#gotproblems

[screwwfrrr]

How does it feel to be the only root of all the problems ?

[reneealtrov]

Roland Laos . . . #polaarpoiss @polaarpoiss #environmentalportrait #looneyhouse #vsco #vscocam #instagood #instadaily #gotproblems

[scotrick]

#cheerup #youthink you’ve #gotproblems #allforkat #blessmebeth #lightforlisa #elementsofeliza - #minimalism #minimalist #minimal #minimalistic #minimalistics #minimalobsession #simple #simplicity #minimalhunter #minimalista #minimalismo #lessisless #abstract #abstraction #abstracto #grungey #filthypapa #experimental #hyenamama #laughingsistas (at Mountain View, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/BumzJW_nrCk/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=11ewm5c00udf5

[myers-meadow]

Punishment (Grabber x reader)

This was requested by @gotproblems and the anon who wanted 'angry sex', so thank you for sending this in.

I wrote this in a fever haze while on a three hour train ride and almost missed my stop. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Link to my writing masterlist.

Summary: Days flow by as normal, but Al has many rules you can unknowingly break. One day that happens, and a punishment awaits you.

Genderneutral reader, and body neutral. Established relationship.

Warnings: This is the harshest, meanest smut I've written so far. Grabber is the warning. 18 +. Knife play, slapping, painful sex (?). Use of 'doll'. Oral (m receiving), implied dom/sub relationship, punishment. Please tell me if I forgot a warning.

Wordcount: 887

Divider by @/firefly-graphics.

It’s been long since you last felt genuinely afraid of Al. Not to misunderstand, his temper and murderous tendencies remained as they always had been, but you’d grown comfortable with him. Did you need it – the fear? Was his unpredictability not part of what attracted you to him? Did he go easy on you now that the relationship was established?

You shook it off – you liked him sweet (and loved him harsh). Life continued as it had, only occasionally daydreaming about some of the earlier, less routine, more intense moments, between you and him.

But good things only last so long. How did it happen? What did you do that upset him? Did it even matter?

Al came home on Friday, you came to greet him, drying your hands on a tea towel - and immediately he pushed you face first into the wall. Within seconds, he tugs at your trousers, pushes up your shirt. A cold drag over the skin – a knife. As he tugged on the fabric, the knife slid through, he tore it the rest of the way and it dropped to the floor. You hissed as he dragged his fingers over your back, clearly he hadn’t been careful enough. Shallow cuts where the blade had grazed you. You said something under your breath, something meaningless, a hiss of pain.

“You have a lot to answer for,” said Al, voice dark. “You’ve been bad.”

This was something else. Only once before had he sounded like this, and that- His breath was on your ear. His hat fell to the floor with a thunk, his foot kicked your legs open.

Again, you tried to speak, to ask what it even was that you did wrong, to apologise, but he shushed you.

“Let your actions speak, doll, show me how sorry you are.”

Adrenaline pulsed through your veins and sharpened the senses. He undid his belt, the metal clinking and its cold steel pressed into your ass. The push of the thick head of his cock between your legs immediately quieted your mind. The grain of the wall pressed uncomfortably into your cheek as he pushed deeper into you. He wanted this to hurt. At the same time, the arousal, fuelled by the fear and the adrenaline, churned in your gut. The position put pressure on your windpipe, the wall rough against your cheek.

He growled. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Your sensitive nerves beat in time with your heart, anticipation exciting you further. He hit an amazing spot inside and you could only gasp and moan in response. Before the sensations could build any further, he pulled out, and roughly pushed you down to your knees. Still hazy, vision only focussing when you looked up at him, you stared helplessly and confused.

“I said, show me how sorry you are.”

You moaned at just his voice and the throb between your legs, and Al pried your mouth open with a hand lodged on your jaw. He shuddered as he slid in. The taste of him, salty, bitter… All him. He hit the back of your throat and held your head with a warm hand to go deeper.

“Yes, that’s more like it.”

Every thought disappeared from your mind, there was only the sounds of his pleasure as they left his lips, and the movement of your tongue and how you relaxed around him to best please him. Praise rained over you, outweighing the tightness of his grip.

Then, somehow, his shaft scaped against your teeth. He pulled out immediately, a sting hit your cheek before you had a chance to register what was happening.

“Come on, is that how you show your love to me?”

A second, a third slap. It burned hot.

“It was an accident, I’m sorry,” you gasped. More gently, his thumb wiped spit from your lips, and he pressed the head of his dick in between again. You opened willingly, still breathing hard.

“You can do better, doll.” His tone was mean, outright degrading even, but the way he looked at you was the same as it had always been. You swallowed him down, careful to fold your lips over your teeth.

“Yes, like that, much better.” Even his praise sounded cruel. You pushed on, breathing when he allowed you, sucking on the head as best you could. It didn’t take much longer for him to finish, sticky and bitter down your throat. He pulled back, caressing your head, and you licked your lips. With a deep sigh, satisfied, he tucked himself back into his trousers.

“Ah, what am I to do with you?” he murmured, with the corners of his eyes adoringly crinkled as he smiled down at you. With firm hands that were a great contrast to the lack of strength you felt in your own legs, he helped you up.

“Let’s get you to the shower. I’ll call the diner for some take-out, it’s a Friday night, after all.”

How he could sound so cheerful right after had your mind reeling, but you smiled and pulled your underwear back up your legs.

Before you reached the stairs, he grabbed your arm, “You know I love you, right?”

Not expecting an answer, he let go and turned his attention to the phone on the wall, dialling the number to the diner.

[blakcirclegirl]

So after my family went through the trouble of getting my mom's old collage BFF's daughter to message me the other night, I finally messaged back... My mom passed away from natural causes over a week ago. Apparently she was living out of state and had health issues. But she was a big lady with diabetes and other health issues since I was 12 maybe. We were never close. But I still it's weird to think she's not around. She was only in her early 60s. Still pretty young. I'm glad the girl told me and not my fam. No drama. I messaged 1 of my half-brothers asked him what he wanted when he messaged me 6mo ago. I'm wondering if Dads gone too. Also diabetic. Haven't heard back yet. If he replies at all. Not really expecting it. All my Fam is really anti social media so I can't figure out much and I usually block them. I already know even talking to these 2 my family is gonna think I want back in or drag me back in. I can't do it. Even in the position I am in now. I love them but they hurt me. And I haven't spoken to most of them for 8 years. Anything I do say they always hold against me. Everything is always my fault. Maybe because I was born and my dad never wanted any kids. Told me himself once. Pretty sure *I* wasn't the problem. 😒😝 I told the girl I have my own things going on. If she looked at this profile she'd know. Not that any of them have ever been concerned about me. Like a friend said it just keeps piling on me. Nothing I can do about it now. I have other issues and nothing else matters right now. This can't put me over the edge. I have my friends rooting for me. Even a stranger called me brave. I feel the opposite honestly. But I'm trying to hold on....❤ Photos my mom and dad before I was born, he was the only Mexican in a Phillipino choir. Haha. Christmas at my dad's mother's house (my beloved Nana's), mom's baby photo, and mom and I when I was Dorothy in 4th grade. Stop laughing at my bangs. 😛 #mom #rip #dad #family #parents #kids #mentalillness #healthissues #gotnomoney #gotproblems #homeless #notsobrave

[fattofitfast-blog1]

Gratitude- count all your blessings, not your problems 🙂 #gratitude #blessings #noproblem #gotproblems #countyourblessings (at Villages of Westcreek, San Antonio, Texas)

[maisonriso]

Sometimes i push irony as much as misalignement 😁purple flat tint thanks to riso inks #90s #laserdisc #yo #gotproblems #mypicturesarethebest #irony #misalignement #blue #pinkfluro #riso #risograph #risographprint #risoprint #risographprinting #risoprinting #risography #printmaking #artprint #printshop #printstudio #maisonriso #paris (à Rue Oberkampf)

[jenniferurdang]

Rough Clown I was reading everywhere about how bad drinking and smoking are so I decided to quit reading. #moodydark #moody_arts #raw_moody #moodyshots #moodylight #moodytoning #moodyportraits #foolishmortals #drinktoomuch #boozedup #shouldhavestayedhome #shouldhavestayedinbed #darkacademiaaesthetic #darkernights #strangeartwork #martinishot #drawsome #drawingsofinstagram #somethinginthewater #somethingrotten #badloser #cantseestraight #gotproblems #pitiful #drinkingalone #hotmessexpress #draws (at Brookings, Oregon) https://www.instagram.com/p/CfN1vhYOvd1/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[willshipanything-blog]

@gotproblems aww thank you so much, especially on my first fic! Chapter 5 is incoming- hopefully tonight, but writing smut is proving to be really hard (pardon the pun) 😘

New grabber x reader fic! Was intending possibly a few one-shots, but I've ended up planning a whole-ass story so here's the first chapter!

My first fanfic, so be nice (but I will gratefully accept constructive criticism) <3

If you want to read and comment on AO3, it's here (I'm darkbelle on there).

More detailed tags and warnings over there. For now: dead dove, kidnapping, violence, non-con, you get the picture.

Rules of the Game

Chapter 1: Misdirection

“You’re not leaving, are you, Y/N?”. 

Ms. Rutherford, the librarian at Galesburg Community Library, looked up suspiciously, abandoning her book stamping duties to ask you this. She had always been very particular about the volunteers sticking to their scheduled hours. It was almost sinful you were leaving earlier than expected. 

You turned from exiting the front entrance to face the help desk, piled high with books waiting to be stamped for return and shelved with their neighbors. You thought you might have sneaked out without a fuss. You suppressed a smirk as she pushed her glasses up her nose slightly. She was a walking stereotype of your typical librarian, old and stern, but you had to admit her book recommendations were superlative. Recently you’d been on a Brontë binge and you and Ms. Rutherford had had several (admittedly) heated discussions over the better sister; she was Camp Emily, you Team Charlotte. 

“My ride let me down at lunch, so I need to set off home earlier today,” you replied “but I’ll be back right on time tomorrow!”

“What else can you expect from young men these days? Really, to let a young lady walk alone at night, and with that deviant on the loose, no less!” 

You stifled a laugh and instead exhaled through your nose in amusement. “Ms. Rutherford, first of all, it's 4pm, and honestly, it’s no big deal, it’s not the first time I’ve had to walk home by myself, I’m a big girl! See you bright and early tomorrow!” You turned quickly to avoid a tirade of criticisms about the current generation of young men, which you were very well aware of. As you pushed open the double oak doors of the library, you couldn’t help ponder that Jonathon, your boyfriend of just over a year now, had pissed you off when he had told you last minute he had plans with friends to drink beer and watch football. How original. 

These thoughts disappeared as you stepped outside. You weren’t going to let it bother you. Glass half full, Y/N, you thought to yourself: at least the weather was nice. Although lugging your bookbag in this heat wasn’t ideal, you weren’t going to complain about the weather being so pleasant this late into fall.

Hopping down the stone steps of the library, you thought about another thing that Ms. Rutherford had said- that deviant. It still made you uneasy thinking about the recent spate of missing young boys, especially when you had known one of them. Only distantly, but it still made your stomach turn to think about. It was hard to try and forget though, between the near empty streets at night and the endless rows of MISSING posters that desperate families kept pasting to every fence, streetlight and store window in Galesburg.  

At least at this time of day, most kids had gone straight home from school. Even with leaving the library early, you were able to avoid them. It seemed that all they could talk about these days was ‘the grabber’, as they’d so unashamedly nicknamed him. This moniker spread quickly throughout their friendship circles; it even started to be used by the police, newspapers and TV stations. The speculation about who ‘the grabber’ was gonna get next, the whispered dares to say his name three times in the mirror, as if he were some bogeyman, set your teeth on edge. He was real, not an urban legend to tell ghost stories about. Most kids seemed to forget that they were the ones at risk. Had it gotten colder or was it just these thoughts making you shiver? 

You started to drift away from these ruminations, thinking instead about the large takeout pizza you were gonna order and have with a cold beer once you got home. Extra mushrooms too, which Jonathon hated, to ensure he wouldn’t eat your leftovers. That’ll teach him. Whilst practically drooling over this thought, you heard a sudden rush of steps behind you. Too late to turn around, an arm collided into your own. 

A kid (barely a teenager judging by his size) had flown right into you. Knocking you slightly off balance, he turned but didn’t stop, holding out both hands in a ‘whoops, my bad’ sort of gesture. You noticed tape on the palms that he held up. Must have wrapped them up himself, probably he’d been fighting and had to bandage his knuckles. He did look like a scrappy little thing. 

“Hey, sorry guapa!” he called, turning forward once more and racing on ahead once it was clear you weren’t hurt. You smiled and shook your head, shouting after him down the street. 

“Be careful, kid!” He was already gone, turning the corner about 30 yards ahead of you. 

As you turned right at the same corner half a minute later, a strange scene presented itself, making you stop in your tracks. Crouched on the sidewalk a few feet in front of you was a man with ashy brown-gray hair down to his shoulders, muttering to himself as he tried to collect what looked like a litany of spilled groceries. Looking past him, parked on the curb a little way back was a matte black van with faint green text etched on the side. Even further up the road, you could just make out the young boy still in a rush to get someplace. The crouched figure looked less than enthused and didn’t see that another person was standing just a few feet away from him.

You regained your senses. “Oh! Here, lemme help you,” you volunteered, beginning to grab a couple of oranges that had rolled near to where you were standing.

“No, it’s fine, I got it,” a gravelly voice answered, clearly annoyed at the situation. And why wouldn’t he be? You saw the spilled milk and broken eggs over the sidewalk, things that would have to be replaced. 

“Are you sure? Sorry that kid knocked you over, but I don’t think everything’s ruined,” you said hopefully as you held up the oranges to inspect them. 

“The kid didn’t knock–” the surly voice ceased speaking as he looked up at you. 

A moment of silence followed as the man stood up slowly. You were taken aback by his appearance, his face covered in what seemed to be greasepaint, the top half of his visage hidden by a pair of dark, clunky sunglasses. He must have easily been six feet tall, wearing all black save for a blood-red turtleneck under his silk shirt. Your stomach shifted, suddenly feeling somewhat uneasy around this stranger standing mere feet from you. 

His voice was different when he next spoke; a friendly, almost childish intonation. “Uh, what I meant to say was, I’m sure that boy didn’t mean to bump me like that. I’m normally such a klutz without anyone helping me along!” he smiled goofily, a row of slightly crooked white teeth now visible.

Your silence and continued look of worry was evident, and he spoke again apologetically:

“Oh, uh, sorry for all this,” - here he held both hands up, ringed fingers outstretched, pointing towards his face in an exaggerated gesture - “but my costume isn’t complete. Would you mind passing me my hat, dear?”

Here he gestured theatrically with an arm, guiding your line of sight to a black top hat sat amongst the broken eggs. Feeling only a little reassured by his friendly tone, you stooped to retrieve it. You passed it to him, both of you stretching an arm to cover the distance between you, and as he grabbed the rim he flipped it expertly and it landed on his head. He gave a bow, the vaudevillian look complete, and you huffed out a half-laugh, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. 

After explaining that he was a part time magician, hence the ridiculous outfit, and the van emblazoned with the line ABRACADABRA- ENTERTAINMENT AND SUPPLIES, you both started to pick up what was salvageable from the spilled mess on the sidewalk. He insisted you needn’t help, but you insisted even more that it was no bother. He put the rescued groceries into the back of his van and promptly slammed the door closed. 

“Well, thank you again, you’ve been such a good girl helping me out here.”

You were about to reply for the twentieth time with ‘no problem’, but sensed a strange look come over the man’s face, a vacant, contemplative gaze that you couldn’t place. Before you could speak he interjected, cognizant again.

“Say, you’re not my usual audience, but would you like to see a magic trick, dove?”

Once more, you were taken aback, this time by the strange nickname the man had used, but you’d concluded he was what your mother might have called ‘an eccentric’. You had also unabashedly concluded that this man was charming and (under the facepaint and glasses) really quite handsome, despite the fact he was old enough to be your father. You played ball, nodding at his request.

He chuckled almost imperceptibly under his breath and took a couple of paces towards you. With an elaborate wave of his hand, he reached towards the right side of your face, grazing your cheek as he tucked some hair behind your ear. You hoped you weren’t blushing too much at this spectacle. A shiny quarter was retrieved, and you couldn’t help but smile widely. 

The misdirection of this trick became apparent when you noticed too late the man’s other arm come swinging towards your face at full force, his fist making contact with your jaw with a thundering crack. 

Your body hit the hard sidewalk below you. White hot pain seared through your face. Too shocked to even scream. You felt yourself sitting up, holding yourself on unsteady, wobbling arms. Your vision spun furiously and you recognized the click of a car door opening somewhere in your mind. Whilst you willed yourself to get up and escape the situation, an arm grabbed your chest from behind and in an instant an acrid taste entered your mouth, preemptively choking out any screams you might have attempted. The same spray misted your eyes and it stung like hell. If your body was slow to react to the first hit, it was molasses now. You felt a tight pressure under both of your arms. It was him. He was dragging you to his van. This wasn’t going to end well unless your body at least attempted to move. 

You felt yourself hauled like a sack of flour onto the hard floor of the van. Last chance, both your feet still touched the outside ground, and your mind begged you to do something. Too late. You felt the man’s bulky frame straddling you as he climbed into the van himself, dragging you underneath him further into the vehicle. Your bare arms and legs were stippled with splinters as you were tugged roughly along the wooden flooring, but this pain hardly registered to you compared with the excruciating burning your face felt and the sting from the man’s initial blow. A thud of doors told you he’d now trapped you inside. 

Only now did your sluggish body begin to react. You flailed your arms wildly, though your legs were now firmly trapped under the man’s weight, and your voice was a raspy whisper, clearly from whatever spray had hit you full in the face. As you fumbled blindly with your hands balled into fists, you felt your left hand hit something solid and heard a vicious growl. You’d managed to hit the figure mounted on top of you. A small victory for only a moment; hands suddenly gripped both of your wrists, and bundled them underneath him with your fettered legs. 

As you felt another blow on the side of your face, followed by another, and another, you cursed yourself. Why didn’t you fight back sooner? Or run after that first blow? Why did you talk to a stranger at all? These questions and more exploded in your mind, but began to fade as you sank into unconsciousness.

Al thought it such a shame about that rude young boy. Running past without even offering to help him. Shame too; looked like he had some fight in him. He was going to chalk it up as a bad job, maybe even try another street elsewhere, then she came. This was unexpected. He had closed his van and was going to thank her for her help, when he had called her that- a good girl, he’d said. The idea struck him in seconds. Why not? If the game didn’t work out as planned, who would know? No one who would live to tell the tale. She’s older than the other boys by quite a margin, but he’s still bigger and stronger than her, maybe it could still serve his purposes for the game. And she was a woman- even if naughty boy didn’t work, there were other things that could be done before dispatching her in a shallow grave with the others. Al thought meditatively for a long time on the drive home, the sun just beginning to set on the warm Denver evening.

[ohanawarrior]

Good Day Warriors!!! We hope you all had a refreshing weekend!! We all go through so many circumstances in life to which most situations, we are never prepared to face or deal with. Don't let it get to you and just know that what you face now will only prepare you to be stronger, use it to motivate and build you up. Wether it's stress or problems, we can still take control of our life. We have to choose our battles wisely and fight first for our goals and our dreams. Remember that we only have this one life to live out our purpose and to make a difference in this world. Finish strong and have faith in yourself and others who believe in you. Have a successful week all!! #ohana #ohanawarrior #ohanawarriormma #teamohana #teamsexy #muaythai #jiujitsu #nakmuay #bjj #bradley #bowman #monday #warriormotivation #beinspired #life #obstacles #gotproblems #temporary #stress #takecontrol #win #finishstrong #havefaith #chooseyourbattles #youchosethislife #destiny #january (at Ohana Warrior Gym)

[myers-meadow]

oh boy i have a lot of WIPS

Thanks for tagging me, both you and @lucifers-horror-harem <333

Sibling rivalry

Grabber filth

Honey and sulphur (pick diff title later)

chocolate fic

hamster fic

Through lace curtains cont.

one moment thing

Grabber blowjob fic

Surprising benefits of kidnapping kids

Basement blues

Birthday cake fic

Thomas Hewitt longfic: the wrong one

Ambrose Summer vacation longfic

Priest Bo

Tagging @immortal-velociraptor @ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds @spookyscaryslashy and @gotproblems i dont know if you have ideas already but id love to hear more if you do <3

WIP tag game

tagged by: @theold-ultraviolence !! thank you for the tag, friend !! 💗 answering on the writing blog to stay On Brand, y'all know how it is 👀😂

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! tag as many people as you have WIPs

pet sematary x how

jules flashing

candle clocks

they wanted a cult?

rot

jerry springer road trip

B&V dreams

bo and vince are (sometimes) good brothers

[ahh why was this actually exciting to go through my wips, plus realising i give all the docs/drafts terrible names before i come up with an appropriately angsty song lyric title]

absolutely no pressure tags: @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @bisexual-horror-fan @darkestamralime @aggravatetheaxe

[willshipanything-blog]

Omg @gotproblems spam away, you've just made my day! ☺️

Glad you're continuing to enjoy the story! I hope I'm capturing the creepy nature and duality of Al. It's so tricky when there's actually so little interaction with him in the film, so this is the direction I've gone I guess! And omg it's nice to think I'd be badass but in reality I would shit my pants in that situation. 😅

Hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint !

Rules of the Game- Chapter 10

After hurt comes comfort. Obviously, this is a twisted version of that and not cute at all IRL, but this is fiction so anything goes!

Chapter Index here.

Find this fic on AO3 here.

Usual tags apply, so minors DNI!

Chapter 10- Promises, Promises

You weren’t sure what time it was when Al next stepped through the door. You’d managed to crawl onto the mattress last night, dragging your body with some difficulty. Unsurprisingly, you hadn’t slept, and gave up trying sometime around dawn. For the last few hours, you’d been stewing over all that had happened. From the time the Grabber had taken you from the life you had. All of your encounters, every day you’d been left alone, and the times you’d been violated. All the seemingly tender moments that were promised but never acted upon in the end. All the pain you’d endured, the scars you wore, including your abuser’s name etched into your skin. Your muddled thoughts, your understanding (and misunderstandings) about his game. Every emotion and sensation you’d felt all blurring together in your memory. 

The sound of metal creaking told you he’d arrived, though you stayed on your side, staring into the cold concrete wall. 

“Good morning, dove.” 

You shifted your shoulder ever so slightly, showing him you were up, but not caring to respond. You heard no reaction from him, no angry retort or sad sigh. Only shuffling and things being placed down near the bed. You heard his footsteps retreating back up the stairs and still didn’t waver, keeping stoically facing the same section of wall. It wasn’t like you were in any fit state to attempt another escape, which (after last night’s debacle with the widow) looked more impossible than ever. He came down a second time, accompanied by more scraping noises and clattering. 

“Y/N.”

You persisted in your ignorance. You heard a discernible sigh, and saw his legs come into view. He crouched down in front of you. You didn’t fight it when he cupped your cheeks to look up towards his face. His blue eyes looked at you through the mask, though his mouth was uncovered and smiling gently down at you. As if last night hadn’t ever happened, all the fear and pain and broken trust. 

“I’m gonna need to look you over, ok?” You stared glassy-eyed at him. Realizing you were not going to talk to him, he busied himself with his task. You didn’t resist; you were too exhausted both physically and mentally to struggle. But you weren’t about to make his job easier by helping him. 

He rolled you delicately from your right side to your back. Your torn shirt (which you had futilely tried to re-wrap around your front) now folded open, revealing your breasts and the worst of the wounds you'd suffered the previous night. Your lip trembled at the exposure, sensing that your nipples had hardened in the cold air, and feeling Al's icy stare on your body. But you didn't move; it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before and you had faced worse humiliations at his hand. You determined to be as unresponsive as possible to his cruel fluctuations between cruelty and compassion. A small part of you wondered if he felt any remorse looking at the evidence of his malice on your body, though you figured he was savoring his handiwork. 

Busy fingers prodded and poked at you: pressing a rib here, feeling a bruise there, petting at your scars and welts. As if he needed to touch them to see if they were really there. You remained in your almost catatonic state except for a couple of sharp intakes of breath to counter the pain. His face once more came into view and he moved your head to and fro slowly, stroking the reopened wound on your cheek. You stared at him in stony silence.

“Looks like a clean bill of health,” he giggled in that creepy childish voice he favored when he was in his good moods. “Just the one wound I need to dress. Wait there a sec.” He was literally joking about you not suffering any life-threatening injuries? 

You gritted your teeth as he tended the scars branded into your chest, cleaning them with something that stung like a bitch before taping some gauze over it. He thumbed the dressing and chortled: “At least my name is short, huh?” He really hadn’t read the room. Did he really think this was the time for fucking humor? You turned your head back to face the wall. His name carved into your soft skin filled you with shame, made you feel dirty. It reminded you of what you had said in your desperation last night, how you were his, his good girl, how you belonged to him. 

“I’m sorry for the crappy joke, but I’m not sorry for the scar, Y/N,” his voice was softer now, more sincere. Though his words were as sharp as the blade he’d used, he was telling the truth. His honesty petrified you. You knew how enraged he had been last night, but he still cut into your skin with purpose- this wasn’t a wild, random lash of his belt, it was a purposeful scarification. Your tears fell unseen with your head turned from the Grabber, though you finally spoke.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” you whimpered. The statement lingered in the air. You were terrified of the answer, but you couldn’t take these games anymore. 

A deep, exhausted sigh came from his direction. He gripped both of your hands and dragged you to a sitting position. Your head remained turned away from him. 

“You’re smart, Y/N. You’ve understood how things work. Don’t you think if I’d have wanted to kill you, I would have done it already?” His fingers pressed into your palms and he stroked his thumbs along your knuckles. You turned your head and looked down towards your held hands, silently agreeing with him. You knew you’d been here far longer than any of the Grabber’s other victims. He’d changed his pattern, and his game, because of you. He continued, your hands still firmly ensconced in his.

“You know who I am better than anyone, Y/N. What I enjoy.”

“You enjoy hurting people. You like causing pain.” You spoke softly, but plainly.

“Not all pain is bad. I think you liked some of it. It’s who I am, and maybe it can be who you are too.” A hand reached under your chin, and met no resistance when he lifted it to face him. Your watery eyes met his. He smiled at the suggestion and you felt your cheeks flush. Of course, you weren’t about to agree that the fucking belt was a welcome sight, that when he’d really hurt you, you weren’t scared out of your mind. But that small voice in your head knew at least a part of what Al had said was correct. You’d enjoyed it when he grabbed your hips, his nails digging into you adding to your pleasure. When he had played with your nipples, pulling them hard and making you whine. The small bites on your neck that had made your whole body tingle. You were not ready to confess these thoughts openly.

“It’s not the only thing I like doing to you, dove. I think we both enjoyed it when I fucked you.” He’d never acknowledged the act so directly, so flagrantly, and naming it made you shudder. The thought of it was simultaneously reprehensible and electrifying. You shamelessly admitted to yourself that you could live with that part of the game. But where was the guarantee that you wouldn’t end up in the ground? 

“How do I know you won’t change your mind? Get rid of me. Like- like the other- other ones…?” You started off with a bellicose, argumentative tone, but the thought of where you might end up caused you to deflate and silence. There was never any sign that he wouldn’t turn round and kill you if the mood took him. That one day he would beat you and not stop until your body had reached its limits and given up. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he replied, “I guess I can’t be too mad at you for trying to leave. You’re just scared after all. You’ve been breaking your promise, but I haven’t made any promises to you.” His mask tilted forward as he looked down at your still-entwined hands. He broke them apart, lightly stroking your pink-jeweled ring on his pinky, before removing the thicker gold band on his right little finger. He took your right hand and slid it onto your middle finger. It was loose enough to twist around, but stayed at the base of your digit. He clasped your ringed hand in his. Though they didn’t touch, they both glinted upwards as you and Al stared down. He’d given you a promise. 

“I’m going to take care of you. You’re mine, my little bird. I don’t want to hurt you like that again,”- here his free hand moved to stroke the bandage on your chest, right above your thumping heart- “and I don’t want you to give me a reason to.” You barely registered that you were nodding along to this insane agreement. 

The next few minutes passed by in a haze. Your thoughts were racing- he’d made you a promise not to kill you, to actually take care of you. He seemed genuine, his earnest expression so paralyzing to you. You were half-aware that he was helping you dress, putting on new boxers and a shirt, silky and smooth on your aching skin. Feeding you small forkfuls of eggs and helping you take small sips of water, along with some tablets you swallowed without question. Was this it, then? You believed the promise, and you were going to keep yours in return?

You sat facing each other on the mattress. You’d been in this position before- when he’d shown you a magic trick and had made you feel like you never had before. Al began to kiss your bruises, the ones smattered over your arms and wrists, moving onto your shoulders and neck, leaving tender kisses on all the parts of you he’d hurt. He cupped your cheeks and leant away to see your whole face, smiling coyly, his charmingly crooked teeth on display. He looked smitten and boyish, and his eyes were no longer filled with the same dark hunger you’d seen countless times before. He kissed your cut cheek, now fading into a pink dash below your eye. He braced himself, before putting his lips to yours.

You trembled as you became aware of the importance of this- Al had never kissed you on the mouth before. It was tame, his lips pressing yours, but not pushing, holding back. You didn’t kiss back, but you didn’t move your head either. 

Your exhausted, abused and weakened body and mind teetered on a precipice. You’d dithered for too long- flitting between plans, none of it successful. Al was giving you this choice. It wasn’t a good choice; it was wrong in every way imaginable. But it was a promise of safety, a literal lifeline. It was more than the first four had ever been gifted. Had you truly given up? This thought drifted away and was lost as you opened your mouth to accept him. His tongue moved into your mouth and began exploring as Al gave an appreciative low hum. 

This was the only way to play that ended in winning- or at least, not losing. Embracing it, forgetting what your captor had done, forgetting the shame and the horror of it, all would be best. He would be happy- and perhaps you could find pleasure in it too? You found yourself kissing Al in return, your tongue meeting his and entwining just as your hands had done, coming together in a promise. 

He finally retreated, pulling his hands from your face and his lips from yours, a thin string of saliva stretching out like a bridge between you before parting. He gave a beaming grin, and you couldn’t help returning a tired smile as you looked into those blue pools. 

“Have you slept, dove?” You shook your head. He guided you to lie on your side, as you had been when he first came into the basement that morning. Sliding onto the mattress behind you, he spooned you, his body pressing warmly against yours. A hand trailed to your waist to hold you gently and his mask nestled into the crook of your neck, the soft breath soothing on your skin. 

For the first time since Al had taken you, you truly did feel safe. He was going to keep his promise. For now, you were going to keep yours. You slipped into a sleep free from nightmares. 

Several new feelings has arose from playing with Y/N. He felt anguish- never before had he pitied any of the naughty boys- but he had really hurt his little thing too much, pushed her almost too far. He didn’t regret everything- after all, she should know her place, pleasing him as he saw fit, punishing unwanted behaviors in his little dove. He will never not feel a thrill at causing at least a little pain, and she is aware that part of the game will remain. 

Another new feeling: contentment. He adored having her all to himself, to feel fulfilled and satisfied in every way. Even when the game had finished before, a bitterness remained and he soon sought out another victim, never satisfied with how it always played out. But now it didn’t have to end. This feeling could continue. Indefinitely. 

It’s not only the game that had changed, Al realized- he had too. He knows how to treat his naughty girl- but he’s learning how to treat his good girl, too. He gave a broad smile as he thought this, pushing his face into her hair, sniffing, savoring, possessing her as she slept soundly. He was going to keep her.

[subduedintellectual-blog]

No Style, No Sex Appeal, No Problems

[booklovingnerd]

At first I'm 😍😍 then I'm 😢😢 now I'm 😵😵 #gameofthrones #gotproblems #blackmonday #jonsnow #robbstark #thanksgeorge

[jrr-tolkitten]

You know Game of Thrones ruined your Catholicism when you're in church and the priest goes to say 'Mary Mother of God' but you're expecting him to say 'Mary Mother of Dragons'

[glitteristheherpesofartsupplies]

That feeling when you have 22 different kinds of tea in your house and ain't sorry at all