#is it a mercy or a torture to be the one to kill the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with

[brucewaynehater101]

I hate Bruce and I hate Joker.

However, their relationship is so fucking compelling that it's maddening. I want them both to die.

This is a semi-rant, semi-analysis and most definitely not 100% correct. It's more speculation than concrete fact/characterization on Bruce's part.

Joker has a one-sided toxic obsession with Batman. He wants Bruce to beat the shit out of him before returning him to Arkham. He wants to watch as Bruce decends further and further into madness as he grips onto his moral code of "no killing" as if it's the last lifeline he has. Joker is kicking his feet giddy as he watches Batman make excuses after excuses of why every action of his BUT murder is justified. Bruce falls further and further into being an abusive asshole, and Joker is so fucking happy about it. How far can Joker push and torment the Dark Knight until he finally just snaps? It's such a delectable mystery and experiment that Joker is testing on Batman, the "hero" to save Gotham. How far will he fall? How far will he go?

Will killing his son finally cause him to cross the line? Paralyzing his friend's daughter (Barbara [Joker didn't know she was Batgirl])? Killing hundreds of people? What will cause Batman to finally stop Joker for good?

On the flip side, Batman despises Joker with all of his being. He wants nothing more than to obliterate that monster until he is nothing but ash. He can't, though. Is getting rid of Joker truly worth letting go of that final moral line?

At least, that's what Bruce tells himself. He tells himself that he throws Joker in Arkham, not in the Watchtower prisons or the phantom zone or other more secure facilities, because that's the morally correct decision. The court of law, even incorrectly, deduced Joker was legally insane. This, legally, makes Joker not responsible for his actions. It doesn't matter that any hack with a law book could see that Joker doesn't qualify for the insanity plea. It doesn't matter that Gotham's legal system is known for being corrupt. It doesn't matter that Joker breaks out frequently. Joker was declared insane.

Bruce doesn't change the status quo, and he tells himself this is the way it must be. He makes sure to tell everyone around him as well. It's the way it always has been and Bruce is too far into his mistakes to correct it now (if Bruce changes Joker's situation now, does that make all of Joker's victims Bruce's as well? Is he responsible for their deaths due to his negligence and, at times, protection of Joker?).

After a while, one starts to wonder why Batman won't come up with permanent solutions for Joker. He has contingency plans for every hero and villain out there. Unlike some of the other villains, Joker is easily accessible. Batman could lock him in a more secure prison, destroy his ability to commit crime (as he did to Jason), or kill him. He has options.

He doesn't utilize them, though. In fact, he's even brought Joker back to life a few times.

It makes one wonder if he keeps Joker around for selfish reasons. Does he want to feel useful? Does he want an avenue to express the anger and hate burning inside him? Is he too deep in past mistakes to admit his wrongs?

Anyways, fuck Bruce and fuck Joker. I hope they both rot in hell as the worst couple to exist (not talking about Lego Batman, though. They are pretty cute in that).

[straight-to-the-pain]

Thinking about characters begging their friends to kill them as a mercy, their friends pleading with them to just hold on, hold out, someone will come for them, it will be okay, but are they just being selfish because they can’t stand the thought of being alone?

Would they rather see their friend suffer without relief, maybe even die at the hands of their captors, because they weren’t strong enough to pull the trigger?

[pregstiel]

chuck won supernatural ending where tfw 2.0 end up in a personalized version of “i have no mouth and i just scream”

[astridthevalkyrie]

xavier thinks you're cruel when you smile. everything about you is different, to the point where it feels like you're just a whole different person sharing the same face as the woman he knew. but then, when he met you as a lightseeker, he'd thought the same thing, that you were nothing like his best friend who didn't have any grand dreams of becoming a grandis knight, and only thought of living today to the fullest because she knew she would not see tomorrow. and then he'd fallen for the woman sacrificing her blood, sweat and tears just so that she could be claimed as his. and as predicted, he's fallen for you for the third time now, and he realizes that your personality could change a million times over a million lives, and he will love you more and more each time he meets you. because no matter what you do and no matter what you are trying to be, your smile blinds him each and every time. and that is what he finds cruel, because it must be cruel to make him fall for that smile again and again and again, and surely there is a limit to how many people one man can fall in love with. perhaps he's the exception, or perhaps it doesn't count because you are still one person. either way, it is torture, torture in its sweetest form that he could never hate you for, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"mister deepspace hunter," you sing, poking his cheek with a chicken plushie, "you can't sleep, we've only seen two movies."

"how many more are there?"

"three more in this series, and then we start the next fantasy series."

"you're insane," he says sweetly, burrowing further under your favorite blanket.

with a giggle, you lay your head down on his lap, hair splayed out on what he deems is your rightful pillow. "it's not a movie night if we don't stay up the whole night."

he's about to tell you that both of you need sleep, that it's not healthy to stay up this late or to pull all-nighters, but then he gazes down to where you're grinning up at him, and his heart stops for a second, because you are so, so, so beautiful, and he's gone.

sleep can wait another day.

zayne thinks you're cruel when you speak. you are reserved around him, and while he never thinks you should limit yourself, least of all on his behalf, maybe this is the most merciful path you can take. because once you do start speaking, once you place your hand over his across whichever table at whichever restaurant to go off on an excited ramble about your latest endeavor, everything else fades way. and it is cruel, to make him lose control all of all senses aside from sound. it is cruel to metaphorically force him on his knees to bend and dance to the sound of your voice and your voice alone. it leaves him vulnerable, to pain, to betrayal, to any and every harmful thing that could possibly be surrounding him, when he cannot observe, when he cannot fight, when he cannot be, while you are speaking. when every individual word you speak has its own unique significance, and he would not be able to kill anyone who interrupts you because he would not even realize it happened, too entranced by the spell you cast. he is not his own in those moments, he only belongs to you. and thankfully, nothing does befall him, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"what do you think?"

he pauses, hand in yours as the two of you walk, blinking at you a few times. "what do i think?"

"yeah, you, doctor," you tease, squeezing his fingers. "what do you think? i've been talking your head off for five minutes."

he is not jarred because he hadn't been paying attention, on the contrary he'd been hanging off your every word. his opinion simply does not matter as much in his eyes.

"i agree with you," he says, enjoying the way you beam at his concurrence, "but what did you think about the other article?"

predictably, you take the bait and launch into another long rant, and he wills this topic to last forever.

rafayel thinks you're cruel when you sleep. so, so soundly you sleep, sometimes in his own bed because he offers it to you like a fool. you look beautiful when you sleep, which is half the problem, and he knows that it is all sorts of wrong to find you beautiful when he's also paralyzed because of how similar your appearance is to death. from a distance, he could never tell the difference. it is only when he is next to you, holding your slack wrist in his hands, that he can breathe easier by pressing his fingers to your pulse. and he is terrified that one day he won't feel it, because it has happened before. one moment you were there, alive and well and his, and the next you were in his arms, lifeless and limp and somehow still beautiful. so there is no way for him to calm his racing heart when he sees you asleep, and the reason it's cruel is because he knows he cannot disturb you. not you, who works so hard and needs your sleep more than anyone else. he cannot ask you to sit up and breathe and laugh and show him that you're still alive. even though he knows you would should he ask, because you are not actually cruel, you are far kinder than he deserves.

"hmm." your eyes are bleary as they blink awake, hardly aware of where you are.

he slides his arms around you from behind, hiding his face in your neck. "you can go back to sleep, was just making sure you were still alive."

a quiet huff escapes you, clearly annoyed at being woken up for such a ludicrous reason. "don't be annoying."

he wasn't trying to be, this time. "okay," he whispers, "sorry."

you turn all of a sudden, shifting in his arms until you're facing him, with a light glare. another apology is on his lips when you crossly tell him, "i was kidding. you're not annoying."

"i can be. sometimes," he admits softly.

"no." you press a deep kiss to his lips, and he understands now why some humans would rather choose to drown under the sea instead of going back to the surface. "you're not annoying. you're never annoying. i love you. okay?"

his voice is choked the next time he speaks, with your face hidden in his neck, soft puffs of air on his neck letting him know that you're still breathing. a tear runs down his cheek.

"okay."

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

BACK TO THE NIGHTMARES

Pairing - Jonathan Crane x Robin!fem!reader

Summary - Even though you go under the alias of Robin whilst fighting crime in Gotham. Your past catches up to you with a certain Doctor that always had a fascination for you.

Warnings - noncon!, violence, dead dove do not eat, rough sex, abuse physical and mentally, bondage.

Word count - 6.3k+

Notes - This was actually the first Cillian fanfic I wrote ages ago and idk highkey just posting it for the lolz.

The name Jonathan Crane was an open wound to you. No matter how much you would try to cover it, it would bleed back open without you noticing. 

You were an orphan at the age of 16. Your family’s tragic death broke you completely, it led to a life of deviance and crime in Gotham City. Your father had you trained in martial arts from an early age, so it benefited your unlawful acts of theft and robbery. However, you would only steal from the greedy. 

You first met Doctor Jonathan Crane when you were hardly an adult. You were arrested for robbing some rich asshole that scammed all of his workers. If only you weren’t so determined to beat the crap out of him you would have gotten away. Your lawyer told you to take the insanity plea, a major reduction of time locked away convinced you to agree with your lawyer. Worst mistake ever. You could tell he wasn’t right in the head as soon as you saw him, despite his charming face. 

When he put on the mask, your worst nightmares came to life. 

It felt like years, being under him as an experiment (even though it was only a couple of months). You fascinated him. He spent a lot of time with you at Arkham. He would tell you how you were his favorite little experiment and that he treated you so much nicer than the others. As if that was a compliment. It was dehumanizing, how he tortured you with your worst fears. To the point that he was your worst fear. You were able to fight back at him a couple of times, get a few good hits in. Despite the consequences, you didn’t regret it. 

Thankfully, The Batman saved you. Bruce heard of your story and felt sympathy for you. You never knew how ballistic Jonathan went when he got the call that you had escaped. And how he swore one day you would be underneath him again. 

Bruce wanted to help you, he felt your pain and struggles. It took you a while, but you agreed, under the hidden agenda that you would use your training to kill Jonathan. He trained you, physically and logically. Also helped you heal, enough to keep Jonathan out of your mind for most of the day. You eventually became Robin. Suit and all. 

When you thought you were ready, you snuck out of the manor. Your mind set on killing Doctor Jonathan Crane. You waited outside by the outside alleyway of Arkham, ready to pounce as soon as you saw him. When he was descending the stairs, you bolted to him. You swiftly pushed him down to the ground and hell broke loose. Punch after punch, kick after kick. You wanted him to suffer, just as he made you suffer. Jonathan tried to defend himself but couldn’t. You straddled him, the street lamp illuminated Jonathan’s eyes wide with fear, you somehow felt guilt. But you pushed that feeling aside, ready to use the final blow. 

But The Batman interfered. He pulled you off of him, a tight grip around your waist, and in a second, Jonathan was shrinking under you. The both of you landed on an exterior landing staircase and he reattached the batclaw to his belt. You shoved Bruce viciously and hissed. 

Bruce shook his head to you, as if you were a child. “I’m disappointed in you” he scolded. 

“Fuck off Bruce!” you growled. 

“I did not train you to become an executioner” he continued. “You do not decide who lives and dies” Bruce stated, leaning on the railing. 

“We both know I’m not the only person he tortured! It would be a mercy kill for the city of Gotham. You know he doesn’t deserve to live” you scoffed. You both had your points. You huffed and looked back down, he was gone. Bruce placed his hands on your shoulders, comforting you. 

“His day will come, we just need to wait for the right moment. Trust me” he reassured. 

And his day did come. Jonathan was arrested for numerous charges after his toxin exposure into the water system. You were free. Or so you thought. He disappeared after the League of Shadows incident. Bruce said he would never dare to return. You thought the same. 

Over the years, you assisted Bruce on missions, both with an agreeing mindset of making Gotham better. Your name became popular in the public eye, Batman and Robin. The vigilante’s sidekick in Gotham crime. You became obsessed with bringing criminals to justice. Sometimes you’d stay up for hours, listening to police radios waiting for something worth your time. Honestly anything was worth your time. But Bruce told you that you have to draw a line. 

Bruce was out of the country. Something had come up elsewhere, you asked to join but he gave a sly grin and said “someone has to protect Gotham”. 

Here you were again, sitting on the rooftop, the moonlight shining on you. Your feet dangled as you watched the moon, a police radio sitting next to you as you waited. You couldn’t sleep much anyways, the nightmares still couldn’t go away. That’s when it caught your eye, the Bat-Signal in the sky. You stood up immediately. Bruce forbids you from going alone. But he wasn't here, he wasn’t even in the country. This was a gray area in your agreement. Oh well, it’s probably something stupid anyways. 

You were quickly dressed and sped to the building. Adrenaline rushed through your blood. You were up there in no time. But by the time you were sneaking up to the rooftop, the light was turned off. You could hear Commissioner Gordon, yabbering about how some deviant must have snuck up to turn it on as a practical joke. You listened to him close the heavy door and sighed, climbing onto the rooftop regardless. Disappointment filled you as you sat on the ledge, overlooking Gotham. 

“What’s got you down, little one?” that familiar, terrifying voice captured your attention. Chills ran down your spine and your chest tightened. You spun around up onto your feet to see him. Jonathan Crane. Your heart raced. He was wearing his mask, he stood tall with his hands behind his back. He loved to call you little one, even after all of this time. 

“Scarecrow” you snarled, bracing for a fight. But you had to remind yourself what Bruce taught you. You also had to force your nerves to the side. 

He said your name. “You know me better than that” he said enthusiastically. Your face dropped. He couldn’t know it was you. How could he know it was you! He laughed at your frozen state. “Even though you beat me bloody that night, eyes never change” he explained, you could sense the grin on his lips. 

“So this was your plan? You want a repeat then?” you laughed, brushing off your nerves. Fists formed and jaw clenched as you waited for his move. 

“Not exactly, The Batman isn’t here to save you this time. In Prague the news broadcast shows” he mentioned, mocking ‘The Batman’.

It was impossible not to laugh. Who did he think he was?

Your feelings got the better of you. The actions of neutral good left you, your judgment clouded by your locked away anger towards this man. He was to die at your hands at this very moment, he didn’t deserve to live. Pure evil doesn’t get to walk free.  

“I’m going to enjoy this” you gritted your teeth. 

With a flash, you charged towards him and tackled him to the ground. You straddled him, ready to knock his teeth out but noticed his arm raise towards you. With a swift movement, you grab his arm and rip the fear toxic from out of his sleeve. Fuck this guy, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. You ripped off his mask and aimed the canister towards his face and released the gas. 

You breathed in the substance instantly and it blurred your sight. He tricked you. You jumped off of him and coughed intensely. The effects from the substance got to work immediately. Jonathan looked terrifying, your heart raced, body shock and anxiety felt heavy on your chest. No, you still had to fight. You yelled in anger and fear as you threw a punch at him, heart pounding in your chest and mouth hanging open. But your reflexes slowed down so much. He dodged you, effortlessly. Another attempt failed, again and again. Jonathan shoved you to the floor and you fell onto your back. His shoe pressed into your chest, keeping you down. 

“Stop, you’re wasting your energy” his voice sounded demonic. You still tried to fight him off. With a huff, Jonathan bent down and mounted you. You screamed at how close he was, there was no hallucination to his appearance. He looked exactly how you remembered and it haunted you. It was pointless trying to hide the fear he brings upon you in this state. His eyes were dark and expression was blank as his hands tugged onto your loose hair. “There, there, little one. You’re safe with me. You have nothing to fear” he cooed at you with a wicked grin as he pressed his crotch into you. 

You were frozen underneath him, you tried to move but couldn’t. Was this a newly developed substance? Or was your body in shock because of him. Your body trembled and you just wanted to call out for Bruce. With all of your strength, you hand slipped to your belt, searching for the distress beacon. Your actions went noticed by Jonathan and he smacked your hand away. He laughed as he picked up the device and threw it to the side. 

“What did I say again? The Batman isn’t here to save you this time” he mocked, his hands feeling up your body animalistically. He ordered you to sleep and for some reason you did. Falling from one nightmare to another. 

You groaned, your head was aching, but your thoughts were softened with the feeling of fuzziness. The fear toxin had worn off. Your lips were cracked dry as your head rolled from side to side. Your eyes peaked open, you lightly hissed at the bright light piercing above you. Slowly, your eyes became fully wide. You took in a deep breath as you analyzed your unfamiliar surroundings. Everything was white. The walls, counter, floor, exam table and the medical bed you laid on. You harshly blinked as you looked down at your body. A loud, uneased breath echoed throughout the silent room as you stared at yourself. You were wearing a white patient gown and your wrists and ankles were restrained to the bed. 

“You’re awake, finally” the dark voice traveled to your ears from behind. It sent shivers down your spine, knowing who it was immediately, Jonathan Crane. You took into note how his appearance has changed a bit. Just his hair cut shorter and he looked a bit older. If you saw him as a stranger on the street you would think him to be charming. He took slow steps towards you, raising the fear on your cold skin with him approaching you. His hand rested on your shoulder, almost as if to comfort you. “Now the fun can begin” the words slithered off of his tongue. You lied there frozen. Completely clueless of what was about to occur. He sat on the stool beside you and watched you like a hawk. “I had to strip you immediately you know, The Batman had a tracking device on your suit. He must really not trust you. You’ve always made dumb decisions, remember?” he chuckled, speaking casually to you. 

Anger consumed you, you struggled against the restraints and then you froze from the realization of how easy your inner thighs rubbed together. You looked down at your body, and saw your hardened nipples from the cool room poke through the thin cotton. You could feel your body prepare itself to hyperventilate. “You’re going to-” you gasped as you couldn’t finish your sentence, tears flooding your eyes. 

“No no no” Jonathan soothed, leaning closer to you. His fingers interlocked with yours. “You’re going to want me to fuck you, sweetheart” he flashed a smile. It looked pure at first glance, but the longer you stared, the quicker the evil painted over. 

“Help!” you screamed over and over again. Jonathan couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. God you were still such a fucking whiny bitch. 

Robin was gone, now you were just the broken girl that fell into his hands all of those years ago. It was shocking to see how easily broken you’ve gotten. All of this training and skills for what? You should stand strong, just take it, show no fear and pain. But you were just a girl. 

“No point in screaming. We’re not at Arkham. We’re very far away from Gotham” he sighed, looking up to the ceiling briefly. He yanked a dry cloth from the exam table and stood up. 

“Please Jonathan-” you yelped as he viciously gripped your chin and pulled your face closer to him. 

“Doctor Crane to you” he spat. But he didn’t loosen his iron grip. Your eyes were wide as he stared at you with anger. How dare you. You were not equals. You tried to nod your head against his iron grip. Once he let go you took a large gasp.

He leaned over you and forcefully shoved the cloth into your mouth. You cried, your eyes pleading with him as if it would actually make a difference. He admired the sight below him. “Look at you my sweet, all bound up” he commented, his hand trailing across your collarbones. “You thought you were fucking better than me, smarter, stronger. You dumb fucking whore. Don’t worry, I’ll show you your place. Right under me, figuratively and literally” he explained, the back of his cold hand raised to your flustered cheek. “I’m going to fix you” he said quietly. 

Your eyes didn’t follow him. You couldn’t dare to look at him. Jonathan sat back on the stool. He looked back up to you, noticing the tears slipping down your cheeks. “Oh don’t cry. You wanted to bring me down too. I just acted sharper than you. You let your emotions cloud your judgment, you only have yourself to blame” he elucidated.

He had a point. You were taught better. But you chose to react the way you did. Nevertheless, you didn’t deserve to be in this situation. 

He’s waited so long for this moment. The patience this man has had for this moment. It was all worth it. Now he has the power to break you down mentally and physically. You muffled into the rag, trying to plead with him. 

“I care about you” he randomly admitted. “Even after all this time” he mumbled slightly. It shocked you, this monster having feelings for someone other than himself? Impossible. “More importantly I care about how you feel about me” he added, leaning closer to your face. “So, I’m going to please you to show you just how much I care about you” he grinned, his hand tapping your cheek. 

You knew exactly what that meant. You aggressively thrashed your body. This couldn’t be happening, you needed to get out of here, out of these restraints. Your muffled cries echoed throughout the room. The breakdown quickly unfolded when you realized it was pointless. Your eyes squinted shut, this had to be a dream, a nightmare. You needed to remain calm, what he said was true. Your judgment was clouded by your emotions. What would Bruce do? Fuck, as if he would ever end up in a situation like this.  

You were too focused on your attempts to control your breathing to realize that your ankle restraints had been uncuffed. Jonathan pushed your ankles up, bringing your knees up closer to your chest. He reattached the restraints to a closer pole, keeping your knees at a 155 degree bend. Your gown rode up to your hips, exposing your bare pussy. That’s when you realized what he had done. Jonathan walked over to the counter, opened a draw and retrieved a pair of silver scissors. He looked back at you and gave you a wicked grin. Your head shook excessively, as if it would change anything. 

“I’ve wanted to do this since I met you. I regret not fucking you in Arkham. I was just such a workaholic I didn’t want my urges to get in the way. I thought of it as unprofessional. But I’ve become open to exploring new methods” he said slowly as he approached you. You resisted, knowing it was pointless but it was natural reflexes regardless. He towered over you, briefly admiring you before cutting the gown straight down the middle. You cried out as the last inch was snipped apart. Jonathan grinned as his large hands traveled all over your heated body. “I jerked off to you after every session” he admitted proudly, playing with your plump tits. He pushed the cut gown to the sides of your body, you were completely exposed to him, mentally and physically. “I’m going to eat your cunt out now baby” he told you with a smirk. The low tone terrified you. 

He stood directly in front of you, his body leaned over onto the end of the bed. He crawled up high enough for his upper body to easily lay on the bed. “God, you’re fucking dripping!” he exclaimed as he examined your wet region. “Is this all because of me, my sweetness?” he taunted. You refused to give him any pleasure by responding. But he was too focused on the sight of your sweet spot anyways. 

Jonathan examined your cunt. His fingers stroked your folds. You whined, shaking your restricted body in an attempt to get him to back off. He harshly smacked your pussy and you cried into the cloth. “Stop resisting” he growled, his long fingers returning to their playful manner. 

You didn’t like this, at all. However, from his touch you couldn’t help but to feel weakened. Your knees felt like jelly. The further his strokes went, the heavier your breathing got. You didn’t notice your hips flex forward to Jonathan, back arching. He grinned at your sexual response to his touch. You liked this, he knew you did. One finger slipped inside of you, causing you to groan painfully. Fuck, you were tight. Pristine tight. You cried as he finger curled inside of you. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked up to you, realization glowed in his eyes. 

“Oh my” he breathed out as he analyzed your expression. He slid another finger inside of you to confirm his theory, you were a sobbing mess from this. “Oh my!” he exclaimed as he pulled his fingers out. He climbed on top of you and grabbed onto your jawline. “Did you forget to tell me something very important darling?” he questioned you, a wicked smirk on his cold lips. Your eyes swelled up, this was so humiliating. You kept your eyes low and he harshly tapped his fingers onto your cheek until you looked up to him. “Have you ever been touched? Fucked?” His dark eyes demanded an answer, his hands loosened enough for you to lower your jaw. He forgot about the cloth in your mouth from excitement. 

You could always lie, but he knew when you were lying. You shook your head, still in his grip.

“Not even by yourself?”

Another shake of the head. 

A dark laugh echoed through the room. “Fuck, do you know how arousing that sounds? Too busy fighting crime to get dicked down. No wonder you’re such a stuck up cunt hm?” he chuckled, caressing your heated cheeks.

Jonathan’s words were too overwhelming. So you just cried, face still in his grip. He comforted you by petting your cheeks and brushing your hair to the side. He couldn’t help but to feel irritated by this information as well. A sudden urge to make love to you rather than to fuck you. No, you’ll like the way he fucks you. There is no choice in the matter. When your cries became minimized he slid back down your exposed body.

“You’re going to taste so fucking devine” he commented, stroking your gushing region once more. “Your body will be so delicate to my touch. I can’t wait to explore all of these new experiences with you. If you are good and embrace my touch I’ll take it easy with you. If not, I’ll make you scream. Not in a good way” Jonathan explained as he gripped onto your outer thighs. 

You whined at the first lick, eyes rolling back as your head dug back into the bed. Jonathan quietly moaned at your sweet taste. It was everything he dreamed of and more. His lips attacked your cunt as his tongue slipped inside of you. A scream of pleasure escaped your mouth. It was humiliating, enjoying pleasure from this evil man. You harshly bit onto the cloth to avoid another muffled moan satisfying his ears. It was amazing with how quickly your orgasm was building, it had only been a couple of minutes. Your legs began to tremble and fists formed. Jonathan’s nose pressed against your clit as he viciously ate you out as if he hadden eating all day. 

He pulled his mouth away, but quickly replaced your tender cunt with the touch of his digits. Two fingers easily slipped inside of you. Muffled cries snuck out. But the deeper his fingers went inside of you, the harder it was to hide your moans. 

“You’re so close to coming already. Making me feel a bit pompous honestly” he chuckled.

You couldn’t help yourself when his fingers reached your g-spot. It felt magnificent, your warm walls squeezing around fingers. He slid in four digits, causing an awful cry of pleasure mixed with pain. You were climaxing in the worst way. Jonathan’s expression looked crazed, like he was a wild animal teasing his prey. It was a surprise that he hadn’t creamed in his pants already. You rode out your very first orgasm on his filthy fingers. Your hips naturally rocked on his fingers back and forward as you became undone. 

You felt like you were going to pass out. Nostrils flared as your body fell back into the bed, it was so fucking hard to breathe. It went unpassed as he untied all of your restraints. Your eyes squeezed shut from exhaustion and embarrassment. You rejected the thoughts of you enjoying the assault, enjoying Jonathan’s touch. 

Your bloodshot eyes opened again when you felt Jonathan climb on top of you. His covered erection poked your thigh as he watched your manner. But his eyes locked onto your gagged mouth. He gently pulled the cloth out of your mouth. You gasped for air, chest raised. 

“Hm, I’ve kissed your pussy before your mouth” he grinned. It was a foul joke. It made you physically gag which he didn’t like at all. He ordered you to kiss him. 

You whimpered at the pain of your sore jaw. But he was gentle with you, his tongue slipped in and lower lip massaged yours. It felt nice, relaxing to feel his touch in this manner. He caressed your breasts as his lips nipped your neck. You let out a soft moan and pressed your body against his, arms wrapped around his upper back. It felt like bliss, the comforting touch to your sensitive body. Your bodies molded together, his breathing was by your ear as you felt your soul leave your body. It felt too good to be true. That’s when you realized it was. You were being physically and emotionally vulnerable with your assaulter. Your body tensed and he noticed immediately. 

“What is it?” he questioned, sounding concerned to the slightest. He stared into your teary eyes, the back of his hand softly stroked your cheek. His free hand lowered to your stomach in an attempt to comfort you.

You regretted it immediately. The action went without a thought. You just saw an opportunity and didn’t think of what the consequences would be. The slap echoed throughout the room and it was followed by complete silence. It was a surprise that you even had the strength to land the hit. You laid frozen as his head remained in the position your hand forced it to. If anything, it was your opportunity to escape. But that slap had used all of your strength. Slowly his dark eyes turned to you, his thighs keeping you trapped underneath him. You stared back at him in fear, waiting for his fury. He backhanded you, again and again. A last gasp for breath left your lips as his hands wrapped around your throat. You struggled underneath him, your face quickly turning red in the process. His expression was emotionless as your fingers dug into his hands, forearms, anything to break the grip. 

“Fucking ungrateful bitch” he growled. “You know, I was going to be nice and wait to fuck you until tomorrow. I thought it would have been a kind gesture to give you some recovery time since, being a pure virgin and all. But you’re just a bit of a fucking brat now aren’t you? Unfortunately I’ll just have to show you my rough side as well” he snarled to you. 

It was a lie, he was going to fuck you today regardless. It was just amusing to fuck with your mind. Your vision became blurred and your hands fell to your sides. He let go of his grip and you gasped for air. His hands quickly gripped onto the sides of your head, his fingers tugged roughly at the roots of your hair. 

“Apologize to me” he spat his demand.

“I’m sorry!” you cried. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I wasn’t thinking straight” you cried your explanation. The apology was genuine but that didn’t satisfy him. 

“Show me you’re sorry” he ordered. You blinked as you processed his words. You tried to move your head closer to his but his fingers pulled your hair back. You winced as you figured you had to work harder to kiss him. Jonathan watched your frustrated and distressed look as you tried to press your lips against his.

“Please let me kiss you” you begged. He chuckled, and let go of your hair. You kissed him desperately, your tongue slid into his mouth. He didn’t like it at all. It felt way too forced by you. Jonathan pulled away and slapped you. 

“You’re trying too hard baby. It’s rather embarrassing” he laughed. “Now, don’t make any rash decisions as I fuck you. Despite my pleasure, I think you’d prefer not to be drugged into a state of  paralysis”. 

Jonathan stood up on his knees, you being trapped underneath him. He towered over you as he began to unbutton his shirt. His eyes did not drift away from yours as he dropped the shirt to the ground. Skin as pale as ghost and had little body fat and muscle definition. It was confusing how easily he could overpower you, drugs you’d guess. “Is there any fantasies on how you want to be fucked little one?” Jonathan teased. 

“No” you spat. 

Jonathan hummed as he slid off the bed. Your lower region was still raw from your orgasm. He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. He pushed down the clothing enough for him to pull his cock out. A cry left your sore lips. His size was much bigger than you’d imagined. Maybe it was just an illusion, his cock just looked bigger because of his small size. Stroking his cock Jonathan ordered you to turn to your side. You buried your head into the bed as you turned your body away from him. 

He pulled your hips towards him, his cock rested by your entrance. You whimpered at the feeling of him against you. He caressed your ass a little bit as he lined his cock up. “This is going to hurt, a lot” he warned you with zero care. With one forceful thrust, he was completely inside of you. It wasn’t an illusion, he was as big as you thought. The inside walls of you cunt ached as it stretched around him. It was instinct for you to scream and it was diabolical for Jonathan to enjoy your sounds of agony. 

You wanted to thrash out, attack him. But you knew the consequences, how easily he would be able to restrain you. And you didn’t wish to know what torture he would bring upon you. So instead you just laid there crying with him watching you, your fingers curled into the fabric. Jonathan’s grip on your hip tightened as he began to thrust viciously. He popped your cherry quickly, your blood coated his cock and he thought that it was a heavenly sight. He stared at the back of your head as his balls smacked against your core. 

“I want you to look at me while I fuck you” he ordered, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared. You did as he said and turned your head back. His mouth fell open as you two stared at one another. “How does it feel? Losing your virginity in this state? I bet you feel like a dirty little whore. Good, because you like this, I can feel your cunt clench around me. You’re dripping darling” he pointed out, you were. The thrusts became easier because of how wet you were from this. 

His finger drew blood for your hip as his thrusts continued at the same quick, rough pace. He analyzed your expression, noticing your eyes trying not to roll back and jaw lowering open. “Are you about to climax again darling?” he asked with a grin, he could feel it. You shook your head, not wanting to believe it yourself. A harsh smack landed on your bruised hip causing you to yelp. “Don’t lie baby” he warned in a low voice. 

“Yes!” You cried out. Jonathan laughed at how easy it was to unfold you.  

“Don’t let me hold you back. By all means, come!” he commanded, slapping your ass in the process. 

Quickly after that, you followed through with his command. You cried out, eyes completely rolled back, mouth panting for air, chest tightened and body falling numb. Your head fell back as you rode out your orgasm on Jonathan’s cock, hips rocking in rhythm. 

“The little virgin really must love my cock” he noted. 

“Please- stop. I-” you were lost for words. Could he blame you? Two orgasms in a row when you’ve never even attempted it before? Jonathan chuckled darkly at your request. 

“Darling, I’m not even close to finishing. You’re just going to have to hold it out. Maybe we should see if I can get a few more in?” He smirked and you shook your head. 

You couldn’t do this, you’ve had enough. You twisted your body back in an attempt to push him out of you. He reacted quickly and climbed on top of you. His cock slipped out as he grabbed onto your chin. His eyes gave you a warning not to disobey him as he realigned his member. With an easy push, he was back inside of your sweet canal. He bit your neck roughly as he found the right angle to fuck you. You moaned, he felt so fucking good and you hated it. 

Jonathan stared at your expression. Fear mixed with pleasure. It was the ultimate combination. He kissed you passionately, his tongue sliding down to your throat. You tried to fight him off with your own tongue but it was no use. You didn’t notice your arms snaking around his back to hold him close to you, as if he’d leave at any moment. 

“You like this” he taunted. You ignored his words and just focused on him fucking you, feeling yet another orgasm building up inside of you. But then he stopped fucking you all together. His cock slipped out of you and you frowned at him. You almost asked as to why he had stopped. Has he finished? “If you want me to continue fucking you, you’ll ask me nicely” he explained, a sly look on his face. 

You laughed weakly, he wasn’t serious? Why would you want him to continue? But then he rubbed your clit and you knew why you wanted him to continue. Humiliation was such a turn on. You cried, your chaotic thoughts were too much to unpack. Why would you even dare to ask him to continue? But you were already so close again and the discomfort in your core was becoming unbearable as he rubbed you just enough to keep you on edge but not enough to push you over. 

“Don’t feel guilty about your pleasures Y/N. Your body betrays your mind, it’s so fascinating isn’t it? The relationship between the mind and body. There’s no point in fighting it. Just embrace it, embrace my touch” 

His words felt like bliss. He was so smooth tongued. It was true, you did enjoy this, well your body did at least. What was the point in fighting? You had already lost to him. 

“Please” you whimpered, keeping your head low.

“No” his reply was blank.

“Please!” you sobbed, head shooting up to look at him. Your eyes screamed desperation and irritation.

“Please what? Please Doctor Crane fuck me? I’m such a pathetic greedy little slut that wants to come again?” His words were a slap to the face. It was as mortifying as you thought. 

“Yes that yes!” your response was quick. “Please- I want, I want your cock inside of me. I want to feel you inside of me” you said overwhelmed. You were whimpering a lot, your hips rocking on his thumb.  

Jonathan watched you rub yourself on him and bit his lip. “Oh, you really are a fucking slut. But you’re my slut. You’re mine. But I think you know that already. You’ve always known. Don’t you?” He grinned. You hummed and nodded your head. You shrieked when he pinched your clit. “Use your words girl!” he growled. 

“Yes! I-I’m yours!” you answered. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your mouth trembled.

“Oh you make me want to come so hard. I want you to hold it out. Can you do that for me baby? Wait for me so we can come together” he grinned as he lined his cock at your entrances, brushing against your wet folds. You nodded your head in agreement. Whatever, whatever he wanted. 

The force of his thrusts was like a jackhammer. For a man his size, he sure had stamina. Your foreheads pressed together, fingers interlocked and your legs weakly wrapped around his waist. It terrified you because you came before him. You just couldn’t help yourself. But he didn’t stop so you rode out your high as best as you could. You knew he was about to come undone. Both of your hips locked forward at the same time. Jonathan groaned loudly as you clenched against his shooting cock. His eyes squeezed shut as he held you tight and head flung back. His thrusts came to a sudden stop, his cock completely inside of you, his load spurting deep inside of you. With a few more softer thrusts, Jonathan pulled his soaked cock out of you. 

He let out a satisfied sigh. “I told you it wouldn’t be considered rape” he reminded you expressionless, not even breathless unlike yourself. 

You broke down, unable to control your emotions. You were a sobbing mess. Surely he’s drugged you with something else, right? But the gut feeling inside of you told you otherwise. Too many conflicting thoughts were fighting with each other. After watching you for a quick moment, he got off of you and fixed himself up, redressing himself and combing back his damp hair from all of the sweat as you laid there helpless. There was the opportunity that you tried to make a run for it, but the success rate was at minimum at this point. 

The Doctor went over the sink and ran a cloth under warm water. Ringing out the water, he walked back over to you and began to clean you up, completely ignoring your state of distress. Aftercare was the least of your expectations. He left your cunt till last. His fingers pressed up against the folds of your entrance. A mixture of your fluids oozed out.

“What a sight” he murmured to himself. 

You whined and hissed as he cleaned your raw, swollen, abused cunt. When he was done, he chucked the cloth into the sink and climbed back onto the bed next to you. You silenced yourself, expecting him to make another attack on you. He watched over you quietly and you weren’t sure what to do. It was like he was a crazed monkey waiting to snap.

“You’re still such a good girl for me” he cooed as he planted soft kisses all over your heated skin. The memories of your history filled his mind. There was a passionate kiss shared between you two, the type that doesn’t show desire but shows romantic intimacy. You kissed him back gently, it felt nice and you hated it. Jonathan pulled away and wiped your tears. “You still know your place. Mhm, you took my cock so well baby. I’m so proud of you little one” he praised as he groped your tits. “God, who knows, I might just fall in love with you” he laughed softly, kissing you once more.

[bluegiragi]

okay, first of all, absolutely goddamn feral about you, your art, writing, ideas and aus i am chewing on the bars of my cage and foaming at the mouth and screeching incoherent and rolling around on the floor and- ough... anyway

i do have a very self indulgent question, particularly about Monster AU Ghost and Price, but also extending towards the rest of 141 with their involvement

at one point you mentioned that wraiths were rare, and ghost would likely feel pity towards another one

what would happen if they did come across another wraith? especially someone fairly fresh, maybe even young, younger than any of them. is there anything anyone could do to help them? would they help? price seems to know how to handle ghost well enough, and seems like hes been around since ghost's transformation, but how would ghost himself handle seeing someone else go through something like what he did? if he had to, what advice would he give them that he never got?

just been rotting in my brain 😭 ily gira and i hope youre taking care of yourself, thank you so much for the work you put in and share with us 🥺💕

this!! is!! such a good question, anon!!!! I think there's a lot of sides to that kind of situation, especially if it’s a younger person since I hc Ghost as having a massive soft spot for kids.

lots of writing under the cut!!! my braincells were FEASTING.

I think if it was just Ghost and the newly-born wraith, he'd try to mercy-kill it. The circumstances that lead to the creation of a wraith are truly harrowing, and while Simon understands the desire for revenge that burns at the core of every freshly made wraith, he also believes their plight is a kind of torture. In his mind, it would be kind to put one out of their misery. He wouldn't take any pleasure in it - I think overall, it would be a miserable affair for all parties involved.

If Price or any of the others were around, I think they’d try to convince him to take them under his wing so to speak. But while Ghost currently operates decently with his support system, he’s extremely lucky and should be considered the exception to the trend. Price was instrumental in his recovery - years of working under him solidified Price in his subconscious as an authority figure he could trust. When Ghost lost control, he could still rely on instinct - even with his mind fracturing, Price never changed. But not everyone has this kind of person immediately available to them, and it was crucial that Price got to him as soon as he did. What Ghost is now is not what a wraith commonly looks like. Price dragged him back from a brink.

New wraiths are sort of like rabid dogs, with no sense of self preservation. They’d approach every confrontation with the kind of frenzy you’d see in someone fighting for their life. They’d also be basically impossible to immobilize - you’ve seen how Simon goes wispy at times, imagine trying to handcuff a cloud of smoke. If it came down to a situation where any of the 141 were in danger, Ghost wouldn’t hold back. He’d put the other wraith down.

But if Ghost met another wraith who’d survived that first explosion of fury and managed to calm down, AND the 141 were with him, I think he’d try to help. They bring out the best in him.

[igotanidea]

What is wrong with you!? : AK!Jason Todd x reader

Just a little something to outline how i see this verse going. Suggestions/requests/feedback is highly appreciated.

WARNINGS: angst, SMUT minors DNI, probably bit of OOC

***

He was strong enough to snap her body in two if he wanted.

To break her neck.

To choke her.

To hurt her.

But somehow in his crazy, washed brain, he knew he needed her. And in some messed up, freaked out, impaired way he felt for her.

Not only because she knew what he’s been through, but because it was also so easy to dump all his frustration into her.

He failed in his mission to kill Batman?

Rough sex

His militia was questioning his abilities to lead?

Blowing steam off while pounding into her.

Did he love her?

Yes.

No.

Honestly, what is love? He lost the meaning of this word a long time ago. What he felt for her was like what the owner feels for a pet. Some kind of allegiance. Sure, he would feel some sort of emptiness if someone were to take her away and would probably kill that person off while getting his revenge, but it was nothing more than that.

Or at least that was what he was telling himself.

He was not Robin anymore and his childish infatuation for her surely turned into something more animalistic. She was at his mercy.

Just like right now.

There were some disturbances in the force and it made him angry. Angry enough to grab her from the tech room where she was working and drag her into his own bed, stripping off his armor and clothes, doing the same to her, pressing her to the mattress with all the brute strength he had.  

“Jace…..” she writhed underneath him, feeling him kiss her body with the animalistic urgency, biting, scratching and squeezing. All of her body, except her mouth. He avoided that like a plague. He didn’t need intimacy, closeness and all that bullshit. She was just a playtoy for him. The same way she was for Harley back in the days. The same way he was for Joker. “Please….” A single tear flew down her cheek.

“Shut up.” He hissed, entering her without any prep or warning, just with one push. And it hurt like hell, even after all this time she was kept in Arkham like a prisoner. Well, he was big after all. Her poor body should have been used to all kind of torture by now, but the truth was far from that. And Jason made sure she stayed tight for him. “Just shut the fuck up and take what I give you.” Jason added, putting a hand on her mouth to muffle the scream she dared to let out.

“Jace….” She moaned, not sure if it was pleasure or pain. The fact was that she might have developed some sort of Stockholm syndrome.  She knew him when he was Robin. She loved him when he was Robin and in the back of her head she had this crazy scenario that if she could only comply with his action and commands he would come back to her. Love her back. Love her again.

Poor little thing thought she could save him from himself.

She believed that she could be the one to see and have the real Jason, not the Arkham Knight. But the more she tried, the more she failed. “Baby….” She writhed, one of her hand reaching for his chest and shoulder, trying to touch him, to feel his skin against her, to ground herself.

Mistake.

She wasn’t appalled or disgusted by marks Joker left on him.

He was.

“Get your hands off me!” he shouted and grabbed her tiny wrist in his ironclad grip, leaving bruises and making her whimper in pain. She should have known better. He hated his body, all those scars and imperfections. He hated being reminded of the past tortures and rough treatment and her touch, even if it was so loving and tender did just that. “You little whore!”

“I’m sorry.” She cried out “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…..”

“Just shut up!” he yelled picking up the pace, pounding into her like she was nothing more than a piece of meat. He did not care about her silent begging, pleading and whines. If anything, having such sense of control only spur him on. “I know you like it, don’t you? Being treated like a slut you are? Hm? Y/N? Answer me!”

“Jace…..” she begged, squirming and trying to free her hands, which were now pinned above her head “I….I…..” he was rough, brutal even, but he never failed to bring her pleasure, by some twisted accident igniting the fire inside her and her body slowly started to take over making her unable to form any coherent though, settling on arching her back, whining and silently begging him to not stop while losing her breath.  

“So cock drunk, aren’t you?” he groaned, pushing her body back to the bed harshly, one hand still pinning her hands to the mattress, the other gripping her hip, pushing into her more, harder, faster. “So fucking stupid you can’t even answer one question?”

“I….. ah! Please…..” she whined throwing her head back, exposing the soft flesh of her throat.

“Oh, no, you don’t get to cum. You’re here to serve me, remember? Not the other way round.”

“please…. Jay, please…. I’m so….. “ she gulped awkwardly. She shouldn’t even think about saying it, but it just slipped past her lips “so close. So good. You’re so good. God, Jason, please, please, let me. “

“No.” he smirked vindictively grabbing her throat, cutting the air supply and watching her struggling to breathe. He himself was so close to cumming now.

Finally, with just one more thrust he came inside her, letting out groans and animalistic sounds. But not words. He felt good with her, but it wasn’t like he was going to admit it.

And this time she got lucky since she managed to orgasm with him.

It happened from time to time, not that he cared at all.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He pulled out, immediately reaching for his pants ready to go back to his duties.

“Don’t go.” She cried out, pulling herself up, her blurry eyes and tear stained face making him stop for a second. What the fuck was wrong with her? He treated her like nothing and she still gave him that loving gaze? Why? She was supposed to break, to let go of all her hopes and fantasies filled with happy future with him and yet, all his actions did nothing to make her do that.  “Please, don’t leave me.” She begged, her body shaking, clearly getting into the subdrop phase. She needed aftercare, even the slightest aspect of it. Her entire posture, her curved, trembling lips, the stain from the tears on her cheek.

She was so fragile and vulnerable.

She was so pathetic.  

Fuck!

Those were the times when something in him broke. He might have been brainwashed to hate batman and everything connected to him, his freaking assistant included, but it was y/n. His friend, his first love (and most probably last, since he didn’t have much opportunities to meet girls). He wanted to hold her. She’s been through enough. But he couldn’t break. And even her sad eyes and extended shaking arms were not enough to make him change his mind.

“Clean yourself up.” He muttered “you’re dripping.”

And then he moved towards the adjacent bathroom. He needed a moment for himself. To collect and control every stupid emotion bursting inside him. The thin walls however did nothing to muffle the sobbing and crying of Y/N, who was shaking on the bed, silently calling his name, begging for attention like a little child. Even after all he’s done he was crying for him, wanting his touch and hugs and care and attention.

Fuck, he couldn’t go soft.

But it was painful to hear her like this.

To see her broken. By him. By the only person she wanted and need.

Fuck, she was making him soft.

He yelled in frustration and punched the mirror.

Hard. Hard enough to break it into little pieces that fell to the ground and hurt his knuckles.

The sound clearly scared her, since in a second she appeared in the bathroom door, watching him bleed to the floor. Wearing only her shirt and panties since it was all she could grab in a hurry to check on him.

Fucking check if he was all right.

“what are you staring at?!” he yelled turning towards her. Her eyes wide in fear, her lips trembling, her body shaking but she was so fucking beautiful like this. Just like in the other life, before Harley left her fingerprints on Y/N.

“I… I …..” she stuttered “you’re hurt.”

“Yeah, so what? It’s not like I haven’t been before.” He shrugged, shoving her away, trying to move past her.

“Let me help you.” she whispered, lifting her hand trying to reach him, but quickly realizing how much of a mistake it would be. Again. “Let me patch you up.”

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t want you to bleed. I don’t want to see you like this. Please, Jason, let me…. Let me help you.” she mumbled looking at the ground, too shy and scared of another punishment for even suggesting something like that .

Jason couldn’t comprehend it.

How was it possible that she wasn’t completely broken like him?

What the fuck was wrong with her?!

“Why do you care?!” he yelled in frustration, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her into the wall, a little squeal escaping her lips in the process. “Why?” he grabbed her chin making her look at him

“You know why…..” she sobbed

“don’t you dare saying it!”

“I…. I won’t….. I won’t, I promise. Please…. It hurts.” He let her go, preventing her from falling to the ground. “Let me….”

“Grab the kit. Just do your job. And do it silently. I don’t want any other stupid words coming out of your mouth, you hear me?”

She nodded and without a sound sat him on the bed taking a spot next to him. Her skillful, soft hands patching him up quicker than anyone else ever could. Years of practice as Wayne assistant (i.e. Batman’s helper).

“thank you” he whispered when she was done, not looking at her. She just nodded again, smiled lightly through the tears and laid down on the bed, not daring to hope for anything. Not anymore. And Jason was not going to give her anything, apart from throwing her a blanket so she could cover herself. And then he left, leaving her in the dark, still unable to figure out what was wrong with her.

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VIII - MONSTERS & MUSES

MASTERLIST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.6K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Separated by a twist of fate, Feyd-Rautha searches for his betrothed across the wide expanses of Arrakis. He uses his cunning and brutality to inspire cooperation and to track his lady. While in the desert familiar characters Paul Atreides and Chani make an appearance.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: NSFW, minors do not engage, sexually explicit content and violence.

______

VIII - Monsters & Muses

Grinning Feyd tilts his head looking at the man before him.

It's no laughing matter.

His smile is deceptive in nature

Like any predator, a visible smirk

The showing of teeth means danger.

Rotating his wrists Feyd feels the weight of his blades as blood drips around him. Most high lords had people for torture or executions but Feyd-Rautha never strayed from seeing what the men who tried him were made of. Down to the sinew. There was an intimacy to using his blades and a ferocity that couldn’t be undermined by his slightly amused persona. Feyd’s viciousness and vitriol lies in his relentlessness, his patience, his commitment to seeing everything through. There was nothing he wouldn't do for you, no stone he wouldn't turn in the pursuit of your retrieval.

Feyd enjoyed an audience. He hadn't built his reputation on kindness. He needed people to tell of what they'd witnessed. He hoped word would travel fast that the Harkonnen heir flayed two men for their participation in your abduction. Word would travel that he had done it with a smile, without mercy, or hesitation. They would tell tales about his unsightly appearance. Crimson blood against his alabaster complexion, guts all over his clothes. About the other men he’d killed violently before freeing these two of their skin. People would recall how he’d stood up for hours, how he hadn't stopped looking for you, how he hadn't tired of doling out grave punishments. There would be no quick deaths, only long drawn out painful ones. He could hear the whispers declaring him to be someone monstrous. He could see his staff trembling as they brought his refreshments. He could feel the fear dripping from every person around him. He didn't want to feel any kindness if it wasn't from you, there was no warmth or light in his world in your absence and everyone would feel the darkness your absence brings. 

Fear went a far way further than respect, so Feyd used that to his advantage. It’s a vulnerability to be exploited. He has taken note of everything, tracking the men who scurried off like rats. They would fall into his traps or lead him right to you. He noted that the Fremen were more angry than anything else about his decrees but so long as you were gone every man within his control would suffer his same fate. He’d cleared the city of Arrakeen of the women and children, he’d even managed ambushes in several neighbouring cities in the hope of your retrieval but it had been unsuccessful thus far. Instead of executing the most vulnerable, he did far worse by placing them in a harem to give their men hope of getting them back. Then Feyd pointed missiles at the structures filled with the vulnerable. His methods were malevolent but so was your abduction.

His woman and unborn child taken right under his nose. Just several feet away within his palace without commotion or any major resistance. Your abduction has the Baron’s stench all over it. Feyd makes a promise to himself that the Baron’s punishment will be the worst of them all. Leaving the torture chambers he heads to rid himself of the matter and blood. Feyd’s thoughts are on you as he tries to tune into the connection he’d felt that led him to you. He tries to focus on that connection hoping for a miracle. He wants you to be alright, he wants you to feel safe, to know he’s coming, that no further harm will come to you.  There was nothing Feyd-Rautha wouldn’t do for you, he needed you to know that, needs you to know how hard he’s trying, he feels so close and yet so powerless. Looking up at the mirror in front of him Feyd slams a fist breaking the glass out of anger, shattering his reflection. He didn’t want to see himself without seeing you. Blood drips from his knuckles into the sink and Feyd turns on the water to wash it down with him. Staring into the drain he watches the water flow into an abyss, unseen and unheard of again. Shutting the water off he looks at his hands. He’d spent far too much time training to be a killer and far too little being a protector. His exhaustion has been stretched far beyond what is capable for the average man but there had never been anything average about Feyd. Looking at the blood pooling on his knuckles he turns on the water again watching it wash away the blood. Unclenching his fists he wraps a bandage on his hand to stop the bleeding and swelling. He looks at himself in a shard of glass when an idea settles his nerves. In his torture of a holy man he found out the secret to killing sadworms. As sacred fixtures of Fremen culture it would be an ace in his pocket. Without the fear of sandworms the Fremen’s remote hideaways could be easily accessed.

Swallowing hard Feyd nods to himself as the plan's conception grows. A slow smile creeps onto his face, he now had his terms and they would be met. Rushing to his war council Feyd looks at the live maps of the planet settling  on the view of the most fortified Fremen city. The stronghold was undoubtedly where you would be held. Grabbing a pen and parchment he prepares a scroll and then has a Mentat prepare a translation with his terms to be dropped. He would not go begging. He would not jeopardise your safety with perceived weakness but what he will do is exploit the people who would keep you from him by all means. 

——

You squirm trying to worm yourself free of the through restraints binding you to a stone pillar, the heat is relentless and your still suit can’t seem to produce enough water. You’re alone, echoes and the odd person coming to check on you are the only signs of life in your vicinity. It had been a gruelling trek, then you were sitting in a cool room when a battle ensued. Then after it was all said and done you were being passed off from Harkonnen traitors to Fremen soldiers. The Fremen soldiers had done the right thing with their murder of the Harkonnen. Kill or be killed. Instead of killing you the Fremen were gentle, allowing you time to maintain a slower pace and even going underground when the sun peaked, stifling you. Your concept of time is blurred as you sit in this subterranean cavern. The heavy concentration of Spice has your abilities and senses out of whack disabling your abilities' potency around Fremen. The whispers tell you that Feyd is wreaking havoc  but you don’t fully understand the thick accents and complicated dialects being used. 

“Let me go” you demand and a tall man that seems to be in charge turns to face you.

“Not until Usul arrives” he responds.

“You don’t look like a Harkonnen concubine” he muses. “You’re not ugly enough or bald” he mocks. Your abduction had been a coup. Harkonnen men disguised as Fremen. There was only one culprit, the baron who wanted you disposed of along with the Fremen people, what better way to get it done then to have you killed by the Fremen and Feyd end their race in one fell swoop. Then the spice would flow with such abundance House Harkonnen would be uncontested leaders within the imperium and favourites of the emperor.

“We’re being played I want to speak to your leader” you snap squiring more.

“Harkonnen whores are highly trained in seduction, black eyes steal the souls of men. You will make no demands until you see Usul” he says, reciting folklore that couldn't be further than the truth.

“Feyd-Rautha will cause more destruction the longer I’m gone” you warn and his eyes show emotion. His reaction tells you Feyd has already caused considerable damage. You watch as he makes calculations weighing his options.

“We wait for Usul” he concludes.

“Usul had better hurry” you comment and the man pauses looking at you over.

“You’re unarmed, bound and captured but you have no fear - you must be Fremen'' he scoffs. But it’s not the case, you just don't fear them for fear's sake. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant their vengeance aside from your allegiance to Feyd-Rautha. Feyd who makes all of their darkness look light. You hold his blue eyes and before you can conjure the voice the mans smile blurs your vision again causing a sting. “Perhaps not” he mocks, taking off one of his scarves and putting it around your mouth. The gesture is a charity and not an attempt to gag you. Here in the desert, strength honours strength. Swallowing you feel sympathy for what must be done.

“Have you ever known peace? Freedom?” You ask.

“No” he says regretfully.

“If Arrakis were no longer at war what would you be other than a soldier?” You ask and he pauses, unable to conceive that reality. It’s an awful truth and reflection of the horrors of house Harkonnen and the Emperor have caused the people of this planet. How could they subject people to this for generations? How could you be surprised by how the Baron treats his own citizens subjecting many of them to slave like conditions. When you look back to the man his eyes seem different, the effects of the spice take root causing you confusion.

“Your eyes understand hardship” he comments with wisdom despite his youth. “There are whispers that you are kind, generous and gave people water and aid to a mother with her sick child. Why would you be with a Harkonnen?” the man asks. There’s no honest answer, there’s no logical reason for why. Why had your father had chosen Feyd-Rautha above all other eligible sons with status? Why had your mother agreed and encouraged it the union? There was nothing to explain the magnetism and attraction you felt to him. The quiet reassurance that he was yours, the electricity, the child gestating in your womb.

“Reasons beyond reason or logic, matters of the heart and destiny are not easily understood” you admit unable to deny him even in the face of his enemies.

“Then why would his people give you up?” the man asks.

“To be a detriment to yours” you explain and the man sits. You see understanding before you see recognition.

“I know your face” he says looking at you and it echoes into your subconscious. Your vision blurs again and it takes work to focus on the man in front of you. He closes the space between you and cuts your bonds before stepping back. You hear gasps and realize for the first time you're not alone as angry blue eyes emerge from the shadows. You feel unnerved until the man removes his face coverings. The picture of him comes together as a puzzle. A familiar one. Your jaw drops as you make out a ghost from a past life. Overcome with emotion you hug him grateful for the twist of fate.

“You’re alive” you smile standing face to face with Paul Atreides.

“You’re alive” he repeats, hugging you tight. Angry Fremen comments erupt in a flurry as you take in his face, his new height, his eyes, his hair.

“You survived” you smile.

“And you did too. My father looked for you until he was killed. There were rumours but …” Paul says and you swallow hard realizing how deep the conspiracy flows.

“What?” Paul asks and your heart races, you go to walk out but bump into a soldier, the spice is affecting you tremendously. You look up and see the man who’d been caring for you. Paul emerges with a syringe. “It’s an antidote” he says and you withdraw.

“I can’t” you tell him to be cautious of your child. It’s as though Paul senses it as another soldier runs in.

“Chani, take her to guest chambers,” Paul says, receiving scrolls. Looking up at the woman from your visions emerges. She’s tall, striking and angry. Her strides are powerful, she gets bows of respect from everyone you pass. When you arrive in a room she scowls as you sit. She’s skeptical.

“How do you know Usul?” She asks. Her tone speaks volumes to who she is to Paul.

“Paul Atreides?” You ask.

“Usul” she corrects and you swallow because names don’t matter.

“His father the Duke and my mother were childhood friends. I spent countless holidays on Caladan. Paul and I were friends” you explain.

“Now you’re carrying a Harkonnen” she says with a tone laced in judgement. “Your suits reservoirs are low for an outsider the Harkonnen way is excess so there’s no wonder there isn’t much water left. It’s why you’re so susceptible to the spice. Slight dehydration” she explains without kindness, warmth or affinity. “He’s a monster, Feyd-Rautha” she says.

“He is” you acknowledge. “But he’s not your enemy” you speak truthfully. You know better than most that you’re all victims of the machinations of men blinded by their pursuits.

“The things he’s done …” she trails, shaking her head. She’s so angry her body trembles.

“There’s far more at play then we know, isolation will only further the objective of our enemies. I was taken by Harkonnen and it was made to look like I was taken by the Fremen. Feyd will listen to me, he will not do as I say but returning me will put an end to whatever madness he’s conceived as punishment for my abduction.” You explain.

It had been death by a thousand cuts for your assault.

An inconceivable amount of violence that didn’t seem to shock or surprise anyone. The cruelty of Giedi Prime was unmatched. On Arrakis the climate was brutal as is the subjugation of the people by their reigning overlords. However, life among the people is easy and loving. In stark contrast to the Harkonnen planet. While the Rabban had excelled in cruelty, Feyd-Rautha enjoyed breaking down the minds of men, toying with them, bringing them to the brink and then unrelenting slowly making them lose their minds. He had patience he would start slow, he was methodical, precise and deliberate in each act. He was the ideal weapon of choice, and now all his efforts were concentrated on the wrong place.

Looking up you swallow at Chani who turns her back to you in the thick silence. Her hand slowly palms her own stomach. It’s an unconscious gesture in a moment of deep thought. It lasts only a second before she turns back to face you. You recognize the concern in her eyes. The wavering commitment to her cause.

“He has villages worth of women and children in one of the forgotten palaces. Explosives are pointed at them” she snaps. “He’s desecrated our temples and two cities and now he threatens to tell the guild how to kill the sandworms” Chani says. You swallow hard knowing it isn’t the half of what he’s done. You know the sandworts are consecrated entities to the Fremen and close your eyes as you imagine what Feyd had to do to get that information - likely from a priest.

“Have him clear out the women and children from the palace. Paul won’t let you go back to him. The war will rage on and too many innocents will lose.” She says adjusting the still suit. She begins listing off exit instructions and although you're skeptical you feel drawn to her. It’s not until your final goodbyes that you realize what’s happened. You feel it but it’s not quite you. The alarm in her eyes says she feels it too. The feeling is a kin tothe magnetism between you and Feyd. There’s a fierce level of protection you feel for the woman and you see its mutual. Her hand rests over her stomach as she tries to make sense of it. 

Destiny.

You smile at the thought of your child and Pauls finding each other one day. Nodding in her direction the future is promise enough to keep you moving, you follow Chani’s direction hoping against all hope you make it to Feyd.

——

Feyd looks around your room, in your absence and in his rage he had found a way to occupy Leia and his staff. He would not release you, he would not yield to his enemies or the desert. You would return to him. He believed it the same way he had when he searched for you relentlessly. Feys stands looking out into the expanse, the extent of his commitment to your return is all around him. Traitors hang off the city wall and heads line it’s base. It’s unsightly and grotesque and an example of how all life will be until for everyone so long as you are kept from Feyd. Looking at the sun he sighs having waited long enough for word. Every person on Arrakis should be looking for you, the search party should be infinite, you should be in his care. He should be apologizing on his knees. He should be making up for all the love lost. Atoning for his actions, for his shunning, his reaction to your devotion and inability to keep him safe. He needed to feel you in his arms, against his skin, he needed to lay his hand over your stomach. He needed to see your smile, the swell of your breasts, your scent, your touch, the satisfied moans that come from your deep pleasure.

He loves you so much it’s taking everything in him not to crack under the weight of your absence. The humiliation of his failure, his inability to enact your return. It was like Feyd had been castrated and cuckold. No amount of violence could erase that simple fact, no amount of fear he placed in others could remedy what he feels inside. A piece of his heart was alone in the vast desert of Arrakis. In his heart he senses you. Deep down Feyd knows you’re alive but every time he goes to follow the sensations its scrambles ad leaves him disoriented and spinning. He hoped that knowing he was fighting was enough to get you to do the same. To fight for him and your child. Marriage would be his first order of business and then he would not let you out of his sights. People would believe there was an invisible tether keeping the two of you connected. There would be whispers of your witchcraft and strong effects on him.

Heading to his council room he looks at the live map of Arrakis again, there was a line outside the palace with people coming to confess information on your abduction. Feyd’s hand hovers over the missile detonator, the weight of not having you with him mounting. Horrible intrusive thoughts come to him, tempting him to act out of rage prematurely.. Static begins on the iradio, Feyd rotates the dial to tune it. The static continues until Feyd is able to pick up Fremen. Focusing on clarity Feyd tunes it to the very moment he makes out two words in the foreign dialect.

Harkonnen escaped.

It’s all Feyd needs. 

Standing he leaves suiting up. He’d always been a renegade soldier and now would be no different. Soldiers straighten as he enters the room storming through the halls with purpose. Feyd cannot jeopardize your well being when he knows there’s a possibility he hadn’t rooted out all treachery. In the event that his uncle had found a motivator more powerful than fear, he had to be decisive and quick. Feyd-Rautha knows it’s a game of chance, that the stakes are stacked against him. Should you end up in the hands of the Baron, Feyd would become no better than the other slaves on Geidi Prime. It would be the final straw. That could not be his fate or yours. Rabban, the Baron and anyone else who dreamed of separating you from Feyd would die. He would create his own family with you. Putting on his helmet as he the aircraft, Feyd allows his senses to set the coordinates. Arrakis seldom reveals its secrets; there were countless settlements, tunnels and forts that only the Fremen could locate. To foreigners all there is, is sand as far as the eye can see with the dunes shifting hour by hour, day by day. He could not depend on anything external any longer, he would follow the pull in his chest. Quieting his mind Feyd-Rautha feels the magnetism in his chest grow as he charts a course in accordance with it.

“Where is the nearest building?” He asks and a few soldiers pull up a map passing over ruins. Feyd stops at the ruins zooming in. He sees heat signals outlining men. Technology had been outlawed by the imperium, especially certain weaponry but the Harkonnen seldom followed the rules. Programming his pets he tosses redesigned hunter seekers from a hatch. The poison will disable a person in seconds and the weapon is undetectable, no more different in size and appearance than a large beetle. “Drop me here” Feyd says adjusting his gun, he preferred knives but getting close enough for combat with Fremen was unwise. “No one shoots” he warns as his boots hit the ground. Feyd feels you close and doesn't want a shootout to scare you into hiding.

“Yes my lord” his men repeat as he drops. The rubble of the building ruins is littered with disabled Fremen.

“Bring them back to the ship for questioning” he commands storming into the caverns alone.  There’s an odd sense of deja-vu and symmetry to it. Feyd-Rautha alone searching through caverns and rooms looking for you, while you are acutely aware of how close he is but unsure of how or where he will finally appear. The heat is stifling and as much as you want to remove your still suit you know it's keeping you alive, keeping your child hydrated. Pausing, you hear footsteps and move quietly. The footsteps slow as well. You make sure your face is wrapped hoping the dim lighting won’t highlight the absence of Fremen eyes. 

Backing off the path you deviate to hide your heart racing so fast you try to find a weapon in the absence of your own abilities. You try to move quietly but seize when your back hits into a person. Alarms go off in your head as you tense out of fear and regret. Your ears ring, you feel tension in your heart and throat.  Behind you Feyd-Rautha smiles as you walk back into him, your body fitting perfectly against his. Even dressed as a Fremen with no skin showing he knows it’s you and places one arm across you pulling you into him. Your iciness thaws in moments. Turning to face him he rests his head against your forehead in relief. There are no words exchanged as he pulls down the scarves covering your mouth. His lips find yours and you kiss him showing him all the love you can muster. Your regret for rejecting him is deep seeded. You pull him close as he stands there reveling in the relief of your return. He could feel the fight in you, feel how much you wanted him back. Feel your need for him. He’d almost lost you. 

“Come, let’s go home” Feyd says, picking you up bridal style. He knows you’re weary, he doesn’t need to ask, he takes the lead relieving you. As he emerges from the caves his men watch in shock.

“Kill” he says into his watch and the insect assassins do just that to everyone but either of you. He needed you, he needed silence, to let his guard down for there to be no interruptions. No recounts or recollections of the moment. He didn’t need it getting back to the Baron or the Fremen he just needed you. Walking up the plank Feyd sets you down lifting the hatch and going into orbit while shielded. The absence of life on board is eerie, so is the overwhelming feeling of hope you feel now that you’re with Feyd. The relief is overwhelming, if you had tears to spear they would fall but no water spills from your eyes as Feyd cups your face.

“Are you okay, are you hurt?” He asks.

“No” you respond and he takes your hand sitting you down as he pours you a glass of water. You drink it greedily and his eyes are all over you. After days in the desert you grow self conscious.

“Don’t do that” he warns with his soft lips against yours. “You're beautiful, always,” he says gently. His hand covers your stomach and he stands behind you removing the still suit. He bends helping you step out of it and kisses your stomach, you hold him there against you. The feeling is incomparable. The three of you are safe together and at ease.

“Free the Fremen women and children Feyd. Give this moment to them. They did not abduct me” you confess. Feyd looks at you, his eyes brimming with anger now.

“Who was it?” He asks only to have his suspicions confirmed.

“The Baron” you respond.

With that Feyd walks over to the table disengaging all security measures, letting the vulnerable go. Watching him you feel seized by surprise at his compliance. Unphased by his mercy he hands you another glass of water. You put it to your lips surprised by his lack of resistance. He tips the glass making sure you hydrate. The feelings you have for him are so strong they overwhelm you.

“Feyd, I love you” you whisper, finishing the water and setting the glass aside. He looks you over feeling the very same way. The shock of the past few days hit him hard and all at once.

.

“I love you … I” he stops turning to back you and you place a hand on his back. You rub circles as he takes his time.

“Show me” you whisper, needing him but he shakes his head in refusal. It stings and you withdraw only for Feyd to watch your wrists.

“Not until the spice is out of your system or it could hurt you and our child. I’ve put you at risk enough” he says choosing your well being over an overdue sexual reunion. The silence is thick and you decide to give him a moment changing the subject to other pressing matters.

“Paul Atriedes is alive, he’s the Fremen prophet you’re at war with” you inform but there is no smirk. No delight in a potential cat and mouse game, nothing behind his eyes aside from a quiet relief for you.

“I don’t care.” he swallows, clicking his jaw. You watch as Feyd fights against his inner animal. “I don’t care about any of it” he snaps with a thumb under your chin. His eyes narrow in on your lips as he sits bringing you closer. “I almost lost you, again” he snaps. His reaction is delayed but the clouds roll in all the same. He cared for the things that belonged to him, he was a protector and you’d been out in the desert because of his uncle's jealousy and pathetic pursuit of power. Sitting across his lap you wrap your arms around him relaxing your aching limbs in their safe place. Feyd watches you intently thanking all forces that you were back to him. He wouldn’t know how to control himself. He slides his hand under the hem of your top placing it on your stomach. One fell swoop and mother and child could’ve been gone. 

“I’m here” you say, drawing his eyes. “We’re okay” you add and he kisses your forehead again as the depths of his uncle's treason reveals itself to him.

“I'm sorry for everything I haven’t been able to protect you from” Feyd says out of frustration. Machinations of a mad man swimming around his mind. He’s ready to end it all, if he could the entire planet would be nothing but a memory, everything the Baron worked for. Reaching for the pitcher he pours you another glass watching you drink the water. Smiling, you rest your head in his chest.

“What?” He asks, raising his brow bone.

“I can almost hear the screams your thoughts are going to capture. I can feel the fear from your retribution” you comment honestly. Feyd turns his head to you, he’d been a witness to you being good, merciful and tolerant too many times for it not to be in your nature.

“That makes you smile?” He asks

.

“Anything that makes our lives together easier makes me smile,” you confess. “I’m with you, always” you promise. Feyd stands heading into living chambers, his hand guides you along with him. You realize he handles stress with silence, and kiss his hand. It’s an improvement from him requiring distance in his anger. He sets a bath filling the black tub with water, salts and oils. He undresses you slowly helping you in. He sits at the edge admiring you like a doll in his state of quiet anger. Dissociating his reflections run rampant. He’d lost and found you before. Only then as far as he knew you were safe in the care of the Bene Gesserit and not in the great expanse of Arrakis. Only then, you hadn’t yet been his. He’d never seen the beauty in your adult eyes. He’d never seen them smile. Never seen the fullness of your lips, or how they thin out when you smile. He didn’t yet know what it was like to crave you. Your presence, your body, your touch, your scent, your taste, your love. He’d never craved love before. You are and will always be the very best of him, his heart in human form and no one would ever take that from him and live to breathe or laugh about it. Looking at you in the tub is a physical reminder of the anguish the possibilities of a life without you would bring. 

Looking into your eyes he stands opting to cherish every moment. Unfastening his gear he removes his combat suit making sure his blades are tucked in the right compartments. You watch intently for the first time as Feyd-Rautha disrobes before you. Usually he removed your clothes during frenzied kissing and strong lust. Sitting back you admire his full physicality from his broad shoulders to his well endowed manhood. A lifetime isn’t long enough to appreciate him. Stepping into the tub Feyd takes his time getting in your gaze filling him with pride and confidence.

Spice vulnerability or not you need him.

“Don’t look at me like that” Feyd warns.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Makes me want to fuck you hard” Feyd confesses sitting opposite you. He takes your foot massaging it for you. 

“I'd probably like that” you confess embracing the here and now. You’d nearly lost him. 

“Every inch of me is yours” Feyd says and you wade through the water to him. “Feel this? It’s just for you” he whispers in your ear as you sit beside him he takes your hand placing over his dick. Leaning in for a kiss Feyd comes alive in your hand when he breaks the kiss, you steady your stroke taking care of the man who would do anything for you.

“Only me?” You ask, watching him and he nods

.

“Only you” he affirms, closing his eyes as you tighten your hand around his manhood stroking more deliberately. Instinct kicks in and his groans are an indicator of his arousal. You share a kiss speeding up just as he’s close and he grabs your hand standing up abruptly. It’s startling until you realize what he wants. Looking up you smile at the weight of him in your hands, his pretty cherry shaped head. Never breaking eye contact you kiss his tip, a naughty streak coursing through you.

“You’re perfect” he says through rugged breaths. You take him in your mouth sucking hard. Feyd’s eyes close as you handle him with care knowing instinctively exactly what he likes. The intimate kiss gives him a head rush, he steadies himself by placing a hand on your shoulders as you suck harder, bobbing your head faster. You revel in his body reaction, to feel the power you get from Feyd’s pleasure. In making him feel close to how good he makes you feel. He guided your head to his desired depth and pace singing you the filthiest praises as he teaches you how he likes to be pleased. You pool at his words of affirmation, his attentiveness and his size. He makes an impressive mess leaving remnants of his orgasm all over you and in the tub.

Standing slowly you watch his signature smirk emerge onto his lips. Slowly but surely Feyd returns from his despondence fully. Smiling, you file his reaction away in your memory. Breathing life into his cock could bring him back to himself, to the present, to loving you. “Good girl,” he whispers, helping you out of the tub. “My na-baroness” he says, pushing you into the shower. “When it’s safe, I’m gonna give it to you rough, make it fun for you” he whispers. 

“Hope that’s a promise” you remind and he nods, smirking in agreement.

“I can promise you that” Feyd smiles. “I can also promise you that this is the last time anyone separates us without our consent. I can promise it’ll all be over swiftly. I can promise after this I’m done with war because I’m just getting started with you” Feyd says, giving you the perfect bedroom eyes. 

“I’ll be right at your side” you promise and  the look in his eyes says he needs you right now. The air between you is electric and so is everything that is to come.

_______

As always thanks for reading & your support 🩶🩶🩶🩶 comment, like & reblog if you enjoyed!

_______

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[yandere-3-sagau]

The Unawakened Creator

Yandere!SAGAU x Creator!Reader

Imposter AU

Short summary: You’re isekai’d but without anything to prove you’re the creator (you are referred to as reader/creator/imposter)

warning(s): ANGSTTT, abuse, torture, blood, gore, self-harm, mentions of suicide, masochism, sadism, plague, divine punishment, revenge

word count: 1403

—

Imagine reader isekai’s and like usual they’re mistaken for an imposter and hunted. However, this time there’s no proof to show that they’re the creator. Their blood isn’t gold, their tears don’t crystallize. It really is like they’re just a regular person with the face of the creator.

With no powers and no one to believe them, reader is imprisoned almost immediately. The acolytes, so disgusted with the “imposter” do everything they can to make reader suffer before the date of their execution.

Reader’s cell is deep in the basement. Cold and damp with no light. The floor is dirt and their only companions are the rats and bugs that crawl around. The acolytes starve them for days before giving them nothing but dirty water to drink and moldy bread.

Acolytes visit them to throw countless piercing words and to have their turn at abusing them. By the time it reaches their execution date, reader is already covered in bruises with a few minor fractures.

The execution is exclusive, with only the most loyal acolytes having the pleasure to witness the downfall of this despicable “imposter.”

The acolytes gather around the reader’s pitiful form and the abuse they suffered in the cell wasn’t enough. Reader is sliced over and over again, allowing everyone to see their “dirty, imposter blood” spill.

Reader’s throat grows hoarse from begging and screaming for just a bit of mercy. Yet all that surround them were looks of disdain and some of satisfaction. Slowly, the hope diminished from their eyes.

Going insane from the pain, starvation, and humiliation, the “imposter” begins to laugh. Even as their throat is so sore from crying, the laugh is so loud that it startles the acolytes.

Disgusted by them, one acolyte decides to deliver the killing blow. A sharp spear straight to their heart. However, just as the weapon hits reader’s vital organ, there is a flash of light.

When the light fades and the acolytes regain their sight, they are shocked by the glowing golden eyes of the so-called imposter. They freeze in disbelief as they watch the previously red blood turn into a glittering golden right before their eyes.

The acolyte that delivered the killing blow has their body wracked with sobs, hands trembling.

The creator suddenly looks up at them, smiling. But it isn’t the warm and welcoming smile that they all dreamed of seeing. It is cold and filled with pure, pure rage.

The creator shuffles towards them.

In the completely silent field, the creator’s voice is carried by the wind, reaching each of the acolytes.

“Why did you stop?” the creator asks.

The bruised and cut up hands of the creator wrap around the acolytes hand that was holding the weapon.

In the front of all the acolytes, the creator uses their hand to stab themself multiple times. Pints and pints of golden blood spill out of their wounds, splashing on the ground.

Frozen with shock, the acolytes can do nothing but watch.

Despite stabbing themself multiple times, reader doesn’t flinch. However, at every squelch of the weapon entering their creator’s body, the acolytes cringe and shake.

“How is it? Is it enough? Do you need more?”

Seeing the horrified looks on their faces, reader decides it isn’t enough. They send the weapon straight into their eye, hearing the acolytes gasp and cry. The acolyte holding the weapon finally snaps back into reality and drops the weapon immediately.

All around them, the creator hears countless thuds as the acolytes drop to their knees. A chorus of cries, begging for forgiveness and for mercy.

Reader laughs at the irony.

“What’s wrong…Why do you guys look like that? Just a minute ago you seemed to enjoy watching me get sliced and stabbed.”

Apologizes stream out so fast that it hurts reader’s head.

“Oh…you’re apologizing? For which part? For torturing me? For smiling as I begged and screamed for help?”

“I will never forget a single thing you have said to me. Every action I have experienced will be forever engrained in my heart and mind. Your apologizes mean nothing.”

Reader forces the acolytes to stare at them, all of the wounds with golden blood dripping from their body and soaking the ground beneath them.

“If this is how you treat me as a weak mortal with no power, then you do not deserve my mercy.”

The creator was never seen again after that. But the acolytes know that they haven’t left, that reader hasn’t forgotten and certainly hasn’t forgiven them.

Everything that was done to the creator is returned.

Just as reader was trapped in the darkness, there is no more sun. The clouds are always shrouding the lands in gloomy darkness. Not even the stars could be seen.

Just as reader was starved, crops everywhere refuse to grow. Food from animals are spoiled almost instantly, causing the majority of Teyvat to go into famine.

Just as they suffered from the pain of their torture, the nations are filled with a horrible, excruciating plague.

The acolytes pray and beg but it only makes the creator angrier.

Where was the mercy when they were the one on their knees begging?

Years go by and the population of Teyvat begins to dwindle. The acolytes decide they finally had enough, and that even though it’s their divine creator causing this disaster and that it’s the acolyte’s own fault, the archons cannot allow their people to suffer any longer. They track down the creator with the intent to put a stop to their terror.

Reader hears that they are hunting them down and decides to let the acolytes find them.

The acolytes do not want to kill them but they hope to defeat reader so as to stop the pain inflicted on the people of Teyvat. The acolytes prepare long and hard for the battle fully aware that they’ll be going against the God of Gods, the reason for their existence.

Only, reader has no intention of winning from the start. In fact, their creator doesn’t even put up a fight. Reader wants the acolytes to succeed in killing them.

During their time alone, reader has tried to off themselves several times just to return back to their original world…but each time they tried, they failed and were forced to live in the godforsaken land that is Teyvat.

“You tortured me as a mortal, now you want to kill me as your god?…Well, then go ahead. Do it.”

The acolytes are hesitant until their creator says,

“If you fail to kill me now, Teyvat will suffer even more disaster than before.”

With no other choice, the acolytes attempt to kill their beloved creator. But no matter how many fatal blows they give the creator, no matter how many times their creator is struck down, they never die.

The creator lets out a piercing scream that makes the acolyte’s heart clench in despair. The acolytes unconsciously pull back their blows thinking that it’s a scream of pain… but it’s a scream full of anguish.

“Why?!” reader screams. “Why can’t I die?!” glittering tears mixed with golden blood stream down their face.

That’s when the acolytes realize that this was the creator’s plan all along… to leave them.

It’s not fair, reader thinks. Reader is able to feel all this pain and suffering but they are unable to die. All anger, revenge and bitterness leave the creator’s eyes as the emptiness sinks in. The creator sits there, completely silent.

Suddenly, the skies begin to clear, and green plants start regrowing all around what used to be barren land.

The creator doesn’t move an inch. They don’t respond as the acolytes speak to them. Even as the acolytes tend to their wounds, reader stays completely still like a lifeless doll. The acolytes would have thought that they had succeeded killing them if it weren’t for the endless stream of tears rolling down their frozen face.

The acolytes should be overjoyed that the creator is finally done with their revenge… but they are unable to feel anything but sadness.

The acolytes thought that the wrath and the hatred of their beloved creator was the worst pain that they could feel…but as they stare at the current state of the creator, they realize that nothing hurts worse than seeing reader, an empty shell of what they once were… and knowing that the acolytes themselves are the cause of it.

(now that I’m back im posting all of my drafts)

[stxrborne]

PRECISION

|| Feitan x neutral! Reader ||

|| dt to @after-witch @ddarker-dreams @depravitycentral for inspiring me to finally get off my ass and write, and also for their amazing works ofc! check them out! ||

It’s ironic, Feitan thinks, to sew up the wounds of his victims. But they can’t die just yet.

His thin, long fingers push the needle through the victims skin of their inner thigh, and he gives out a light scoff in mockery when they whimper. Little rich boy can’t handle a little pain? He hates these rich types that think they can pull one over on the troupe. They were fun to interrogate, they always worked up his temper where taking it out on them was something he looked forward to. Due punishment, not only for their bratty, pretentious attitude, but their lucky pull in birth circumstances. Feitan acts as their comeuppance.

He’ll give it to this victim, however, still holding on to the information despite it all. Usually his male victims would start spilling whatever they knew when Feitan picked up a hammer and pushed their thighs apart. But here his victim was, crying and whimpering, and now a eunuch, and still not speaking.

Feitan finishes his stitches with a clean knot, and sets the needle and thread aside on his medical tool tables. He likes to pride himself in his efficiency and perfection. After all, torture required just as much knowledge of the human body as a surgeon. The image of Feitan as a doctor, in a different life, flashed in his mind and he laughed aloud. Maybe. Maybe if he was born lucky. Maybe if he didn’t have to learn surgery and amputations from the cruelty of his home.

After all, doctors can’t save everyone. And he didn’t see the point in willingly putting that responsibility and burden on yourself. Especially for ungrateful rich brats.

No, it was much easier to take life than to protect it. Much more fulfilling too. Other people aren’t your responsibility.

How funny though, Feitan thought. To now have something to willingly burden yourself with.

His ears pricked up to his victim shuffling in his chains, and he turned to them. The man wasn’t remarkable, only one person really was in Feitan’s eyes. The only thing noticeable now was the man’s family crest Feitan had carved on the skin above his heart.

How can you claim to belong to something, if you can’t even mark yourself with it? When you die, how will people know where you belonged to?

Feitan takes the man’s face in between his hand, and moves his head around to inspect his work. He debated between leaving the cut next to eye, dropping a few drops of an infectious bacteria into it so the eye would eventually eat itself. It’d take about a week, and then another for the infection to spread to the rest of the body.

Feitan couldn’t help but smile at the image. He gripped his victims face with his nails, and told him so.

“It’d be funny to see you swell up with blood and pus. I wonder if you’d get fat like an ugly cyst, but you already don’t look all that different from one.”

He let him go unceremoniously, and watched as his head fell forward. Feitan will grant him the mercy of sleep. After all, a dog will still endure abuse if you feed it often enough.

“Feitan?”

He heard you before you reached the basement door of course. He knew where you were in the house at all times after all.

You knew you weren’t allowed to open the door. If you needed him, just knock or call his name. You think it’s because he’d have to kill you if you saw what he was doing.

He knows that, and thinks you’re silly. He wipes his bloodied hands with a clean cloth as he walks to the door. His eyes meet yours when he opens the door, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he closes it. You don’t even know what color the walls of the basement are.

Feitan looks you over, with the same precision he gives to everything. You’ve been picking at your hangnails again and for some reason you didn’t bother bandaging your thumb, where you had ripped and tore at the skin enough for it to bleed. Another thing is that you’re wearing nothing but a towel, which means one thing.

“I want to take a bath,” you say, your clasped hands nervously squeezing themselves. It was another thing you weren’t allowed to do on your own. You didn’t understand why, and you didn’t understand why he did the things he did. He’d set the water the way you like it, even though you don’t remember telling him. He scents it with fragrances and oils that you can tell are expensive, in your favorite scents too. He helps you in and then holds out your towel so he doesn’t see your naked body, and he swiftly turns and closes the curtain. He does the same when you’re ready to come out.

He has a chair he sits on, quietly and unmoving as he watches your silhouette. Maybe it’s a kink or fetish of some kind, you think. It had taken you a while to get use to. But something tells you it wasn’t that exactly. One time you had slipped when washing your body, and before you could fully gasp out in surprise, you were in his arms with his face to the side.

He didn’t act the way you expected a kidnapper would. But it still didn’t explain why you were here at all.

Feitan nods at you, and you lead the way. You’ve learned he preferred to be your second shadow than to be your leading light.

Your large bathroom was attached to your equally large room. Funny how you’ve started to refer to them as ‘yours’. It’s difficult not to, when he is somehow able to let you decorate it the way you want. Feitan does that often, you’ve found. No matter how expensive your request, and you have tested that, he will get it for you. You’re scared to ask how.

He begins his routine when you both step into the bathroom. He gets the water to the temperature you like and let the bath tub fill. The sound of the tub jets fill the air, and you watch as he drips expensive oils into the water. His movements are methodical, and somehow he’s figured out the ratio of water to oil that’s right for your skin.

Feitan doesn’t dare mix the water with his hand.

Your nose is soon filled with the scent, and you feel your tense shoulders slowly let go and relax. He’s watching you, you know that. He stops the faucet when the tub fills up, and you walk up the small steps and stand in front of him.

A part of you is always tempted to touch. His pale skin is smooth and such a contrast to his dark hair. This close, you can see just a hint of green in his black eyes, the way they don’t seem to blink. You wonder if he is even human.

You nod softly and he moves behind you. You can’t even feel his presence, hear his breath, and you slightly jump when he reaches to gently clasp the small fold that holds your towel up.

Feitan waits until you calm again to continue. He never touches you directly, not even a stray touch from any finger. He takes off your towel and spreads it as a barrier between you and him.

But then you do something that has his heart beating and stopping erratically. His breath catches in his throat, your gaze turning to him and he feels trapped beneath it. How do you not know how much power you have over him?

His eyes instantly move to the way you nervously bite at your lip. Somehow he can know everything about you, how you think, how you word those thoughts, and yet now, he can’t believe what he thinks you’re going to say.

“…help me?” You say slowly, so quietly that a normal person wouldn’t have heard you.

But you know he did. And you don’t drop your eyes from him.

Feitan, in return, lets the towel drop.

[coentinim]

Crime scene

ADULT + DARK CONTENT - MDNI !

JPM is beautiful in the act of killing, how can his wife not appreciate that?

Contains: descriptions of murder (not of reader), gore, blood, sexual content (at a fresh crime scene), you are (almost) as deranged as him, you are married to him, dead dove - please feast <3

I am not responsible for what you see on the internet!

Edit: forgot to tag people T_T

@fear-is-truth @taintandviolent @feefymo @slutforgarlogan @silverzoomies @yandereunsolved @maeriavizsendingjpmdose @evanpetersbf @carniv0reev

You heard it again. Those screams, those ear piercing, mind shattering screams of some poor soul being gutted alive. Supposedly, the walls were soundproof, but you could hear well and clear the wails of another one of James' victims in the next room. Perhaps the wall connecting your rooms was the only one he didn't line with asbestos... and on purpose for sure. He wants you to hear.

A young woman - no older than 25, judging by the noise - was currently being sliced open slowly and deliberately by your husband's hand. After only being married to him for a few weeks, you could already tell apart the screams of terror before a quick death and pained, tortured wails of a slow one. And during this time, you've grown accustomed to this peculiar hobby of his, even fond of it at times. His bloodlust and cruelty were undeniably fascinating, and having the honour of being the only person he never wished to harm was something to cherish. His debauchery was just contagious, really!

Curiosity had overcome you, and you decided to check what exactly was your beloved doing as he worked. And oh, were you amazed at the sight when you entered his room.

The screaming was so much louder and clearer here, begs for mercy - even for a quicker, painless death - made for a terrifying noise, but you paid them no mind. Oh no, you focus was on your husband only. He was a true artist, the way he worked the woman's body like it was an instrument, a work of art for art's sake, a horrible perversion of what a piece should look like. A bloody image it was - James was cutting all over her skin, ignoring the wails, and carving flesh with quick, steady strokes of the knife. You couldn't help but come closer, almost beside him, and you made your presence known by walking into his line of sight. He raised his eyes from the half-dead girl to you and you noticed his expression. He did not look human, not even one bit. His eyes were widened, pupils engorged and cheeks flushed bright red. He wore the mask, the strange mask you didn't know the purpose of that made him look like a horrible monster mothers warn their children about. He did not wear the apron he usually did, though. His white shirt (one of the informal, "not as good ones", you recalled) was half unbuttoned and stained crimson with the explosions of the woman's blood. In the act, he looked like a beast. He was panting when he stopped skinning the woman to gaze at you.

"My darling, I didn't- hah, disturb you, did I?"

His voice from behind the metal and leather sounded different, too. Savage. Inhuman.

"No, Jimmy, I was just curious..."

You gazed at the wailing woman on the table. Dear god, she was a mess... her arms and thighs were a mosaic of cuts, some more refined and artistic, some deep and rough, careless. She was almost bare, her under dress riding up enough to only cover her breasts, and only a small pair of knickers on her bottom. You hummed in approval; James listened to your rules against seeing his victims naked unless necessary. But you quickly turned your attention to her stomach, because that was certainly a sight to behold! Around the navel, there were a few deep lacerations, one of them definitely deep enough to penetrate muscle and cut into the intestine. The blood flowing out in rhythm with the erratic pulses of her heart covered her pristine underwear, making her look downright pornographic. It wasn't hard to understand his savage interests in such moments - the bloody, shining gash on her stomach was a curious sight, to say the least. It truly looked nasty; that must be why she was writhing in pain so much. She seemed to beg for your help, but it was unintelligible - besides, there was no saving her now, she had lost too much blood. Not that you would have saved her otherwise - she would just run to the nearest police officer and get you and your husband arrested. Accepting James might be hard at times, but seeing him executed while people leered at his undeniably painful demise would have been much harder. He was hard to love, and hard to let go of.

You trailed your hand over her split stomach, ignoring the thrashing and protests.

"May I?", you asked.

James' eyes lightened up even more, humanity mixing with the animal in him.

"Would I ever deny my darling wife to share my pleasures?", he replied in his syrupy voice distorted by the metal mask, the terrifying sound making your head spin. He was the only one who could scare you yet make you feel so safe.

You kept looking him in the eyes, barely visible under the eye protection, while slowly putting two fingers into the woman's wound. You were terrified, but you just wanted to tease your James just a bit, just a tad... It was wonderful. The quiet, pained screech, the blood exploding under your fingertips and the pulse of her insides. It felt like touching something slimy, is that what James felt upon fingering your cunt? He absolutely adores doing it, and now you see why; the texture is nothing short of divine. Your ministrations had a great effect on your husband, as he started panting and gripped the edge of the table the woman was sprawled on. Oh, he was hungry like a wolf at that moment. You let go of the victim's body after just two seconds, slightly disgusted with yourself, observing your bloodied hand and James' face. It was hard to see anything but his nose and eyebrows through the mask, but you knew he was more aroused than ever. In fact, you feared him. He was terrifying in his murderous attire, even more so now that his body language radiated pure hunger. You held his killer gaze for a few long seconds until something made him glance away. Right. The woman.

To your surprise, she was still making noises despite the blood loss. James walked right past you, close to her face, and held her cheek almost tenderly. Her gaze was unfocused, but she tried to squirm away from his touches. In response he just gripped her chin tight and tutted at her hazy thrashes. He raised his blade and sliced her neck open, so deep the blood exploded in his face. She went quiet rather quickly after that.

You saw him kill a dozen times, yet it always stunned you just how predatory it looked. His muscles taut, the vulgar display of vitality, as if he absorbed the life force of his newest victim.

Slowly, James turned to face you. He was dead silent, and at that angle you couldn't see his eyes. Your instinct told you to back away, so, naturally, you stepped forward, your thighs slick with arousal from the fear and guilt.

The growl that came from his throat was definitely unexpected. But more surprising was his direct action - he gripped your shoulders tightly and led you into the chaise-lounge next to the table. He pushed you hard onto it, making you gasp, and he pressed your shoulders to the soft pillows as if you were to be another victim. That particular thought went straight to your pussy.

"James... maybe after you clean up after yourself?", you suggested in the most sultry voice you could. Ah, did you have to tease him so much? He was impatient, after all! The tension from the kill had to be resolved somehow.

"Nonsense, dove-" he was already pulling up your gown, "I need to take my fellow murderess... now "

You bit your lip, nervous. Were you really a murderess?... that girl was already half dead when you touched her wound! You were merely an accomplice, and...

Oh, you forgot you didn't wear any panties until you felt the cold air hit your pussy. He gripped your thighs and left blood handprints all over, making you forget your guilt. Your dress was all red now, too, as he used it as some sort of napkin to clean himself after his meal. He was savage today, but even now he remembered to at least taste you before taking you. He attempted to take off his mask and you whined.

"James... no, keep it"

He chuckled darkly. Then, he spoke with his metallic, leathery voice:

"Oh? If that is to your tastes, dearest wife..."

He wasted no more time after that. He almost ripped the silky dress off in his hurry, and slipped out of his pants with an impatient growl. Oh, you looked like a prey ready to be ravaged. He groped you all over before sinking his painfully hard cock inside you, leaving bloody handprints on your waist and breasts and neck. You looked like a masterpiece of pain. You whined, the stretch was pretty painful despite your wetness. He looked like a feral beast above you; his terrifying mask making him look like a strange monster taking you all for himself. The thought felt so erotic you could barely stand it, and you whined. Oh, his girth felt so invigorating...

He fucked the same way he killed. Impatiently, roughly, and yet meticulously, both in control and completely out of it. His moans were distorted by the mask, and it felt as if he was all around you, he was in your brain as much as in your cunt. It felt divine, to be violated by that beastly killer, by your beloved husband. Sweet, honeymoon lovemaking with him was terrific, but the desecrating pace he treated you with right now was a feeling no other man could recreate. You gripped his shoulders, staining the back of his shirt with your bloodied fingers, bringing his body closer. Each thrust was punctuated by your obscene moans; he slid himself in at a slightly upward angle, hitting your sweet spot hard each time.

You whined and whined, and he slid his bloody fingers past your parted lips, making you taste his victim’s blood. Your guilt was all-encompassing, yet it felt so good to give in, even just once. Morality was for the stupid, uneducated folk, James used to say. Regulations, rules, faith; all of it is supposed to limit freedom of thought and action. You believed every word of his, no matter how ridiculous it all sounded in the context of his serial murders.

He always knew when you were close, always knew just how and when to toy with your pussy with his red hands and when to edge himself so you two finish at the same time. He had a thing for it, it felt like unity, like your bodies were truly one.

You thought he would never kill you, but he did it quite frequently. You died a little death many times with him, unravelling beautifully under his strong body, core exploding with spasms and locking his seed deep in you. You two came as one, him filling you up, making your mixed releases drip down and combine with all the blood. In this moment, you were his victim and he was your killer, taking you from life and lifting your soul up, or maybe dragging it down to hell, for a few seconds of blissful pleasure.

You always envied his victims. Oh to see his face as the last thing before you fade away, oh to feel him inside you as you pass! The blood all over your body, his mask and the body nearby made you feel such eroticism and guilt...

He pulled out with a whine and tucked himself into his pants, pulling your dress over your dirty body soon after. The casual nature of the situation made your head spin in confusion. That was it?... he can just get up like that, like nothing happened? You were panting, staring at his body, beautiful and shiny with sweat. He took his mask off, revealing a devilish grin.

“Miss Evers! Bring me fresh linens and draw a bath for my wife, would you?”

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee: Final 1/2

CW: Betrayal, team whump, whumper turned caretaker, assassination attempt, hurt/comfort, annggsst

[Previous] - [Masterlist] - [Next]

Whumper watched over whumpee all throughout the night. Whumpee would wake up, not remember where they were, then struggle until whumper soothed them back asleep.

Whumper knew the sleepless nights would catch up with them eventually. They downed a tall cup of coffee, hoping to stay awake until morning...

------

Whumpee woke up that morning staring wide-eyed at whumper fast asleep on the bed with them. "Hey." Whumpee spoke, testfully poked whumper's arm. They groaned, but remained out cold.

Whumpee climbed over them and touched their bare foot to the floor, they immediately felt something cold as they flinched. There was spilt coffee at the foot of the bed along with an assortment of papers. They were badly stained, any information whumpee could have gleaned were long gone.

A silver key was dangling from whumper's pocket. If whumpee couldn't find information here, then there would be something elsewhere.

They clutched the key and snuck out of the infirmary. There were guards patrolling the halls as whumpee ducked around the corner. They let the guards pass, before slipping into the hall behind them. Whumpee tried every door they passed, all locked tight and the key fit none of them.

There was one last engraved door at the end of the hall. Whumpee heard the guards coming back around as they trembled and kept missing the keyhole. There was a silent *click* as the door swung open. Whumpee jumped in and shut the door behind them, taking a deep sigh of relief.

They stood in what seemed to be whumper's office; a large wooden desk, walls adorned with weapons, massive bookshelves. Everything whumpee expected whumper's office to look like, really.

They turned on a lamp and rooted through the desk. There were moundfuls of documents detailing whumpee's team. There were things here whumpee didn't even know... Things they weren't classified to know. They were told whumper was a murderer, someone who killed on sight; they took no prisoners and mercy was unheard of.

"Then why did you save me?" Whumpee whispered, looking at a framed picture of whumper proudly standing with their team. "Why capture me for intel if you had it already?"

In the depths of a drawer, whumpee found a roughly bound journal. It was branded with whumpee's team logo. They recognized it; each team carried one to document missions. Even whumpee had their own, though this one looked ancient...

They opened the first page before suddenly, the door opened and the lights flashed on. Whumpee gasped and dropped the book, frozen as they looked up like a deer in headlights. The person staring back had the very same expression. Horror, adrenaline, confusion.

-It was one of whumpee's teammates, dressed darkly and hooded as they took an astonished step towards whumpee.

"Whumpee? You're alive?" They whispered. "How? We thought they killed you." They gasped. Whumpee covered their mouth and clambered back to their feet. They were flooded with relief seeing a friendly face. They tried to figure out how to say a million words in a single breath.

"It's a long story-" Whumpee heaved, "I've been kept here by whumper, I got hurt in the attack and I-I was bleeding out and I was-" Whumpee trailed off with a flicker of doubt. They knew their team would think whumpee betrayed them if they were found alive in whumper's custody. The amount of intel that could be tortured out of them...

"I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't looking right at you." Their teammate filled in the silence, taking a step closer. "To think all this time, you survived..."

They didn't sound happy. Both of their eyes dropped to the journal between their feet, branded with their symbol.

"Ah, I see... So you found it." Their teammate stared.

"Found what? What have you not told me?" Whumpee demanded.

They crouched down to pick up the book, as they heard a *sswick* of a blade being unsheathed. Whumpee stopped in their tracks. They slowly looked up and stared into the tip of a blade and the eyes of someone who was no ally.

"I really am sorry." Their teammate whispered softly. "But you died that day, whumpee. It has to stay that way, for the good of all of us. You understand, don't you?" They took a step closer as whumpee snatched the book in their arms and backed away.

"Oh, come on, don't make this difficult. You've died once for us already. You can do it one more time, can't you?" They tilted their head.

"Can't I know why?" Whumpee's voice broke as their back hit the wall. "I- I didn't give you up, I didn't tell whumper anything. They weren't even what I thought they were... They weren't what you told me!" Whumpee suddenly shouted.

"I'm sure you didn't, you were always loyal. But it was never about that."

The blade came to their throat as whumpee shuttered and closed their eyes. The sound of a blade piercing flesh, a hot splatter of blood hit their chest, yet they felt nothing but cold adrenaline.

There was hollow silence. Whumpee opened their eyes, their teammate's face was blank as they sunk to the floor on their knees. Their silhouette was replaced by whumper, holding a dripping blade with a look of pure hatred.

"They dare set foot in my house!?" Whumper shouted. Their eyes suddenly darted to whumpee, who flinched. Their back was to the corner, face stained with blood, they trembled while hugging the journal to their chest.

"How did you get- ... No, one thing at a time." Whumper stopped themselves, putting the blade out of sight. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" They asked instead, nudging the corpse off their feet.

"I'm- ... I'm not hurt." Whumpee responded rapidly, trying not to show they were gasping for breath. "They were going to k-kill me." Whumpee touched their fingers to their chest where their teammates blood was splattered. "And you just... S-saved my life..."

"As much as I want to gloat and say I told you so- I'm just glad I got here when I did. Come with me, let's get you changed and we'll talk." Whumper held out their hand.

To be continued, 2/2

[Previous] - [Masterlist] - [Next]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut @anonintrovert @sausages-things

[sweet-honey-fruit]

I saw you were asking for a request so I thought of something. What would the harbingers (Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia, Capitano, Arlecchino) do if someone hurt they're s/o to get information about them? Have a nice day btw :D

This this THIS! I’m a sucker for these kinds of things. It’s definitely a guilty pleasure of mine with these scenarios. Thank you for this, I had a lot of fun writing it!

Harbingers With Hurt S/O

Warnings: Violence, mentions/descriptions of torture and death, use of pet names, possibly OOC Capitano cause there’s literally little to no information about him, spoilers for Fatui Harbingers lore

Arlecchino

She doesn’t want to admit how badly her heart ached when she saw you walk in battered in wounds and bruises. Yet you still greeted her with a bright smile.

All she did was stare at you with a blank look on her face, wrapping her arms around you and giving you a kiss on the top of your head

You held a special place in her heart, so seeing you like this raised an unbelievable amount of worry and anger, but she wouldn’t let you see that

Her voice came out in a hushed whisper, swaying you back and forth slightly, “Tell me my beloved, what has happened to you?��

You’re hesitant, of course. You know how she can get, especially when it comes to you

But you especially know how she gets when you’re not upfront and honest with her

“Treasure Hoarders wanted information about the whereabouts of the delusion factory,” The moment the words leave your mouth, she brought you closer to her before letting go

Her face is stone cold, but you can practically feel the infuriation radiating off of her like a waterfall

It leaves you shaking a little bit, and you’re not even the one she’s livid at

She sends you to Dottore to get patched up, making sure to not-so-subtly threaten him to keep you safe and to not turn you into one of his experiments

She’s using these circumstances as a training exercise for some of her children in the House of the Hearth to gather information

Once she has the information she needs, you better believe she’s going absolutely batshit crazy

And I’m talking about leaving the Treasure Hoarders mangled bodies at other Treasure Hoarder camps to send a message

That message being that if they touch you again, she’ll make sure every single one of them will perish by her hands personally

Capitano

He’s not the type of man that pays attention to those that he deems weaker than him

He doesn’t find them worthy enough for his time

Yet when one of his Fatui subordinates delivered him the news that you’ve been captured and tortured by a group of Nabushi in Inazuma-

Well, he could make this one exception, couldn’t he?

He’ll seek to hunt them down himself

He wants them to understand the mistake they did for touching the only person he has deemed worthy for his endless time and attention

For every mark that was bestowed upon you, he will make sure he doubles it both in numbers and in pain

He won’t outright kill them, he wants to get back home to you as soon as possible

But we will leave them barely conscious

Surely the Rifthounds can take care of them. They gotta eat too after all.

He’s grinning the whole time he walks away

Hearing them scream for him to save them as the Rifthounds bite away at their flesh

For anyone else the sickening sounds of tearing flesh and blood curdling screams would be enough to show mercy

But to him it’s music to his ears

Maybe next time they would think twice before using you to get information

Dottore

He’s cackling to himself when he found out

The poor subordinates that informed him are quivering and praying to The Tsaritsa that they won’t feel his wrath

Cause this man is insane, but in that moment, that is the most insane he has ever been

Thankfully The Tsaritsa seemed to answer their prayers cause he dismisses them to bring you to him

Although one managed to climb up the list to be his next test subject when they declare that you’re being seen by a Sneznayan doctor so it “might not be a good time”

He snaps out a “I’ll treat them myself, your lucky my priority lies with them right now, otherwise I’d already have your flesh ripped away and replaced with metal”

He makes a mental note to do it later, for when you’re escorted in, he’s furtively seething

Littered in cuts and bruises, a deep cut slashed along your side, and lightning shaped scars surrounding it

He has a good idea who did it already, and why it was done

As he’s treating you, he’s tracing along the lightning scars, letting out a small hum

“My dear, tell me, what exactly happened.”

This man intimidates you from his voice alone, and you can’t even form the words to speak

Even though he knows, he wants to hear you say it, to just confirm that his anger is justified

Not that he cares on rather it is or isn’t, but his superiors certainly do

He can sense your timidness which makes him grin. He finds it so cute, but now is hardly the time to be having those thoughts

He reassures you that it’s okay, you can tell him. He’ll make it all go away. He’ll make them go away. Just tell him, he’s there for you.

And you do tell him in a hoarse voice, and he finds it pitiful.

Some Dancing Thunder Kairagi thinking that they’re entitled enough to put a hand on you, just because they believed you would tell them the Fatui’s plans

He doesn’t say anything after that, staying uncharacteristically quiet. Which is more daunting to you than if he were to spill out threats

He continues to treat you in silence. And once he’s done he’s escorting you back to your shared bedroom within the palace.

After, he’s having some of his subordinates fetch the ones that hurt you. When they are brought in, well, let the experiments commence

He’s certainly enjoying hearing them scream in agony as he tests out the effects of having multiple delusions. Hearing them beg, and plead for him to stop. But he doesn’t. He’s sure you did the same thing. Pleading them to just let you go. They didn’t stop till some Fatui Skirmisher’s stepped in, so why should he? But there wont be any Skirmisher’s saving them.

He’s making sure they suffer for a long, long time

Pantalone

“Oh, how pitiful” he states as he walks into Dottore’s lab

He’s been told that you’ve been sent there after having a— rough encounter, to put it lightly— with a few Shogunate soldiers

He saw the pure exhaustion on your face, and yet he still maintained a smile

“I can see you were determined to give it your all. But do not worry sweetheart, for I will fill in and give it my all for you.”

He won’t only hurt the Shogunate soldiers indirectly, oh no. He’ll hurt the whole Shogunate army.

Slowly, he would cut off their money supply through the Northland Bank (don’t ask how that works, I don’t know myself but for the sake of this, it works). I mean, you can’t do anything without the very thing that gives you the pathway to do anything in the first place, right?

He’ll watch from the shadows as the Shogunate army is scrambling for funds, and ultimately scrambling to regain power

It would take a meeting with Kujou Sara in order to settle things. His only request was that the Shogunate stays out of the Fatui’s business, and most importantly, stay away from you.

You know how I said he would hurt them indirectly? That’s because he’ll have others do it for him.

He’ll give some to Dottore as test subjects, and some to Arlecchino for target practice for the kids. He’s just as much of a supplier as he is a taker.

While everything is going on outside of your knowledge, he’s keeping you close to him. Holding you, walking you to and from work, and even allowing you to tag along with him on more PG related missions for lack of a better term

He’s a man of endless influence throughout Teyvat, and he will not hesitate to use it to rip apart the nations for you. Especially if they dared to touch you like they did.

Tartaglia

Definitely the most sane one when it comes to it, and that’s saying something

Especially since he’s the one that witnessed it first hand

As stated previously in another post, he’s already paranoid anytime you’re not around him since the Fatui have a lot of enemies

So when he went out looking for you since you took a tad bit longer to get groceries than it normally would, he found out that his paranoia was justified

Imagine his surprise when he found out that it’s not Treasure Hoarders or Hilichurls, no, it’s the Millelith of all people hurting you

“Well well, what did I just walk in on? Am I interrupting something?” He has a smile on his face but it doesn’t seem very happy

Perhaps that’s because his eyes are showing nothing but unadulterated hatred towards the group of men that think it was a good idea to beat you around for information on him and the Fatui

“If you wanted information you could have just came and ask me yourself, but instead you had to go out and dig yourselves your own grave. What a shame.”

He’ll instruct you to turn away, cause he’s pretty sure that what he’s about to do to them would traumatize you for life. He doesn’t want that for you.

When you do, this man is pulling out all the stops

Slicing and dicing, aiming and shooting, hydro and electro

He wants to watch them suffer, and he’s grinning like a mad man when he watches the life drain from their eyes

As much as he wanted to make them suffer more, he had to cut it short since he still had to prioritize you

He’s going to pick you up and carry you back home no matter how much you want to protest and insist that you’re okay

But this man is stubborn and he’s not having any of it.

He’s taking you home and cuddling you close, not letting you go even after you’re all cleaned up

His laid-back persona is broken as he apologizes to you, that he’s sorry that he put you in danger

Please reassure him that it’s not his fault and give him plenty of kisses

He’s not leaving your side for a LONG TIME

[cerise-on-top]

hi! how would Valeria and Kate react if their wife’s got hurt because of their work, both of them working highly jobs and it ended up catching up to their s/o. hoe you are doing well and drink plenty of water! thank you!

-🍒

Hello! Both of them would be absolutely distraught, but would go about it in different ways!

Valeria’s and Laswell’s Wife Gets Hurt Because of their Job

Valeria: Whoever hurt you will wind up tortured and eventually, once she thinks they’ve had enough of their miserable life, will wind up dead. Naturally, the first thing she does is check up on you, see if you’re alright and well, that’s her priority. You’re the love of her life, there’s no one else in this world she wants to see do well. You’ll be admitted to the best hospital nearby and will only get the finest treatment. Once you’re stabilized, that’s when the hunt begins. Whoever hurt you won’t get too far since that bastard’s life will be on the line. Regardless of where they might be hiding, Valeria will find them and show them that death is actually a kind of mercy. She has pretty much everything at her disposal, everything money can buy, this sucker won’t know what hit them. If it’s revenge they want, then revenge they’ll get. Valeria promises you that their head will be on a silver plate. She’s not very good with words when it comes to comforting someone, but she will have that person killed in the most cruel ways she can imagine. In fact, she’ll take the pleasure of torturing them upon herself. Once she’s done, she’ll take some days off, which is surprising since she usually can’t afford that at all. You’ll be under her direct care for those days. Anything you want you’ll get. Afterwards there will be a slight shift in her demeanor, Valeria becomes more protective over you. Sometimes she might even assign some trusted people of hers to watch over you since she can’t afford something like that happening again. While she can’t always take some days off, she’ll try to be closer to you anyway. Always texting you, finding excuses to come home for a day maybe. She just really needs to make sure you’re okay, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if you died.

Laswell: Laswell will try to be a bit more diplomatic about it at first, trying to coax whoever hurt you out of hiding. This person will be held accountable for their crimes against her world. Naturally, she rescues you first, gets you to the nearest hospital and won’t leave your side until you’re stable again. If it takes you a while to wake up again, she’ll leave to find the fucker and make sure they swim with the fishes. She has a pretty large, efficient network and will find out who it was fairly easily. Once she knows who they are, she won’t hesitate to find out all their past crimes as well, if they hurt you then they must have done some other awful things as well. Once that phase is over, she’ll go to their home herself and have them arrested, put in the worst prison imaginable where the inmates are treated especially badly. She won’t kill them, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they wind up dead anyway. Laswell usually isn’t an evil person, but she does hope that person dies during their time. Their sentence will be as long as possible so there’s no chance of them ever seeing the sunlight again either. Once all of this is over, she, too, would take some days off to spend with you. You’re a priority above all else, so Laswell will want to be there for you, no matter the cost. While she usually isn’t, depending on how severely you got hurt she might become a bit overbearing, a bit overprotective. That overprotectiveness will last for a few months, afterwards she’ll try to give you some space again. However, she’ll always be keeping a closer eye on you, always texting or calling you every once in a while to make sure you’re okay. If she needs to, she’ll put you under her protection officially, but the situation needs to be dire for that to happen. Either way, she’ll be keeping you safe.

[ccieatchildren]

OKAY BUT THE CALLUM WHUMP IN THE DRAGON PRINCE SEASON 5!!!

Specifically S5 E8.

First, just him being locked away in the captain’s cabin, isolated and tortured by Finnegrin for the dark magic info.

And him absolutely refusing to reveal anything right now, laughing at Finnegrin for what he sees as a hypocritical thought process, because it would go against his morals and he doesn’t want to give Finnegrin the ability to kill Domina Profundis.

Finnegrin taunting him about his dark magic usage, typical villain spiel of asking if Callum has never thought about it or wanted/needed to use it. Learning that Callum has studied it extensively (and though Callum points out that he has also studied the other types, his curiosity always seems to get the better of him) and has once used it, to save his friends. Finnegrin taking this information in and twisting it on the boy. The defeated way Callum gets pushed out by Finnegrin, seeing all his friends chained up and having to make a “decision” for Finnegrin.

Finnegrin forcing Callum to choose one of his friends' hand to cut off. Not being able to choose anyone, and the gang standing up for each other, offering their own hands. Preaching the love and friendship deal, only to peeve off Finnegrin even more, who tries to goad Callum into using dark magic once again. You can see the way he actually thinks about it, the guilt in his eyes but also the determination to save his friends. Only for Rayla to escape, making sure to take any option for dark magic out of Callum's hands. I believe if Rayla hadn't intervened, Callum would've eventually gone through with it, as the main thing holding him back was said guilt and own mental blockage. Finnegrin then freezing Rayla's blood, putting her in excruciating pain, and Callum, doing a full 180, goes batshite over Rayla being tortured, decking Finnegrin full force in the face. He is calm when faced with his own pain, but when someone he loves is hurt, especially due to his inability to do anything, he immediately loses his temper.

However, this small win ends them back up at square one, with Callum tied up and at the captain's mercy. When Finnegrin tells him that he's gonna feed Rayla to the leviathan, and Callum can't do anything, he immediately gives up the info, thinking that would save her. Only for Finnegrin to turn around and go "nuh-uh," completely destroying him.

He can't even save the person he loves. Callum may have primal magic (one or two of the arcanum depending on how you want to look at it), but he still can't do anything; he is completely useless in this moment. Realizing this, all hope drains out of him, and he does the only thing he can think of, spill the beans. He begins to break his principles by telling Finnegrin the dark magic spell (one of the darkest spells at that), in hopes of him releasing Rayla, only for it to backfire and be completely for nothing. Now, not only can he not save Rayla, but now Finnegrin can kill Domina Profundis. The guilt weighs even harder on him, he has essentially doomed everyone.

Then, Callum gets out, stands up to Finnegrin, using his own arcanum against him, gaining said arcanum at the same time (also, I just really love how he figured it out, using Finnegrin's words against him, and the idea behind the ocean arcanum is just very fun, I just really liked this moment), and save his homies.

So, everything turns out fine, right? Nope!

Callum had to use dark magic to get out, preforming the same snake chain spell he had before on his restraints. When he was all out of options, Callum always reverts back to what he knows, even if it might break his morals. And while this action is totally justifiable, as he basically had to, Callum doesn't really seem to see it that way. Despite knowing that there are parts of himself he can't understand, he still is riddled with grief over it. The deep pain and guilt on his face as he hugs Rayla, not telling her or anyone else what he had to do to get out, shows us that he believes he had committed a grave sin. In his eyes, he is just as bad as Viren and Claudia, and he is still dealing with the PTSD of being possessed by Aaravos, of having the chance to turn completely to the dark side. This paranoia and anxiety makes him keep everything to himself. He doesn't think they would understand or forgive him, and he doesn't think they should, as he doesn't really either.

The ocean arcanum also gives us a look into Callum. He states himself about how it is accepting the hidden depths in oneself, even if you may not truly understand it. Callum's ability and willingness to do dark magic at times is part of those deeper depths. He doesn't truly understand it yet, and may never will, but, like any other human, there are many paths for him to follow. I do not think he is truly evil, or what he has done is irredeemable, but I believe that Callum, like all of us, is neither truly good or bad, but chooses where he takes himself (we also see this with Viren throughout the season). He could become someone filled with light and kindness, a "do-gooder" if you will, which is what I believe he wants to be, but he could also lead himself down a much darker path if he isn't careful, placing himself among the ranks of Aaravos, Viren, and Finnegrin, or he could be someone who carefully struts the line in the middle. The point is that it is up to him. Though he has become in tune with the ocean arcanum and those "hidden depths," him not accurately understanding his potential for darkness could usher him into a much more disastrous existence. Hopefully linking with the ocean arcanum will allow him to slowly accept these parts of himself and find a true balance between dark and primal magic, whatever that balance may be.

(Also the implications of him being the one in the intro rather than Viren...)

All in all, this whole episode was just very whump (even in the B plot somewhat). Callum and Finnegrin were very much whumpee and whumper -coded and you can't convince me otherwise.

The emotions in this episode for the main gang were top-notch. Watching what each character did to try to help themselves and their friends, and seeing the physical and emotional consequences of their actions (whether positive or negative) was amazing. Not just with Callum, but also the others (Ezran instantly offering himself up again and again, practically begging; Rayla breaking herself out to try and save Callum, only to be quickly and severely subdued; and Soren continuously taking the hits to help Elmer find his own worth, saving the gang in the process), was very well done.

ABSOLUTELY SCRUMDIDDLYUMPTIOUS!

I hope we get more moments like this in future seasons.

[babyjakes]

devils roll the dice.

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event | kinkmas 2023

prompts | sex tape + medfet

pairing | hitman!robert pronge x innocent!reader

warnings | extremely dark, the darkest thing i've ever written (we've entered dead dove do not eat territory; please heed ALL warnings.) canon-level mature themes: kidnapping, torture films, murder. implications that reader will be killed. robert is cold and ruthless. innocent!virgin!reader. filming of illicit sex tape. reader is blindfolded and gagged. restraints. medfet elements: robert's little setup is giving vintage white tile exam room, exam table, stirrups, those gd black gloves, speculum use. clit focus (puff puff content incoming.) vibrator. multiple forced orgasms. squirting. overstimulation. mocking and degradation. robert puts a cig out on reader's leg. written in 3rd person idk.

word count | 1,485

an | i'm kind of sitting here like wtf, ,, what is this and how did it come out of me lol. a little nervous to post, but i trust you guys to make responsible decisions about the media you consume!!! i'll probably never write something this fucked up again but for whatever reason it was just flowing out of me tonight folks, please again i'm begging you go read the warnings, like a second time through wouldn't hurt lol, and i hope you enjoy!!

Bringing its bitter end to his lips, Robert used one hand to draw in a deep breath of his dwindling cigarette, the other lazily holding a black magic wand in its designated place. He was nearly an hour into the day's filming session, and his subject was reaching a level of exhaustion and misery that made her more annoying to play with than anything else. But knowing he needed to milk at least a little more footage out of her before putting her back under and calling it a day, the man kept at the task. He tried to remind himself that he should be enjoying himself; considering the kinds of commissions he generally had to choose from, this particular case was a treat. A pretty little virgin, as soft and pure as the early spring rain, with the most stunning body the criminal had ever had the privilege of defiling. He could spend another thirty minutes at his station, watching as all the life and dignity were drained out of his poor little victim like blood dripping to the cold tile floor.

Through the musty cloth rammed between her battered lips, the poor girl's cries were escalating as her tormentor swirled the curve of the wand's slick bulb over her burning clit. Robert knew what her worsening wails meant; with a callous grin, he pulled his cig from his mouth just in time to press its smoking end to the girl's inner thigh as she came. With the howl she let out, he was thankful for the buffer the gag provided. "Noisy little bitch," he laughed as her juices sprayed out against his gloved hands. "That's it, slut. Fucking take it."

Glancing at the camcorder sitting off to his side, Robert considered his options. As much satisfaction as he derived from seeing how many orgasms could be wrung out of the poor thing before her body knocked her out as an act of mercy, his sadistic tendencies were getting bored of the monotony. Tossing the used cigarette to the floor, the man slowed the wand to a stop. He rolled away slightly on his stool, tossing the condom that was wrapped over the toy's head into the large black trash bag sitting in the center of the large room's floor. This far into his career, Robert had his methods down to a science. There was a way to keep everything clean, everything untraceable.

It was the whole purpose of his "worksite"; it provided a secure, controlled environment for the entire job to take place in, from start to flatline finish. The "set" was by far his favorite portion of the space, and understandably so, as it's where his sick imagination got to run wild for hours, days on end. And his clients were just as enthusiastic about the vivid stage he had put together for their subjects to shine on. It was somewhat inspired by a vintage gynecology office. He had the classic off-white exam table, equipped with a daunting pair of metal stirrups that were always positioned just a little wider than what would be comfortable. A sturdy set of restraints were of course a must, and to make sure the camera picked up on every agonizing detail, he had installed an adjustable surgical light overhead that could be aimed and drawn in to illuminate any area or action he chose. He hadn't struggled to gather all the tools and instruments he could ever want, either. A few of his buyers were licensed professionals themselves, opening the door to acquiring inventory from the big-name brands in bulk.

The other corners of the room had their designated uses as well: one with a filthy mattress for the unconscious victims to waste away on as heavy drugs pumped through their systems, another with large plastic sheets covering the floor, walls, and ceiling where the poor souls were hosed down (inside and out) before a bullet to the temple inevitably ended their long days of suffering. But most of their waking hours were spent on that dreaded padded table, the very spot where Robert's most recent capture was using the few moments he spent away from his station desperately trying to regain control of her breathing.

He returned to his position swiftly after switching out his soiled pair of black gloves for fresh ones, not wanting to waste any of his or his client's time. The sight of the girl's abused sex was enough to make the man drool; it had been quite some time since he had seen such a marvelous-looking cunt, so glorious in its messy destruction. Knowing he should share the beautiful sight, he took the time to adjust the camera, zooming in from a full-body shot to focus solely on the spot between the victim's legs. With the humiliating inspection he was preparing to perform, he wanted to be sure his buyer got to see each drop of come the poor girl let out, every twitch and spasm he would pull from her helpless body.

"Now let's see here," the man breathed as he brought his gloved fingers up to gently spread out the ruined-looking pussy before him. Noticing the way his subject winced as her puffy folds were pried open, he couldn't help but laugh in dark delight. He drew his attention to her throbbing clit, noting how much it had grown in size from all those unwanted orgasms he had forced out of her. Its hood was completely retracted, leaving the poor bud exposed to the open air. In a moment of perverted curiosity, Robert pinched the hardened nub harshly between his fingers, earning the prettiest sob he had heard from the girl all day. He chuckled once more, rolling and pulling at the knot of flesh for a few more seconds of additional torture before finally moving his hands away.

"What do you think? Should we try for one more?" he mused mockingly as he grabbed a plastic speculum from one of the drawers built in beneath the table, unwrapping it and tossing its trash to the side before pausing to grin deviously over his victim. Glancing up at her head, he realized it was still covered with a black hood he had put on her at the beginning of the shoot. The buyer had requested for her to be blindfolded like this for a decent portion of the film, offering the explanation that she was "afraid of the dark," and that he wanted to see her in as much pain and fear as humanly possible. The hood had served its purpose for the day, but now, Robert wanted the poor girl to see each and every way he was going to be violating her body in real time. In one swift motion, he reached up and pulled the pocket of fabric away, exposing her stunning tear-stained face. "Hi sweetheart," he greeted viciously. Just as he was hoping, her cries worsened as she saw the dreaded tool in his hands. He had a certain liking for holding up the devices he was preparing to use to see his victim's reactions; after all, he got off on fear and dread just as much as his clients did.

"Time to open up this pretty little cunt and see what kind of damage we did," the man enthused as he forced the tip of the instrument into the girl's drenched opening. By now, she had been well stretched out and ruined by her captor's horrific methods. Grappling with his usual lack of restraint and self-control, Robert had barely made the drive back with the girl tied up in his trunk without pulling over and popping that perfect little cherry on his own time, without a single camera properly rolling.

Turning the speculum as it was fully inserted, the man took great pleasure in squeezing the handle to force the tool open, each tiny click that sounded only stretching the poor thing's aching walls out to a further, more painful degree. "There," he sighed in satisfaction as the last notch was reached. Pulling his hands away, he gave himself and the camera a few seconds to enjoy the view of the girl's milky insides, so worn and sore from the days of torture she'd endured.

"Alright. One more," he finally hummed, using his gloved fingers to collect some of the plentiful slick dripping from the speculum before dragging them up to find that adorable little button he loved bullying so much. Her fading sobs were revived in an instant, her throat growing hoarse from all the screaming she'd done. But as much as she cried, Robert was determined to get one final orgasm from her before putting her back under for the day. After spending so much time making that pretty pussy as puffy and sensitive as possible, he deserved to see it coming all stretched out painfully over his instrument of choice.