throbbing at your touch. “I’ll make you feel so good now, you get that? C’mon, talk to me.”

“…Okay… alright just… no more biting, please.”

You laughed, licking any residue off your lips. He’s crazy if he thought you’d ever stop, you’d gotten a taste and you were hooked. He should stop feeling sorry for himself because you’re the victim here! You haven’t had a meal in ages, yet he feeds himself every nighr. You scoffed at the mere thought of humans.

“Mm, maybe. I’ll think about it.” You murmured, kissing along his jawline. “Are you a virgin, Leon?”

He flushed, pinkness coating the bridge of his nose as he turned his gaze downcast. How embarrassing to have to admit himself. He nodded, but you loved that. He was pure, untouched. Waiting for the right one, for you.

“Knew you were just perfect.” You sighed, shimmying your pants off until you were in your underwear. Basic nanny jammies, you don’t go shopping often. You’re a wacko, your routine is just sleep and work. Leon glanced at them, it was a little funny but so was the fact that he was nearing his thirties and still a virgin. His breath hitched when you sandwiched his thick cock between your folds through the cotton material, so soaked your pussy pressed straight through.

“Oh, God. You’re soaked.” Leon murmured in awe, his big hands moving to grasp your hips and pull you into that front and backwards movement at a faster pace. Your clit constantly being stimulated made your eyebrows arch inwards as a series of moans joined upon his. You nodded along, he had that effect on you. “Fuck, please. I need to feel you.”

He was begging? That’s cute. Your eyes were half-lidded, pleasure had a tendency to making you a bit dozy. So did good blood. You’ve had a fucking feast and the bite marks all over his body and his dick were satisfying, like an artist painting a blank canvas. You slipped your panties to the side, grinding the tip against your entrance until he was writhing.

Then slowly, you sank down. The stretch took you a little by surprise, eliciting a small gasp as your gummy walls clenched around his cock the further you went. He threw his head back, panting hard as you officially took his virginity. You didn’t give yourself time to adjust, grinding and bouncing on his lap as he squirmed and sobbed hoarsely, you didn’t think he could look so pathetic.

“Feels good, hm?” You asked, kissing down the column of his neck and sinking your fangs into it again. At the same time, you had tightened up when his blood oozed into your mouth making him groan and buck his hips, the pain mixing with pleasure God he was feeling too much at once. The base of his dick felt immediate pressure that just wanted to burst.

He nodded, and nodded. You were such a crazy bitch but your pussy was good, though he was dizzy. You were gonna kill him if you took anymore blood, but you were selfish and he felt like he was too. Then you took him away completely when you moved your hips in a circular motion, your ass rubbing against his balls making him twitch uncontrollably.

“Fuck… I—I’m cumming—“ Leon whispered, his eyes fluttering closed as you forced an orgasm out of him — it was all too much for him to bare and you sighed in satisfaction, his cum squirting inside you until you convulsed and reached your high. Milky droplets of orgasm slipping down his cock as he passed out and you sniffed along him, the musk of his sweat was nice.

“Mm, I’m keeping you.”

lord, that was long. thank you to anyone who reads and anyone who reblogs/comments ❤️

[vase-of-lilies]

❀  Pairing: Dark!Mermaid!Wanda x Sailor!Reader

❀ Non-con, dubcon, Captivity, restraints, slight experimentation, shapeshifting! Wanda, the ocean, sailing on a boat, a storm, shipwreck, a little bit of violence, virgin!reader (she has never had a sexual encounter, period. So she is very innocent), Wanda doesn’t know human anatomy lol, oral (r receiving), forced orgasm, overstimulation, fingering, (this next part is major whump, so PLEASE heed the warnings) Sewing readers legs together for a punishment, holding reader under the water until they pass out, screaming, lots of screaming, making someone stay unconscious with telekinesis, quick acceptance, soft-ish wanda, some fluff, Stockholm syndrome, (if there is anything else PLEASE let me know!!)

❀ Disclaimer and Authors Note: The pictures only represent aesthetics and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. I hope you like this! The pictures go to their rightful owners on Pinterest, and the comic-style picture belongs to the beautiful artist Jenifer Prince. I also have a really big feeling that Mermaids' love language is gift-giving. Because… stuff is all they find lol!

This is for @eloquentreverie 's Dusk Till Dawn writing challenge! I chose the lines “All you are is a liar…” “My love for you is not a lie.”

Bright rays of sunshine reflect off the water, not one cloud in the sky.  The perfect conditions for sailing. You had been planning this trip for ages, and the perfect time has never been seen before now. Packing your bags was an easy task, all that was left was prepping your boat. Aphrodite is what you call her. The beautiful sailboat your father had left for you.

The sails are off-white, the texture of a canvas. In a way, this boat is its own form of art, and the beautiful name that your father picked fits perfectly. She was small, livable, and durable. It could withstand the fiercest of storms, waves, and monsters. Monsters, that you at least think are real. They were all just myths your mother told you about. 

Mermaids that left trinkets on the helm of each ship they came across, an octopus-like creature pushing the boats in the wrong direction, and even the ocean itself; a lively source of nature that will always lead the way when these malicious creatures have any form of malicious intentions. 

Making your way down to the pier, you are stopped by a villager, an older woman who knew your father very well. “Y/n! Y/n! Come here, I have something for your travels!” You hear from her frail yet powerful voice. She gently grabs your hands and pulls you into her home, making you giggle softly as she sits you on her couch. 

“Now, I knew I would see you today because of the conditions out… there. I have this for you, wishing you safe travels and return.” She puts a dainty necklace in the palms of your hands. “It was a gift from your mother, she had told me to wait until you were older, and I think now would be the perfect time.” She smiles as you look at the beautiful oval-shaped locket. 

“My family and I really love you, Eleanor. Thank you for taking such good care of us.” You smile up at her, closing your fingers around the locket with a picture of both your mother and your father. “Thank you, really, for everything.” 

She shakes her head, “The only thing you owe me is a hug and a proper goodbye.” She says, opening her arms for you. You happily oblige, wrapping your arms around her hunched body. She was like a grandmother to you even when she was just a family friend, but you most definitely loved her as a grandmother. 

“I love you so much, and I will most definitely bring you some trinkets if mermaids ever leave anything for me.” She chuckles in response and waves you off, sending you on your way to uncertainty. 

Entering the deck of your boat was a feeling of freedom that you had longed to feel ever since the death of your parents. It was difficult to make it through the day without breaking down into your most vulnerable form; A sobbing, shaking mess. 

Standing at the helm brought mixed emotions. You were finally here. You were finally able to feel like the woman your mother described you as. “You are a brave, independent, beautiful girl Y/n. You will do amazing things one day. That may be tomorrow or ten years from now. But amazing things they will be.”

Those words stuck with you from the day she died. Those words were what drove you to sail alone after all these years. She told you that you were brave, and that was all it took to motivate you to learn, grow, and persevere in your passion for sailing. 

Now all you had to do was make sure you had enough food, water, and supplies in the cockpit, untie the sails, and mark the coordinates on your map. Once those subjects were taken care of, the last was to untie Aphrodite from the pier and raise the anchor and you are all good to go!

With the small gusts of winds every now and then, it would take about 6 to 7 hours for you to make it to your destination. That is if there is no storm, headwind, or pirates that you have to worry about. Crossing Captain Barnes is on your list of “most feared encounters” and you could not imagine getting stuck with him, let alone see him. Rumors say he lost his arm to the Kraken and used the gold from a found treasure to make a new arm. A much more dangerous one than he already had. 

The thought of seeing him gives you chills in of itself, so you decide to put your mind to something else. You begin to steer the boat in the direction of your destination, your blue navy-themed sailing dress your mother made you flowing in the wind. You smile as the smell of salt and cold water fills your nose, the ocean and wind guiding you in the right direction.

~~~~~~~~ 3 hours later ~~~~~~~~

The clouds had come out of nowhere, casting a large, dark shadow over Aphrodite. The wind was skin-biting and strong, the waves getting unruly as she becomes angry with something. What? You had no idea. You had prepared for this, but the worst thing that could happen happened. 

As you put on your dark blue cloak to keep warm, a large wave crashed over your boat. With much luck, Aphrodite held strong and pulled back up from the water. Raindrops soaked your clothes as well as waves that rolled over the surface of your boat. As you were pulling on the sails, you froze in fear. A colossal wave formed. Bigger than anything you have seen, towering over you. At this point, you knew your fate and you fully accepted it. 

As the wave crashed over your boat, the water engulfed you into a frigid and bitter hug. The sheer force of this wave cracked your beautiful boat in two, ripped the sails a part as if it was cut by scissors, and lastly shredded your near-perfect map to shreds. It was a saddening sight to see to anyone on the outside. 

As your vision fades to black, numbness takes over your system and you are finally at rest. 

Or so you thought. 

“Is she ok? She- Oh she’s breathing! She looks ok, just a little roughed up.” 

‘Squawk!’

“She’s a human! She’s beautiful, she looks so cute in this little dress of hers.”

‘Squawk!’

“Can we keep her?”

A pause…

“Let's bring her inside, but we have to make sure she doesn’t escape. Grab some of the rope from her boat, that will hold her.” 

“She scared? She scared?” The animal squawked. 

“For certain…”

The voices were faded and muffled, and you felt like you were held in a bubble. Everything was quiet. The voices were smooth, siren-like, minus the power. There was something dark in the woman’s voice that hovered over you. There was something in her voice that sounded almost… dark and evil. As if she had malicious intentions with you. 

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of waves crashing against the sand, but you were not on the beach anymore. You were in a cave, a dark, cold, dreary cave. With a pounding in your head, you moved your hand to your temple. Well, tried to. You look to your left, letting your eyes get used to the darkness and you see rings of rope around your wrist, holding you to a rusty bed frame. Looking to your right you see the same.

Struggling was your first instinct, but you were frozen in place. It was fear taking over your body and you didn’t know what else to do. There wasn’t much you could do in your state. It was so cold, and you couldn’t find a way to get warm. 

“H-hello?” Your voice echoes in the abyss of the dark cave in front of you and you have yet to hear anything other than that. But moments later, other voices fill the cavern's echos. 

“I wonder when she will wake up, oh I sure hope it’s soon.” One voice said. Were they talking about me? You think to yourself. 

“Well, when she does, it will be quite the surprise don’t you think?” That voice, it was the voice that sounded evil… 

In an instant, the dark cave was filled with lowly lit torches. From what you could see was a room full of different trinkets, a makeshift vanity with a sea-glass mirror, shelf portions of the cave filled with sea shells, and lastly her.

A beautiful woman walks into the cave carrying what looks to be wood, sail rope, some canvas sails, and cloth. It took you a moment to realize that these were parts of Aphrodite. Your precious boat. 

“Ah, she’s awake.” The woman says to her accomplice, a parrot on her shoulder. 

“Awake! Awake! Awake! Awake!” The parrot responds, making the woman let out a soft chuckle. 

“Please, let me go!” You plead. 

“No, you are mine now and I get to do what I please,” She gives you a smug smile and sets her trinkets and shells down on her vanity. You watch her carefully, salty tears falling down your cheeks as you pull at the ropes around your wrists. “There is no coming out of those ropes, darling. I know how to tie a good knot” She emphasizes the ’t’, making you jump slightly in response. 

“Such a curious creature humans are. They move around on these water contraptions just to go see another piece of land. Can you imagine that?” She says, chuckling at her own question. “Well of course you can, you were doing just that!” She moves towards the makeshift seaweed and canvas bed and sits on the edge. 

“I have yet to see a real human up close and see what they are really like. How much pain and torture they can take, just like my sisters had to endure.” 

Her intentions scared you, and her smirk told you that she already knew that. “P-please don’t hur-” she cut you off with a laugh and a mockery of your fear. 

“Puh puh puh, please! Oh don’t be so cute, I love hearing screams of fear…” She leans close to your face, her tongue sliding against your cheek and picking up a tear. “Mmmm, tastes so good. I can’t wait to taste the rest of you.” You whimper as her eyes turn bright red and before you know it, the clothes are ripped from your body leaving you nude, cold, and exposed. You flail your feet attempting to kick her, but she quickly pins them down and wraps more rope around them, connecting them to the bed posts at the bottom.

She shakes her head at your action and gently slides her fingers over your now exposed belly, “Nuh uh, none of that. We don’t need anyone else to get hurt, right?” You shiver in response, making her smile grow even bigger. “Oh, so you feel me…” She realizes and she runs her fingers up your belly, and to the valley of your breasts. 

Your reactions are very minimal at first, but then she starts going in other directions. “Hmm, I have little buttons like these too, I wonder what yours do?” She moves and grazes her fingers over your nipple, making you shudder. A new feeling has come to you, and the woman takes note. “Ah, how interesting. This little bud of skin is much more sensitive than the skin over here…” She does the same motion of rolling her fingers but with just a small section of skin from your breast. 

“What if we do both?” She inquires, moving both her hands above your breasts. Taking both nipples in her fingers, she smiles at your reaction of curling in on yourself. The little noises you make are what set her off. “Wow, how amazing,” She whispers, smirking at your reaction. As you whine and shake your body slightly, you try to get her off of you, but she is just pulled towards you again. 

“Someone is a little feisty,” She slaps your breast harshly and you yelp in pain. She chuckles and stands up. “Now let me introduce myself. I am Wanda, and as you can see I take the shape of a human, like you. But I am nothing of the kind. I have morals.” She pauses, and moves between your spread-open legs. “When I got the ability to use my shapeshifting power, I first wanted to try to be human. Just to see what it feels like to walk and run. I liked it at first, but then came this feeling that I can’t describe. It is like a fire was lit right here,” she puts her hand just above your lower regions, goosebumps pebbling at the touch of her skin on yours.

“There was nothing I could do to put it out. So I explored down there… I have a button down there just like up here,” She rolls your nipples in her fingers once again, making you whine in protest. “Oh, my Poseidon… it felt heavenly when I rubbed it just right. I thought the feeling would never end! But then it did… it felt like I exploded. It was like getting caught in a wave, only to fall back down into warm water again.” She smiles down at you from her spot between your legs. 

“I want to see if you feel it too.” She smirks and you whimper as you pull at the restraints around your limbs. Dismissing you, her fingers spread your slick petals and she gently rubs around the top of your pussy. A soft moan emits from your mouth and she gasps. “Oh, I think I found your button too,” Wanda continues to rub your clit, loving every single reaction from your mouth. With curiosity, she pokes at your entrance with her fingers. When she enters her fingers into your wet cunt, the moan from your mouth is beautiful. 

“That was beautiful, I need to see more!” She exclaims and starts to move her fingers in and out of your hole while rubbing your clit. With never feeling these things before, you are like an exposed nerve and are oh, so, sensitive. 

You soon start to feel what she was describing, the fire, the riding up the wave, and after seconds, the falling from that wave and into warm water. As you cum, she smiles at the feeling of your walls clenching around her fingers. “It feels nice, doesn’t it…” she states, not addressing it as a question. You vigorously shake your head, denying her. She smirks, knowing deep down you absolutely love it. 

The ropes burn your limbs and you were tired. But Wanda was far from done. She had so much more planned as she was infatuated with your pussy and how it pulsed around her fingers. “Should we see how many more of these little episodes we can see today?” 

“N-no! No, please no more, I- I want to go home, please,” You beg, knowing deep down you most likely won’t make it out of here. Not without a fight. Already you were scheming how you could possibly escape her, but your thoughts were shut down as Wandas' fingers intruded your hole at a fast rate. Her fingers moved in and out of your cunt, a burning feeling bubbling inside of you once again. 

“Oh, you’re so wet down here, little one. I swear if I go too fast, there may be a tidal wave coming at me.” She smirks at her words, not slowing her pace as she curls her fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion. Your moans were music to her ears, like putting a sea shell to one's ear and hearing the beauty of the ocean on the other side. 

Failing miserably, you try to quiet your moans. But the feelings are just too intense for you to handle. She leans down as she continues to pump her fingers inside of you and smiles as she licks along your red, hot clit. Your legs jolt once a more sensitive wave of pleasure falls over you, her tongue moving expertly over your little bud. Your back arches as much as it can with the bonds keeping you down and you try to enjoy your current state under Wandas' domination. 

In a matter of seconds, you are crumbling at the feel of Wandas' three fingers inside of you as well as her tongue licking your clit over and over again. Cumming a second time was even more of an experience. You saw white as your orgasm came crashing over you once again. Whimpers come out of your mouth as tears are falling down your cheeks. It’s too much, and your cunt feels like it's on fire. 

Finally, Wanda has had enough, and she lets out a sigh as she looks down at your abused petals. “Aw, look how red you are. You must be so sensitive, hm?” She chuckles at your fucked out sounds as she grazes your clit with the back of a finger, your hips pulling away in retaliation. You whimper as she suddenly stands up, her other fingers leaving your hole in an instant. You shudder at the emptiness, letting out a sob as your emotions take control of your body again. 

“Sweetheart, don’t cry, we have just barely begun.” Her smile is malicious and full of evil. There is nothing welcoming about her smile, almost like the waxing gibbous, right before a full moon. Only a sliver of a smile of the night sky, then the werewolves come out. Her teeth were sharp but smooth enough to look human. But she was far from human.

You found out she was a mermaid while she let you roam the beach a little bit. All she gave you for clothing was a paper bag-type dress made out of the canvas of your sails, and a rope around your middle as a belt. She took the chains from the anchor of your boat and kept it around your ankle, the other end under a very heavy bolder that she moved with her powers. 

While you stayed on the beach, chained to the rock that gave you the shade you needed, Wanda was hunting. There was a little bit of forest above the cave you both took shelter in, but she warned you to never go in there. Well, not without her. You were curious as to know if there was danger, or if she just didn’t want you out of her sight. But it was easy to say, she did not want you going anywhere. 

Sitting on the beach was the little bit of freedom that you looked forward to every day. One hundred and eighty-two (182) days of being in Wandas' captivity. You learned on day seven (7) to never run away from her. She will make everything hurt. She will take everything away from you if you try to take yourself away from her. 

On day seven (7), you found a way to rub the chain links together and break the loop off of your foot. Making sure she was in the water, you made a run for it on the wet sand of the beach. Trying to go around the island and then out into the ocean was your goal. Wanda sensed you were gone the second the chain broke. It was no use trying to swim away from a mermaid. 

She caught up with you in a matter of seconds, her webbed tail making her swim much faster than you; A mere human. She grabbed your ankle from underneath the water, dragging you down to the ocean floor. Not too deep as she knows the pressure builds, but deep enough where you would not be able to escape. She smiled as you thrashed against her iron grip, your arms trying desperately to reach the surface, and the last few bubbles exited your mouth as you finally fell unconscious. 

Once you were out, she pulled you to the beach, getting the water from your lungs and making sure you are breathing again. She sent a wave of energy over your body, keeping you in an unconscious state. Picking you up, your head hung over her arm as your legs hung over her other arm. She looked at your sleeping face in slight disappointment as you were doing so good the few days before this. She knew that the time outside was going to be limited as part of the punishment she was going to give you. 

Laying you on the bed, she gathers a few trinkets she has found. Including a sewing kit. She looked over your body and stripped you of your canvas dress. She laced the rope around your arms and fastened them to the rusty bars above your head. Angrily, she stares, thinking of the things she is going to do to you when you wake up. She growls and pounces on top of you, grabbing your legs and putting them together. She takes more rope from your boat and wraps your thighs and ankles, rendering you unable to walk. 

Now comes the painful part; She threads the thread through the eye of the needle and pinches the skin of your thigh. Carefully she puts the needle through your skin, puncturing through the layers mercilessly. As she pulls the thread through the hole in your skin, she meticulously sews your legs together in an intricate zig-zag shape from your left leg to your right leg. Once she gets to just above the rope around your ankles she hums at her work, making sure that you won’t be able to pull the thread out of your legs, even if you tried as hard as you could. 

Waving her hand takes away the power keeping you unconscious, and she makes her way out of the cave, not wanting to hear your screams as you realize what she had done to you. Of course, she loved to hear you scream, but not in pain. It was never meant to be this way. If you had just listened and stayed where you were put, this never would have happened. As she transforms into her mermaid form, she dives into the ocean to cool off as she was much too angry to argue with you, worried she would kill you in the snap of a finger if you said the wrong thing to her. 

You started to come to, becoming more and more aware of your surroundings by the second. Once again, you tried to move, only to be stopped by the ropes around your wrists, but there was much more than what was done to you last time. You looked to the source of the tension of your legs and your panic set in. Screams of pain and horror echoed through the cave, tears and sobs were heard for miles outside of the cave, and Wanda was nowhere near where she could hear them. 

~~~~~~~

More than a few hours later, your sobs had calmed to nothing more than whimpers. Your legs were screaming in pain, blood dripping from each of the holes Wanda's needle had made, soaking the thread and keeping them together. You closed your eyes, hoping that someone would find you, help you, kill you. But your wishes were only met with more fear.

As Wanda entered the cave, she had a whole net of fish, more shells, and trinkets from the ocean floor, as well as the part of your ship you were going to miss the most: The picture of you, your father, and your mother. It was still in its gold-plated frame, the monotone black and white of the picture still prominent. “I brought you a couple things,” Wanda says, unapologetically. Setting the net down, she places a pink and coral-colored conch shell next to you on the bed, the picture, and what looks like a shell necklace that she put together herself. 

You did not acknowledge her in the slightest. From the moment she walked into the cave, to the moment she begged you to talk to her. She even untied your arms and helped you sit up, but you didn’t say a word. In a fit of rage, she throws your body against the bed, letting you curl against yourself as you try to undo the thread. 

“It's not going to come off. I put a spell on it, and until you talk to me, it will stay that way. Do you understand?” She holds your chin in her hands, her sharp nails digging into your soft, beautiful skin. You whimper in response, tears pooling in your eyes. A few fall, but Wanda is quick to wipe them away as you look up at her. She gives you a soft smile and your brows furrow. This smile is different, it's out of pity, and out of a different type of intent. “Please, say something…” She whispers, tears of her own filling her eyes.

“Wh-why did you do this to me?” You whimper, pulling your hands away from the thread and to your chest to cover yourself. 

“Because you ran away… I told you to stay here, and you disobeyed me. This never would have happened if you just stayed, and enjoyed the sun like I so generously allowed you!”

Her eyes close, and she covers them with her hand. As she removes her hand, she sits down on the bed and her eyes soften as she looks at you. “I never wanted this to happen, love. You are mine, but I never wanted to hurt you.” 

"All you are is a liar..." You respond, with no emotion in your voice, eyes, or heart. Wanda sighs and helps you sit up once again. 

“My love for you is not a lie.” She says, moving to the floor as your legs drape over the side of the bed. She unties your thighs and ankles, her hands glowing a soft red color. Your legs lose feeling for only a moment, and you watch in awe as the thread is removed without pain or discomfort. It floats out of your skin, and the holes where it once was were closed. “Please forgive me, my little human. I won’t do this unless you make me angry. You won’t be punished if you don’t do something punishable. Do you understand me?” 

You nod softly as the feeling returns to your legs. You stand up, as does Wanda. You stumble at first, but you slowly make your way out of the cave and over to the rock where your chain lay. You wrap the chain around your ankle and hold it up for Wanda to seal with her magic. She looks at you, confused. 

“What are you doing?” She asks. 

You sigh and you hold up your foot again. “Im showing you I can be good. That I can keep a promise of being good.” She understands and seals the lock over the two open links. You stand up again, and you make your way to the water. You have already accepted the fact that will rip the dress off of you when you get back inside anyway, so you stand in the sun, bathing in the warmth as you stand nude. You are grateful that the chain grants you the length to reach the water. 

The waves make you sway slightly, and you close your eyes. Your destiny has proven itself, and you were to stay captive with Wanda. 

Soon enough, day three hundred sixty-five (365) hits and you are smiling with Wanda. Happily letting her devour you every night to her heart's desire, as well as shower you with gifts and jewels she finds on her hunting trips. In a form of trust, you both agree to a collar around your neck. One that claims you as well as keeps you on the island when Wanda is away. It was a way for Wanda to make sure you were safe, and a way for you to feel secure in someone's watch. And if any pirates come to the island, it would notify Wanda if you were in danger. 

She loved to see you in the sun, the jewels around your neck shimmering in the bright sunlight above you. A bright ruby right at the center of your neck, represents the love that Wanda has gifted upon you. Every morning when you woke up in her arms, you felt safe and sound, and no longer in danger of her. Of course, you were never going to make it home to Eleanore, so you threw a bottle with a letter in it into the ocean hoping that it finds her well. 

Yours and Wandas' routine grew every day, her even letting you go for a swim. She would transform into her mermaid form, and you would hold onto her shoulders as she sped through the water at speeds you have never felt before. On other days, she would take you to the edge of the forest above her cave. She told you stories of the cannibals that lived among the trees but willingly agreed to keep on their side of the island and never venture past the river about a mile into the grove of trees. 

You would tell stories of when you sailed with your father and cooked with your mother. Wanda loved to hear about humans and the hobbies or skills you can acquire with the right supplies and practice. She was infatuated with humans just as she was with you. 

One of your favorite things to do with Wanda was lay out on the sand at night, a soft seaweed blanket underneath you both, the water reflecting the moon, and the stars shimmering above you. For every shooting star there was, you would point to it and give Wanda a soft kiss on her cheek, making her smile and return the kiss. That was a nightly ritual you both had and when the both of you had soaked up the moonlight for the perfect amount of time, she would take you inside and make love to you. She would worship you, and care for you. She gave you meaning in a world where you had no one else to be there for. 

She loved you.

Your keeper loves you, yet you love her too.

[hyperfixat]

hbd to me!!!!!!! here’s a vent fic i wrote a few months ago so proceed with caution; reader attempted suicide, reader continues to have suicidal thoughts/attempts, reader seeks harm onto themself (both from external sources and self inflicted), reader is depressed!!! be sure to evaluate your mental state before reading this fic :3. this also contains a scene that i felt compelled to write for some reason involving assisted hygiene: idk i felt that needed a little acknowledgment..

ik its my birthday fic and it proably should be happy, but theres a bit of hurt comfort to this that i love and i polished it up to share so that hopefully u like it too.. again heed my warnings^

also final note; formatted on my pc, sprry if its funky

The first thing you feel upon waking up is disappointment.  This… you rub your face with your hands.  You can’t do anything right, you sigh.  Waking up is a clear sign of a failure as to your plans.

Although you frown as you observe your surroundings, this isn’t where you would be if someone had caught you attempting to take your life.  You wouldn’t be dumped in the middle of a sunny field.  This isn’t a hospital or ward, in fact there’s no sign of any modern buildings from where you sit.

Just where are you…?

You use shaky arms to lift yourself up, and begin to attempt to find a way home.  Or for something to just kill you.

What luck, you realize morbidly, you spawned on a plateau, and that’s all you allow yourself to think before breaking into a sprint and running both to and over the edge.

You hit the plains with a crack and you wheeze out a pained groan.  Before you can lift yourself up to try again or seek help or check for any witnesses, you feel your body fade away. It’s a weightless feeling as you sink into the earth of Teyvat.

There is not much pain, not as much as you had hoped or expected.  In ways this is a pro, for you are a coward in the face of pain no matter deserved or otherwise.

You fade, but not into the hold of death, at least you don’t think this is death, rather you fade from your spot crumpled on the ground into a sitting position firmly in the arms of an Anemo Statue of Seven.  The marble orb of Barbatos’ lookalike stops you from falling out of the statue’s arms and you heave a sigh.

How unfortunate.  It seems you cannot permanently die here.  Though… what if it was a fluke…?  With another bone deep sigh you fall to the ground and walk back to the ledge and stare down at the fifty foot drop.

Before you work up the courage to take the plunge a high, excited voice calls out for you.  You flinch, opening your eyes to see a youthful bard dressed in Mondstatian green, holding his hands out for you.  Venti is sprinting towards you and you take a step back nervously.  He seems to recognize you… but how could that be?  

His face falls as you back away and his sprint slows when he’s a few yards away from being able to reach out to you.  Venti calls your name again.  He falters, the smile adorning his face slips.

“Wait…” his voice wavers.  “What are you doing, Divine One?”

Why did he call you that…?  Is it some Mondstat greeting of sorts?  You can’t kill yourself in front of him and retraumatize the poor guy, so you allow him to get closer to you, and you don’t stop him when he sweeps his lythe form down into a kneeling bow.

“Hello.”  You greet, unsure of how one is supposed to act when approached by a fictional character.

Venti lifts his gaze from the ground up to your face, looking downright awestruck.

“I, we, have long awaited your descent, Divine One, it is an honor to have you grace the lands of Freedom with your presence first.”  

Uh-oh.  He seems to have confused you with someone else, because you are certainly no one special and definitely not any sort of divine.  How are you gonna break that to him without too much embarrassment on either of your parts?

“Please, come with me to the city, I’m certain the people will be delighted to host the one who shaped the world.”  His voice is high with a musical lilt, and it’s hard to decline him.

“I’m sorry,” your voice comes out dry, and you realize you’re terribly dehydrated.  “I think there’s been a mistake.  I’m not whoever you think I am.”

You take a step back, backing yourself up the hill onto higher ground.

“Whatever do you mean, Divine One?  Your presence is unmistakable.”

You shake your head, stepping further away from the Archon.  Venti reaches his hand out to grasp at the bottom hem of your pajama pants.  “Please!  I’ve waited so long for you.”  He falls onto his knees to beg.

Fuck, his eyes are so pretty when he pleads.  You don’t want to risk angering whatever God he’s mistaking you with, though, “Venti….”  

The blue-green sky of his eyes turns to the color of the ocean as tears well up in his waterline.  His whole body shivers when you utter his chosen name.  “I can keep it a secret from the public.  Surely only Archons and those blessed with a Vision will be able to sense you.  We can keep it quiet, please, Divine One, I beg of you.”

“I’m not this Divine One you speak of,” you kneel and place a hand on his hat.  Venti’s eyes search yours with confusion. As he lifts his head, your hand presses into the curve of his skull, making him lean harder into your touch.

“Th-That’s okay, please just stay in Mondstadt for a night, that’s all I wish.”  He doesn’t believe you, that’s clear, but he seems so eager to appease you.

You pause, looking away from the pathetically begging archon.  His hands clench on your pant fabric.

“Okay.  Just for the night.”  You hope no one else from Mondsat is as strange as Venti is…

“I don’t have any way to pay for this,” you smile at Diluc, placing a hand on the side of the glass to push it back across the counter.

“I wouldn’t dream of making you pay, please drink all you wish.  Let me know if it isn’t to your taste.”

“Does that apply to their guide as well, Master Diluc?”

“No.”

“A shame,” Venti sighs, taking a deep drink from his glass.

You have to hand it to Venti, he is a good guide.  He’s quick to shut down any vision holder you come across with a quick whisper in their ear, and he truly knows Mondstadt in and out.

The bell above the door jingles as it swings open, and you glance behind you in time to see Rosaria come strolling in with a timid Barbara clutching the back of her cathedral robes.  She must not visit the Angel’s Share much, seeing as the hydro-user looks around with quick, nervous eyes.  When her eyes land on you they widen comically, her small hand darting out to steady herself on Rosaria’s forearm.

—

“Farewell, my Divinity,” “Safe travels, Divine One,” and “May the wind bless your travels, Your Grace,” follow your retreating form as you make the hike to Dragonspine.  

Honestly you aren’t certain where you’re heading.  If the other nations treat you the same as Mondstadt, that's a no-go.  You won’t know unless you go, though.  Maybe you should head the same route the Traveler would.  That would mean Dragonspine is your next destination.  

Who will you meet there?  Albedo…?  He’s the only one you can think of that stays there.

As you begin the trek you realize; he’s a research-type dude, you hesitate to say scientist, but he does experiments and such.  Perhaps, you can make use of yourself by giving your body up to him to work on.  Surely an undying body would greatly interest the research of life?

After a surprisingly simple search you find him and present your proposition.

“Absolutely not,” Albedo dismisses you without thought.  He doesn’t even bother to spare you a look.  “That is blasphemy of the highest order, I’d suggest giving that attitude up sooner rather than later.”

You flinch back at the words, taking a step back into the chill of Dragonspine.

“I can offer you sanctuary here if you seek it, but I will not harm you.”  

“That’s…” not at all what you want.  “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I must decline.”

His haunting blue eyes follow you down the snowy path to Liyue.  Once you are far too away to hear, he states calmly, “safe travels.”

As you walk down the icy paths lining the gravel streets you think… Albedo had rejected you just like that.  What’s the next step?

You might as well stop by Liyue Harbor, maybe meet some characters before… before maybe heading to Sumeru?  

Ahhah! It hits you then, the harbinger introduced in Sumeru: Il Dottore.  If Albedo had reservations, then Dottore would have none.

Even still, Liyue is a harbor.  You’re sure to find a way to Snezhnaya from there.

You almost get to the docks without drawing any attention to yourself.  Almost.

Your mistake laid in the fact that you passed the Golden House, the weekly Childe Boss fight.  In your defense you didn’t actually think he’d be in there.  And it’s not like you even went in, only going up the steps and around for a detour.  

And it was a quick route until a strangled gasp came from behind you, making you spin around in alarm.  There, Tartaglia stood, with pupils nearly the size of his gray-blue eyes, staring, completely enraptured by your visage.  Your knees buckle and you make to sprint, but your body is no match for a Fatui Harbinger.

In retrospect you’re not entirely sure what drove you to run, perhaps some fight or flight instinct buried inside of you.

His long hand wraps around your forearm, tugging you to a stop, you face him, and your face must portray your panic clearly because Tartaglia’s twists into sorrowful sympathy.

“My Divinity… it is an honor to meet you in the flesh.”

“Let go.”  He does, promptly so. 

“I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself.  May I ask where you are headed, and if you are in need of company?”

“No.  Thank you, Childe.” 

His face shifts into a serious look, nodding.  “Do you need an escort to Liyue then?  Is that where you’re heading?” 

“No.  I know where I’m going, and I much prefer to go alone.” It’s not entirely false, you know where you’re headed, just not how.

“Well… be safe, okay?  I hope to see you again.”

“I will.”  The lie comes out and you cringe, because its delivery falls flat and its so obviously untrue.

“Does Mr Zhongli know you’re here?  Surely you’re here to see Morax?” He strolls to your other side, offering a hand to lead you to the city.  You ignore the hand.

“Goodbye, Tartaglia.”

“I can’t let you leave alone in good conscience…. You don’t seem well.  Let me lead you to the harbor at least.”

Since he is as unmoving as stone, you let him take you to the main city, managing to ditch him before more people can know about your presence.

The boats docked at Liyue Harbor are hopeful.  “Where is this ship headed?” you ask one of the dock workers.  They look up at your voice before glancing at the ship they’re loading up with lumber.

“Snezhnaya.” They say glancing up at the grand vessel.  “Why?  Where’re you tryna go, friend?”  

“Snezhnaya.  How much does the fare cost, one way?”

—

“News of your travels have reached Snezhnaya, Divine One.”  Dottore starts, fixing his posture from a lean on a surgical table to something more proper.  You shake your head, the weariness you’ve accumulated on your journey weighing down on you.  You’re finally where you deserve to be.

“I’m not the Divine One you speak of, Dottore.”

“Hm?  Do you think so little of my intelligence?  Your presence is unmistakable.”

“No, it’s not that.  But I’m not.  I’m just a regular person.  And I came to you for a reason.”

“Oh?  The Creator themself, seeking me out?  It’s an honor,” the doctor bows to you, smirking at you from beneath his beaklike mask.

“I need you to hurt me.”

“What?”  He pulls himself up with a startled question.  “I’m afraid I misheard you, Divine One.”

“I can’t die, Dottore.  I’m giving myself to you, you…” you heave a sigh as you explain your reasoning.  “You could make use of me.  I’m not whoever you think I am, please just take me.  I don’t care what you do to me.”

“You’re… giving yourself to me?”  

“Yes.”

“Do you know what happens to my… patients?”

“Yes, that's why I’m here.  I can’t die, I imagine I would make a good test subject.”

“Is this a test?”  Dottore seems to be speaking to himself more than anything.  He pushes away from the table and paces to the back room of the lab, muttering madly to himself as he does so.  The door swings open with a loud screeching and you catch sight of multiple mops of blue hair and masks.  

His Segments.

You can hear a conversation ongoing between all of the parts of Zandik, it seems he doesn’t want to be rash and take you in too hastily.  You can understand his (their?) hesitancy; if a god offered themselves up to you, you would surely think it was a trap.  But you aren’t a god, so it should be a no brainer for him.  How often does he get consenting test subjects?

It seems this absurd idea of you being a higher power has infiltrated Snezhnaya as well, which is… not good. Everyone is saying you’re more than what you are, you can’t be a god, you barely consider yourself a human.

An older, completely unmasked Segment sticks his head out of the door, frowning once he makes eye contact with you.  There’s gray leaking from his roots into the teal of Dottore’s hair, and visible aging lines on his face; crows feet and tension on his cheekbones.  Glowing red eyes narrow upon meeting your own, mouth pulling into a tight line.

A younger segment, smaller in size and stature, with a nearly full face mask, only showing part of his mouth.  You think that is the one that the Fandom surrounding him dubbed Webttore.  You usually see pictures of him with a wide, jagged-tooth smile, but, like his older part, he looks solemn.

You wonder just how many Segments Il Dottore has, because you can still hear an entire conversation going on without the two.

The conversation seems to be dying down, not ending without a few red eyes peeking out from behind the door at you.  It’s surreal seeing so many versions of the same person at once; the youthful ones, eyes wide, and the older ones with wrinkles built with time and age, all at the same moment in time.

Eventually though, they do seem to come to a verdict: the Omega segment, the one you met upon walking into his lab, exits, closing the door behind him with a click that resonates through the room.

His answer is a simple word.  “No.”

Your heart drops and stomach sinks at the rejection, and based on il Dottore’s reaction it must show.  “Why?” your voice is small and sounds foreign to your own ears.

“I cannot forsake the true god in such a way, whether you acknowledge it or not, you have that power.”

All the turmoil and hardships it took to get here come crashing down, the light at the end of the tunnel is rejecting you.  You hadn’t known this was something that could happen, your… your savior, the one you were looking for is telling you no.  He won’t lay a finger on you, and it’s tearing you apart.  This was the only thing that kept you from burying yourself in the deep forest of Sumeru and letting yourself rot.

“Oh.” It’s shaky and you nod, trying to take it maturely.  “I see.”  Your voice is warbling like you're on the verge of tears.  Blinking rapidly to dispel the water from your eyes, you lower your head and make to scamper out of the lab.

Dottore lets out a heavy sigh, and his leather gloves wrap around your wrist.

“Wait.”  You nervously glance up at his mask.

“You said you would ‘give yourself to me,’ no?”

Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, “yes.”  Has he suddenly changed his mind? You shouldn't get your hopes up.

“I will take you.  I doubt you will appreciate my intentions, but if I were to own you, you wouldn’t be able to complain.  After all, you will have done it to yourself.”

You don’t know what those words mean, but the stinging rejection welling up in your eyes turns to relief. “Thank you,” he doesn’t stop you from dashing to his side and wrapping your arms around his waist.  You press your face into his abdomen, letting his clothes soak up your tears.  A hesitant hand rubs over your spine, an effort to soothe you.

You pull yourself together, sucking in a deep breath of the sterile lab air.  

“Alright,” Dottore says after he deems you put together enough.  “Come.”  His hand covers your wrist, gently tugging you behind him.  You aren’t sure where he is leading you, as he takes you out of the lab.  The halls are tall and gorgeously crafted, intermittent with intricate moldings on the wall.  

It’s a small room you find yourself in, but it is infinitely better than the wilderness.  The size is comparable to an average hotel room.  Dottore instructs you to sit and stay on the bed, which you do obediently.  Nerves swirl inside of you, as to where he has gone and what he will bring back with - when he will return, if at all.

Il Dottore knows.  While he is not well versed on human, much less godly, psychology, he can tell you’re depressed when you first stumbled your way into his workstation. Besides, he’d be hard pressed to deny the rumors from various agents that had been located in places you’d traveled through.

With a small caddy in his hands Dottore kneels next to the nightstand and places a hand on your shoulder to force you to lay down.  “Arm.”  Is what he prompts for you to let him maneuver your arm to lay open and flat over the edge of the bed. 

The scent of alcohol alerts you to the sanitary wipe before you feel the chill of it.  You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling as you feel the slight pinch of a needle  and a clicking as an IV is deposited into your arm.  Out of the corner of your eye you see Dottore set up a drip, but you don’t bother to ask what it is, the excitement of the day catching up with you.

Il Dottore eventually leaves the room in silence after pushing an odd vial of liquid into the drip, not bothering to look behind him as he closes the door and leaves with confident strides.

Although it’s entirely possible it’s simply the Placebo Effect, as the drip spreads throughout your veins you can feel your eyes getting heavier and heavier.  Before long you can no longer keep them open and slip into a dreamless sleep.

You wake up to a Mirror Maiden tidying up the nightstand next to you.  You observe her work, wondering how she can manage to navigate with the blind pulled over her eyes.  She startles when she catches your eyes on her, though returns back to work, quietly disposing of the used needles from earlier.  You wonder what The Doctor has injected you with; wonder if he added more of whatever it is while you were unconscious.

There’s a brisk, impatient knock on the door and the Maiden straightens up, taking hold of everything to discard and striding over to change positions with Tartaglia behind the door.

You stay flat on your back, looking at the ginger in mild surprise.  Last you saw him he was in Liyue and set to stay for quite a while.  Had he heard you gave yourself away to Il Dottore?   Is he here to plead for you to change your mind?

But to your bemusement he stays quiet, walking over to and kneeling next to your bed.  Instead of speaking he merely rests his head on the nightstand, dull blue eyes gazing at you sadly, yet reverently.

You’re unsure of how long you look up at the ceiling, doing your best to ignore Tartaglia’s eyes on you.  His gaze is unwavering, and eventually, you turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry for my behavior in Liyue.  I was too excited to see you, and my manners deserted me.”

“It’s okay.” You croak, throat dry from sleep.  “I was dismissive as well.”

Dottore doesn’t bother to knock when he comes in.

“I see you’re awake and seem to have found a stray harbinger.”

Tartaglia doesn’t react to his entrance, merely moving to the far end of the bed, laying his head on the covers near your feet.  You realize someone has drapped a plain, solid color duvet over your body when you slept. 

“Are you feeling anything out of the ordinary?” Dottore asks, checking the emptied IV bag.  He unclips it and pulls a fresh one from his lab coat pocket.

You take the moment to assess (how do you spell it) your body.  In all honesty you’re feeling much better, the hydration from the drip really made a difference.

“I feel hydrated.”

Dottore hums, he sounds disinterested.  “How’s your appetite? Can you stomach anything for me?”  He clips a new bag onto the pole, screwing it into your IV’s tube. “Stand if you can.” 

Dottore’s eyes watch you intensely behind his mask, observing how you tremble when you put a leg onto the floor.  “Childe, help them and follow me.”

Tartaglia scrambles to steady your arm as you fully get out of the bed, wrapping the one without the needle in it around his shoulder to support you.  You stiffen, but aren’t in any position to be able to get around without him, not with the emptiness of your stomach and the way black fades into your vision when you stand.  “Get them to the restroom, take care of their needs.  I will return with what they will eat.”

“Come on, I got you,” Tartaglia assures as he leads you to the ensuite restroom. It’s nothing too fancy; simply a sink, shower, and toilet.

You eye the toilet, realizing how long it’s been since you’ve relieved yourself.  A shower would also be nice…

“Allow me to assist you, Divine One,” Tartaglia remains stoic and respectful as he shimmies your pants and underwear down your legs, letting you support yourself on his broad shoulders as you step out of the pant holes.  After making sure you get to the toilet safely he turns around and starts the shower faucet.

The sound of the water helps you get over your pee shyness and by the time Tartaglia finishes soaking and preparing a cloth for you, you’ve finished and are ready to bathe.

With weak arms you gather the hem of your shirt in your hands and remove the remainder of your clothes.

Tartaglia helps you get clean with warm, respectful touches, passing you the cloth for you to clean more intimate areas, before helping you out of the shower and wrapping a large, soft towel around your body.  It’s huge, covering the top of your bust to well past mid-calf, looping around your body almost twice.  He tucks the towel tightly with practiced precision. 

“Il Dottore will be back soon, I’ll help you get dressed before he returns.  Do you have any material preferences?”

—

You sit up in bed, feeling marginally better than the day before.  The day after that, and the day after that all proceed in a similar fashion; each time you feel just a little bit better.  More clear headed, a better appetite, less like a corpse walking.

Only after Dottore deems you well enough to remove the IV do you get your suspicions that it was more than just the proper nutrition making you feel better.  He still stops by your room twice a day for some shots; he encouraged you to choose where he would deposit them (when you said into your brain or through your chest, it did not amuse him).  It feels suspiciously like the antidepressants you’ve been on before.  

It only further confuses you, though.  Does he want you in a proper state of mind for something?  He has no reason other than unfounded faith to help you, you don’t like it.  It’s … uncomfortable receiving this type of care, knowing it’s only because they think you're better than who you really are.

The food they feed you, the clothes they dress you in, it's all much more than you deserve.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Pardon?” Dottore sets the syringe down with a metallic click.  Through his mask you can feel his gaze on you.

“You’re… you’re trying to— to…” the words fail you.

“Mitigate your depressive symptoms?  Yes, I am.  What of it?”  Il Dottore picks the syringe back up, pushing the knob back before stabbing it into the vial in his hand. He pulls the liquid up with ease before removing the needle and pushing to remove the excess air in the syringe.

“Why?”

“Hm?  Why would I not?”  He flicks the syringe and some liquid flies from the point of the needle.

“If I were anyone else you wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Indeed.”

“Haven’t you realized by now that I’m not who you think I am?  That I’m just a normal human in a horrible situation of being unable to die?”

“That is not so.  Your skin cultures and biopsy results do not share that conclusion.  Even if you continue to deny your god-hood, it changes nothing. I know for certain who you are, and you will remain in my care until you utilize your divine right to revoke such.”

Biopsy? When on Earth — Teyvat? — did that happen?  But there’s more important things to discuss with him for now, not that you care how or when it happened.  You’re more surprised you never noticed, that’s all.

“You’re wrong!”  You wail, tears finally coming for the first time in a while.  You had thrown your head back to speak, but now you collapse in on yourself with your head between your arms and legs.  It’s humid, but saves you from having to look at the doctor and his unreadable bird mask.

“Oh my,” you hear Dottore murmur, then he sets his medical supplies to the side and places a hand on your shoulder. He remains there while you sob, when finally the lack of speech seems to reach the boiling point, he heaves a sigh.  “If it is of any consolation, if it were to come to my attention that you are not in any way godly or divine, I would treat you the same.  I’ve put far too much care into you to just toss you aside..”

That consoles you, if only a little, damn the drugs making you want to continue life to see the future.   But you broke the dam of tears, and it’ll take a while for them to stop; you need to cry out everything that led you here….

Your… attempt that put you in Teyvat, the one you tried right after arrival, the false death, all the eyes and praise that aren’t meant for you.  It’s dysphoric.  

The lurches of your body with your cries, stitches your sides and you sniffle harder into the crevice your body makes, the moisture of the confined body space blending in with your tears.

“There now,” Dottore says, quieter as you get so as well.  “Perhaps some more rest will do you good.  I’ll be at the ready whenever you wake.”

[reality-detective]

Donald Trump just issued a chilling warning about the illegal immigrant crime crisis, predicting that it's about to spiral out of control. 🤔

[pearl-blue-musings]

snow angel

This is purely self indulgent and healing in a way

Pairing: Alhaitham x fem!reader x Kaveh

Warnings: 18+, mental health issues, depression, slight blood, angst, comfort, feelings of worthlessness, thoughts of unalive, attempted unalive, can be seen as platonic or romantic, based on a song

Word count: ~2.3K

Reblogs and feedback appreciated!

Alhaitham never had to worry too much about you. And that worried him.

Kaveh never had to worry too much about you. And that worried him.

The two of them invited you, along with some other scholars and explorers on their investigation into Dragonspire. Never having traveled to Mondstadt but hearing of the wintery beauty that is the mountain top, you were excited to leave the contrasting humidity and arid-ness of Sumeru. You made sure that the bickering roommates had the appropriate outerwear for dealing with the frosty chill and thin air. You had happily helped them pack as you were packing your own things and getting your affairs in order before your expedition.

Hssss

The voice at the back of your head sends a chill down your spine and threatens to overflow. Your heart feels heavy from hiding and masking your feelings to push on further. Two pairs of eyes have now stopped on your visage as you seem to be frozen. You lick your lips in hopes of keeping the lump in your throat down. Their voices are barely legible as your shallow breaths fill your ears.

“Are you alright?”

You meet concerned red eyes as a hand on your shoulder shakes you from your stupor. You give Kaveh a knowing smile after a second of silence. The smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes and that doesn’t go unnoticed by both men. You say your rehearsed lines of “oh sorry, I’m fine! I didn’t mean to worry you,” with the added, “let’s get a move on” to keep them close but not too close.

Keeping your heart guarded, the expedition to the base campground went without a hitch. Despite the two arguing every now and then, it was an enjoyable adventure. You never understood why scholars thought Alhaitham as stoic and rude, he had the magic to make you laugh and feel competent. While Kaveh, that man made your aspirations seem attainable and your feelings validated. Well, the ones he knew about. You were thankful for having your own tent so they wouldn’t hear your soft crying or how your racing thoughts kept you awake. You thought they would never question why you would make the whole team breakfast before heading further in.

The weather started to change, alerting you and the team of your closeness to the base camp. Since you were a quasi leader, you venture ahead to find the adventurers to guide you through the snowy trail. Alhaitham watches you carefully and with a tight lipped breath he pulls Kaveh back. The blond immediately scoffs and is about to retort until he sees the expression in his friend's eyes. “What’s with the serious look?”

The man in question crosses his arms with a far off look. “I assume you’ve heard her crying? She thinks she’s hiding it but I hear it. And your tent has been closer.” Kaveh turns his head to see you looking through the map excitedly with the adventurer, your eyes widening over the mountainous terrain ahead of you. He didn’t want to admit it, but it broke him to hear you cry. What is going on in your precious brain? Why are you suffering alone? He doesn’t believe the lies you’ve been shoveling the two of them. “I’m just home sick,” you’d say. Or “I miss the warmth of Sumeru.” Kaveh knew that last one wasn’t true, considering you were in awe of Liyue’s weather and land. He knows he can’t ask you outright, but he’s worried more than ever. And so is Alhaitham.

To your group's surprise, one of the knights decided to help you out and guide you to his lab. Albedo, you learn, frequents the mountain and has his own base that is well kept and has enough provisions. With your parka and boots on, you begin the first leg of your excursion. Albedo speaks with all of you of the ruins and layout of the mountains, eager about what scholars from Sumeru will learn and take back. You get along easily with the knight, who you learned is a painter! There were a few run-ins with hillichurls but your guides and friends took care of them easily. After a grueling half day, you made it to Albedo’s corner. You were able to safely put your stuff down and set up camp. With the limited space, sharing tents and sleeping space was needed.

After you all settled in, Albedo shared a more intricate map that he created, pointing out areas of interest for your team. Strikingly, he suggested the team get acclimated to the snow and weather by walking around and playing in it. A small smile came to your face as you saw Alhaitham grimace at the idea, but you found yourself running out into the snow. You slowly trudge to a cliff side and take in a deep breath. You can see Mondstadt and parts of Liyue and the view steals all the air in your lungs. Your foot teeters on the edge, a few stray pebbles falling down the side. That voice pricks at your brain again to take a step; it’s gotten to be louder the closer you’ve gotten to the snowy terrain. A stray tear leaves your eye and you feel it almost freeze against your chilly skin. Something startled you inside and you stumble away from the edge. You felt something. How is it cold but your extremities are burning? You felt. You felt.

An almost cynical smile comes to your face as you fall back in the snow. The sky above a confusing mix of grays and blues with the sunsetting faraway. The wind blows harshly against your nose and eyelashes as you blink away snowflakes that dance across your features. You push yourself up when Kaveh calls out for you to come back to Albedo’s. When he sees the ghost of your smile his own heart leaps in hope that he’ll see you smile some more. He’s happy that you’re sitting next to him eating the goulash provided. Your head rests against his shoulder and Kaveh is secretly lucky you can’t hear his racing heart. He’s also unknowingly lucky he misses the intense glare from Alhaitham. When you finish your food, a yawn escapes your lips. You stretch out and announce to everyone you’re heading to your, now, shared tent with bicker and bickering. They wave at you and you head in for the night.

Alhaitham was intrigued by the knights knowledge and can’t wait to pick his brain about what they would find tomorrow. Kaveh on the other hand was more interested in the beauty Albedo is able to find in the icy wilderness. There’s a stillness mixed with the bustle of energy the mountains contain. The architect is excited to implement these ideas into his creations and beams at Albedo’s ability to answer all of his questions. After a couple of hours, they all breakaway for the night, noting the drop in temperature and increase in wind speed.

Kaveh rubs at his arms to warm them up, his heart sinking that you might be cold in their tent. Their tent, that mere thought has him blushing hard. He shakes his head as he brings his lantern to your tent and opens it. The two men do their best to not disturb you, and bicker, but stop when they see you’re not there. Fear quickly settles in as they notice your footprints in the snow. Alhaitham remembers what Albedo warned them about nights on the mountains, and now he’s at a loss for words.

The pair of men scramble to close the tent and follow your footsteps. The wind makes it harder to breathe so they keep their words to a minimum. With eye communication, they press on fearfully to where your footprints lead. Alhaitham is seldom scared, and when he is he hides it well. However, Kaveh can see the worry in his eyes with his eyebrows pressed together. Kaveh is about to continue on when Alhaitham stops him. The blond lifts his eyebrows until he sees Alhaitham point to the ground. There’s extra footprints. Alhaitham rushes forward as best he could in the weather as for once his feelings lead his actions. Why didn’t he speak to you about your crying? Why didn’t he speak to you about the lack of food you’ve been consuming? Why didn’t he make a comment about the bags and lines under your eyes, eyes that always sparkle for him?

******

You just wanted to feel something. Or nothing. Both? The effect of the goulash is starting to wane the farther you walk. The boars you ran into earlier calmly left you alone as you pressed further. You spotted on Albedo’s map a way to the top of the mountain without climbing onto the extremities. Maybe if you would reach the top, you’d find your reason for living. And maybe you’d feel the things you’re meant to feel. Or the cold would numb you completely and you wouldn’t feel anything at all. Both are good options. The former is happier, the latter more tempting.

You somehow managed to reach the entrance of some ruin with stone slabs. The wind is too intense for you to handle, but you’re running on pure adrenaline. You push and push until finally the wind pushes back. You gasp as you’re lifted up and thrown back into the snow, hitting your head on the way down.

There it is again, that numb feeling where you’re cold but it burns. It’s feeling but not feeling. You try to touch your head and your fingertips are coated in red. It doesn’t alert you, your heart rate doesn’t change. You lay back down, tears falling and freezing against your cold skin. “I tried,” you whisper before shutting your eyes.

******

The two men are shivering in their boots as they find where your footprints end. Kaveh is thankful Alhaitham put markers while they tracked you down, as he has no idea where they are. They see what looks to be remains of a city entombed in snow. In the distance they see enlightened stone slabs and a slightly open door with a cave to the right. He’s also finally able to see you. The man almost cried as he pushes himself to run toward you. He huffs haphazardly as his emotions start to get the better of him. You’re just laying there in the snow, with a crown of red circling your head like a halo. Kaveh starts to call your name and places his hand on your cheek. His own tears start to fall freely as he takes you in.

Alhaitham comes up behind you and puts his, well your bag down. He knew your bag had the first aid and he takes it out. He carefully lifts your head and your groan. “Thank the archons,” he whispers before starting to wrap your head. Kaveh holds your hand, trying to warm it up, his voice a soft whimper. Once you were carefully assessed for any other injuries, Alhaitham carries you to the cave where there happens to be a camp with firewood. He gently lays you down and wraps you in a blanket. Kaveh starts the fire to keep them warm and hugs you tightly. The air in the cave is more dense and less windy, giving them the chance to speak.

“How long,” Kaveh starts, “do you think she was up here?”

Alhaitham clenches his hands into fists at the thought of you being here alone. “I’m no doctor so I can’t say for certain. But I know her groaning is a good sign. She’s alive, hurt but alive.”

Kaveh sniffles from the cold and his rushing emotions. “Why did she do this?”

“…we can ask her when she wakes up.”

*****

The world seems blurry as voices mesh together. You feel warm and stuck, with a massive headache. You can’t totally move, but you feel secure. Your eyes slowly flutter open and you hiss. Your throat feels drier than the desert of Sumeru. As you take in your surroundings, you're slightly confused. And then you remember. To either side of you are your tent mates and you realize why you felt stuck.

Kaveh is holding you tightly as Alhaitham rests in your lap. Your cheeks muster some heat at the closeness. Did they come find you? Why would they do that?

“Can you stop moving? You’re making sleeping hard.”

Your eyes go wide when you hear Alhaitham’s low morning voice. You see him peer at you through a sleepy haze. You swallow a lump in your throat as you feel the dam break as you cry. Kaveh’s arms tighten around you as he nuzzles your neck.

“Don’t,” he softly breathes, “scare me like that.”

You nod against him and brokenly say, “I’m sorry.”

Alhaitham hums. “We know.”

Your tongue feels caught in a web but the need to unload your heart overcomes you. “…I try so hard to exist. And it hurts.” Kaveh squeezes you tighter. “I just wanted to feel something, anything. And the cold burned, I’ve never felt anything like that. I needed a reason to feel, to keep trying. I do so much and it all feels so meaningless. I thought if I made the top I’d find meaning…but if I died along the way, that would be fine too.”

Your heart starts to lift and feel lighter. It’s not everything you wanted to say or felt, but it captured most of it. Alhaitham tangles his fingers with yours, heart fluttering at the rush of blood under your skin. He won’t say it now as you are recovering, but he wants to be the person you lean on. He never wants you to battle and suffer on your own, and he’s sure Kaveh shares the same sentiment. He’s able to peek at the edge of the cave and sees the early rays of the morning. He hesitates moving you back to Albedo's base and starts hatching a plan of why the three of them left early. He sits up and sees the two of you with tear tracks on your cheeks and his heart swells. “Don’t worry me so much you two.”

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Still Love Me?

This will fill the "I want you to leave marks." space on my @jacklesversebingo card. The prompt will be bolded.

Summary: Y/N wants to help Dean deal with the mark - in whatever way he needs.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Pretty much all just very filthy smut. MOC!Dean. He is harsh, and fairly brutal. Hard, rough, brutal, unprotected P in V sex. Pain/pleasure dynamics (all consensual). Spanking (brief). Tit slapping. Throat fucking. Hard, rough fingering. Spitting. Spit as lube. Brief anal fingering. Name calling. Face slapping (just once) Choking. Oral (f. receiving.) Brief orgasm denial and overstimulation. Reader tied up. Dom/sub vibes. Dom drop. Also angst. Soft Dean. Aftercare. And believe it or not, some fluff.

Pairings: MOC!dean x Reader (You)

Word Count: 5,074

A/N: Blame this fic on raging hormones, and a rewatch of S10. 🤷‍♀️ All I'll say is, heed the warnings. ⚠️

The beautiful dividers used here are created by @talesmaniac89

You awoke from a dream that you immediately forgot, reaching for Dean beside you. But he wasn’t there. You sat up quickly, surveying the room in the dark, and seeing no sign of him. 

You stood up and grabbed Dean's white button down that he’d worn earlier in the day before carelessly draping it over the arm of the chair. He never put his clothes away. A little imperfection of his that made you love him even more, even if it also made you wanna pinch him sometimes. 

“The drawers are RIGHT THERE.” You’d remind him, frustration leaking from your pores. Inevitably he’d smile his charming, irresistible smile and nuzzle his face into the side of your neck, licking and nipping at you and rubbing his scratchy scruff against your sensitive skin, making you giggle and shiver.

“Still love me?” He’d ask teasingly, his little boy expression making you fall in love with him all over again. Every time. 

But under his teasing -  no matter how minor your annoyance with him was, or how happy he was in the moment - beneath that you could always see his genuine fear that one day you’d say no.

Dean Winchester broke your heart sometimes.

You padded out of the bedroom in only Dean’s shirt; Sam was away in Lebanon for the night, having finally asked out a waitress he’d liked for more than a month. He’d texted earlier to say not expect him home before tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.

Go Sammy! you thought with a smile.

You wandered down the bunker’s hallways, checking for Dean in all of his usual haunts; the kitchen first, naturally, but also the library and war room, the Dean cave, the shower room, though you didn’t hear a shower running. Beginning to get a little worried, you decided to check out the basement. As you came to the bottom of the staircase you heard grunting coming from down the hall and frowned.

It sounded like it was coming from the gym. You went to investigate, although you began to suspect why he was awake and hitting a punching bag in the gym in the middle of the night. You walked into the dimly lit gym and stopped to gaze at Dean in awe.

He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and no shirt, a sheen of sweat covering his skin as he moved from foot to foot, pounding on the two hundred pound heavy bag in front of him. Each punch was landed with a grunt of effort, and sometimes his hands moved in combinations too quick for you to follow. He was an extraordinary fighter, beautiful and graceful, and extremely powerful. 

You didn’t get to spy on him for very long. His instincts and sixth sense tended to border on the prescient, so he quickly turned towards you, his face relaxing somewhat as he saw that it was just you. He pulled one of his ear buds out with his taped up hand, breathing heavily. You could hear screaming metal music tinnily coming through the tiny speaker before he shut off the music and stuffed the headphones into his pocket

“Y/N. What are you doing up?”

You smiled and walked towards him. “I woke up and you were gone, so I came looking for you.” You came to a stop in front of him and reached out to wrap your arms around his neck, but he pushed your arms away and stepped back quickly. You frowned at him, more confused than hurt.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, nothing. Sorry, I just…” he swept a hand across his chest. “I’m all sweaty and gross. Trust me, you don’t wanna be near me.”

You chuckled and gave him a mischievous grin. “Been around you all hot and sweaty plenty of times, Winchester; hasn’t bothered me yet.”

But when you closed in on him again, he backed up further, holding up a hand. “Y/N stop it!” He barked at you.

This time his anger at your approach and his obvious disinterest did hurt you a bit, but once again, you thought you knew the problem. You frowned at him.

“Okay. Talk.”

But Dean just shook his head. “Look, I’m just…I just wanna finish my workout…and, you know…” he trailed off.

You put your hands on your hips and tilted your head at him. “You wanna finish your workout? What are you Sam all of a sudden?” You said with a chuckle, trying to lighten his dark mood. 

But he remained dark. His green eyes were hard like flint and his jaw ticked. You began to notice a sort of dangerous, menacing energy rolling off of him. It was the kind of energy, you had to admit, that would make you turn and run in the other direction if you didn’t know and love him.

But his mood wasn’t at all surprising. You’d suspected all along what woke him, why he was down here, and why he didn’t want you close to him. You looked at the mark that sat like a scarred brand on his inner right forearm and felt your stomach clench. You reached out to touch it but Dean yanked his arm away. 

“The mark acting up?” You asked, trying to sound nonchalant, as though you were discussing a toothache instead of the curse that had turned him into a demon once already. You knew it had been getting worse in recent weeks. He used to talk to you when he woke up from a nightmare brought on by the mark, but lately he’d been just brushing them aside. 

“Same as always.” He answered now, as he’d answered many times before.

You shook your head. “Don’t do that, Dean, please. Tell me what you dreamt. Talk to me about what you’re going through. I wanna help.”

Dean shook his head and laughed humorlessly. “You can’t help, Y/N, and I don’t…” He ran a hand over his face and then turned back towards the bag. “I don’t want you around me when I’m like this.” He said, before landing a blow to the heavy bag that made it swing back and forth.

You swallowed and tried to ignore the primal part of you that tended to get animalistic when he was like this. Your body flushed and your core muscles fluttered whenever you could see that hard, hot, hungry look come into his eyes.

You knew it scared him and you wanted to support him; you wanted him to know you'd always believe that underneath everything he would always be the same good, loving, kind man you'd known all these years. 

But sometimes he exuded so much raw masculinity and virility, that it was like a siren song, pulling you in and you were more than willing to risk being dashed upon the rocks if it meant feeling that energy, that power, vibrating around you.

You stepped closer to him and he backed away again, but you pursued him across the gym floor. He scowled deeply at you, nostrils flared. 

“Y/N, what the fuck are you doing? I told you, you shouldn’t be around me right now.”

You shook your head. “You’re wrong, Dean. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here if you want to talk…or…anything.” You said, voice laced with too much meaning for Dean to miss it.

Again his jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked down your body, obviously enjoying the sight of you clothed in only his shirt. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you're asking for, Y/N.”

You stepped closer to him, pushing him back against a stack of mats. “I think I do. I know you wanna fuck me, I know your body is as hot and aching as mine.” You reached up to wrap your hand around the back of his head, playing with the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m here for you, for whatever you need. If you want to expend some of that excess energy, I’m right here - ready to go.”

The only sound in the room was the rough, shallow breaths coming from both of you. Suddenly, quick as a flash, Dean’s hand shot out to bunch your shirt (his really) in one fist and wrench you closer to him. 

“You’re not listening to me, Y/N. Two hours ago I was dreaming about slicing people up, pulling them apart with my bare hands. That violence, the lust, the pounding need to destroy something is still pumping through my veins. I want to fuck something or break something or maybe both.” He dropped his hand from your shirt and pushed it through his hair. “So get away from me unless you want me to do something we’ll both regret.”

Your blood was pumping so hard in your veins, you were surprised Dean couldn’t hear it. You licked your lips and shook your head. “No. I won’t regret it. I want you to use me, I’m here for you, I’m giving you permission to use me…however you need.” You paused for a beat before admitting, "I want you to leave marks."

Dean’s face was almost feral in its intensity and you felt the slick begin dripping down your inner thigh.

"You don't really mean that, sweetheart." Dean grit his teeth, and spoke in a growl.

"Don't I?" You whispered.

You unbuttoned the few buttons holding his shirt closed and let it fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but a white, lacy thong. Dean clenched his fists over and over as his burning hot gaze scorched you completely.

"Last chance, sweetheart. Run." He warned, his voice low and slightly ominous, causing you to shiver.

You shook your head. "No." You said simply; anything more was beyond you at the moment.

A split second passed before Dean pounced. He grabbed you roughly by the throat and landed his open mouth on yours, sweeping his tongue inside. His body radiated restrained power as he kissed you, consumed you. Moving down from your mouth he sucked on the skin below your ear, beginning to make the marks you wanted to see in the mirror the next day. 

He broke away from you and pulled you aside so he could yank down one of the mats from the pile, and toss it on the ground.

"Get down." He ground out, before pushing you to the mat when you didn't move quick enough.

He towered above you, staring down at you as he slowly pulled the tape off his knuckles. His eyes were dark, and wild and made your body shiver slightly in anticipation.

"Take off your panties. I want you on your hands and knees." He told you when he was finished. "I'm gonna fuck you into oblivion." He pushed down his sweats, making you moan deeply as you saw he wasn't wearing underwear. 

You reached for his rock hard cock, but he slapped your hand away, kneeling down and manhandling you into the position he wanted you in before tearing your panties from your body. 

He set you on your hands and knees and pushed against your back until your cheek was pressed tightly against the mat. The position left your ass and pussy completely exposed to him and he took immediate advantage of that, roughly driving three fingers into your dripping hole. 

A cry escaped you and he growled deep and harsh, clearly enjoying the sound. He chased it again by pulling his fingers out and then slamming them back into you, even harder.

"Unf - fu-huck." You gasped out, your whole body vibrating with need. He pulled out and added his fourth finger, ramming into you and forcing your cunt to stretch wide. With most of his hand sunk deep inside your pussy he pressed against your g-spot and made you scream.

He pulled back from the sensitive spot and then punched back into you so hard he almost knocked you over. But he grabbed onto your hip in a bruising grip. His hand was so big, his blunt fingernails dug painfully into the crease of your thigh.

Buried deep inside your cunt he turned his hand so that his thumb could circle the tight, puckered hole of your ass. His hand moved from gripping your hip to spreading your cheeks open.

He spit onto the ring of muscle and you gasped. You had no experience with anal sex, and your stomach flip-flopped half in fear and half in excitement. He spit on you again, rubbing his saliva over your hole with his thumb before breaching it, pushing just the tip in at first. He pulled out and then pushed back further, to his first knuckle. 

The sensation was strange but pleasurable. He pushed his thumb in as far as he could and the unfamiliar stretch burned. He moved his other hand forward and began to push in his other thumb. He spit on you again to lube up the way for his probing fingers. As he pushed both thumbs in completely he pried you open slightly, stretching you and making you whimper, half pain, half pleasure. 

You felt stuffed full of him, both holes stretched open and stinging. Then he pushed his fingers against your sweet spot again, rubbing and pressing there until your walls clenched tightly around him as you exploded, yelling out a rough, ragged sound of pleasure.

As you were coming down, he pulled his hands out of you and stood up. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking on it hard and making you cry out in pain as he used it to pull you to your knees.

Without pausing, he wrenched your head back so your face was turned up to him. Then his hand came down across your cheek, stinging sharply.

"Open your fucking mouth. I wanna make you gag."

You did as he said immediately, feeling your belly clench in spite of the pain, or maybe because of it. He shoved his cock roughly down your throat, getting what he wanted as you choked around him. 

He pulled out and cum and spit dribbled out of your mouth before he pushed back in, even further down your esophagus. He took his free hand and ran his thumb over your bulging throat. 

He pulled out again, letting you barely catch your breath. You coughed hard, your throat already aching from being used so roughly. But Dean held your head in place by your hair and shoved himself in again, until he was fully seated in your throat. 

You gagged around him over and over, but he just wrapped his big hand around your throat and squeezed, gripping his own cock buried deep inside. His fist squeezed tightly and you stopped gagging simply because the immense pressure of his fist allowed for no movement. 

You began to see black spots moving in around the edges of your vision before he finally let go and pulled out his cock. You coughed horribly, raspy, gravelly sounds emanating from you as you struggled to bring oxygen into your lungs.

Before you really had time to recover, Dean yanked you to your feet, his hand still bunched in your hair. Your legs were wobbly, but he pulled you over to one of several workout benches around the room and pushed you down over it, finally letting go of your hair. 

"Don't move." He told you; his voice was dark and sinister and made you start shivering. Your body was aching, but also humming with need. 

You couldn't see what he was doing behind you but suddenly his mouth was buried in your pussy, his hard tongue penetrating you. 

"Dean!" You screamed out, and it hurt your raw throat, but you couldn't help it as his delicious mouth sucked and licked at your throbbing cunt. You wriggled against his mouth and he pulled away making you whimper with want. 

Then you felt his palm crack hard and heavy against your ass and your whimper turned into a gasp and then a moan of pain as he delivered a second blow, making heat bloom and spread across your cheeks.

"I told you not to fucking move." He growled at you. 

You nodded your acknowledgement, a whine leaving you as he returned to pulling you apart on his tongue. You tried hard to stay still, but as he pulled your clit between his swollen lips, you instinctively pushed back against him.

He pulled away again and you knew you'd messed up. He lifted you off the bench easily and brought you back over to the mat on the floor. He threw you down on it and walked away. 

He returned quickly, carrying three long skipping ropes. He got down and knelt over you, one knee on either side of your hips, and grabbed hold of your hands, using one of the ropes to tie them tightly in front of you. Then he stood up and pulled on the rope until your hands were stretched out above your head. He tied it off to something, making it impossible for you to move your arms.

Next he tied the two other ropes to your ankles and stretched your legs wide, making sure your restraints were taut enough that you had absolutely no chance of movement.

He stood over you again, admiring his handiwork, and watching the need spasm across your face. You called out to him, desperate for him to relieve the pulsing ache in your pussy. 

"Dean, please. Please."

He gave in to your pleading and laid down to bury his face in your cunt once again. Your complete inability to move made the teasing, sucking and fucking of his mouth nearly unbearable. He put his big hand flat on your lower belly so you couldn't lift your hips even a little.

You were completely at his mercy as he tortured you with aching, all-consuming pleasure. 

You were screaming now, over and over, just harsh, guttural shouts of desperate need. It was the only outlet you had, the only way to express the overwhelming ecstasy Dean was pulling from your exhausted, trembling body.

He spread your lips wide with his thumbs and flicked the tip of his tongue back and forth against your clit, pulling back again and again when your climax was about to take over. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your arms and legs pulled uselessly against the bonds Dean had tied so tightly.

Finally Dean sat up and then moved up your body. He cupped your tits in both hands and squeezed hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh without mercy, making it feel as though they were being crushed by a vice. He let go to twist your nipples with his strong fingers, making you cry out in pain again. Or maybe it was pleasure. At this point it was almost impossible to tell the two apart.

Dean let go of your nipples and then began going back and forth between your tits, slapping each of them over and over, with sharp, strong, stinging blows. You knew the punishment he was dolling out would likely leave them raw and aching, with bright red marks as evidence of Dean's lust and need for violence.

Finally, he left them throbbing as he grabbed your throat. He didn't squeeze hard, but the threat was there. He hovered above you and then spit in your face. Warm and thick, the saliva slipped down your cheek and Dean shook your head back and forth.

"Open your mouth, bitch." You followed his order immediately, your cunt clenching around nothing at his name-calling. He spit into your open mouth twice and then slid his hand up from your throat to clamp your jaw shut.

"Swallow it." He ordered harshly and you did. He kept your jaw clamped tight in his fist, so that you could only scream quietly through clenched teeth when he was suddenly fucking up into you, rough and fast. He was so big, and so hard, and he went so deep inside you it felt like he'd tear out your guts. 

And yet you wanted more.

Letting go of your face to raise himself up like a push up above you, he forced his way forward , pushing out every ounce of power he had in his hips, to rut powerfully and unendingly into your cunt You came three more times as he continued to pound away at you. He fucked you for so long and jackhammered into you so rough, that your pussy ended up raw and painful as he continued to fuck you. You could feel the damage he was doing to your cervix, ramming into it over and over, leaving it bruised, and making your body ache and throb even on the inside.

And yet, despite all the pain and your complete and utter exhaustion when he gripped your chin in his hand and demanded you open your eyes and look at him, you did so. 

"Give me one more, slut. Squeeze me hard one more time and I'll spill so deep in you, you'll feel me leaking out of this pussy for days."

You felt your belly clench seconds before you gave him what he wanted, your walls spasming around him once again as you shook with your release. 

Dean yelled and cursed as he followed through on his promise, muscles straining above you as his hips stuttered and lost rhythm, and his thick, burning hot cum shot into your womb. He seemed to cum forever, more and more of his seed painting your walls as he shook above you. 

Finally he ended with a groan of repletion and landed on top of you. His heavy weight was a lot for your aching body to take, and every part of you throbbed.

He eventually rolled off of you and you thought he might have drifted out of consciousness for a few minutes. You may have done the same if the painful ache pulsing through you would have let you. 

As you lay beside him, still unable to move because of the ropes tying you in place, you thought about how Dean had used you, just as you'd told him to, marked you as you’d begged him to. Ordinarily Dean was the gentlest of lovers, almost reverent, and he always made your body hum and glow, plucking at you in that perfect way that only he knew. 

But tonight had been something else entirely. There had definitely been times when sex between you and Dean had been a bit more athletic and acrobatic than other times, but it had never been anything like this. You decided that although you certainly wouldn't be able to do this every night, it had been an incredible, pleasurable, hot and thrilling experience, that you wouldn't mind trying again sometime. 

Your body throbbed and you amended your thought. Yes, with a lot of recovery time in between.

Finally, Dean stirred beside you and then turned his head to look at you. It seemed to dawn on him slowly that you were still trussed up, but when it registered completely, he leapt up.

"Shit, Y/N I'm so sorry." He said, untying the ropes around your ankles and wrists. He helped you sit up and you couldn't help grimacing and letting out a sharp cry of pain as you put pressure on your overused pussy, and never-before-fucked asshole.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." You heard the heartbreak and guilt in Dean's voice and you shook your head vehemently, wanting to immediately nip those feelings in the bud.

"Dean, no, I'm fine." You said, but your throat ached and sounded raw as you spoke, making more remorse cloud his expression.

You tried to tell him again, but he just shook his head at you and pressed his lips gently to your forehead.

"Shh, don't try to talk baby. Just put your arms around my neck."

You did and he lifted you easily from the ground. You tried desperately to curtail your groans and gasps of pain, but you weren't always successful as he walked with you slowly down the Bunker's hallways trying not to jostle you.

Eventually, he brought you through the tiled shower room, and into the back area where a wide, deep bathtub, set into the floor and shaped like a hot tub, was waiting. 

He carried you down into the pool-like bathtub and sat you on one of the benches built into the side of the tub. You shivered at the cold tile and Dean nodded.

"I know, baby. I'm gonna fix that right now." He moved over to the big taps, sliding the drain closed, and then turning the water on, letting the gushing, warm water pour into the tub.

He climbed out and gathered up some things as it filled, covering you slowly in heavenly warm, soothing water. 

When it was full, Dean returned to set the things he'd brought down beside you on the edge of the tub. You saw he'd brought over your coconut body wash, as well as your shampoo and conditioner. He also had an exfoliating mitt, and a handheld massager.

He climbed into the tub beside you and simply pulled you into his lap. He held you like that for quite a while, running gentle fingers up and down your skin - on your arms, your legs and your back. He used the water to let his hands glide over you smoothly.

Eventually he turned you so your back was to him, and he began washing your hair. The same fingers that had gripped it so tightly and pulled it so harshly earlier, were now gently massaging your scalp with careful, circular movements.

When he rinsed all the shampoo and conditioner out of your hair he put on the exfoliating mitt which didn't really fit his big hand, but it worked well enough for him to squeeze some body wash onto it and begin to ever so gently exfoliate your skin. When you were covered in sudsy body wash he picked up the massager and began to run it over your body, applying the perfect pressure to the little wheels as they rolled over you, kneading your aching muscles with a beautiful kind of relief.

Finally Dean put the massager down and used his hands to scoop water up over you to rinse everything away. He lifted you out of the bath and wrapped you in a towel, leaving everything where it was so he could carry you to your bedroom and set you on the side of the bed.

He grabbed your lotion off the dresser and after toweling you dry, squeezed some of it into his palm and began to apply it to your skin.

You shifted to lay back against the pillows and he moved with you. He'd spoken very little this whole time, just soothing, nonsensical words and the odd direction here and there, to lift your arms or tilt your head forward. 

You felt like you were moving through a sleepy, peaceful fog as he tended to you, and you sighed deeply and closed your eyes. You must have dozed off because when you woke up the light was low in the bedroom, and you wore one of Dean's band t-shirts. Your blanket was also pulled up and tucked around you.

You looked for Dean beside you but he wasn't there. Then you looked up and sighed in relief as you saw him sitting at the desk with an elbow resting on it and his head held in one hand.

As you watched, you saw him reach up and brush his fingers across his cheek. Your heart cracked when you realized he was sitting alone in the semi-darkness, crying.

"Dean." You called out to him and though your throat still sounded a little rough, it felt much better.

He looked up and quickly ran a hand over his face, obviously hoping you hadn't seen his tears. He came to sit beside you on the bed and brushed your hair back off your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.

"Hey sweetheart, what do you need?" He asked as he poured you a glass of water from the decanter he had sitting there. You took a sip and the cool water was delicious and reviving. You sat up a bit more, hiding your grimace, but Dean saw it anyway.

"Don't move too much, baby."

You shook your head at him, feeling the guilt pouring out of him. "Dean, I'm fine."

His jaw ticked and he picked up your hand to run his finger over the purple bruises that marred your skin from where you strained against the ropes. 

"No, you're not." He raised his head and then tilted your head back gently so he could see the bruises that undoubtedly adorned your throat from where he'd squeezed it so tightly.

Tears clogged his voice as he pulled his hand away from you and then shifted backwards, putting distance between you both. "Look at what I did to you, Y/N." He shook his head as you tried to interrupt him. "And I liked it. I…fucking hell." He cursed and turned his head away from you. 

But you reached up and turned his chin back towards you. "So did I, Dean. I liked it too." He stared at you and you nodded trying to make him listen to you. "All of it. Yeah it was painful at times, but it was also hot as fuck, and I loved it. Might be a while till I'm ready to do it again, but, I hope we will."

Dean's expression told you he desperately wanted to believe you. You leaned forward and kissed his lips, petal soft and then pulled back to run your hand over his cheek. He leaned into the caress and then opened his eyes and his gaze was afraid. 

"Still love me?" He asked, fearfully.

Your heart broke a little and you kissed him again, before staring deep into his eyes, making sure he could see the truth reflected in yours. "Dean Winchester, I will love you every single day for the rest of my life." 

He let out a deep sigh and seemed to accept your words as the truth. You smiled at him and spoke against his lips. "Maybe even a little longer."

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@deans-spinster-witch

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@deanswaywardgirl

@slytherinlyn314

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@maximumkillshot

@mimaria420

@sacriceria

@envyaurora95

@lacilou

@jc-winchester

@spnwoman

@mimi-luvzyu

@jackles010378

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only.

@carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

@alexxavicry

@nancymcl

@spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

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@fanfic-n-tabulous

@k-slla

@stoneyggirl2

[aziraphales-library]

Im scared to ask this, but what is the "infamous cream cheese fic"?/genq

I'm scared to answer this! Warning, warning, warning. I cannot stress enough that you should all thoroughly read the tags very carefully before you decide to read this!...

Swallowing Loneliness by Marvin_Cumbawumba (E) (WIP)

Aziraphale is alone on Earth, but some things, like a good meal or pleasant company, soothe any sore feelings away.

- Mod D

[dontpercievemeplease]

Jashers it’s happened.

Silly Writing with Silly Guys by Foxy is now on ao3!!!

No more having to deal with large google docs :)

Please show Foxy some love!!

Go read it’s so good!!!! They’re brothers your honor I swear-

[k-slla]

Always and forever

A/N: I'm almost finished with my first bingo card- honestly can't believe it! Only one more square after this :)

Square filled for @jacklesversebingo : "You told me you were okay! You promised!" Will be in bold

Warnings: loss of a child, grieving, attempted suicide, lots of angst, survivor's guilt, car accident (mentioned only)

A/N2: I can only imagine the pain of having to bury your child, but losing a loved one in car accident because of a drunk driver is unfortunately far too familiar to me. Don't drink and drive.

W/C: ~2k | My Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

All mistakes are mine. Reblogs/Likes/Comments always appreciated!

Never would have you imagined that loss of your child is something you'd ever have to go through. You wouldn't wish this upon anyone.

You and Jensen were standing now at the open door of the funeral home, with you cramped up to his hand, unable to move. Guilt, pain, shame, anger and all other negative emotions that come with grief, were crushing you from the inside. Jensen saw you struggling and pulled you against him, keeping you close. “We have to go inside. They're waiting for us.”

You didn't even bother to try and keep your tears at bay.

“I know, but..I c-can’t.. I can't move.” You looked up at your husband, who was sharing your pain, and tried his best to ease from the guilt and shame that had overcome you. He pressed his lips softly to your forehead, whispering. “I know..baby, I know, but I am here with you. Always and forever.” You felt a warm tear running down his cheek against yours.

“I just need a little more time. Little more before I say goodbye to her.” You hid your face into his neck. He hugged you tight as both of you stood still in the brisk autumn air.

You remember clearly the day you held her for the first time. As if you could ever forget that. You never believed those talks about how after giving birth you immediately forget everything after you see your baby. You never believed it to be true. How would it be possible to forget the physical pain so easily? But when you finally saw your tiny baby girl, you didn't think of the pain you went through, all that was occupying your mind was just how incredibly beautiful she was.

“Do you have a name for her yet?” Nurse next to you asked Jensen while you were still admiring the little bundle in your arms. “Aspen. Aspen Joelle Ackles.” he whispered and lightly dried his eyes from the tears. “Welcome to the world, baby Aspen.” The nurse smiled.

You laid in the bed, tired, but still smiling at Jensen when you saw him holding your daughter in his arms for skin-on-skin contact, beaming from happiness.

Both you and Jensen got used to your new roles as parents quickly. He still had to return to filming the show, but you weren't alone and he was home every weekend like clockwork. For five years your lives were perfect, until the accident that broke your little family.

He hugged you tight for the last time, and from the corner of your eye you saw all your friends and family waiting for you and Jensen to join the memorial service for your daughter. With your head held down, you walked into the room side by side with him. The silence in there was deafening, as everyone patiently waited for you to sit down.

A quick glance at the casket in the middle of the room made it almost impossible for you to keep your sobs under control. It was just heartbreakingly small.

Life is full of all kinds of twists and turns, you knew that, but it was just unfair how in the game of life and death, Aspen was the one to lose and the drunk driver responsible for your car accident was able to walk away unharmed. You just couldn't accept it. But it seemed that it was like this most of the time with these situations.

Innocent souls always seemed to be the ones who lost.

The memorial went by with your mind being completely fogged up. Both of your parents said a few words on your behalf, to make it a little bit easier for you, but you couldn't register anything they said. You were just focused on Jensen next to you, tightly holding onto your hands. One by one your closer family started saying their goodbyes to Aspen. You wanted to be left alone in there with Jensen for yours, because even now you were just barely holding on.

A week was all that was possible for Jensen to get off from work for the funeral. A week. Then he had to return to Vancouver for filming. Your parents were visiting almost daily, but you wished they’d rather leave you alone. Only person you needed for comfort was your husband and he had to work. You actually encouraged him to go work. He offered to stay with you, no matter the consequences, but you couldn't do that to him. You knew what it meant for him to be able to work on the show. And working has always eased his mind from anything, so you hoped it would make grieving a little easier for him too.

Each day you could feel the guilt starting to slowly eat you up more, and depression began to deepen its roots inside you. All day and night, your mind was always racing with the possibilities of different outcomes. What if?

What if you would've told Jensen to take a taxi home from the airport? What if you would've waited five more minutes at home before leaving to pick him up? What if you would've left five minutes earlier? Would any of this have changed anything? Would your daughter be still alive? All of this was playing in your head like a broken record, but you'd never know.

Day by day, everything started to get even more overwhelming. Eating. Getting out of bed. You were either sleeping all day or you weren't sleeping at all. All those small every day motions. It was all too much. But you still didn't look for help. You couldn't admit to anyone that you needed it, not even Jensen. On the outside, with each passing day, your smile was growing. On the inside, you felt nothing other than the guilt of you surviving the accident instead of your daughter. It got too painful for you to even exist, so you were looking for an easy way out.

Jensen didn't talk to you at all, when he visited you in the hospital, but you were still glad that he even came. Even if he just sat there beside your bed, you saw how he was barely keeping himself together each time he glanced at you. Slightly sniffling, but still silent. Past few months have not been kind to either of you. Worry, grief, pain- everything had left their mark, aging you more than they should have. While there wasn't a point to try to come up with excuses for yourself, you still felt like you had to say something. “I'm sorry, Jensen.” Your voice was barely above whisper. It wouldn't make anything better, but it was all you managed to say.

You saw that his green eyes were full of hurt and betrayal when he got up from the chair, not even acknowledging your apology. “I have to speak to your doctor.”

You were kept in hospital for a few days, under “observation”. In other words - to make sure you were mentally stable enough that you wouldn't try to take your life again. You knew that even if they'd let you home sooner, Jensen wouldn't leave your side. Even now he only left the hospital for an hour or so every day, the rest of the time he sat in the chair by your bed, even slept in it. But now he had come home for a longer time to be with you, as the filming for the season had ended.

When you were finally let home, the drive there was again in deafening silence. You noticed him fidgeting nervously with the steering wheel. As soon as you got home, you just planted yourself onto the sofa in the living room. Jensen joined you a moment later and both of you sat there for a while without speaking. Time seemed to move so slowly.

He finally moved a little bit closer to you, but didn't look at you when he started speaking. “Why?” His voice was completely broken, as was he himself too. “Why did you do this, Y/N?” You turned to take a closer look at him. The lines around his eyes were now more prominent than they used to. His beard was also longer than he usually kept. The overall look of him was just like there was only a shell left of the man he used to be.

“I-I just didn't want to be here without you anymore.” You finally managed to whisper. “It was too much for me.”

You couldn't turn your eyes away from him, and at last he met your gaze, his eyes seemed to be full of even more pain than before.

“Why did you let me leave then?" He asked quietly. "I told you I'd stay with you.”

“I knew you'd feel better when you'd be away from here, working. I didn't want to be the reason to keep you here.”

He scoffed. “So you opted for suicide instead of calling me home? Instead of talking to me? I'm your husband. You know I would've left anything behind for you in a heartbeat. Always, sweetheart.”

“You would've probably been fired.”

“I don't care about that! I care about you! I only left because you told me to! I asked you to come with me.” He tried to get his voice under control, not to be yelling at you, but it was without success. “You told me you were okay! You promised!” He paced around in the living room, trying to calm down.

Your voice didn't fail to match his tone. “How could I ever be okay? I lost my daughter. I will never be okay with that!”

“I lost her too. I lost my baby too.” He came to kneel in front of you.

Both you were broken, crying, letting out emotions you had kept in for so long, desperately seeking consolation from one another. “No one will ever ask us to be okay with losing her. We just have to be there for each other, but you almost left me completely alone..” he reached his hand out for your cheek. “I was so close to losing you too, do you even realize that? When I got the call, I..” he couldn't finish his sentence. You finally saw what you would've left behind if your attempt would've been successful. Your parents would've had to bury their daughter, just as you did. Jensen would've buried his daughter and wife in a span of short six months. The thought of that made you broke down again.

“I'm sorry, Jensen.” You felt the wall that kept your emotions at bay, crumble at your feet. “It's just- I feel guilty..for the accident.” You were now sobbing hard as Jensen sat next to you again. “I should’ve taken some other route or anything. I should've done something. I feel like it's all my fault.”

He pulled you up into his lap before closing his arms around you. “It was not your fault, Y/N..It was not, and you wouldn't have been able to stop it.” he sighed. You let him hold you tight and rested your head onto his shoulder. “It's hard for me to believe that.” You sniffled.

“I know I haven't been home a lot, but when was the last time you visited AJ's grave?” Jensen asked softly. You took a little time to think. You realized it had been way too long. “I can't remember.” You answered him. “I just couldn't go there alone.” You had to admit with a heavy heart.

“Let's go there together then, hm?” You only nodded against his chest.

“Honey, please look at me for a second.” He begged gently. “Please promise me that you'll never push your emotions down, because you think that would make me feel better. I never want you to feel like you have to keep your feelings in because of what would be better for me. Never. I will always be here for you. Always, because that's what I promised to you.”

You locked eyes with him and gave your promise to Jensen, as you made him promise the same to you. You were in this together, you will heal together. It wouldn't happen in a blink of an eye, but eventually you knew it would get easier. It just had to. You just had to be there for him, like he always stood beside you.

Always and forever.

Taglist (always open): @jackles010378 @cevansbaby-dove @deanwinchestersgirl87 @il0vebeingdelulu @alternativeprincess94 @suckitands33 @nescavaneck

[inazumass]

Lost In The Fire || Part One

I just got out of surgery and realized I forgot to post this one on tumblr... priorities. No smut in this part, but be aware that its me and there will be smut later on... Minors do not follow me please, you will be blocked.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57089236

WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, major character death, semi graphic descriptions of violence, blood, death, nightmares, Pro Hero Suneater Lemillion and Nejire Chan, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, mutual pining, GN!Reader, No use of Y/N, freeform, Recommended for mature readers due to violence/blood

Word Count: 6.9k

Smoke rose high in the sky and he could hear the sound of sirens blaring outside, their urgent cries echoing off of the nearby buildings as he ran through the darkened hallways. Tamaki’s body felt heavy as he ran, almost as if he were running through quicksand. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was about to come up through his throat. It wasn’t good, he was panicking and he knew it. There was no time to think, no time to slow down. 

 The screams of civilians rang out from all around him but there was no one here. He could hear the fight going on, but it seemed as if it was coming from all around him now. All alone in the hall, all he could do was run blindly toward the mayhem. Pain shot through his body as glass crunched beneath his bare feet. He didn’t care, only letting out a strained hiss as he rounded the outer corner inside the large office building. Following the sound of the chaos. 

He couldn’t remember how the four of you had gotten so split up. Was it during the blast? He could have sworn you were just right beside him. That didn’t matter now, he needed to find someone. Anyone. The three of you were tough, he knew that. You, Mirio, and Nejire were all forces to be reckoned with in your own right. When it came down to a fight you weren’t just threats, you were a goddamn promise to bring any nearby enemies to their knees.

He knew you could handle it.

So what was with this feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach threatening to devour him from the inside out?

The villain– he hadn’t caught his name– was unlike any he’d ever seen before. That hulking form, those horrible blasts… Was this his quirk? Or did he have two somehow… he didn’t look like a Nomu when he’d seen the guy. Was he working with someone else? 

Down the hallway a familiar voice broke through the chaos.

“Suneater, where are you?!” 

It sounded broken, desperate, and so, so unlike you. 

The hero raced to the end of the hallway, leaping over debris as he raced toward the voice, your voice. He was so close, even as his feet went numb from the pain of running through broken glass he didn’t stop. He still couldn’t tell where the fight was but he didn’t need to right now. The urgency in your voice was unmistakable, even in a few short words he could hear the wobble in it. It was all wrong, this was bad.

Tamaki all but skittered to a halt as he reached another bend in the hallway and saw you there, hunched over in the middle of the hall. 

There was blood, so much blood.

“It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay, just stay with me.” You all but sobbed out. From your tone it wasn’t clear whether you were trying to convince yourself or the body beneath you. “I’ll get someone to get help.”

At first he couldn’t see who it was in front of you, their body obscured by your form, their clothes tattered and stained with the deep crimson of what he could only assume was their life force draining from them at an alarming rate. He didn’t even have time to panic.

His blood ran cold when he moved forward to see Mirio crumpled beneath you, his usually vibrant violet eyes glassy, barely open as he tried to focus on your face. Tamaki could practically see the colour draining from them as he stared down at him in horror. 

He didn’t know what to do at first, and that split second of freezing would cost him, he was certain. 

“I’ll be fine.” Mirio rasped out with a broken smile, coughing and sputtering up blood to punctuate his sentence as he looked up at the two of you.

Tamaki rushed to your side, attempting to assess the damage but he couldn’t see past all the blood. It was a mess. Your hands were braced against the blond’s sturdy body, your firm grip trying to slow the bleeding as best as you could, putting pressure on the worst of his wounds. 

Mirio’s cape was wrapped around him tightly, ripped pieces of it tied against his arms and legs like makeshift tourniquets– no, not like, that’s exactly what they were. How bad was it? Could he have stopped it even if he had been here?

“I-I can’t move him. I have to put pressure on his wounds you need to-”

“I’ll get help.” Tamaki muttered, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder before turning away.

His throat was dry, his mind was spinning. He’d get someone from support, he'd find someone, who could handle this- He had to keep a level head. Don’t succumb to panic. Be realistic about this; manifest wasn’t suited for healing, he knew that. He knew you were better suited to handle the situation. But he couldn’t help but feel useless running away from someone in need. 

But you were usually so calm in crisis situations, and he couldn’t get the image of your tear stained face out of his mind, the tired look on Mirio's as he got closer and closer to losing consciousness. You knew more about first aid than he did, you were a better healer than he could ever be– but now wasn’t the time to compare.

The support team had to be outside by now, he could swear he’d seen paramedics from the windows earlier he just had to find a way to-

“LOOK OUT!” 

That was Nejire, her pale hand outstretched as she rushed past him. But she wasn’t talking to him, no, she’d been looking past him. His neck turned so fast it nearly gave him whiplash as he watched her race toward you and Mirio. At that moment it felt like time slowed down. It was as if he could see things in slow motion, but he couldn’t move fast enough.

Three things happened next in quick succession.

First, the sound of shattering glass ripped through the air, the window exploding in a glittering sea of shards that rained down on the three people he cared most about. Glass tore across your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and braced for impact, unable to take your hands off of the man in front of you in fear of losing him too.

Second, the section of the hallway you were in started to get darker. It was as if night had descended upon the three of you in an instant. Nejire tried to let out a blast but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t fast enough. Even just from a quick glance at her it was clear that she’d nearly entirely exhausted her stamina in the fight. Mirio told you and Nejire to run but you wouldn’t move, you couldn’t leave him there. Cries of ‘just go, leave me’ and ‘you need to run’ followed by your voice breaking when you told him you couldn’t just leave him there to die.

Finally, the source of the darkness bit into the ceiling above the three of you. Something– one of the villains surely– had sent an ambulance hurtling straight through the outside wall of the hallway from the street below. Tamaki had already stretched out his tentacles to try and grab his friends but it was too late, he’d just barely gotten a grip on you and Nejire when the ceiling began to crumble.

He’d caught you both just in time to watch as the vehicle slammed into the wall, completely obliterating his outstretched appendages and pinning the pulverised remnants to the ground. His eyes went wide, his mouth opened in a scream he couldn’t hear as the rubble crashed into the three of you. He watched as Mirio closed his eyes and clasped your fists, his lips moved but Tamaki couldn’t hear him over the sound of crunching metal and crumbling concrete.

Nejire’s scream rang in his ears before she gurgled and went eerily silent. He couldn’t look, his eyes slammed shut as soon as he’d seen the piece of broken concrete headed in her direction. There had been no time to move, by the time he’d already stretched out his arm to save her it was already too close. He knew he didn’t want to see what came next. There was no time to drive, no time to let it sink in.

His left arm was ruined, but he could still save the two of you. 

There was still time.

At least that’s what he thought. Your eyes found his, a resigned look on your face as you stared back at him with that gentle smile that always comforted him. The world slowed around him again, he’d hoped this time it was merciful. If he could just get a grip on you and Mirio he might be able to get the three of you outside and to the paramedics before he succumbed to blood loss. Your mouth opened to say something right before the shattered rebar went straight through your head and the ceiling rained down on you and Mirio.

Tamaki jerked awake in his bed shortly thereafter, his heart still pounding in his ears. His pulse was through the roof, tears were already streaming down his face as he sat up in the darkness. His breaths came out in ragged pants as he tried to calm himself down. He fought the urge to scream, grasping at his left arm as if he expected it not to be there. 

It was just a dream… It was just a dream but it had all felt so real that he could swear he still felt the sting of the glass biting into the soles of his feet. 

A shaking hand clamped over his mouth as the first sob of many wracked his body. Tamaki curled in on himself in bed, covers long abandoned during his tossing and turning in the night. His body shook with the force of his cries as he recalled the image of the three of you dead on the floor in front of him. His arm stung with the memory of being pinned beneath the gnarled shreds of metal. But it was still there, free of the blood and gore his mind had created just to torment him in the dead of night.

He tried hard not to close his eyes for too long, for if he did the image would come rushing back instantaneously. The way Mirio’s blood pooled and seeped into the carpet, the empty look in your eyes as you left your body, the death rattles of yours and Nejire’s last breaths– He gagged at the thought, nausea bubbling up in his stomach as he fought back the urge to vomit.

A hand clamped over his mouth in the darkness as soon as he felt the bile rising in his throat. A choked sob muffled out around his palm. He was shaking like a leaf already, trying to breathe to calm himself but unable to take in enough air through the sobs. A quick glance at the clock told him it was well past midnight. 

Once his cries had calmed enough, he considered calling Mirio and Nejire. He picked up his phone, staring at the dim screen for a moment before deciding against it. What was he supposed to say? What would they think of him texting them this late? He couldn’t just say “Hey, I had a nightmare and I just really need you to wake up and text me back right now and tell me that you’re alive”. 

No. Absolutely not. That would be ridiculous and so embarrassing. 

Eventually he got up on wobbly legs, walking across the room to grab the water bottle off of his desk. He took a long drink to replace what he’d lost through his tear ducts. His head was pounding now, the tears still streaming freely down his face as he braced himself against the wooden surface for support.

If nothing else, the cool wood was grounding him here to reality. There were no villains here, he was in his room, the air was cool, the night was calm.

He moved to walk back to his bed so he could find a way to force himself to take his mind off of it before a sharp pain bit into the bottom of his foot and sent a shock through him with his last step. Glass. He thought briefly, his mind going right back to the rush of his heartbeat in his ears and the stench of iron in his nose. 

When he jumped back, he realised that it was only a stray pin that had fallen off of his bag at some point. Its sharp point sticking up from the carpet and laying in wait for an unsuspecting victim. But the damage was done. That pain sent the images from the nightmare flashing behind his eyes once again, another shaky cry ripping from his throat. He couldn’t take it anymore, stewing in this alone. At this rate he’d never get back to sleep and he’d spend the rest of the night thinking about the image of your crumpled bodies on the hallway floor.

It wasn’t like Tamaki to invade your personal space, especially when it came to the late hours of the night. He was the type of roommate who was content to be a ghost in the apartment, often hiding away in his bedroom or leaving you to your own devices unless you happened to approach him first. In the months that you two had shared the space, he had never dared to so much as bother you after you’d gone to bed for the night. 

But right now he couldn’t stop himself. 

Even as his hands shook reaching for your bedroom door, he cursed himself internally for how pitiful he was right now. A shaking, crying mess all because of one stupid little nightmare. Still, he needed to make sure you were alright, he hoped you were awake. He couldn’t take this alone, as much as he didn’t want you to see him like this. 

He wanted to run back now but he’d already called your name as he went and knocked on your door.

“A-are you awake?” A quiet little sniffle punctuated his question as the door pushed open from his light knocking. 

The hinges squeaked quietly in the darkness, just barely disturbing your slumber as you slowly came to. Tamaki froze, suddenly feeling even more guilty for having woken you up as you whined at the intrusion, grumbling softly about how late it was before your eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

"Mmh.... Tamaki?" You muttered, lightly rubbing sleep from your eyes as you looked up at him in your doorway.

Even through your sleepy haze and the dim lighting of the bedroom they could see the tears welled up in his eyes. In an instant you were completely awake, sitting up quickly without a second thought. The covers of your bed slipped down into your lap and you shoved them away. 

"What’s wrong?" You asked softly, your mind already running through the possible worst case scenarios as you searched for some kind of hint in his eyes. 

Even with the tears sliding down his cheeks you could see his shoulders relaxing as he laid eyes on you. Then he seemed to stiffen up a little as the dam broke again and he let out a muffled sob. 

“I-I’m sorry,” He whimpered, feeling awful about having woken you up. This was so embarrassing, he should have simply dealt with it on his own, of course you were fine. It was just a stupid nightmare and here he was crawling into your room like an idiot and-

“Hey, hey…” You cooed, reaching out to grab his hand from where you sat on your bed before thinking better of it. 

"Here, come here… Is it okay if I hold you right now?"

Despite the urge to run back to his room and bury himself in his covers he sniffled and nodded, allowing you to gently pull him down to sit next to you. You felt the bed shift beneath you as he joined, leaning into your one armed hug and hiding his face in your shoulder.

Your familiar touch was just enough to begin to lure him back into some sense of security and comfort once more. The light scent of the soap you used still clinging to your body replaced the stench of iron lingering in his mind, aiding in calming him down. He squeezed his eyes shut, only to be met with that horrible image from his nightmare once again. 

It was as if it had never left his mind, just waiting behind his eyelids to torment him every time he closed them. 

You wrapped your other arm around him then, feeling him shift uncomfortably at the memory. Reaching behind him, you grabbed your comforter, pulling it tight around the both of you for added security.

“It’s okay,” Your soft voice cooed as you rubbed his back. 

It was both mortifying and absolute bliss being babied like this, but he didn’t have time to enjoy it right now. Too busy reliving those images from his nightmare over and over.

This had never happened before, you couldn’t think of a single time when you’d seen him cry so openly, much less a time when he’d come into your room announced or otherwise. It was unclear how the best way to handle it would be so you just kept rubbing gentle circles in his back, hoping that he might soon calm down enough to tell you what was going on. 

“It’s alright, Tamaki.” You breathed, resting your cheek against the top of his head as you held onto him.

It was a few moments before his whimpers and sniffles calmed down enough for you to feel like you could ask; “Do you wanna talk about it?”

His voice was smaller than usual, almost fragile as he began to speak. 

"I... I guess," his voice wobbled as he tried to think about how to explain it. He at least owed you that for disturbing your peace so late at night. 

“It… it was awful,” Tamaki’s voice broke again, a hand clamping down over his mouth as he tried to stifle the sob that came out.

"It's okay, honey, take your time." You whispered, still rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe his cries. Of course, you wanted to know what possibly could have upset him enough that he would let you see him like this. 

"I-I had a nightmare..." He confessed, as if having read your mind. The elf eared boy sniffled again between his words as he tried to explain. His voice was trembling slightly as snapshots of the dream played on loop in his mind, taunting him. He didn’t want you to know the full scope of it. 

"I… I couldn't protect them..."

Ah, so that was it. You nodded gently, cheek moving to rest on your roommate’s shoulder as he cried. 

He was grateful for that, your gaze obscured from his view thanks to his messy hair obscuring his pitiful expression before he buried his face in your shirt. You were kind enough to spare him the burden of being perceived in full right now, knowing that he might very well shrivel up and die right here if he had to look at you in the state he was in.

"It's okay," You breathed.

You were tired but glad that he trusted you enough to feel safe here in your arms. It broke your heart to see him so distressed. 

Of course being a professional hero would come along with this sort of stress. It only made sense that these sorts of fears would creep in sooner or later but it didn't mean that it was something he needed to work through alone. Especially after all the four of you had been through together.

Even so, you didn't know what to say yet, unsure on how to comfort him best. 

"I woke up feeling so guilty and scared..." He mumbled, his tears staining your night shirt as he spoke. 

He had never felt such an intense fear before, and it was eating away at him from the inside out.

"I can't stop thinking about it…” 

Your grip on your roommate tightened a little bit as he continued on, your throat tightening at the way his voice broke when he talked about it. 

“It’s okay,” You repeated, mind blanking as you fought to find the right words to say to him in the moment. “I know how bad they can be… it was just a nightmare.” You said, giving him a tight squeeze as he began to cry harder. 

You knew it wasn’t enough, that facts didn’t care about things surrounding the realm of feelings and fear. It wasn’t enough that it wasn’t real, but you couldn’t think of anything more to say as he sobbed into your chest.

Having graduated from the hero support program, you couldn’t imagine the sort of pressure he was under in his current position. Four years of training and the two of you were in completely different leagues, on different yet similar paths. You’d both fought countless villains, but you were never the one to face things head on unless you were completely out of options. It was a blessing that you’d gotten the quirk you had, but it lacked combat potential. Healing could be used for torture and restraint, but only if you desperately needed to.

“What do you need me to do for you right now?” You asked, not sure if it would be better to help him find some sort of distraction or to let him cry it out for a little bit longer.

"Just... stay here with me, please..." He mumbled, still shaking slightly. He’d feel awful about this moment tomorrow for sure, but for now in your arms and beneath your duvet it felt like he was being engulfed in a safe haven. “I…” Tamaki’s voice quivered.

As much as he wanted to hold it back he couldn’t help it when the words came rushing out. "I-I thought I lost you." He sobbed out, thinking back to the moment in his dream when he’d watched in horror as blood gurgled out of your throat 

His voice was barely a whisper at the end, breaking in the middle of his confession. Quiet sobs wracked his body while he cried, his slender fingers gripping you even tighter as he buried his face in your neck now. He didn't want to go back to sleep yet, not wanting to risk seeing the images from that nightmare again. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, let alone having to watch his closest friends all dying in front of him because he wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough.

That simple sentence felt like a stab in the gut, momentarily rendering you immobile while you held him. You froze. Tamaki’s cries broke your heart and all you could do was squeeze him back as he cried in your arms. 

"I'm right here, Tama', it's okay." You breathed, gently stroking his deep indigo hair while holding onto him tightly. Determined to banish the nightmare from his mind, you continued: "I'm not going anywhere, it's okay... I'm here.” 

His hair was soft beneath your fingertips. It was a mess from tossing and turning in his sleep, but you didn’t mind.

"Y-you... promise?" He asked between sobs, gripping onto you as if his life depended on it. 

It was obvious to you that the nightmare had shaken him to his core. You didn’t dare press for more information.

Perhaps he just needed to know that someone was there for him at that moment. That you were here, alive and well. Something about your warmth pressed in next to him was enough to push the memory away for now. The soft smell of your body wash lingered on your skin, something akin to the calming rush of lavender flooding his nose and easing his racing thoughts. 

"Cross my heart." You replied, playing with his hair as you gently rocked him back and forth. You swayed slowly, the gentle motion slowing his sobs. "I'm sorry you had that nightmare, but it's okay. I'm alright, I'm safe." 

For now, the memory of your blood staining the hallway in front of him was slowly replaced with this moment. The nightmare slowly faded to a dull, uneasy ache. Calloused hands gripped the thin fabric of your tearstained shirt, determined to keep you close regardless. Even if the panic was gone for now, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to let you out of his sight for the foreseeable future.

"Mmm... th-thank you..." He murmured, his sobs slowly subsiding as he calmed down.

You offered him a gentle smile as you pulled back from the hug. The dim moonlight filtered in through the curtains in your bedroom, bathing it in a soft silvery glow. Slowly, you reached a hand up to brush away the tears from his pretty face. Your thumb swiped lightly across his cheek before you pulled your hand away from him.

The soft glow from outside cradled your head like a halo. Tamaki just blinked up at you, eyes bloodshot and sparkling with unshed tears as you treated him so delicately. 

"Of course, what are friends for?" You replied.

You didn’t see the way he looked away from you then, that subtle ache rising in his chest at the rhetorical question. He understood the sentiment well enough, and he was thankful that he’d been lucky enough to be your roommate.

"Y-yeah..." He agreed softly, staring at you for a moment before letting out a deep breath.

He was never one to be all that optimistic or cheerful. This was especially true when it came to matters involving himself or his physical strength… or really anything that had to do with his own self image. 

Even then he'd never let anyone see him this bad, but it had all felt so real in the moment. Too real, too possible. If he had allowed himself to stew in silence he’d still be able to hear the way your scream echoed, piercing the air sharply and ringing through his mind even after he’d woken up. His arm lingered around you, his grip on the fabric of your shirt slowly easing up as he convinced himself that everything was okay. 

Even if it wasn’t real… the situation was all too plausible in your line of work. What if he couldn’t get to you in time? Heroes couldn’t save everyone, even before graduating UA he knew that. During the war it got drilled into his head to the point where he couldn’t forget it no matter how badly he wanted it to be a lie.

"I'm... sorry I woke you." He mumbled, though the apology was sincere.

"Don't be, I'm glad you did." You replied, gently reaching up to tuck a strand of hair back behind Tamaki's pointed ears. "You can stay in my room as long as you like."

"Really?" He asked, as if surprised by the offer. It took a second for it to settle in but he was grateful nonetheless. "T-th... thanks." 

"Of course!" Honestly, a little part of you was grateful that you’d earned his trust enough for him to come and seek you out for comfort. 

Tamaki wasn’t one to seek out help when it concerned his insecurities or anxiety. Though his timid nature was adorable, getting to know him had been like trying to earn the trust of a feral kitten. The process had been long and slow, but you thanked your lucky stars that you’d gotten to the point in your friendship that you did. 

"Is there anything else I can do for you right now?" You asked, knowing that your roommate was still upset but not knowing what would be best for him right now... silent comfort, maybe a late night snack? A distraction? It was unlikely he’d want to divulge more about it while he was still coming down from the rush of fear and adrenaline. You weren't sure what he needed right now, and considering it was far past quiet time in your apartment building it was hard to say whether or not it would be a good idea to risk making a commotion in the kitchen and possibly waking up your downstairs neighbour. 

"No, just... staying here with you is enough." He replied, still slowly relaxing into the warmth of your presence. He let out a soft sigh, his breath hitching slightly as he felt tears sting at the back of his eyes again.

Without thinking, you reached out and squeezed his hand softly, wanting to reassure him that he was safe here no matter what. Whatever he needed right now he would get, though you may not have wanted to admit it aloud, you'd always had a soft spot for Tamaki. 

Something about his soft nature, his lack of self confidence despite the power he wielded both mentally and physically, it struck a chord with you. No matter what you promised yourself that you would always cheer him on. Something about your bashful roommate made your heart flutter no matter how much you tried to ignore it. He was just so sweet. 

He squeezed your hand back gently, leaning back into the touch as a sense of comfort washed over him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts and slow his heartbeat once more. 

Unbeknownst to you, before you’d gotten closer you had always set him on edge. Though it was more prevalent in your relationship at the beginning. 

Despite your best efforts he could never gather up the courage to start conversations with you. It had been so hard for him to talk to you, even after you’d been taken in by his group of friends. Even when Nejire and Mirio had conveniently left the two of you two your own devices on more than one occasion.

The elf eared boy would never admit it to you, much less to himself, but you sent his heart fluttering from day one. 

The easy way you spoke with the others as if you’d been old friends, your kind hearted nature. He could never forget the first time you’d healed him after a training accident, the way your fingers pressed carefully against his heated skin. The sharp pain of the bones snapping back into place had been the last thing on his mind. Your gaze had been so soft as you reassured him that it was alright, how you had calmly listened to him when you’d dragged a story out of him to keep him talking and keep his mind off the injury while you worked.

Your movements pulled him back to reality as one arm moved to pull the covers up a little bit, making sure Tamaki was covered up as well before you moved to lay back down against your soft bedding. Your grip on his hand never faltered though, reassuring him that you’d be here as long as he needed. Your thumb ran softly against the back of his hand in slow soothing circles.

Exhaustion was already creeping back into your bones as the dip in your bed welcomed your body. Your head rested against your pillow, unconsciously making space in the bed for him while your eyes fell shut.

"I... I think I'll be okay now." He whispered, closing his eyes as he listened to your soft breathing beside him. He felt a warmth spreading through his chest at the contact. With Mirio and Nejire living on the opposite side of the neighbourhood, it was nice having someone closer in proximity to rely on when things got tough. 

Tamaki would never have been confident enough, even in his darkest moments, to reach out for you at a time like this. If it weren’t for the fact that you shared all but a room he may have never gotten a moment alone with you like this.

You smiled at his whispered words, your soft lips curving up into a sweet smile that crinkled your eyes. 

"I'm glad... I'm sorry about your nightmare though, that must have been awful." Had it been reversed, you might have done the same thing. Just seeing him so shaken up made your heart ache, you couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose him... dream or not.

At least now you were happy to hear that he was feeling at least a little better now. 

With the fear gone now he could feel the warmth creeping back into his cheeks as embarrassment began to flood his senses again. It really was pathetic of him to creep in here while you were sleeping. He should have been able to deal with this on his own, after all it was just a stupid nightmare, right? 

"I-it's just a dream... you know? No need to apologise." He stammered, his voice wavering as he tried to convince himself of the same sentiment. 

He still couldn’t look at you or the spot where your hands lay connected on your bed. He was doing an awful job of persuading himself. Dream or not, he’d felt it all as if it were happening in real time. With the rise in organised crime and villainous behaviour across the nation still recent enough to be fresh in his memory it was safe to assume that there would be many more battles ahead of you both. 

Even pro heroes had people they couldn’t save. He’d repeated to himself in his mind.

All Might himself couldn’t save every citizen during a disaster, so why would he be any exception? 

"I know... but I wish you didn't have to worry like that, you know?" You smiled sadly up at the ceiling as you spoke, still not wanting to subject him to your gaze while he was feeling low.

A beat passed before you added on to what you’d been saying. "Plus, I'm super quick.” It was halfway between teasing and a joke, and he could practically hear the smile in your voice even without turning to look at you. 

You weren’t wrong there, but everyone slips up sometimes. Attacks with a healing quirk had limitations, and as fast as you were there was always someone faster.

"And you're super strong, Tamaki!" You continued, “You’re an incredible hero.” He just needed a little more confidence in himself, and you knew Fatgum tried his best to help him in that area but that sort of thing didn’t just change overnight. 

It was a learned behaviour, something that came from within. Slowly replacing negative thoughts with positive ones may have sounded easy enough, but it was even more than that. Though, you’d be lying if you said that his reserved, bashful nature didn’t send your heartrate through the roof whenever he’d look away with a deep blush in his cheeks. The way the tips of his ears tinged red with embarrassment at the slightest thing.

"You’re just saying that," He whimpered.

A part of him truly believed that you’d only say something like that to reassure him and feed his nonexistent ego. Still, he couldn’t help the way his eyes sparkled a little in the low light of the room at your praise. 

Some small part of him cherished those kind words. It was no secret that he struggled with his self perception more often than not, but hearing it from someone he admired and trusted did feel good. Even when Mirio or Fatgum said nice things to him there was a small part that secretly took it to heart.

"Are you kidding? I mean it!” You shot back lightheartedly. 

“I've seen the way you fight when we were all training… and the way you took on those three villains all by yourself during the Shie Hassaikai raid was so badass! Not to mention everything you did during the war…” your voice trailed off a little at the thought, glancing down at the scars on your arm from that time. You were lucky those were the only souvenirs you’d received. 

“You're way cooler than you realise, Suneater." You smiled, heart fluttering a bit at that little flicker in his eyes. “Not only are you strong, but you’re a pretty good strategist too.. And you’re kind. It’s an honour to call you my friend.”

Sometimes it was frustrating trying to get through to him. Not only because you meant every word you said but because you knew the way his mind would twist it all too well. You knew exactly how it felt to feel like nothing but desperately need to be more. It felt hopeless, crushing… but it faded with time and effort. You knew better than anyone that you couldn’t compliment the problem away but he needed to hear it nonetheless. 

You needed to say it, to have it out there in the open.

Tamaki felt his heart swell with warmth at your words. "R-really...?" 

"Of course!" You beamed, unconsciously squeezing his hand a little tighter.

He whispered a soft “Thank you” in response, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink at your compliments and the squeeze of your hand on his. Even if he didn’t necessarily believe all of it, it felt good coming from you.

You just smiled in response before settling back into bed, still not bothering to let go of his hand. The warmth was comforting, the slightly roughened skin of his hands against yours and the connection you shared in that moment. 

It was sweet. That, and you hadn’t thought to let go, you didn't want to and neither did he, the comfort of knowing you were still there by his side was more than enough.

A little sigh escaped him as he settled down again, mirroring your position as he laid back against the headboard of your bed. You couldn’t help the blush that swept across your skin at the pretty sound that pushed past his lips. 

Eyes falling shut, you unconsciously moved the slightest bit closer to him in bed. Warmth and exhaustion clouded your mind now, the feeling of his weight beside you in the bed lulling you back to sleep. He found his own eyes fluttering shut as well as the rush of adrenaline wore off completely at last. 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep next to you, but the weight of your blankets overtop of him and the scent of you in bed next to him had him dizzy when his mind finally stopped racing.

There was nothing to replace the adrenaline in his system now, nostrils flooded with the gentle fragrances that filled your room, body relaxing into the warmth of your sheets. It wasn't long before the both of you drifted off to sleep, warmth spreading through your chest as you relaxed completely into the bed.

It was cute, really. If Mirio could see him now he’d be pumping his fist in the air in excitement. He’d spent far too long watching his friends not so subtly pining after each other. The way Tamaki would steal glances at you when you weren’t looking. How he’d turn away and cower from the faintest little smile from you in the beginning. It had taken the two of you long enough to finally start talking, he’d pulled just enough strings to get the two of you in closer proximity just hoping that one of you would finally have the guts to admit to yourselves that you had feelings for the other person. 

Neither him nor Nejire had ever gone so far as to pressure you vocally, though they’d dropped a couple hints here and there when Tamaki wasn’t in earshot. No one had told her though, she’d simply ‘gotten a vibe’ and wanted to question you about it. Why not? She figured you two would be cute together and she knew she was right.

The two of you laid like that for a long while, bodies perfectly intertwined in the bed as if you’d been made to lay together this way. If he’d been awake it was certain that his heart wouldn’t be able to take such an intimate situation. Free and unencumbered by the anxiety that plagued him during his waking hours, it was easier for his body to give in to what he craved.

If you’d been awake, the way he squeezed you would have sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It was needy, almost protective in the way he curled around you, his body craving your touch. 

Even in your sleep you felt it though, wrapped up in his arms and his scent, your mind wandered in your dreams. You could hear the slow, shallow breaths he took, the warmth of them fanning across the nape of your neck as he nuzzled into you in his sleep.

Tamaki’s breathing slowed down, his chest rising and falling gently against your back as he curled up around you. His sleep was a merciful one, his mind and body relaxing as he was enveloped by your covers. In your sleep you pressed back against him beneath the covers, his strong arms wrapping tightly around your waist.

Dreams danced behind your eyelids, no doubt affected by the close proximity to your friend. The heat of his chest slotted against your back like two connected puzzle pieces. 

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Pan Says... (7/?)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: I know, I know... all I do lately is apologize for not updating more frequently. I promise to try and do better, and as penance I have for you today a longer update than I had originally planned, so... forgive me?

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE! Heed the warnings listed below. This chapter is a bit of a doozy.

Lots of love to @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills!

Rated E /Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six 

Chapter Prompts: I received a couple of Asks asking for scenarios I've included in this update. Most of them were anonymous, lol.

Warnings: This chapter contains depictions of medical assault and rape by instrumentation. Also includes somnophilia, dubious consent, and a POV some readers might find triggering. Please feel free to message me for specifics before reading if you need to.

Part Seven

Nature’s call pulled Killian from a deep sleep. He stumbled his way to the water closet, trying his best to not wake Emma as he closed the door and relieved himself. He’d just finished a haphazard washing of his hands when he heard the soft click of the lock on the bathroom door, and then the dread-inducing screech of the metal door that separated them from the rest of the compound. Someone had entered their room, Killian realized in a panic, frantically trying to open the firmly locked door that separated him from his Swan.

“Emma!” he shouted, hoping to rouse her from sleep before their intruder did. “Emma!”

Startled exclamations muffled their way to his ears, as did the rustling of sheets and thuds from bootfalls. Again, Killian cried out Emma’s name, banging on the door and demanding to be let out.

“Killian!” he heard Emma shout, a bit more distant than he’d expect if she were still on the bed.

More rustling and shuffles of feet, followed by the agonizing sound of the metal door sealing shut once more had Killian’s pulse spiking in fear. When the soft click of the lock finally released, he burst out of the bathroom to find the room vacant.

Pillows and linens were strewn across the bed and onto the floor. Killian followed the trail of the bedsheet and hammered his fist against the door. “Let me out!” he demanded, pain shooting up his arm with each pounding. “Let me out!”

“Why would I do that?” Pan’s voice crackled from overhead.

Killian turned to face one of the many cameras “hidden” within the room. “Bring her back!“ he shouted. “Bring Emma back!”

“I don’t think so,” Pan drawled, a hardened edge underpinning his words. “I think some time away from each other to reflect upon what you’ve done will do you both some good. Besides…” he drew out the dramatic pause, and though Killian had no idea what the vile little imp looked like, he couldn’t help but imagine a sinister grin being applied to his next words. “We both know your little act of defiance last night cannot go without punishment.”

“Take me, then” Killian pleaded. “Bring Emma back and take me! I’ll bear the punishment. Just… don’t hurt Emma.”

“Oh, you’ll share in the punishment,” Pan promised. “I have something very special planned for the both of you. Don’t you worry about that.”

Feedback shrieked through the speakers, forcing Killian to cover his ears as Pan quite clearly and effectively shut down their communication. Tears welled in Killian’s eyes and his whole body shook from the overwhelming fear consuming him.

What was Pan planning to do? How long would he and Emma be separated from one another? What would they have to endure whilst they were reflecting?

Killian sank down on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Emma,” he whispered into the silence. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

Eventually, he traded his seated position at the end of the bed to being curled up in the fetal position upon it. He watched the path of the sun as its beams entered through the high window after sunrise and crossed the floor of the room during the early morning hours. He was numb and emotionally spent, having given over to the terror and tears that had wracked his body for what seemed like hours. Now, he just laid there, staring at the chips and cracks in the floor, without even the energy to chastise himself. What would the point be in that? It wasn’t as though there was anything he could do. No way out of the room, no way to communicate with anyone, no way to help Emma.

Killian clamped his eyes shut and fought back the rising bile his mutinous imagination threatened to bring up. Try as he might to keep the thoughts and visions at bay, he couldn’t help but consider the atrocities Pan might be subjecting her to. He turned his face into the mattress and balled the sheet in his hand, attempting once more to expel the torment of his mind.

The crackle of static from the tv screen grabbed his attention and Killian bolted off the bed. The monitor showed a sterile looking exam room, much like one would find at a physician’s office. Coming into frame from off screen, a Lost One appeared carrying an unconscious Emma in his arms. Killian tensed as he watched him lay her on the exam table, only relaxing when he disappeared out of frame again. The relief was short lived when another man entered, quickly followed by a small statured woman. Both were garbed in medical scrubs, including surgical masks, which obscured their identity.

Killian watched in confused horror as the woman - a nurse? - folded out a pair of stirrups from the end of the table and set Emma’s feet into them. She and the doctor (or at least, Killian hoped he was a doctor) positioned Emma to their liking, covering her lower half with a sheet before the doctor brought over a stool and sat between her spread open legs. Killian watched with shallow breaths and clenched fists as the nurse handed the doctor instruments so he could perform some sort of procedure. When it finally became clear to him, Killian was shocked to realize what he was witnessing.

They were removing her IUD.

Pushing himself away from the exam table, the doctor stood and removed his gloves. There was no audio, but Killian deduced he had given the nurse instructions before departing. It wasn’t until after the man had gone that Killian acknowledged the reason for the extra tension he’d been holding. As violating as the procedure had been, Killian had prepared himself to witness an altogether different kind of violation of his Swan.

Shaken, Killian sat back down and ran his hands through his hair, only vaguely aware Pan had come back on the speaker.

“What?”

“Pan says,” he repeated, “you are not permitted to tell her what you just saw.”

Stunned, Killian blinked several times, letting his mind catch up to the horrors Pan continued to lay before him, then thunderously, he stood and shouted, “You can’t expect me to keep something of this magnitude from her!”

“You will if you want to keep her alive,” Pan stated flatly, sobering Killian and sending a chill down his spine. “Keep this to yourself,” Pan warned again. “Or your punishment will be paid by her… with her life.”

~/~

Emma sat on a tiny cot with her knees pulled up to her chest. The hospital gown they’d given her the day before was stiff and scratchy against her skin, but at least she was no longer cramping.

Pan had told her that she would be the one punished, because she had been the instigator in her and Killian’s “dalliance”. The price for such an offense… she had to have her IUD removed, and she had to keep its removal a secret from Killian.

“You can’t expect me to keep something like that from him!” she’d protested, yelling up at the speakers embedded in the ceiling of her new, tiny cell.

“If you do not,” Pan had warned her coldly, “Then I will force Killian to pay the price… with a pound of his flesh.”

When the doctor had come in to talk with her before the procedure, she’d learned he was one of Pan’s poor unfortunate victims as well, forced to serve as the demented imp’s medical errand boy. He seemed professional enough, though perhaps a bit arrogant. His brash demeanor shifted though when Emma asked him what Pan had meant by “a pound of flesh.”

Swallowing hard, the platinum haired man exhaled deeply before confessing, “It could mean a variety of things. Having an organ removed so it can be sold on the black market, or even an… an amputation.”

“Amputation?!” Emma exclaimed in a shocked whisper. “You mean you…”

Solemnly the man nodded. “I’ve been forced to remove every organ imaginable and sever untold numbers of body parts from various victims of Pan’s.” Taking her hand in his, he squeezed it tightly and advised, “If you want your friend to remain whole, then do as Pan says.”

She’d woken up in this new room some time later, sore between her legs in a different sort of way than she had been after her night with Killian. A note with self-care instructions and a bottle of ibuprofen had been left on the table by her bedside, and it was then Emma had realized she’d mercifully been anesthetized for the procedure. The day had stretched into night and Emma had sat paralyzed with guilt and fear over what Killian might be going through. She’d had little to no sleep, and was therefore more on edge than normal when the door to her cell opened the next morning.

“Sorry,” the doctor apologized, noting how she’d balked at his appearance. “I just wanted to check and see how you were doing. Is it alright if I examine you? I have my nurse with me.”

Emma consented to his examination, not wishing to give Pan any further ammunition to use against her, or worse… against Killian.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he told her. “Anything bothering you physically? Any pain?”

Emma shook her head and mumbled she was fine, then sat back up with the assistance of the nurse once he’d finished. She was just straightening the hospital gown when she felt the prick of a needle pierce her shoulder.

“What did you…” The question fell away as numbness immediately began to overtake her. Within seconds, Emma could not move her arms or legs and she slumped over into the doctor’s arms, unable to keep herself upright.

“It’s okay,” the man soothed, laying her back down on the cot. “The effects are temporary. You’ll remain conscious, but you’ll be unable to move or speak until it wears off.”

More and more of her succumbed to the paralysis, her entire body becoming heavy and unresponsive. When her eyes would not open again after a blink, Emma panicked. Her heart raced at the sound of bootfalls entering the room and a silent scream echoed through her mind when she was hoisted off the cot and over a man’s shoulder.

~/~

Killian stood in the corner opposite the door, anxiously waiting for it to open. He wasn’t sure if having forewarning of Emma’s return was better or worse than simply being surprised. In the last few minutes since Pan had given him the news and his instructions, Killian had worked himself into another right state.

His stomach churned in a way that made him thankful for his lack of appetite since Emma had been carted away. Although, its lack of contents did not stop the threatening bile from creeping up his throat. His palms were slick with a sweat that was slowly breaking out over his entire body and his heart felt as though he might choke on it.

With the notice and instruction had also come the reminder to not let on what he’d seen the day before. As if he could forget. However, when the door finally opened and the Lost Ones entered (one with Emma over his shoulder and the other brandishing a cattle prod in Killian’s direction), Killian understood why Pan felt the need to remind him. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and reassure himself of her safety, to inquire how she was feeling, whether she was in pain or needed anything from him to ease the after effects of what she’d been through. Of course, he couldn’t do that. He had to pretend he didn’t know any more than she did about what happened to her during their separation. Her life depended on it.

“Swan?” Killian called out as the Lost One laid her on the bed. “Swan, are you alright?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t respond. For an awful, gut-wrenching second, Killian thought she might be…

A sigh of relief whooshed from his lungs when he saw her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. She was alive. Thank God!

“I’m afraid she is currently… unable to respond,” Pan said over the speaker system as the Lost Ones backed out of the cell.

Once the door was secured, Pan gave Killian permission to leave the corner, and he wasted no time in rushing to Emma’s side.

“Swan?” he prodded, gently shaking her shoulders. “Emma, love. Wake up.”

“I told you,” Pan sighed in a bored yet exasperated tone. “She is unable to respond.”

“What did you do to her?” Killian demanded, his gaze sweeping over her form, working in tandem with his hands as he searched for injuries or any other clue that might explain her comatose condition. Was she still under the effects of the anesthetic she’d been given?

“Careful,” Pan warned in a feigned voice of concern. “She has a number of bruises and abrasions. You wouldn’t want to go and injure her further.”

Killian’s head snapped towards the camera perched over the TV monitor and again demanded, through grit teeth, “What did you do--”

“Oh, don’t look at me,” Pan said. “I had nothing to do with those bruises, or any of the other markings. You did that.”

Killian’s eyes slid back to Emma’s body, and he began to note the marks his mouth had made on her neck, as well as the faint impressions his fingertips had left behind.

“Pan says,” the voice commanded in an accusatory tone, “undress her and take a good look at what you’ve done to her.”

“No,” Killian stated, defiantly. Standing from the bed, where he’d been kneeling next to Swan’s prone body, he took measured steps towards the camera, wagging his finger in its direction. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. “I won’t have you twisting what happened. I know what Emma and I shared the other night and it wasn’t what you’re insinuating.”

“Oh? What was it then?”

“It was magic,” he declared vehemently, with his arms spread in boastful defiance, “And freedom. Full unabated freedom. The kind you experience with someone you trust unequivocally, with whom you can bare yourself in ways you never thought yourself capable. The kind that requires a level of understanding, devotion, and acceptance rarely found between two individuals.”

Each word of defense against Pan’s implied censures was also a much needed reminder to himself of the truth of what he and Emma shared. He would not let this vile monster take from them what they had sought to claim for themselves.

“That’s what Emma and I have and nothing you can say or do is going to change that fact.”

“Oh?” Pan drawled. “Perhaps not,” he stated as the cell door squealed opened and a Lost One sauntered into the room. “But I imagine he can.”

Positioning himself between the Lost One and Emma, still lying helpless on the bed, Killian braced his posture and demanded to know, “What do you mean? What’s he going to do?”

“That depends on you,” Pan replied. “If what you say is true, then surely Emma won’t object to you taking some liberties with her whilst she is currently… indisposed.”

“Liberties?” Killian questioned. Though a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach had already begun to deduce the madman’s meaning.

“It appeared to me that she took quite a few liberties with you the other night, so I’m simply letting you return the favor. Of course… should you refuse…”

The Lost One’s hands dropped to his waist and he began to loosen his belt, his salacious gaze and a hint of a smug smile peeking out from the mask he wore.

“No! Stop!” When Killian’s words failed to stall the Lost One’s actions, he turned back towards the camera and agreed with Pan’s wishes. “I’ll do as you say. I’ll take whatever liberties you demand, just…” Pointing a stern finger at the Lost One, Killian implored, “Get him out of here!”

The Lost One’s hands balled themselves into fists and he hesitated for a moment after the order from Pan was issued. His eyes fell to Emma, a sinister sort of longing swirling through their brown depths, before he flicked them back up and glared at Killian as he backed out of the cell.

He’d wanted her, Killian realized with a jolt of propriety rage and jealousy. It hadn’t simply been a command he was conditioned to obey that had made him willing to do the unthinkable to Emma. He wanted her, had been eager to have her, even.

Emma’s comments about her exchange with one of the Lost One’s returned to him and he couldn’t help but wonder if the Lost One he’d just encountered had been the same, or… No. She had said the Lost One who had carried him back after being drugged seemed to care for him. That Lost One, the one who had just departed, held nothing but animosity towards Killian. Did that mean…?

If Killian had a connection to the other Lost One, then was this Lost One connected to Emma somehow?

The startling question would have to be left unanswered for the moment. Killian needed to focus on the rules and procedures Pan was currently laying out for his new depraved game.

~/~

It had taken some doing, but Emma had managed to quiet the panic deafening her mind. Being unable to control one’s body, to even open your eyes or utter a sound was the most unnatural and surreal feeling she had ever experienced. The only thing she could seem to manipulate was her breathing, but it also continued to work involuntarily as well.

She’d held her breath in awe against the swell of emotion that had filled her during Killian’s declarations, but it had sped up on its own, almost to the point of hyperventilating when the Lost One had returned and Pan’s intentions had been made clear.

Never doubting that Killian would do whatever he had to in order to keep her safe had not kept her from again holding her breath until the sound of the door screeched closed this last time, ensuring she would not suffer at the hands of some stranger. Now, she attempted to regulate her breathing once more as Pan gave instructions to Killian regarding their new game.

“Of course, I realize that my voice might be a bit of a distraction… a deterrent even. So, you’ll know a new Pan Says has been issued when the lights flicker. You can then receive your next set of instructions from the monitor. Understood?”

“Aye,” Killian clipped out, sounding closer now than he had a moment again. “Let’s get on with it.”

“Excellent,” Pan crowed. “This will be my last vocal command until our game is at an end. Pan says… undress Emma.”

The bed dipped and she could feel Killian’s presence. She longed to reassure him, to look into his eyes and let him know she was alright, that she wouldn’t hold anything he had to do to her against him. All she could do was lie there, though; a limp piece of dead weight he had to roll and reposition without any assistance in order to appease Pan and his perverted commands.

Once the hospital gown had been removed, leaving her thoroughly exposed, Killian returned her to her back and from behind her eyelids she could detect the change in lighting as they dimmed and brightened, signaling a new Pan Says. If she could have scoffed, she would have. Of course he was giving written instructions. Pan knew she was conscious and could hear everything. He didn’t want her to have any forewarning of what was to be done to her, the bastard.

The mattress dipped next to Emma’s head and she felt the scratch of Killian’s beard against her cheek. Inhaling deeply, she let his scent fill her lungs, let its calming balm soothe her racing heart.

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered low and soft into her ear. “I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me for what I must do.”

I already have, she told him, if only in her mind.

Her breath hitched at the feel of his rough tongue caressing the space below her ear. It only took a few swirls and licks for her to process what he was being forced to do, her skin still sore in the places where he had sucked his brand into her flesh during their lovemaking. Pan was making him trace every mark, every bruise, every abrasion Killian had left on her body with nothing more than his tongue.

Pin pricks of wonder rippled across her skin when he reached her breasts. His hot breath preceded the warmth of his mouth as it caressed the scrapes previously left behind from his teeth. She wanted nothing more than to arch her back and encourage him to take her nipples fully into his mouth, but her inability to move was proving torturous in ways she had not considered.

Her stomach, her hips, the insides of her thighs, all points of contact along the front of her he had to trace with his tongue before rolling her onto her stomach. He took extra care and attention to place her arms and head into as comfortable positions as he could before continuing his ministrations down her back. Long, lingering, dampened laves followed the welts and scratches left by his nails and soft flutters caressed the bruises on her hips and buttocks, causing a shiver to run up her spine and a dull ache to begin throbbing from between her legs, which were dangling awkwardly off the bed.

The lights dimmed and brightened again and before Emma had a chance to wonder what Pan’s new demand was, a light smack landed on her backside. The lights flickered again and a slightly harder slap cracked across her ass. When the lights signaled again, the sting of Killian’s palm, firmly making contact with her already reddened and raised flesh, brought tears to her eyes. As did the next strike, and the one after that, and the ones after that. Tears broke free from her lashes, pooling in the crease next to her nose before slipping across her face into the sheet beneath her cheek. Killian’s rough, calloused hand stroked her ass, attempting to soothe some of the pain he’d inflicted. Pain she absolutely did not mind. In fact, she kinda got off on it, and when his fingers dipped between her legs to find her wet and wanting, his groan told her it was a fact he was now aware of as well.

A series of strobing lights had Killian on his knees in front of foot of the bed, his face buried in her folds with his mouth latched to her clit, while his fingers toyed with and probed her holes. He was knuckle deep in her ass, fucking her with his fingers as his tongue assaulted her cunt and she could hear the cries of her body, begging for release, whimpering in her head, unable to convey its desire in any way, shape, or form, which had to be the most maddening experience of her life. When relief finally came, her orgasm slammed through her completely unobstructed with an intensity far greater than any she could ever remember having before. A moan vibrated through her pussy, prolonging her climax, and Emma wondered if, despite her inability to tell him so, Killian could tell she had come from his tongue.

Her breathing was labored, the sound of her blood roared in her ears, and she felt flushed and sated from the tips of her ears to the points of her toes. Unable to vocalize, a groan stuck in her throat when he removed his fingers from her depths and began to roll her over onto her back once more. She hadn’t even noticed the lights indicating a new task.

Attempting to regain her bearings, Emma could hear the rustling of fabric and suspected Killian was taking off his clothes. Her heart rate picked up at the prospect of him being inside her, filling her like he had the other night, and a fresh ache took hold of her core even as she worried about her new unprotected status. With a firm tug, he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed until her ass was practically hanging off the side. Lifting her hips, he wedged a pillow beneath her, raising her pelvis and tilting it up to meet his groin.

She startled when his cock slapped against her clit, not that he would be able to tell. Her skin raised in a ripple of goose flesh when he did it a second and then third time before lining himself up with her entrance and stretching her in that delicious way as he entered her. Grabbing her ankles, he draped them over his shoulders, then wrapped his arms around her legs, holding them tight to his chest as he began to rut his hips into hers. The rhythm he set was punishing, the force of each thrust making her breasts bounce wildly, borderline painfully, as he pistoned deeper and deeper into her. His pace was relentless, slowing down only once several minutes into the assault, when the lights flickered and he presumably glanced over his shoulder to read Pan’s newest command. He fucked her for an indeterminate amount of time after that. Forcefully, savagely, almost brutally.

The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the room, as did Killian’s ragged breathing and choked back utterances. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he pulled out and let go of her legs, causing one of them to slip off his shoulders. He grunted and cried out as hot streams of his release coated her breasts and stomach. Staccatoed breaths and moans reverberated off the metal walls until he was thoroughly spent, then he brushed a gentle kiss to the inside of her leg before resting his head against it, the sweat of his brow making it a slick point of contact.

“Good boy, Killian,” Pan rasped from overhead, ruining any tenderness Killian had been trying to infuse into the moment.

“Fuck off,” he snapped back, lowering her leg back down while removing the pillow from beneath her.

“Ah, ah,” Pan tutted. “Pan says to leave her as is.”

“Let me at least pull her further up the bed, so she doesn’t slip off onto the floor,” Killian argued.

When Pan did not respond, Killian climbed onto the bed and positioned himself behind her. Grasping under her arms, he hoisted her up the mattress until she was now completely situated on the bed. It shook as he collapsed next to her, his breaths still coming in pants from the extreme exertion he’d put both their bodies through.

She could visualize his face in her mind. Beads of perspiration were probably littering his brow and gathering in the hollow of his throat. His eyes were likely closed, his long lashes resting against his rosy cheeks, which would be nearly as pinked as his lips, red and swollen from the way he’d practically made a meal out of her. She longed to sweep his bangs off his forehead, to run her fingers down his face and trace his lips, allowing him to kiss each tip and tease them with his tongue.

As they lay there a tingling began to work its way through the numbness. Small jerks and spasms rippled through her extremities, exacerbating the soreness in her tender places. A groan made its way past her lips and she was finally able to pry her eyes open. She could feel Killian roll towards her, concern and guilt swimming in his eyes as his face came into view overhead.

“Swan?”

“K-Killian,” she croaked, attempting to raise her hand so she could cup his face, but it wouldn’t cooperate.

“Don’t try and move,” he said, making his way off the bed and into the bathroom. “I have to… you’ll need to…”

Unable to finish his thought, it wasn’t until she was finally able to turn her head and saw him return with a wet washcloth that she realized what he was struggling to tell her.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, trying to work up the necessary saliva to wet and clear her throat. “I know. I was conscious the whole time.”

“You… What?”

When she tried to sit up, he climbed back onto the bed, stalling her actions and encouraging her to lie back while he cleaned her up.

“Yeah, they injected me with… something. I don’t know what,” she explained, enjoying the feel of the damp cloth as it ran over her breasts and across her stomach, wiping away the now dried-on mess. “I couldn’t move or speak, but I was aware of everything. Could hear and… feel everything.”

Killian’s face pinched in a pained expression, and she could practically feel the guilt rolling off him. “I’m so sorry, Swan. I--”

“Hey,” she soothed, taking his hand. “It’s okay. You have to know that no matter how deranged or depraved, I’d rather it be you doing those things to me than--”

“Aye, I do… it’s just...”

“What?”

The muscle along his jaw tightened, causing a small spasm to ripple beneath his skin. Unable to meet her gaze, he confessed with a heavy dose of shame and penitence, “I enjoyed it.” His voice was little more than an exhale. If he’d been any further away, she likely wouldn’t have heard him at all. After a long pause he finally worked up the courage to look at her as he continued, “I didn’t want to. I only wanted to get it over with, but I… I started to enjoy it and--”

“Killian,” Emma sweetly admonished. “Do you really think I’d fault you for that? Do you think I was suffering the whole time? Because believe me… I wasn’t.” He offered her a small smile, but still didn’t seem convinced. Squeezing his hand more tightly, she added, “I will never hold my bringing you pleasure against you, no matter the circumstances. Every time there’s been intimacy between us, I’ve enjoyed it, at least on some level. Every. Time. Don’t ever forget that. Don’t ever forget those beautiful words you said to Pan about us.”

His eyes widened, perhaps realizing for the first time that she had been conscious for that part as well.

“I meant every word,” he assured her. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty for the things I’ve done to you. Even though you say you enjoyed it, I see the bruises I left, from both the other night and the ones forming from my actions from only moments ago, and I hate myself for causing you pain.”

Stronger now, she sat up and cupped his face. “I won’t pretend I’m not sore, but… being with you is hands down the best sex of my life, and I would do it all again in a heartbeat.”

His eyes flickered between hers, reading the truth in her gaze and causing a more genuine smile to bloom from his face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he replied on a heavy, relieved breath. Then a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth and with a raised brow he cheeked, “Though, given what you’ve told me of your past sexual encounters, that isn’t really saying much.”

She laughed and slapped his shoulder before falling into his arms, surrendering into his embrace as they clung to each other for several minutes. It wasn’t until after they’d broken apart, with him helping her off the bed so they could both get dressed, that a sobering thought occurred to her.

“You know,” she said, uncomfortably clearing her throat as she pulled her pants up over her hips, “given what I know of your past… I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same. About the sex, I mean. Well, that and--”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, interrupting her before she could mention Milah, the love he had lost and practically ruined his life for. “I loved Milah and we had many wonderful experiences together, but,” he took her hands in his and gazed at her in a way she thought she might drown in those blue depths, “nothing as ever amazing as… this.”

Guiding her back to the bed, they sat on its edge and he further confided, “I think Milah and I always had a part of ourselves held back from the other. Regardless of how we felt, we knew it was wrong. We knew we weren’t free to truly love one another, and since having met you, I’ve come to realize something.”

“What?”

Flicking up his gaze, he said something she never would have expected. “How alike her husband and I truly were.”

Emma blanched. “What do you mean?”

Running his thumb over the backs of her knuckles, he paused for a long moment. Emma could tell this revelation was not easy for him. Perhaps he was still trying to find a way to verbalize it. Sensing he needed time, she waited patiently for him to continue.

“She belonged to him. That’s what he always said,” he relayed, haltingly, from the memories he was dredging up. “She belonged to him. Her husband.” Pulling himself back into the here and now, he focused on her once more and a sad smile ghosted across his lips. “Milah used to assure me that despite the fact she was married, she belonged to me, and I took that to heart. I started to feel like she did belong to me, and I was wrong for doing so. Not because she was married, but because… a woman should not belong to anyone. She was not an object to possess, anymore than you are.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his attention turned towards the door of their cell. “He thought you were his to possess. I see that now.”

“Who?”

“The Lost One who came in here when Pan threatened to have another fulfill his demented wishes.”

Her gasp pulled his attention back towards her, and she felt as though her heart might hammer its way out of her chest as he told her, “I think he has a connection to you, Swan. Like the other Lost One has towards me. I think you know him, because I am certain he knows you.”

“How?” she asked, breathlessly. “How do you know--”

“He wanted you,” Killian begrudgingly told her. “But more than that, it was like he felt he had a right to have you. I could see a longing in his eyes, as though he knew… knew what having you would be like.”

Emma opened her mouth to respond, her mind racing with the implications of Killian’s words, but before she could say anything he took her face in his hands and the look in his eyes stole her breath away.

“You may have given me your consent. You might even think I had a right to do what I did in obeying Pan’s rules in order to safeguard your body and your dignity, but you do not belong to me, Swan. You are not mine to do with as I wish.” Pressing his forehead to hers, he murmured, “But I hope you might feel as though you belong with me, as I feel I belong with you. That we belong together, not to each other.” Swallowing thickly, he pulled back and softly whispered, “I love you, Emma.” Then captured her lips before she could reply.

Part Eight

[aprilfeldspar]

[cilil]

𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 | 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Melkor x Mairon 𓄌 Synopsis: Melkor decides to join the hunt to search for fire spirits. Mairon's hunt is cut short when the Dark Vala finds him. 𓄌 Warnings: Ultimately consensual, but I'll issue a slight dub-con warning to be safe. Also rough sex and some fighting 𓄌 Oneshot (~2.1k words) | AO3

That little game of Oromë's was entertaining, he had to admit. 

Melkor had been informed by his spies that another Feast of Horns was about to take place and had decided to join the Hunt as well, looking for his favourite prey: Fire spirits. Two in particular that had caught his eye, to be exact. 

He hadn't attended the other festivities, of course, being at war with his brethren and not welcome in their realm as it was, but to sneak past any and all who might hinder him to secretly mingle with the Hunters as they dispersed in the fields and forests around Almaren had been laughably easy; on a night like this, vigilance was low. 

Now all Melkor had to do was locate his prey and claim his catch, ideally far away from prying eyes where he would be undisturbed and any cries for help would not be heard. Discarding his raiment for the time being, he concealed his presence and began his search. 

Arien was the one he found first. She was running through the fields of Arda, laughing and carefree, hand in hand with Ilmarë. Eönwë and Tilion were in hot pursuit, and Melkor glared at them from the shadows. Too many others around. He would not have her today, that much was clear, and the thought angered him. Having to yield his prey to lesser Ainur, how utterly irritating. 

Mairon better be alone tonight. Melkor's impatience would not allow another unsuccessful hunt. He had no intention to settle for something other than what he wanted. 

His anger quickly disappeared once Arien and her companions were out of sight and he caught Mairon's trace. The other Maia indeed appeared to be hunting by himself at the moment, as he was wont to do; he preferred working alone and having the fruits of his labour to himself, driven by his ambition to surpass his kin. 

Melkor found him sneaking around in the deeper parts of a nearby forest, golden eyes gleaming in the twilight as he searched for something, most likely a good vantage point or the trace of whoever he had deemed worthy of his attention. A pair of artful spiral horns adorned his head, revealing that he was indeed one of the Hunters for this feast, but that meant little to the Vala pursuing him. He was going to have him regardless. 

Mairon froze when Melkor stepped out of the shadows and revealed himself, wearing the shape of a tall and beautiful lord. His hair, blacker than a starless night, nearly reached his waist and a matching pair of horns grew on his head like a crown of darkness. He smiled at him, showing off deadly sharp fangs. 

"Well met, little one," Melkor greeted, his voice low and resembling the purr of a huge cat. "I have come to claim my catch." 

"Your catch?" Mairon let out a small, arrogant laugh and shook his head. 

The way his flame-like hair moved around his bare shoulders only heightened Melkor's excitement and prompted him to come closer. 

"Yes. Mine." 

"I am a Hunter, as you can see. Find someone else." 

Melkor regarded him quietly for a while, torn between irritation and amusement. 

"You think I would care for the rules of Oromë's silly game, but you are mistaken," he said eventually. "For I am the greatest hunter this world has ever seen, and all that is therein is my prey if I wish it." 

Mairon merely scoffed at him, though something akin to intrigue flashed within the golden depths of his eyes. "Still you have not claimed me, so you have not earned a favour from me." 

"Then I shall." 

~ 

Melkor was on top of him before he could even attempt to flee. Letting out a vicious snarl, Mairon bared his teeth and began clawing at every inch of skin he could reach. His nails, turning into deadly claws as his rage flared and burned hot within him, drew no blood even as he fought the Vala with all of his strength. 

Yet no matter how much he struggled, how hard he kicked, how much pain he attempted to cause, Melkor held him down with ease. 

"Feisty," was all he said, and Mairon gave an indignant hiss. Seeing red, he attempted to bite the Vala's neck, only to be met with cold, nigh impervious flesh, reminding him of marble and diamonds — deceptive in the way it yielded like flesh should, yet refused to be broken.

"Are you satisfied now, little flame?" 

The question caught him off-guard, allowing Melkor to pin him to the ground with a satisfied smirk. 

"What do you mean?! Unhand me!" 

"But this is what you asked for, no? You wanted me to properly stake my claim, and I believe I have shown you my strength just now and successfully subdued you." 

Dazed, Mairon let go and looked up at Melkor. As outrageous as this capture was, there was a certain truth to his words. Brief as their struggle had been, it had undeniably gone in the Vala's favour — unsurprising though it was. Even so, the way he could so easily withstand anything a powerful Maia could do against him, within the constraints of Oromë's rules at least, was impressive. 

Melkor grinned down at him. "Well? Are you not going to call for help?" 

"I would be surprised if you didn't anticipate that possibility and made sure to catch me all the way out here to avoid it," Mairon remarked dryly. Perhaps he should be afraid, angry or disgusted, but he couldn't help feeling some sort of begrudging respect. 

"Of course," Melkor admitted, utterly nonchalant as if it was a normal thing to do. 

At least he isn't attempting to lie about it, for what it's worth. 

"I could still try," Mairon said. 

"You could." 

They stared at each for a moment. 

"Well? Would you stop me?" he challenged. 

"It depends. Could it perhaps be that you would not be doing yourself a favour if you tried?" Melkor bent down to nuzzle his hair. 

"You think I might be amenable to your advances?" Mairon hissed, but made no move to bite him again. 

"No prey you could have caught on your own would be the greatest of the Valar." 

"You would be correct, but my other prey also wouldn't have dared to hunt me." 

"You would claim that you don't enjoy being hunted?" Melkor brought his full weight down on top of him to press their fánar together. "What if it is merely a matter of pride because you don't allow yourself to be hunted by lesser spirits?" 

"You would know all about pride, wouldn't you?"

"Naturally." His fangs gleamed in the twilight. "And I also know to make this worth your time, little flame." 

"Do you now?" Mairon hated that his righteous anger was slowly but surely replaced with intrigue and curiosity. 

It was true; he thought himself greater than most of his peers and would never submit to them. To be made to submit by a greater power, however, was new and strangely exciting, even if his pride was wounded. 

He licked his lips. The Feast of Horns was the time to indulge, and nobody had to know. 

"Very well then. You may have your favour, even though your catch was rather clumsy." 

Melkor laughed, then captured his lips in a greedy kiss. It was nothing like the tender caresses Mairon had seen his lord and lady or other Maiar exchange, it was teeth and tongue and violence, and he bit the Vala's bottom lip in retaliation for his shameless claiming of him. Again soft skin yielded to the force of his bite, but didn't break; the taste of Valarin blood continued to elude him. 

"Fiery creature," Melkor purred, drawing back to admire his prey. Despite his best efforts, Mairon was unmistakably flustered panting heavily and pouting at him, cheeks flushed. 

He felt angry. Aroused. Alive. Defying the Dark One's withering grasp, his flames burning bright inside him. And Mairon saw these strange sensations mirrored within Melkor's eyes, cold like splinters of ice yet glittering like frost in the light of Illuin and Ormal, aglow with a fey light set within Void-like darkness. 

It was as unsettling as it was exciting to do this to a Vala. 

Mairon bared his teeth, showing fangs of his own; a challenge that wouldn't remain unanswered. 

With just one large, clawed hand, Melkor flipped him around as if he weighed nothing. Mairon found himself lying on his stomach, arms and legs spread wide, vines slithering out of the ground to restrain him. What little he wore was torn to shreds within seconds, and he was left exposed to his enemy — enemy turned lover. 

Even so, he wasn't going to make it that easy. 

Mairon fought against his restraints, struggling, biting, setting them on fire, only to make no progress. Hearing Melkor laugh at him once again enraged him. 

"You would force me to endure such treatment?" he hissed over his shoulder. 

"Easy there, little flame. You will enjoy this." 

Before Mairon could ask how the Vala had the audacity to make such assumptions — ignoring the way his arousal spiked with every futile attempt at escaping — he felt two hands taking hold of his ass and a tongue pressing against his entrance. A strangled moan made its way past his lips when Melkor proceeded to lick and kiss him with such vigour that he feared he would be devoured if his muscles relaxed just a bit; a prospect so tempting that he did, inviting him in. 

Nobody had ever touched him like this. Nobody had such strength and passion alike. 

Mairon rested his head on the ground and let himself be eaten out, even pushing his hips demandingly in Melkor's direction as far as he was able. 

"Naughty," he heard his voice again, this time through ósanwë. 

When that wonderful tongue was withdrawn, Mairon protested with small, impatient whine, though said no more; he knew what would be next, and after Melkor's efforts he was convinced that this illicit coupling, too, would bring him pleasure unlike any he had previously known. 

The first thing he felt was pain. Had his fána not been restrained and cleft in two by a Vala's cock, he would have responded with a snarky comment, but all he could do was gasp and groan and frantically adjust to its size. 

"You must not be used to this," Melkor whispered in his ear, now coming to rest on top of his helpless lover to cover his fána with his own. "But I prefer it that way. I want you to feel me and remember it well." 

"Do not... think for a second that I will be yours... after one night," Mairon hissed through gritted teeth. 

"You will want no other." 

Melkor accentuated his words with one well-aimed thrust, and suddenly pleasure bled into the pain. Now that his fána slowly grew accustomed to the Vala, the only thing Mairon could think about was how nicely his cock filled him, how it rubbed and pushed against his sensitive spots with every movement, how it caressed his rim as if it had been made for that purpose. The intensity of it all made it feel divine, so much more than anything he had experienced in his existence. 

Mairon relished every moment of it. Every thrust, every small noise Melkor made, every inch of skin against skin, every time hands dug into his flesh with fierce possessiveness. Perhaps he would indeed want no other after this, as he doubted that any other Ainu would fuck him like this. Without his arrogance, without his pride, he was well and truly stripped bare of all bravado and reduced to his base instincts, to a being filled with hidden desires, lust and a secret craving to be made to serve another, one greater and more powerful. 

He loved that he had made a Vala chase and catch him. He loved that Melkor showed him how much he wanted him. He loved that he was taken in a manner worthy of one who called himself a hunter of hunters. 

And he loved that, in the end, his flesh and his voice were what made a Vala come undone. 

Melkor held his hips in a bruising grip as he came, seeking to leave his mark with jealous determination. He didn't know if there were any others, and Mairon felt no obligation to tell him; perhaps he could retain the Vala's admiration and attention if he kept him on edge. 

"Mine," Melkor growled in his ear. 

Whether or not it was intended as a threat or a warning, all Mairon heard was a promise. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

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[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Dead Boy Detectives Victor AU: Villain POV.

Alright. Strap in, folks. Thomas King POV. Because he's nasty and horrible and writing from his POV is fascinating in the way that getting covered with spiders is fascinating. Please do not read if you aren't comfortable with the tags listed- this is very much a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat situation. Thomas justifies some truly heinous shit to himself.

(Also blame this particular war crime of a fic on my instigators.)

But if you're interested in plumbing that, here's the excerpt as usual:

Thomas King isn't a monster.

He knows what some might think of him, here in Thirteen.

But being a Gamemaker doesn't make him a monster. After all, he saved those kids. Stopped them from dying in the Arena. Even helped engineer his favorites' wins in certain years. A little push there, towards an exciting conclusion, and even the Head Gamemaker and the President applauded his efforts.

And, well, since Thomas saved those tributes' lives- well, they are his Victors, aren't they? He's earned their appointments. Earned their time. Earned their affection.

Giving gifts started with Esther Finch's son. Since he hadn't saved the brat from the Arena yet, a little bit of extra compensation was a fair bargain. Some day, the boy would make it up to Thomas, would trade back in what he owed. The debt could never be properly paid, of course, but Thomas could live with the little finch always owing a bit too much.

The gifts are different with Edwin Payne, though. They are a bargain, a payment, for Esther's son, but for Edwin, they're sincere. A gesture of affection. A gesture of rebellion.

(Aka: a monster's POV.)

@deadboy-edwin @icecreambrownies @anonymousbooknerd-universe @magpiemarten @ashildrs

@tragedy-machine @just-existing-as-you-do-blog @orpheusetude @mj-irvine-selby

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@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @queen-of-hobgobblers @every-moment-a-different-sound

[sspextkr]

snowjanus week- day 1: literature

❝ don't you let go! ❞

lotr au, based on rotk. mostly based on the movie since it's been a hot minute since I've read the book in which coriolanus and sejanus finally arrive to mount doom. the journey is finally over.. or is it?

trigger warnings: major charafter death, suicide, heavy trauma

a/n: if you've seen lotr and read the title.. you probably know what this is about fhensn

“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand... there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold.”

― JRR Tolkein

"We've done it," Coriolanus wants to tell himself. So, so desperately. "The journey is over. We can go home."

No matter how much you say something, though, it doesn't make it true. They're only halfway done, after all. They still have to make it out of this blasted mountain and walk home. Another year or so of walking. No food or water to carry them on. The Ring will have been destroyed, sure, and the army's of Mordor will surely begin to fall, or weaken in the slightest, but that doesn't mean everything will suddenly become easy.

The only reason the Ring was destroyed was because of the horrible creature, Gollum. In a way, Coriolanus owes everything to the Hobbit. Without his guidance and obsession over the One Ring, he wouldn't have made it to Mordor so easily. It wouldn't have been destroyed.

"The Ring is mine, Sejanus." The words fell from his tongue so, so easily. What was the point of resisting anymore? It had stuck with him this long. The Ring was notorious for going from bearer to bearer, but it had yet to leave him. Maybe it was a sign– A sign that he was the next in line for the throne.

"No. No, you can't–" Sejanus sobbed. He took a heavy step forward, and then another, pleading. Coriolanus slipped the Ring onto his finger and vanished from sight. He made a beeline for the exit, only to find himself pulled back by Gollum.

The two would tumble, resulting in Coriolanus getting his index finger bitten off by Gollum in a desperate tussle for the Ring and them both tumbling over the edge of the cliff. Gollum fell into the lava below, taking the Ring with him, while Coriolanus was able to catch the ledge with his mangled hand.

He was able to tell the second the Ring was destroyed. He could feel it in his soul, he dare thought. He would've cried in relief if his life wasn't in danger. Coriolanus tried to haul himself up, reaching up with his uninjured hand. When he caught the ledge and tried to pull himself up, he slipped, only able to catch himself by luck.

I'm trapped. He thought as his hand began to slip. It's a good ending to my story, I suppose.

Coriolanus closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable.. When a warm, familiar hand fell over his.

"Coryo! Open your eyes!"

Sejanus. Dear Sejanus. His eyes were wide with terror, blood dripping from a giant gash on the side of his head, coating his already muddied face in crimson.

"It's me, your Sejanus. Give me your hand!" Sejanus reached down, yelling over the rumbling of the mountain. It was going to erupt any second now, surely. The Ring was the one thing keeping Mordor together, and with the Ring destroyed, Mordor would follow blindly, like a soldier into battle. "Give me your hand!"

Coriolanus swallowed heavily, swinging his hand upward in a half-hearted attempt to grab his friends hand. The shaking was getting worse. His mangled hand's grip wasn't enough–

A dark thought crossed his mind.

He could let go now. He'd fulfilled his mission, destroyed the Ring and saved his home. His friends. Everything he ever stood for. The last great evil of Middle Earth had passed.

And a hero deserves to rest.

He glanced up at Sejanus with tired, tortured eyes. A gaze that once held so much life.. So much joy and love. A gaze that told a thousand stories in a second.

But now? It begged to be freed.

Sejanus lowered himself further, blindly pawing at his hand. "Come on!"

Didn't he get it? Didn't he understand? Heroes are lucky if they get to choose the ending to their tale. Coriolanus has that choice.

He was tired. Withered down to the bone. When he looked into his future, all he saw was darkness. Not the comforting darkness you get when you sleep, but the void of life.

"Don't you let go! Don't you let go!"

If only it could be that simple.

There's no other choice.

Coriolanus swung his good hand up again and managed to grasp Sejanus' hand.

Sejanus' face flooded with relief. Coriolanus gave his hand a firm squeeze.

Before letting go.

He could barely make out Sejanus' cry for him over the roar of the mountain.

When he hit the fire below, it hurt.. But only for a moment.

Then, came the darkness he had longed for.