#nonconsensual touching tw

[viciousbite]

@ikkaku-of-heart​ asked: 💀 (can be Michi or Noir doing the killing if you like)

Send me 💀for a drabble of my muse killing yours. // Not accepting

How long had he kept her alive? ... Time was something the Hound rarely paid attention to. The only thing he saw was how the body slowly began to weaken the longer he kept one alive, and how their bodies slowly transformed into a ghost version of their old one. In the woman’s case, her body was littered in bruises and cuts and bite marks as if a wild animal had attacked her in more than one occasion. 

Ikkaku, a member of the Heart Pirates, that was her name. Michi remembered it very well, but he didn’t use the name, he used anything other than her proper name. Nicknames, pet names, whatever came to his mind the moment he opened his mouth. “Your friends been adoring the gifts I sent them... The look on their faces is always priceless.” Michi murmured above Ikkaku’s bare form as his clawed fingers gently stroked the skin of her bare stomach. 

As his crimson eyes lingered down her form, he could see stumps of what was left of her left hand’s fingers while on the other side her hand was completely missing. Take away her most used body parts, and give them to those closest to her. It was a thrill like any other to Michi, he could barely contain his excitement whenever he heard the screams of pain. It was so hard to keep the blank expression on his face as he admired his latest piece of art. An art that would soon meet it’s end. 

As he leaned his face down next to her face, his nose pressed against the hollow of her malnourished cheek, he could hear her labored breathing. She was barely conscious, the constant loss of blood had left her lethargic, barely moving, as if she was a living corpse. “Don’t worry, darling... You will get back into their arms soon enough.” He whispered into her ear as one would a lover as his fingers slowly brushed back and forth upon her chest where her heart resided. It was time for the main course. 

With knees pressed upon each side of her hips, the Hound straightened his back and unsheathed a dark colored blade from his thigh. The red patterns of the blade gleamed in the darkness of the cell as he slowly brought it upon Ikkaku’s skin. He saw her chest raise and fall, a hitch of a breath came out, giving Michi the signal he craved. She would feel it all, as Michi wanted her to. She would feel every inch of the blade... A blade that slowly pressed below her collarbone. A whine, a twitch of muscles, Michi put in more pressure as the blade easily slid deeper into skin and flesh. A whimper and a gasp, and the weak struggle started below him. The man cracked a smile, sharp teeth prominent as the smile became twisted.

His blade cut downwards, between her breasts as the flesh opened by force and blood began to pool out in rivers. Before he knew it, the whimpering had turned into a quiet scream, her throat raspy from lack of hydration, as she gasped for breath and screamed in silent pain, unable to escape the torture. Michi loved every second of it, and whatever consequences came in the future with her death, he’d embrace them. No regrets, only the pleasure of the hunt, the play, is all he wanted. He was ecstatic.

His breaths were hot, and heavy, as he tossed the blade to the side and pressed his bare fingers into the fresh cut. Feeling the wet blood and the squish of flesh under his fingers made his tail wag behind his back. Like a happy dog ready to eat. A dog that tore its claws into the flesh and with force pulled the skin apart. Blood splattered upon his face and hands as he laid his eyes upon his prize beating below a cage of bones. “Stay with me a little longer little one... It’s almost done...” He reassured his victim, or in his cruel way, encouraged her to cling to life a few more painful moments. 

With bloody hands, the man gripped onto her rib cage and with ease snapped the obstacle away to get to his final prize. The body had gone silent, no more breath left to scream as her eyes were blown wide and filled with tears. Her heart beat in a slow rhythm, second by second getting slower and slower. Before it fully stopped, the Hound wrapped his fingers around the organ and stroked the sensitive flesh like it was something precious. A precious organ, that was ripped from it’s owner by force as the body left behind had gone still, no longer able to function without it’s most important organ. 

The hound brought the heart to his face, nuzzling it and making a mess off his face. A strong scent of iron filled his nose as he slowly bit into the tender meat. The owner of the snack completely forgotten the more he devoured the organ. It was like a reward, after all the excitement and with the flesh he would have the energy to make something gorgeous of what was left of the owner... Oh, it was going to be gorgeous.

[whumpetywhump]

Mansuang (2023)

"All they want is my body. My pretty outer shell."

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 20: “You will regret touching them”

Aaaaand now for today’s fic

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Time

- Summary: Time finds a wounded Warriors

CW for implied/referenced torture, captivity, nonconsensual body modification, blood and injury, and brief mention of vomit

———————————————-

If he clenches his teeth any harder, Time is certain they will break.

He stands in the middle of a cell – small, cramped, and smelling of sweat and vomit and blood – hands in fists, heart thumping an erratic beat in his ears. A blue eye stares up at him from the corner, bright in a too-pale face. The other is sealed shut with swelling and blood. The proud green tunic is sullied as well, the scarf long gone. Blonde hair so meticulously cared for lies limp and filthy. Strong hands tremble, bound together behind a hunched back.

“Captain.” It is half a whisper, half a low growl.

Warriors makes a small, muffled noise as though trying to respond through the dirty cloth tied tight between his lips. Time’s fingernails dig into his palm.

Here before him sits the hero he and his brothers have spent the last week searching for. He should feel relief. All he can feel is red-hot anger.

But there isn’t time for that. Warriors needs him. His big brother needs him.

Sheathing his sword, Time drops to his knees. Puddles of blood dot the floor, some mere splatterings, others worryingly large. He pays them no heed, reaching forward instead to tug away the gag. Warriors breathes a raspy sigh of relief as it falls.

“...bout-bout time you showed up, S-Sprite,” he teases in a voice so hoarse it’s nearly unrecognizable. His breath catches in his throat and he coughs up a mouthful of blood.

Time does his best to ignore it.

“I’m sorry that we kept you waiting,” he murmurs as he sets about undoing the ropes that bind the captain’s hands and feet. The apology tastes bitter. What good does it do now? The heroes had gone as fast as they could. And still, they had been too late.

Warriors shivers, suddenly, and Time is struck by how very small he looks.

“But don’t worry,” he says, gently, trying not to dwell on the fact that his big brother should never look that way, “I’m here now. You’re safe.”

Warriors gives him a weak smile.

A few more short moments slide by, in which Time works to untie the ropes. They are thickly knotted, but he has slipped from far tighter bonds. And soon they fall away to join the filth on the floor. Warriors lets out a sharp hiss of pain.

“S-shoulder,” he explains at Time’s concerned look. “Dislocated.”

That can’t be the only thing out of place, Time thinks, bitterly. The way he is struggling to breathe speaks to a few broken ribs at least. And as for the rest of him…well, he can only guess at the extent of the damage.

Anger flares up in him once more. He shoves it down.

“I don’t have Hyrule’s healing powers,” he says, reaching into his pouch. “But I have a fairy. Her magic should be enough to tide you over until I can get you back to camp.”

Warriors blinks dazedly. “You…you’re the only one h-here?”

A grim smile pulls at Time’s lips. “Yes. I came across this place entirely by chance. The others were taking a short rest and I saw no reason to drag them along on a search that would likely lead to another deadend. It’s alright, though. No one is here anymore…except for you.”

If they had been they would have regretted it, he thinks, bitterly.

Pushing the dark thoughts away, he lifts the bottle out of his pouch and unscrews it.

“Here, this should…”

He stops short as the fairy darts forward. The lighting in the room is decidedly dim, which he supposes is why he hadn’t seen it before. But now in the pinkish glow of the fairy’s magic it’s painfully obvious.

The word “murderer” is carved in jagged, blood-red lines into Warriors’ left arm.

Time’s vision goes crimson.

“Captain…” It’s everything he can do to keep his voice level. Suddenly, he’s a child once more, kneeling on the battlefield, begging his brother to stay alive, to stay with him. He’s a child being hurtled back through time without truly understanding what that even means. He’s a child being laughed at and thrown aside by the man he has been tasked with defeating.

He’s a child helpless and weak.

Late. Much too late.

“...did they do this to you?”

For a long moment, Warriors doesn’t reply. He merely watches the fairy do her work, gaze dull and almost detached. There are tear-streaks on his cheeks, Time realizes now, curving through the patches of blood and dirt.

“Their fa-families died in…in the war,” he murmurs at last, voice hollow and defeated. “They…they blame me.”

Time forces himself to take a breath.

Of course, they do. That is always the reason the traitors give, as though placing the blame on the hero can assuage them of their own guilt, justify their horrific deeds.

“Well, they’re wrong,” he says, firmly. “And believe me, anyone who does a thing like this was never in their right mind in the first place. You do not carry the blame of a war you didn’t even begin, but fought bravely to end. You are a hero, captain, not a murderer.”

Warriors drags his gaze up to him, something terribly vulnerable within it.

“Y-you’re really somethin else, Sprite,” he whispers, breath hitching. A small smile tugs at his lips and somehow it makes him look even more young and broken than before. “How c-come you say everything like…like you mean it?”

Time places a gentle hand on his good shoulder and he seems to melt beneath his touch.

“Because I do. I meant every word. Why hide from someone who can always tell when I’m lying?”

Warriors chuckles, slightly. It almost sounds like a sob.

The fairy finishes her dance and zips back to Time.

“I’ve done all that I can,” she whispers. “The word that they hurt him with…I lightened it as much as I could.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, inclining his head. And with a soft jingle, she disappears. He turns his attention back to Warriors. “We’ll see if there are any spells or potions capable of stopping that from scarring. There is no reason for you to carry the false burden they have placed on you.”

The captain merely gives a small nod, eye downcast once more. His shoulders are uncharacteristically slumped and he hugs his arm to his body, as though eager to hide it. At the sight, the anger abates somewhat, replaced by the ache of his heart.

How dare they do this.

Time reaches out and draws him into his arms. Warriors slumps, bonelessly into his embrace, trembling slightly with pain and exhaustion and emotion.

“It’s alright. It’s over,” he says, softly, echoing the words Warriors had soothed him with so many times during the war. “I’ve got you.”

Carefully he rises, lifting the captain up as gently as he can. He wants nothing more than to tear this place apart, to find those who did this terrible deed and make them wish they had never been born. But his priority right now is Warriors. He needs rest and healing and for that cursed word to be wiped off of his skin. He needs safety and reassurance.

Vengeance will have to wait.

Though if he has his way it will not wait very long. The perpetrators were gone when he got here, likely cowering from the punishment even they knew they deserve. But once he finds them – and he will – he won’t hesitate to do what must be done.

No one touches his big brother without coming to regret it.

[waywardwhump]

I often see the removal of clothes in whump. Something about the humiliation of it, and the vulnerability. The exposure of skin that's useually covered, useually protected, to unkind hands for the sake of torment.

Our clothes often feel like a part of us, to remove them against one's will is a violation.

But consider the opposite.

A whumpee put into an outfit against their will. Something too heavy, something too tight, something that squeezes incessantly everytime they move. Something they physically can't get out of.

Take this thing that should be protective, this second layer of skin, and make it a cage that the whumpee is trapped in.

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @robinbugbanned

Day 21 - “On three.” | Dehydration | Memory Loss | Choke 

Day 25 - “Don’t move!” | Natural Disaster | Drowning | Stranded

Day 26 - “I made a mistake.” | Ambulance | Hopelessness | Numb

Contains: lady whump, infection, police, referenced noncon drugging, guns, restraints, panic attack (ish), referenced gunshot wound, referenced touch aversion, referenced broken bones

.

.

Isa’s getting worse. Lainey has spent…hours, maybe - she’s sick of trying to figure out the passage of time - lying as close to her as she can get, checking her temperature with her hand every so often, watching her labored breathing and her eyelids fluttering restlessly as she dozes. Her ribs are killing her from this position, but she can’t bring herself to move. Isa’s skin has grown hotter since she first checked it. She’s more out of it, too, which she could just attribute to her being half-asleep but it’s like she can’t seem to fully wake up. 

She needs water. She needs medicine, but even water would be helpful at this point, before her fever dehydrates her. But the man, for the first time since he dragged Lainey back here, has now, of course, decided to stay upstairs and leave them alone. She’s itching to get up, to get as close to the stairs as she can and start yelling. Part of her thinks she should, regardless of what she told Isa.

But she doesn’t want to break her promise. And…rest is important, too, right?

She doesn’t know what to do. She’s so scared for her, can’t stop watching her chest rise and fall as if one of these times it’s just going to quit. 

And worst of all…Isa’s right. It’s been too long. They should have been here by now. Except she doesn’t know that for sure, and she keeps trying to remind herself that she’s clueless about time right now and she doesn’t know what all they might have to do first that might hold them up. But there’s this pit in her gut, a whisper in her mind saying that she just experienced two full days outside, she should know what it feels like. 

It feels like it’s been too long.

Lainey keeps up her vigil, trying not to fall asleep, herself. She stares hard at her fingertips and reaches deep for the magic that’s withered and tired inside of her, trying to force water drops to form from nothing, but that wasn’t something she was very good at even before she was pumped full of who knows what kind of drugs. Her fingers remain dry, and she’s forced to give up. She has nothing to offer Isa except her company.

She’s glaring at the staircase, on the verge of giving in and calling the man down despite Isa’s wishes, when suddenly the older girl wakes with a start, hazy eyes flicking up toward the ceiling. Her brow is furrowed, but Lainey doesn’t know whether it’s confusion, worry, or just the pain and fever. 

“What is it?” she asks softly, her own gaze following as if there’s something up there to see.

“Something…coming…cars…?” Isa mumbles. She swallows hard and grimaces, one hand sliding up slowly to rub at her sternum. “Too many…too many cars and…people.”

Lainey’s eyes widen. “Cars and people? Isa that’s a good thing, that’s a great thing!” They’re here. They came, they’re here to save them! Her heart is pounding out her chest but for once, it’s from elation and relief instead of fear.

There’s a sudden cacophony of sound from up above. Multiple voices are shouting so that she can barely make out anything they’re saying, though she catches, “Don’t move!” and “Hands where we can see them!”

Tears are pouring down her cheeks. “Isa, they’re here, they’re here!”

But Isa is moaning, clutching her shirt above her heart and attempting to bury her face into the floor. Lainey is torn between trying to comfort her and focusing on what’s happening upstairs. It sounds like they caught him, otherwise they wouldn’t have been yelling all those things. Any second now, that door is going to open for the very last time. She pushes herself up, barely even feeling the pull on her ribs in her excitement. If she could, she’d jump up to her feet and run to the foot of the stairs to wait for them, but with her feet shackled she’ll have to settle for sitting.

The locks start clicking and squeaking. For once, the sound doesn’t bring terror. The door flies open and a voice calls out, “I’ve got stairs going down, someone back me up.”

“We’re down here!” Her voice is so choked with emotion and with her rapid heart beat that she can barely get out the words. “Help us, please!”

Someone comes into view, wearing a navy uniform and crouching to sweep a gun across the space. Her eyes come right back to the two girls on the floor, and she starts down the stairs rapidly. A male officer is right on her heels, repeating her motions with his own gun.

“It’s just us,” Lainey tells them breathlessly. “Just us and…and the man upstairs. Please get us out of here.”

“We are.” The woman gives a quick glance into the alcove as she passes, then holsters her gun, slowing a bit as she approaches and crouching down beside them. “You’re safe now. It’s all over, okay?”

“You’ve got to help her.” Her emotions are a jumbled up mess that she can’t even decipher, so much relief and worry all at the same time. “She needs help, she’s sick, I think her back is infected. Please help her.” She stretches her hands out toward Isa, debating lying down so she can be close to her again. The girl is trembling all over, the hand that was holding her shirt now covering her ear.

The other officer is already back at the stairs, shouting up them. “Get the paramedics down here! And has anyone found keys?”

“Got ‘em!” Another officer thunders down the steps, two people in some other kind of uniform carrying kits following. The new officer has keys, which he brings over to Isa first, at the female officer’s instruction. 

“Hey, I’m just gonna get this off for you, okay?” he says softly, crouching down and reaching for the shackle around her neck. Isa only moans in response. She’s growing more and more agitated by the second, and Lainey’s worry for her matches.

“Isa, it’s okay. It’s the police, we’re safe now. It’s not him.”

The shackle is unlocked and pulled away, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s gasping for breath, digging her fingernails into her hair above her ear. As the officer moves toward Lainey with the keys, the other two - paramedics, she assumes - approach Isa, opening their kits and starting to reach for her.

Lainey tugs at the chain that tethers her to the wall, anxious to be free. “Wait, she, she doesn’t like to be touched, you have to be careful! And her back, don’t touch her back! You’ll hurt her!”

The woman turns to smile gently at her. “We’ll be careful, I promise, but we’re going to have to touch her some. As soon as you’re able, you can come sit next to her and reassure her if you want.”

Every whimper and hitched breath tears at Lainey’s heart. When the last of her restraints come off, she immediately starts a one-handed crawl to be by her side. They’ve pulled Isa’s shirt up in the back to see the inflamed lashes, and are currently trying to tug her hand away from her ear so they can take her temperature.

“She’s scared. She’s too sick to realize what’s going on, and she doesn’t like to be touched.” Lainey grips her knees to keep herself from reaching out, rocking back and forth slightly. She wants to be able to hold her hand or cup her cheek or anything to let her know it’s okay, but that will only make it worse. She also wants to slap the paramedics’ hands away from her, but she knows they need to help. 

She settles for leaning in and whispering, “You’re okay. It’s me, I’m here. You’re safe now.”

“Does she have any other injuries besides her back and these cuts?” the man asks as the woman finally manages to get the thermometer in Isa’s ear.

“She got shot,” Lainey blurts, pointing, “in her leg.” He immediately starts unwrapping the dirty bandage. “And um…I don’t, I don’t know, I can’t remember what else he’s done to her lately.” 

“That’s okay.” The woman reads the thermometer, then puts it away. “What about you? Are you injured anywhere?”

“Um. Broken wrist? And ribs. And…I hit my head a…couple of days ago, maybe? I didn’t pass out, but it bled.”

“Okay.” She focuses in on the gunshot wound that the man is inspecting for a moment, then turns her attention back to Lainey. “Stan is going to get the stretcher. Mind if I do a quick check on you while he’s gone?”

She glances over at her friend, who’s still on the verge of hyperventilating. “But…Isa…”

“We’re not going to let anything happen to her, I promise. As soon as he gets back we’ll get her loaded up and both of you on your way to the hospital, okay?”

Lainey nods shakily. The woman pulls a small flashlight out of her pocket and shines it in both of her eyes, watching her pupils contract, then puts it away and gently takes her hand to inspect her wrist. She’s carefully running her fingertips across the bouquet of bruises on her ribs when Stan returns, one of the officers helping him carry the stretcher down the stairs. 

They set it down, folded, right next to Isa, and both paramedics get in position to lift her onto it. “On three,” Stan states. “One, two, three.” 

Isa cries out as she’s moved, and Lainey clutches the side of the stretcher. The paramedics position her on her stomach and begin stretching yellow straps across her neck, hips, and legs. 

“Why are you tying her down? You’re going to make it worse!” They’re supposed to be helping her, not doing the same things he did.

The woman throws her a sympathetic look. “We’ve got to carry her up the stairs, and she’s moving around a lot. We can’t risk her falling off.”

It makes sense, but seeing her strapped down feels so wrong. Lainey can’t stop staring at her, knuckles turning white from how hard she’s holding the bar.

“Do you think you can walk up the stairs? We’ve got another ambulance on its way for you to ride in.”

Her eyes go wide. “No, no, I don’t need an ambulance. I want to stay with her.”

They glance at each other, then the woman nods. “Okay. I’ll walk with you, alright? Stan and Officer Calhoun can carry your friend.”

It hasn’t been that long since she was tearing up these stairs and running full speed through the woods, but somehow today she can barely make it up them. She’s weak, her legs wobbling and trying to buckle underneath her with each step. They eventually make it up, though, into the main part of the cabin. She purposely doesn’t look around. She doesn’t want to know the details of what it looks like, how this man lived when he wasn’t torturing them. Her focus stays ahead, on the stretcher holding Isa and on the front door.

Last time everything was a frantic rush. Even while she was in the woods for two days, she was constantly running and thinking and planning and worrying. Now she wants to take the time to breathe in the outside air, to gaze up at the night sky and marvel at stars she wasn’t sure she’d see again, to feel free.

And she does, some. But at the same time, stepping outside is overwhelming. Her attention is pulled in every direction, to all the people in uniforms talking all around, to…are those reporters? Her eyes are too blinded by the lights of the police cruisers strobing in the darkness to make out much of anything, just a lot of activity and sound all at once. Wincing, she holds up one arm to block the lights, and wonders if this is how Isa was feeling in the basement.

As they approach the back of the ambulance, she glances over to the side and stops short. It’s him. The man who’s been tormenting them for all this time is standing there, hands cuffed behind his back, being guided into the back of a police car. It’s such a strange feeling, seeing him restrained for once. Seeing him finally caught, knowing that it’s actually over. Her mind can’t fully comprehend it. 

“Ready to get in?” The paramedic’s voice jolts her out of her reverie, and she turns to see Isa already loaded into the ambulance. With some support at her elbow, she climbs in after her, taking a seat out of the way and returning to her vigil over her friend. The doors slam shut, the siren wails to life, and just like that, they’re driving away from their nightmare.

[yetanotheraltwhumpblog]

He hadn’t stopped bleeding. It had slowed, but he periodically had to open it to spit the liquid onto his bed and the wall. It didn’t get the taste out of his throat or the pain out of his gums. 

The bed was gross enough without Virgil exsanguinating on it, covered in mold and other substances he’d rather not think about. He barely registered the door unlocking over the running in his ears. 

“Good morning, sunshine. The universe says hello!” It was Nick. Of course it was, who else would it be? Virgil closed his eyes as if that would somehow make it go away. Maybe if he thought hard enough he would be back at his house, before any of this had happened. 

The bed creaked as Nick crawled into it, saddling up next to Virgil and spooning him. He buried his nose in the back of his neck but frowned when he smelled metal. 

“You should have stopped bleeding by now. What’s the matter with you?” He asked, annunciating each word in the last sentence to a hard flick to the back of Virgil’s head. He didn’t flinch. 

Nick grimaced as he looked at the wall, the red forming a Jackson Pollock painting of the remnants of injuries he caused.

“I wouldn’t have kept you around if I knew you would be this…gross.” He muttered to himself as he pulled some tissues from his breast pocket and dabbed at the dried blood like that would do anything.

Virgil didn’t say anything in response, only lolling his mouth open so that the blood he had left in his gums could spill out onto the thin sheet. 

Once Nick was satisfied with not cleaning, his gloved hand traced Virgil’s stomach through his tank top. He pressed hard enough to feel ribs, but not hard enough to elicit a sound. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, moving his hand from Virgil’s ribs to where he thought his stomach was. He ended up pushing on his liver. Virgil didn’t say anything in response, his milky brown eyes staring at the wall, trying to find patterns in the uneven paint. Anything to take his attention away from his voice. 

Nick scoffed before speaking. “If you aren’t you will be, and if you are too bad. Maybe this is how you’ll finally be able to lose weight. Fuckin’ fatass…” He whispered before wrapping his arms around Virgil and pulling him closer. After a few minutes of comfortable for him silence, he speaks again. 

“...If you ever left me, I’d kill myself. You don’t want my blood on your hands, do you?”

The only sounds after that were periodic coughs from Virgil.

[xviruserrorx]

MerlinRewatch2023 -> "The Gates Of Avalon" Sidhe ~ Masterlist [Prev <- • -> Next]

[crodo-writing]

Only for Him

Character(s): Jonah Clemence

Gender-neutral reader | Word Count: 2.4k (650 in the first, 1.7k in the second)

Contents: Soulmate au where the first words you speak to your soulmate appear on your skin.

Warning: Yandere in second ficlet, Touching (sfw) without consent, general creepy vibes in the last ficlet

a/n: haha sorry for saying i was moving accounts and then not uploading smth soon after, i was writing multiple of these and uuuh it turned out writing for just one character was long enough. I have more though :3

When you are his soulmate

Soulmates had been a romanticized topic around Jonah, a mythical thing he would never be allowed to enjoy, a silly fairytale. On top of being the next Queen of Hearts and having to marry a noble woman to continue the line, his soulmate’s line was… rather anticlimactic and uninteresting. It was the furthest thing from romantic he could get. “I’m not lying” is so simplistic, so generic, and who would say that as their first words to someone? Not anyone that Jonah knew of, that’s for sure, because what reasonable person would lead off the conversation with “I’m not lying”?

And yet that was what someone said to him, straight to his face. That mysterious person that fell to Cradle on the night of the full moon, Alice the second, the one who had Cradle’s future in the palm of their hands, and the one who would help win them the war between red and black. On that night, not only was he surprised by their magic-defying ability, but the fact that they spoke the words his soulmate would speak to him. He didn’t know what to be more flabbergasted about, and that moment of hesitation made him lose them, as they ran as swiftly as they appeared. 

It was his duty to get this Alice for his king, but it was his duty as their soulmate to inform them that they were his. They most likely already knew but they hadn’t reached out to him. How rude. So he did the best thing to accomplish both goals; have a private meeting with the Alice. And for further planning, he’d be able to get both the second Alice for the red army and his soulmate. He couldn’t think of a better scenario if he tried. 

He was very pleased with himself and grew excited when he saw his soulmate ascend from the Civic Center and into the garden alone, just as he had asked. Oh how excellent it was to have a soulmate who could take orders from him. He couldn’t ask for anything better. 

Throughout their first meeting together, they wouldn’t stop surprising him. In a bad way, he would insist, as they were feisty and didn’t like to listen to him at all. They were rather hostile to him. As the meeting went on, Jonah grew more antsy and crossed with the situation before him. But the straw that broke the oxe’s back was when they told him, with such conviction, that they “could never love him.”

“Let’s play a game, Alice,” Jonah proposed with a strained smile, abruptly standing up from his chair and walking over to them. In a desperate attempt to hold his composure, he tried to school himself about how he had no reason to get so riled up about their words and actions. This was merely a pawn. His pawn, but a pawn nonetheless. Their words didn’t matter, don’t let such petty words spoken by a commoner make him irate. By the time he made his way across the table and over to Alice, he grabbed their chin for direct eye contact. “Why not play a game of love? You say you can never love me? Do you stand by that statement?”

Alice replied with a huffy “I do!”. Oh how fun it was to rile them up like they did to him. 

Jonah’s smile changed from a mask to one of mischief. “Then you won’t have a problem taking on this challenge from me. Once every three days, we’ll have a date.”

His words only made them angrier, but they couldn’t get out any words before Jonah pulled away from them and started his way back down to the Civic Center. As he walked away, Jonah spoke out to Alice. “I’ll be generous and give you wishes of luck. Though I know you’ll fall for me. Then you’ll be where you belong, right by my side”

When you aren’t his soulmate (1779)

Jonah wouldn’t say he was “fascinated” by the idea of soulmates, because that implies that he looks into this silly fairytale idea. No, as the Queen of Hearts he would never. He was never meant to have a soulmate. The universe could assign him a soulmate, but his destiny was paved by his ancestors and love was not something that they would allow for him. So it would have been better if he just never looked into soulmates. He swore he never did.

Then they had to come and ruin everything for him. This person from the land of reason. They would be his, and not just for the sake of the Red Army. Something about them just attracted him towards them. They were his destiny. Yet the words on his wrist said differently, saying words far different than the ones they spoke to him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Queen of Hearts,” blemished his wrist. Scowling for the uptenth time, Jonah tears his eyes away from the words. There were a plethora of things wrong between you and the words from his soulmate that all added up to you not “being the one”. For example, you didn’t even know who he was. A shame, truly. Then you acted so brashly and indignantly. And there were so many other things, yet he knew you were “the one” for him. The universe had it wrong, that was all. He could easily fix this with some seduction on his behalf. On top of that, it wasn’t like you two had to be soulmates; there wasn’t a guarantee that soulmates would find each other. It was a rare and celebrated occurrence. If you were his soulmate, it would make everything far easier. Yet his best efforts came up barren, as his proposed challenge of “dates” didn’t make you like him at all. If anything, it made you hate him more.

Furrowing his brows, Jonah tried to think of other ways to get you. Time was ticking and he had less than two weeks to get you. Jonah pondered over many options. There was always the option to go straight to kidnapping, but that wouldn’t be honorable. The deal was that you would fall for him on your own volition, that he’d win you over, not just grab you. No, he had to figure out something that would still force you into the Red Army Quarters. They would be his. They were his. 

The words on his wrist kept taunting him, practically screaming at him about the connection he has and how you aren’t his other half. A stark reminder that the universe didn’t see you two fit. The universe was blind, it could be wrong, so why would he blindly follow what the universe laid out for him? 

Snarling at the tattoo, he pulled the sleeve of his shirt and coat down, hiding the most useless thing to him. It was going to gain some usage today though. He didn’t think himself to be a brute, but if he had to force two puzzle pieces together to make an image, then so be it. 

This would be the last day you weren't officially Jonah’s.

Jonah had made plans for the third date between you two, choosing the crystal lake to show you what “Cradle had to offer”, since you were interested in Cradle. It was secluded, a gorgeous sight, especially to someone who wasn’t from Cradle, and rather romantic. The sky was clear, the sun didn’t shine too brightly, and the temperature was refreshingly cool. Really, nothing could go wrong. 

He arrived first, of course. He decided a small picnic was in order, as you seemed to like more common activities. Things that were really below him, but nonetheless sweet. You arrived as Jonah was placing the picnic blanket down, albeit clumsily and in the most awkward fashion ever, but he was preparing everything well enough. 

“Do you need help there?” you walk over to Jonah, already reaching down to fix the blanket. 

“No,” Jonah swats your hands away, scrunching his face up. “I don’t. I can do this just fine, give me just a moment.” With that, Jonah went back to laying the blanket on the ground. Some of it was still bunched up, but it was still the best place to sit in the immediate area. “See! Perfect! Now come, come sit. The food won’t eat itself.” Jonah grabs the previously discarded basket of goodies and goes to the blanket. 

“Alright, alright,” you chuckle, walking over to Jonah’s blanket and sitting yourself down. “What do you have today, oh great Queen of Hearts?”

“Some sandwiches, macaroons, strawberries. Just some light things.” Jonah seemed to have brightened up from your words. Maybe he was preening from you referring to him by his title. “Oh, there’s something I wanted to ask about the Land of Reason.” 

“And what could that be?” Looking at him quizzically, you try to decipher where the conversation could be leading to. He hasn’t seemed too curious about it before. The focus on the dates so far had been on whooing you. Maybe he was trying a new tactic or gathering intel for a new tactic? 

“Are there soulmate connections?”

“Yes,” you quirk a brow at his question. That seemed rather odd to ask. “We have soulmate connections in the land of reason. Do you not have them in Cradle?”

“Oh we have them in Cradle,” There was nearly an audible smile in his words. “I was just asking to see if there were any in the land of reason, because of the lack of magic there.”

“Why would that make us have no soulmates?” squinting, you try to quickly think of where this leads. Soulmates. He’s asking for soulmates… does he want to know if you have a soulmate? Or if you’re soulmates? No you’d already know by now, plus it’d be a nightmare to be his soulmate. You’d send your regards to his poor soulmate if you could.  

“I don’t know,” Jonah shrugged. “I just wanted to see what differences there were between the Land of Reason and Cradle.”

“Well, is there anything else about soulmates there you want to know about?” You try to finish all this soulmate talk as soon as possible, specifically for future encounters. If you get everything out here, he’ll stop pestering you.

“What’s your soulmate connection?” He asks it so simply, yet it was the most shocking thing he could have asked. Mouth agape, you try to formulate a response, but Jonah keeps going. “Mine is the tattoo one, the first words your soulmate speaks to you.” 

“Oh really? Well mine’s-” You can’t even try to be polite and Jonah interrupts. He makes it so hard to be nice, he really does. 

“Anyways, Soulmate, how do you do?” You’re flabbergasted. If you weren’t so shocked, you’d joke about how he could ask a worse question than the one before. He’d manage to find something worse, you were betting on that now. 

“Excuse me? I’m not your soulmate?” Indignantly, you try to get the conversation to get equal again, for you to be an active participant, to be an equal to Jonah. At least in the conversation. You couldn’t even dream about being on his level, but a conversation was different.

“Well you may not be my soulmate, but I love you.” With a stern face, he slowly started to unveil his intentions. “We could make this work.” With every word, he kept making the encounter worse. At this point, it was probably the worse date you’d ever gone on. This was practically proposing on the first date, with someone you barely got along with. Where’d he even get the “we” from? He was rather delusional on that front, that or making flawed assumptions. There’s no way you’d go through this willingly. 

“I don’t love you though!” You shout, losing composure. This was a train wreck, truly terrible. Jonah had never talked to a a romantic interest. To hell with this “plan” to hold the war off with these playdates, Jonah was freaky at this point. “I don’t know where you got that impression, but I don’t have any feelings for you.”

“Well I do!” He yelled back, composure completely gone, leaving a panting, desperate man. His feelings were more important than yours. 

He wasn’t going to take a rejection. 

“I love you so much and I hate that. I loathe the fact that you keep me up at night.” Crawling over, like the desperate and deprived man he is, his manic eyes met your. You were frozen in shock, this is not the Jonah you’ve known.  

You’re barely able to scoot back before Jonah is in front of you, grabbing your wrists to stop your escape. Though he quickly moves to your side after securing you, holding you in an embrace from behind. This would be very sweet if Jonah wasn’t like this. Or better yet, if it wasn’t Jonah at all. You’d be sure to avoid him in the future, but you were scared you wouldn’t have a future after this. Both arms wrapped around you. Before getting fully situated, he pulled the sleeve down on one of his arms, before intertwining the used hand with one of your and laying both against your stomach. Your other arm was getting squished between Jonah’s other arm and his body. He held his wrist out, his bare wrist clearly visible and tattooed words upon them in a refined handwriting. “Now you better say the words on my wrist if you know what’s good for you.”

Jonah had an amazing knack for being horrid. You were too shocked to speak. You were truly a fish on land, both because it felt like you were suffocating and you could only open and close your mother in shock. You really jinxed yourself by saying asking about soulmates was the most shocking he’d get. He exceeded your expectations. 

When you didn’t speak, Jonah gave you a quick squeeze to get your attention. “I told you to read the line.” He was getting impatient. 

Somehow you find your voice again and shakily do as he asked. “Uh I- it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Queen of Hearts.” You were slow, but you still said it, pleasing Jonah. He repositioned himself a bit to a proper hug from behind, resting his head onto your shoulder.

“See? It wasn’t that hard,” he spoke softly into your ear, one of the most patronizing congratulations you’d heard from this haughty mess of a man. “Now everything will be easier.”

Ikemen Revolution Masterlist

[del-phi-nium]

does everyone else carry this horrible hurt inside? the yearning to be split open by tender, patient hands and lay bleeding in their arms every night? who am i to abuse that power, one used over & over & over on me? when seeking hands didn't stop at my arms, my legs, stop. let's not rehash buried curses. the point i hope to make is how fucked up is it that i want [...] this badly when i've only known bad, bad, ugly endings.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - modern!au, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, nonconsensual touching, and stalking. written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

“I’ve been thinking about us, again.”

He was barely trying to whisper, his voice loud enough to earn several pointed looks from the people around you. You’d tried to put yourself at a distance from the rest of the class, to sit in a deserted corner of the near-empty lecture hall, but he wouldn’t have cared if you were in the first row. That was something you’d had to learn quickly about him – Kunikuzushi was shameless at the best of times, actively vitriolic at the worst. Your public humiliation wasn’t just a pleasant side-effect of his company, but an active goal he was striving towards during every minute you spent together.

“You don’t have to look so worried – if I was going to break up with you, you’d know.” You kept your eyes trained on the lecturer, your expression schooled to practiced disinterest, but his voice lulled like you’d broken into tears. You felt him shift that much closer to you – his thigh pressing into yours. “I just don’t think we spend enough time together. I know, I know, we’re both busy, but still. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

You were. Just last week, you’d spent two hours locked in your bedroom closet – lights off and knees pulled into your chest – because Kuni had somehow gotten your address and decided it would be a good use of his time to loiter on your doorstep and refuse to leave until you came out. You planned your day-to-day schedule meticulously to make sure it would never bleed into his, went out of your way not to have to go where you knew he would be, but there was only so much you could do to get away from someone willing to blow off his classes and skip work just to spend the better part of a day sending you candid pictures from one of his countless burner phones. You could only be thankful he was too caught up in his own delusions to ever let his obsession turn violent. Lashing out at you for never acknowledging whatever relationship he thought you were in would be akin to admitting you didn’t have a relationship at all, he would never do that.

He took up your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You tried, weakly, to pull away from him, but he only let out a breathy chuckle, his head soon resting on your shoulder. Compared to how he’d acted when you first met – standoffish, bristly, constantly on the verge of losing his temper – he was practically a touch-starved puppy, happy so long as he could sit in your lap and bask in your attention, positive or negative.

If only you’d ever wanted a pet.

“I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say it.” Another laugh, a playful squeeze to your hand. “I think we should move in together.”

You snapped in his direction, your knees jolting against the bottom of your desk and earning a few pointed glares. After mouthing a sheepish apology, you dug your nails into the back of his hand, keeping your voice as low as possible. “Kuni, I— I don’t think that’s—”

“Don’t think it’s practical?” Predictably, he cut you off. “I knew you’d say that. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be able to find the nerve to leave your apartment.” You felt his smile against the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “I’ve already handled it. By the time that moron—“ He rolled his eyes towards your professor. “—shuts up, everything should be taken care of.”

You felt something heavy and sharp drop into the pit of your stomach. “But, you don’t have a key—”

“I made myself a key a couple weeks ago – got tired of waiting for you to offer. I love you, babe, but you’re too timid for your own good.” His grin, pressed the curve of your throat. “You can thank me later on, after I’ve shown you our new place.”

His hand fell to your thigh, just a touch too high not to trigger some buried, primal instinct inside of you. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate – bolting upward and tearing yourself away from him. Your chair scaped against the tile floor, your palms slamming against the desk, and in an instant, every pair of eyes in the lecture hall were on you. The professor scowled in your direction, his ire tangible. “Do you have something to say, (L/n)?”

You opened your mouth, but your mouth was dry, your throat suddenly swollen shut. Your gaze fell back to Kuni – his smile still wide and his eyes still so, so dark.

Wordlessly, you shook your head and collapsed back into your seat. As the lecture picked back up and all concentration was returned to the front of the rom, Kuni latched onto you once again, his hold twice as strong and twice as suffocating as it had been.

It was almost a comfort to know that, this time, there wasn’t anything you could do to get away from him.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 6: Made to Watch

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Twilight

- Summary: Cia manages to capture Warriors and decides to try to force him to remain with her

CW for nonconsensual touching, nonconsensual transformation, mild body horror, torture, a character being possessive, vomiting, blood and injury

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

Warriors glares down at his legs, trying in vain not to look up. He is all too aware of the faces grinning cockily down at him from every angle of the room. And he would really rather not gaze upon them. They give him the creeps, quite frankly.

Who knew his own visage could look so wrong, slapped on the walls of someone he abhors?

He shifts, flexing his bound hands to try and bring feeling back into them. The ropes are pulled so tightly that he is certain their pattern is indented in his skin. Magic reverberates through them, dark and thick and nauseatingly wrong. Even it feels possessive, as though its wielder has imbued it with her sentiments.

The thought sends chills running down his neck and back. It’s almost as if he can feel her hands on him already, like skulltulas crawling across his skin. Unconsciously, he curls in on himself further.

He doesn’t know how Cia returned to the land of the living. Frankly, he doesn’t think he wants to. But one thing is for certain, he wishes it had never occurred.

Neither had he thought he would set foot in this place again. Foolishly, he had thought it was all over. 

(Save, of course, for the creeping memories of his men lying in pools of their own blood; townspeople screaming in horror and pain; long nights spent agonizing over maps and plans, trying to figure out how to win the next battle, trying to ignore the constant, creeping terror that someone followed his every move, cold fingers reaching out to brush his neck.)  

Yet here he sits in the depths of Cia’s chambers, wounded and bound. His head still aches from where the moblin had slammed its club into it. A trail of drying blood tugs at the skin of his forehead.

Warriors closes his eyes for a moment, exhales long and slow through his nostrils. Fear is seeping past his defenses, turning his mind numb. He can’t let that happen. He has to stay alert, keep a hold of himself.

But that is awfully hard to do. Even more so when footsteps echo in the hall.

There are multiple pairs of them by the sound of it — three perhaps — some heavier than others. And as they grow closer Warriors finds it increasingly difficult to slow the mad rhythm of his heart.

Cia is coming, he can feel it, feel her dark magic seeping through the walls and floorboards.

His breath hitches the slightest bit and he forces himself to hold the next one, then blow it out slowly. It still shakes a bit but at least he is in less danger of hyperventilating now. 

Calm yourself, captain, he orders. He squeezes his eyes shut, allowing himself a moment to feel the serenity of cool darkness. All the while, the footsteps grow continually louder.

Remove yourself from the situation. You’re no good if you’re panicked.

Warriors clenches his hands, determined to stop their shaking. He can’t show her weakness, he refuses to. But he can’t do more than slow the manic bob of his knee, up and down, up and down, mimicking the erratic pound of his heart.

His body demands to retain one, small nervous tick and he has little choice but to cave. 

The footsteps come to an abrupt halt now, just outside of the double doors. Warriors inhales sharply, breath caught in his chest. He can hear his heart pounding like it’s the only sound in the room, filling his ears, reverberating through him like the beat of war drums. 

Then, both doors are flung wide open with a flare and fury that can only belong to one person. And sure enough, there she is, standing in the doorway with her hip jutted outward and her head tipped so the shadows play upon it, violet eyes gleaming like a demon’s, a malicious smirk curving her lips. 

She looks just as she did in the time of the war. A shiver tears up his spine.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” she croons, waltzing into the room. “It has been far too long, my little hero. But I am so delighted to see you again.”

She begins to walk toward him, every step making his heart climb higher into his throat. Then, she is mere inches away, grasping his chin and dragging it upward so he has no choice but to look at her. He fights not to recoil from her touch. 

“I brought you a little gift to celebrate the occasion,” she purrs. “I do hope you enjoy it.”

She raises a hand and motions to whoever still waits in the darkness of the threshold. Then, quick and quiet as a serpent, she slips behind the chair he is bound to. She leans forward, hands snaking around his shoulders, breath and hair tickling his ear. 

“Now, watch,” she murmurs. “I want to see your face when you see what I brought you. Or rather who.”

She has barely uttered the word when the sounds of a scuffle come from the doorway. Seconds later, a figure Warriors would know anywhere is hurled unceremoniously over it. The Hero of Twilight lands in a bloodied heap on the hard floor.

Warriors can’t help the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Rancher?” 

A moblin lumbers into the light. Grasping Twilight’s shoulder, it wrenches him upward so he kneels before Warriors. Slowly, the hero raises his head.

A gash runs jaggedly across his face, cresting the bridge of his nose. Its gory crimson stands out against the pallor of his skin. His hair hangs limply, weighed down by blood and sweat. His pelt, outer tunic, and armor are gone, his undertunic and pants bloodied and torn, allowing glimpses of the angry welts and bruises and cuts lying beneath. 

His eyes are abnormally bright when they meet the captain’s, but that all too familiar fire still burns within it. And when he catches sight of Cia, hovering behind Warriors, her hands still on him, his expression turns positively murderous. 

“Get away from him,” he growls, earning himself a swift kick in the ribs. He doubles over, gasping. A fresh streak of worry zips through Warriors. 

But the sorceress has no problem ignoring what is happening before her. She begins to laugh and the sharp sound echoes in Warriors’ ears. 

“Wonderful! Just the reaction I was expecting!” She steps back, clapping together her hands. “Now, we can begin.”

“Begin what?” Warriors spits, anger in his tone. He grasps onto it, if only to keep his fear at bay. “It seems you’ve done more than enough already.”

She chuckles again, as though she is privy to some wonderful joke that neither hero is. 

“Oh, captain, I certainly have missed you. Death was so unkind to keep me from you. Thankfully, there are those who understand the need to rise from the grave.” Cia grins. “And now that I’m back, I would really rather not have to lose you again.”

She runs her hand along the side of his jaw and neck, the movement almost gentle. Warriors is certain he is going to be ill.

“So you are going to stay here with me…” Her face is suddenly inches from his. Warriors cringes back, trying to turn his face away. But long fingers grasp his jaw and wrench it back into place.

“Forever.”

Warriors nearly chokes on the breath he had been holding. He had known it was coming, there was no way he couldn’t, but that doesn’t negate the terrible feeling that one word provokes. He has felt suffocated by this place since he awoke here. Now, he is certain that it’s crushing him. 

“He’s not gonna stay with you,” Twilight says, his tone firm despite the way he trembles. There is something dangerous in it too, like the bite of a wild animal. “He’s not your pet.”

Cia turns to him at that. A high-pitched, maniacal giggle bubbles out of her. 

“It is absolutely hilarious that you of all people would phrase it in such a way. Tell me, does your friend know?”

She closes the distance between herself and the rancher. Then, reaching out she grasps his chin, angling his face upward. With the other hand she traces the dark markings around his eyes and on his forehead. Twilight tries to pull away but she holds him fast.

“This one is dripping with dark magic,” she says, addressing Warriors now with an almost giddy tone. “He’s coated in it! Just look at these markings! And this” – She releases Twilight’s face and lifts the crystal he wears instead, turning it in her fingers — “This is the source of it all. He has used its power so many times now that it might as well be a part of him. I wonder, if all that magic were gone…or perhaps changed, would he break?”

Twilight’s expression doesn’t change from its steadfast mask of anger. But Warriors has known him for too long now to miss the flash of fear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, sharply. “It’s me you want, not him. Release him. Now.”

Cia giggles again. For a moment, she regards the crystal. Then, dropping it, she turns back to Warriors. 

“I’ll let him go eventually. But first we’re going to have a bit of fun. You see, the wonderful thing about dark magic is that it has no qualms. It can be warped and twisted however you wish. It won’t put up a fight. It might even decide to help you, if you’re lucky.”

Warriors’ eyes narrow. Panic thrashes within him like a bird caught in a cage. He has to find a way out of here, he has to. 

“So.” Cia stalks toward him, grinning as though she is exceedingly pleased with herself. “Either you swear to remain by my side for eternity, or your friend comes to know what it feels like when I bend dark magic to my will.” Her smile turns almost sweet. But there is blatant danger behind it, a temper that is too easily kindled. “It’s your choice, my little hero.”

Twilight skewers him with a look so cold it could send most grown men running. Under better circumstances, Warriors would tease him about how well he has managed to capture the old man’s glare of disappointment.

“Don’t do what she wants, captain. I’ll be fine.”

Warriors swallows, feeling vaguely lightheaded. He knows the answer he should give. But Cia’s presence is everywhere, smothering him so he can’t breathe or feel or think. His own face grins down at him from every wall, malicious and oppressive. And some desperate, selfish part of him wants to scream that he can never live this way. 

With an effort, he forces himself to open his mouth. The words he wants stick in his throat, though, and nothing comes out. 

“The clock is ticking,” Cia hisses, fire beginning to burn behind her eyes. “Your hesitation perturbs me, little hero. We are meant to be together, can you not see that? We are far bigger than the powers that try to keep us apart. Come, be with me the way it should be.”

Her words wrap around him like treacherous vines. Warriors can’t breathe past their grip. 

“He was never meant to be with you, witch,” Twilight growls. “And if you think your little plan to manipulate him is gonna work, you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.”

She whirls on him, pent up fury radiating off of her in waves.

“Time’s up!”

Warriors jolts forward with a strangled shout. “No, wait!”

But it’s already too late. 

A flick of the sorceress’ fingers and Twilight goes rigid. His eyes blow wide with terror and agony. A scream breaks free, strangled and hoarse and terrible. Black flecks begin to dance in the air. They surround him, coalescing into something darker and more solid. Then, quick as a spear in flight, they zip into his chest. 

Abruptly, Twilight’s screams cut off. His eyes roll back in his head and he slumps in the moblin’s grip. For a long moment, the room is horribly quiet. 

Warriors doesn’t dare take a breath. His ears still ring from Twilight’s cries, head still pounds from woundedness and fear. Distantly, he realizes that he should look around the room for some method of escape while Cia is distracted. But he can’t tear his eyes from Twilight's limp form. 

Let him be okay. Dear goddesses let him be okay.

A violent screech suddenly fills the space, eerie and petrifying. It ricochets around Warriors’ skull and he yearns to close his eyes in an attempt to block out the noise. But it continues and he remains frozen, helpless to do anything more than watch as Twilight morphs. 

His body enlarges and elongates, pale skin turning the color of fresh tar, lines of silvery-gray tracing strange patterns along it. Lines of crimson weave deadly cracks along his chest. His hair turns long and wiry, spreading like mane from a face that no longer even remotely resembles something human. Oddly, Warriors can’t help thinking it looks more akin to a shield now, lacking in features as it is. It is adorned with lines and circles, shapes carved into it as though by a potter into clay.

The beast (or…Twilight he guesses, though there is nothing there to remind him that this thing was ever his brother) gives a screech again, so loud Warriors is certain his ear drums are going to burst. And then, he whirls around and hurls the moblin at the wall. The monster hits it with a deafening crack that makes the room tremble and creates a sizable, moblin-shaped dent. It disappears seconds later.

Cia begins to cackle as Twilight faces her, limbs trembling (though with anger or pain, Warriors isn’t certain). He regards her for a mere moment, then with an enraged howl, lunges. 

“Now, now,” she croons, stepping effortlessly out of the way, “be a good beast.”

She holds up the crystal (Warriors hadn’t even seen her snag it) and suddenly Twilight is back, darkness folding around him as he crumples. He just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, dazed eyes flitting to Warriors. There’s something in them, something urgent trying to break through the haze. And for a split second, Warriors tries desperately to decipher it. But then, the chance is gone. The rancher doubles over and vomits.

“Painful, isn’t it?” Cia says. She delivers a swift kick to the rancher’s chin and he falls. “I told you dark magic is not to be trifled with. And you, oh you, have certainly trifled with it an awful lot. But that is hardly my priority in all of this, only an observation that has proven oh so useful. No.” She turns to Warriors, a smirk on her lips. “My priority is you.”

He’s shaking, Warriors realizes dimly, with anger, with fear, with the guilt that tears up his insides. But he grits his teeth and meets her eye.

“Let him go.” He drags out the words, slowly, each one measured so that his voice doesn’t tremble. It’s the same method he used to address his troops before battle. “And I’ll stay with you. I swear.”

Her eyes light up and a little, giddy gasp escapes her. Warriors’ stomach churns, threatening revolt. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.

“Say it again,” she murmurs, prowling up to him, hands already outstretched to brush over his cheeks. “Tell me we were meant to be together. Tell me you’ll stay for all eternity.”

Magic revels at her fingertips, hot and oppressive on his face. Terror wedges itself in his throat and he closes his eyes. The taste of blood is sharp and nauseating.

“Keep them open,” she orders, voice taking on a harsh edge now. Fingernails dig into his face.

With an effort, he obeys. 

“Come now.” Lips hover inches from his and there’s no room to flinch away, nowhere to run. It’s just him and her, a nightmare made manifest in reality, an eternity of misery.

He swallows again, hard, to push down the rising urge to fight back.

“No,” Twilight croaks. “Captain…don’t! Don’t let this monster control you!”

Her eyes turn to blazing fire at that.

“Monster?” In an instant she is straightening, whirling to face the rancher, and Warriors can breathe again. “You think I’m a monster for wanting what I deserve?! You little — I’ll show you what a monster is!”

There’s a terrible flash of light and dark again. The room fills with the sound of agonized screams, turning quickly to the deafening, alien cries of before. And then Twilight is gone, and the beast stands in his place.

But that, it seems, is exactly what he had wanted. 

The rancher is shaking, blood dripping from wounds Warriors can’t see. But he doesn’t allow himself even a moment to catch his breath. With an animalistic shriek, he throws himself at Cia. Close as they are now, she doesn’t have time to evade. He comes down on top of her and she hits the ground, crying out in shock and anger. 

Desperately, furiously, she struggles, screaming obscenities and cut-off incantations. Twilight, however, doesn’t give her a chance to get the upper hand. He digs his talons into her with an abandon that Warriors can’t help finding a little terrifying. 

But he isn’t about to complain. Because the moment she falls, he feels the spell strengthening his bonds stutter and die. The ropes are useless without it, loosened as they are by his constant fight against them. They fall limply to the floor.

He’s on his feet without a second thought, mind locked in the numb determination of an adrenaline rush. Twilight’s crystal has fallen a short ways away and he snatches it up by its cord. 

“Rancher!” he calls, holding it up. 

Twilight spares him a quick, eyeless glance, then reels back and swipes at Cia so fiercely that she goes flying. She collides with the opposite wall, then collapses to the ground, blood dribbling from her mouth.

“You,” she growls, between agonized breaths, “you pathetic dog! I’ll get my revenge for this! Link will be mine!”

And then, in a cloud of violet and black, she is gone. 

He can still feel her presence in the room, still feel her on him, readying the spell that would enslave him to his own promise forever. But Warriors pushes all that aside and turns to Twilight.

“Here.” He holds out the crystal. “This will turn you back, right?”

Twilight nods. Carefully, he reaches out a dark, taloned hand and scoops the crystal into it. The shadows fold around him, there’s a faint “swoosh”, and the rancher is once again standing before him. 

He wavers, looking dangerously close to collapsing, but Warriors puts his arms around him before he can. His own legs aren’t feeling too steady, though, so he ends up lowering them both onto the ground. Twilight slumps heavily against his shoulder. His breathing is sharp, short, and shuddering, his face ashen and pale. But he drags his gaze up to meet Warriors’ anyway.

“You ‘k?”

Warriors laughs, bitterly. “I should be asking you that, rancher. What on earth did she do to you?”

Twilight frowns at the crystal still cupped in his palm. “Somethin’ she…she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out far quieter and more broken than he had intended, but at this point he hardly cares. 

“Shush. Ain’t you-your fault.” The rancher shifts, wincing slightly as he does so. “And don’t you try…arguing that-that it is.”

Warriors smiles, dryly. He had been thinking up an argument – more than one – while they spoke.

“You’re too much like the old man, you know that?” he says, with a sigh.

Twilight’s lips upturn in a grin, but he doesn’t answer. His eyes have slipped closed now. Warriors can tell unconsciousness isn’t far off. 

Shoving his tumultuous thoughts aside, he gives the rancher a gentle nudge. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet. We still have to get out of this place.”

And the sooner, the better.

“Can you stand?”

Slowly, Twilight nods. He drags his eyes open again, blinking up at the captain.

“Don worry, I’ll hang on. You’re skinny little self could…couldn’t lug me out of here.”

Warriors chuckles, despite himself. “Don’t sell me short, rancher. Believe me, I’ve carried heavier than you.”

Twilight sends him a look that says he doubts that. But he allows Warriors to help him to his feet. And as they start toward the door, he leans against the captain, not even bothering to protest his support.  

Despite the complaints of his own body, Warriors is glad of it. The very least he can do is get his brother away from this place where violet eyes gleam and long-fingered hands reach out to imprison. These are his demons to face, not Twilight’s. The rancher has endured more than enough on his behalf. And if Cia shows up again – and Warriors is not foolish enough to assume that she won’t – he will do whatever is necessary to ensure she never harms his brothers again.

[dilfartist]

Missed - short (pt.2)

Pairing; Yandere Las Plagas Leon Kennedy x reader

Synopsis; it’s the week after Leon’s attack and the scientists examining and aiding Leon, need your assistance.

Reader description; Female/GN

Word count; 1k

TW; Dead dove do not eat, non-con, there isn’t really a smut scene, depends on how you interpret it, nonconsensual touching, messed up shit, ooc Leon. NSFW. Also tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged but its acting weird so few may not be notified.

!Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!

Nothing seems real to you anymore.

Your boyfriend working for the government was more than enough news to handle, but Leon obtaining some parasite, becoming one himself understandably tended to hurt your head.

After last week's events, you come by daily. While they did request this of you, you would have done it anyways.

Every day you wake then drive straight to the facility holding him; never missing a day. And with each passing day, he grows worse. His body changed, sprouting more veins than the last time you saw him. He looks lifeless. His baby blue eyes are now a piercing ruby color, that stare into your soul.

Leon as a person has altered. He’s more touchy, touching you anytime he can. Leon doesn’t care for your opinion, or consent on the matter. Not anymore. Aggression is a main part of his personality now. While Leon was rarely aggressive with you, it still terrified you to see him throw a tantrum and nearly rip out a security guard’s throat because you wanted to leave early.

His presence alone has grown suffocating. And You’re starting to get uncomfortable just being around him.

And the experimenters monitoring Leon aren't helping. They only ever approve of you around to gather intel. Sometimes they’ll guilt you into staying in his enclosure, observing his actions on the other side of a double mirror. Other times they’d full-on pay you to spend five or more hours with Leon. Of course, you’d have no issues if Leon acted like his old self. But that was the issue. He wasn't himself anymore.

It’s currently two o’clock and you’re attending Leon’s daily visits.

“We have one more experiment we’d like to run on Leon, but we need your help to explore what we’d like to explore.”

You nod, observing Leon from the other side of the double mirror. Leon sits crisscrossed next to a large television watching MTV mindlessly, gnawing on a slice of pizza. Leon sports grey sweatpants and a slight sauce messy white tee.

You turn your head finally providing your attention to the scientist beside you, “What is it?” you questioned.

She fixed her glasses to look down at her clipboard, “Well, Leon has been very emotional lately. We’d appreciate it if you’d go inside and just talk with him.”

You lift an eyebrow looking at her septically, “Is that all?”

She nods. “Yes, that is all. You know he only communicates with you.”

“Alright then.”

You enter Leon’s isolation when the door slides open. Leon’s room contained paper-white walls, an extensive mirror, both a couch and bed on opposite sides of each other, a television, and a bathroom area. It felt like a zoo enclosure.

Leon took a minute to glance your way. He was too captivated by the flashing images on the television. Wanting to get the interaction over with, you called out for him. “Leon.”

Leon’s eyes darted in your direction. “(Name)!” he jumped up, jogging over to you. He hugged you tightly, running kisses up and down your neck. You're frozen in an awkward position, “Hey, missed you too, Lee.”

Leon ceases his kissing, pulling away from your neck to look you in the eyes. “Been wondering when’s the next time you’d visit.”

You chuckle, “I visit every day, Leon.”

“It feels like an eternity when you're not around.”

Leon and you lay on the couch, Leon resting his head on top of your chest. You held him close, staring at the ceiling. For abeat there was a pregnant silence, the both of you focusing on each other’s company. Then Leon spoke. Leon asked about your life: how was work? Was anything new happing? Any recent drama. He yearned for a bit of normalcy. Wanted to forget about Spain. Just wanted his main reflections on you.

Since Leon’s trip nothing was the same, not for him. Not for you. While, yes, his normal life ended after the raccoon city incident, he managed to somehow have a- what would you call it? Semi-normal life. Living with you at least.

But now it was gone. The las plazas had terminated any chance of normality for Leon. And if by chance the government’s scientists somehow cured Leon of his parasite, he’d still be left with the side effects of retaining the Las plagas for as long as he did.

Leon’s body had changed in such drastic ways. And his main concern was the upsurge in his libido.

Hours and hours he’d fist his cock, mulling on the times you’ve sucked his cock. No matter how hard, how fast, or even the time spent he couldn't stop. It hurt too much if he did. The other day the pain didn't go away until he fainted from exhaustion. He needed you. He needed to stuff you so bad it physically pained him.

His mind was barraged with thoughts of breeding your sweet pussy. Leon wasn’t the idea of having kids with you, honestly, it thought about a lot. However, this was different. It was an obsession now. Thoughts on breeding you made him cum so quickly, it became his number one fantasy.

Laying here listening to your rambling on the next-door neighbor's fight last night, his nose picks up an ambrosial smell originating from you. You smell sweet. Oh so, so, so sweet.

Leon’s ears ring, deafening him. His eyes focus on your clothed thighs. How he missed the plush skin he used to lay on after a hard week of work. More than that, he missed planting kisses on them; earing drawled out moans of his name.

Almost like an instinct, Leon’s rough, calloused, hands griped your hips. You halt and looked down at him with curiousness. Uncertain of his next actions, you press your hands against him. Worriedly you utter his name, “Leon?”

Leon refuses to acknowledge the call of his name. His main priority being his cock beginning to stiffen in his sweats.

You swallow nervously, endeavoring to pry his hands off. “Leon, please take your hands off me.” you plead in a stern manner, to come off more as a command.

Leon shakes his head. “No,” he responded, voice trembling. “You have no idea how much I need you, (Name). It's torture not having you stroke me.” he nearly moans at the last part. He climbs up the couch to be face to face.

Leon’s eyes held an immense dose of desire as he looks at you through his eyelashes. “Please touch me, baby,” he whines. “Want ‘ya so bad!” he grips your hand, placing it near your mouth to plant a kiss.

You glance at the mirror, silently pleading for assistance. Comprehending Leon’s increase in strength, kicking him off wouldn't be an option since his grip on you tautened. “Leon, stop!”

Quickly you thought of a method of escape. You acted, moving to the side for your body to decline to the ground. Both you and Leon fell to the ground, dragging cushions with you. Immediately you are on your feet, dashing to the door. You slam your fist against the metal, bruising them in the process. You could care less. Your shouting so loud your throat starts to sting. Yet there’s no reply.

You know there are people out there! You saw at least five before entering.

Then a thought comes to mind. Did they plan this?

Leon yanks you out of your shock, slamming his body against yours. Your nose whacks against the metal, prompting a whine of pain. Akin to a vampire, Leon laches on your neck, trailing kisses up and down. He sucks, bites, and drags his tongue over the marks as his hand travels down the slit in your pants.

“Sorry, baby, can’t deny myself any longer!” he apologizes, surprisingly genuinely. You accept your fate, sobbing silently to yourself.

On the opposite side of the mirror, a group of scientists observe the interaction. They all have their clipboards out, noting down every action, movent, and emotion. A Handful of them watches in revulsion while the scene unfolds in front of them. Others treat it as any other experiment, having no sympathy for you. After all, they have no idea if you’re the worst person in existence or not.

There's one thing for certain. They’d be investigating the pregnancy of a human mother and a parasite having father.

Tagged

@fbiopenups , @athanasia-day , @leonskndy , @ineedrealfriends , @destinys-dreamer, @carlosluv3r, @connorsoddsock, @sl33paholics , @explosiongamora , @idiotuvu-blog , @tarcroach, @mikeywaysghost, @jinna-aka-ninja , @lovelysserafim, @jujupia , @lomaeuwu, @briefwinnerpersonaturtle , @sammy213ui , @stella-fleurets, @elliellielliesgirl

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons: Sedulous Desire

Yandere Orc Bully x AFAB Reader

TW: Yandere behavior, violence, pantyhose kink, uncomfortable content, bullying, nonconsensual kissing, etc

From the moment Lash laid eyes on you when you walked into her class, she hated you. Lash Hearth hated you. She hated how cute you were. How doll like you were while she was riddled with scars from her parents. It wasn’t fair.

Lash may have been an orc, but she didn’t deserve the way the other students at this school despised her… and yet they loved you. A cute fairy. So delicate and dainty compared to her bulky, adolescent body. She couldn’t stand it. She was so jealous.

And so began to bullying. She would pull on your hair and she’d scribble over your art with red or black crayons. Hell, she even put thumb tacks in your gym shoes but you never got upset with her. You were nice to her despite her behavior. It only infuriated her even more, especially as the two of you began to get older.

You tried to be her friend, you truly did. You’d help Lash with her homework and you’d compliment her but she’d growl at you and insult you. You had even invited Lash to your birthday party since she didn’t have any friends, but she destroyed your cake. Lash wanted your life. It wasn’t fair… she wanted to be loved like you and if she couldn’t, then she’d ruin you. If she couldn’t be happy, then neither could you

Lash sometimes spilled water or paint on your clothes and tell you it was an ‘accident.’ Lash would trip you and kick your books away. But you still picked them up without so much a word or a tear. Why didn’t you react? Why didn’t you scream or cry from her relentless bullying? Why didn’t you cower in fear like the other students from her intimidatingly muscular stature and large tusks? Why couldn’t she break you?

The first time she saw you bare was in the locker room. Her golden eyes were wide with shock and awe. A heat spread between her legs that confused her. She hated you… so why did her body tell her otherwise? Lash didn’t understand that she confused a crush with hatred… she truly wish she would have realized this before she inflicted so much emotional damage on you…

It was when high school hit that Lash finally received a reaction from you. She had decided to try to give you a shove down the stairs but you had caught yourself. The orc bent down to sneer in your face, “why don’t you get the hell out of my way, cupcake-“

And that’s when you swung your small body around and sucker punched Lash in her ugly face with a force she didn’t even know you had. She hit the floor with a loud smack, blood fell from her face. Her nose bent to the side with blood gushing from it. You broke her nose… you hit her… and for the first time in her life, Lash felt her heart hammer in her chest and a heat consume her. She wanted more. More. More. More. Something dark woke up inside of Lash that day… and so began the obsession.

Lash began to steal your underwear whenever you changed in the locker room. She’d press the soiled garments up to her nose and greedily inhale the heady scent like a drug. Why did you smell so good? It wasn’t long before she found herself sucking on the garments like they were her favorite candy. She felt like a sicko but she knew she was just following her biological urge (she’s delulu)

Lash’s stomach now filled with butterflies every time you glared at her. You’d smack her hand away every time she tried to touch your hair. She was in love

Lash’s bullying reached an all time high but you fought back now. The principal had to pull you off of her when she held up the mangled body of the local cat you fed. Lash was in a state of euphoria from how beaten and battered you made her. Her ribs were cracked and her jaw was dislocated… but your eyes were on her. They were filled to the brim with emotion only directed for her but she didn’t care. She had received yet another reaction from you and it made her heart soar… you were worthy of her. And that was when a realization came to her. She loved you.

Lash loved how you were soft and sweet but you could fight. She loved how your small fists did so much damage to her massive body. How soft your lips looked. How your hips were perfect for her hands to grab onto. You were made for her… how didn’t she realize it before?

The principal nearly expelled her but Lash told the principal it would be discrimination since this was an orc tradition. Orcs chose their partners based on strength and violence… and Lash had found her partner.

Rather than continue to bully you, Lash now brought you flowers. Arm fulls of vibrant red roses with all the thorns removed the stems. It was such a strange sight to see your tormentor now absolutely love sick for you. It disgusted you.

Lash would sensually eat fruit in front of you in the cafeteria and make crude gestures at you with her fingers. It frightened you but you only had a few more weeks left until you graduated from this magical school. You couldn’t wait to get out of here… and away from her.

After graduation, she continued to try to chase after you but you told her to leave you the hell alone. You weren’t interested in her, no. You hated her. And it upset Lash. Why did you hate her? She could be a good mate, she was strong and massive. You’d be so safe with her… so why didn’t you want her? Were you still upset about grade school? Lash could make it all up to you. Her tongue was longer than most of the men genitals in this school. She was sure she could please you better than any man or woman.

You explained to her that you would never want to be with someone who tormented you for so many years. Who made your life a living hell for their own twisted fantasy. That physically and emotionally tormented you day by day. It was a firm no.

Even when Lash went down on her knees to beg for forgiveness, you didn’t budge. So she did what she had to… she took you by force. What an orc wanted, an orc took.

So here you were in her home as she shoved her tongue down your throat. Her large green hand forcefully held your head back by the hair so you couldn’t escape. Her golden eyes filled with lust while she watched you try to struggle from her hold. A few tears gathered in your eyes from how pathetic you felt under her but she shushed your cries with her lips and her tongue. Her tusks lights grazed across the soft skin of your cheeks, which made you gasp. Yes… she was a strong mate wasn’t she? She was perfect for you and you were perfect for her.

Lash pulled away from you, a thick string of saliva connected the two of you together. Lash quickly began to tug at her clothes with haste. Her large, green hands quickly began to work on yours as well. She needed you now. She needed to devour you or she felt like she’d lose her mind.

“Your clothes have to go… I’m starving.”

[mehidktbh]

Between You And Me (P.t 1)

Pairing: Simon Riley x Nurse!Fem!Reader

Summary: You're in a secret relationship with Ghost, no one knows but with that comes problems. When one guy starts to get the hint that you're single. He finds out the only way to get you all by himself is to slowly hide in the shadows waiting for the perfect time.

Warning: War, unwanted/nonconsensual , secret relationship, touching, ANGST, grinding, reader is groped, TW SH (SEXUAL HARASSMENT), swearing, injuries and bloody wounds

A/N: 11 Days since my last post. Sorry for my in and out absents, idk why I'm not as committed as I use to be. But here's the Simon Riley fic everyone voted on!! (Part 2) Taglist: @lauraliisa, @mxtokko, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @ghostshotwife420, @snortangeldust, @thychuvaluswife, @quesowakanda, @goodsoup03, @cielobgers, @andy-unu-03, @sididakra-jo, @nocti1s, @luvfromkat, @lily-ilo, @iwmtfm, @elentiyaiswriting, @berryjuicyy, @crazyfandomist, @aqxz, @yaaamadaa-blog, @itsquinoa, @tomhollandisabae, @wivwer, @old-red-owl, theverycelestialgemini, leopardfang15, @iwmtfm

The smell of foul metal floated around the room, and the suddenly rich, thick blood decorated your hands. The metal dish dinged sharply as you dropped the final piece of glass down. Finally, straightening your back upwards to now look out the closed wound. Which was a horrific scene before. Only know it's been wiped down with alcohol and sown up with a neat row of stitches.

"All done." You happily said, relieved that you could now open a window when this guy left. The blood smell was getting to you. So gradually and carefully you began picking up your equipment, putting all the soaked bloody cotton balls on the metal dish. But you suddenly stoped when the sensation of a cold hand came out to grab you.

"Sorry, sweets. Just need a bit of help getting to the door" He smiled 'innocently' but you nodded in return. Ignoring and swallowing the sudden gut rench feeling you got as you let him grab hold of your whole arm. His fingers traced up and down your skin, as he gripped on tight, you kept silent as much as you wanted to scream and you quickly lead him to the door.

The sound of the door creaking open echoed through the barracks, mixing in with the sound of talking from down the hallway. You quickly smiled before beginning to turn away, only to be grabbed again. Fucking hell- "Thanks toots for the patch up" Smiling you said nothing in return, only trying to avert your gaze from his lustful eyes. His mouth practically breathed down your neck as you slowly pulled out of his reach. Finally shutting the door.

And you thought that was it... but you were wrong.

It started out as little there to their moments where he'd pop out of nowhere right as you were alone. When you were on break, signing off papers in your office, watching TV or simply going to the bathroom. You'd leave the room to smell his thick foul and unpleasant cologne reeking into your nose, his slipped-back hair as he lazily leaned on the wall. Complimenting you from your skin to your body.

And not to mention that one time he 'accidentally' touched your butt...

♡ ♡ ♡

You quietly hummed out a quiet tune, your eyes watching in awe every time as the coffee machine worked like magic. The particularly strong and good coffee slipped out from the machine nozzle, filling up the two cups only reserved for you and Simon.

His cup was white and plain, nothing that would tell anyone else that it could be their cup only the white insides of the cup were stained with the brown liquid. The stains that told everyone whoever was drinking from this cup liked it strong and black, no sugar or milk.

Only your cup was always lined up against the cabinet, side to side they weren't separated. Even in the dishwasher, they never threatened to separate. The seemingly bland white cup was always next to the paw-printed ceramic mug, dots of dog paws was something that showed everyone it was yours.

"For me?" You turned around suddenly, expecting to see Ghost already waiting to grab his cup even though you told him you'd get it for him. Only it was the same guy who'd been bugging you since day one. "No, it's for Ghost." You stood your ground, turning around as you showed no interest in him being there.

The sound of his footsteps crept closer behind you, the deliberately terrifying thumps of his boots made every hair on your body stand up. He reached higher to swing open the mug cabinet above you, purposely grinding the front of his pants against your butt.

The sudden movement shook you to your core as you quickly pulled away from the machine. Stopping the waterfall of coffee pouring earlier as you quickly took both mugs in your hands. Ignoring the burning sensation and forgetting to put your milk and sugar in.

♡ ♡ ♡

Ghost caught onto fast to your sudden nervousness fast. When you returned with his coffee in a rush, nearly tripping over as you made it to his desk. He was surprised to see how red beating your hands were, the imprint of your mistake lead him to wonder what made you run so fast. Though the whole time you said nothing, lying about how you forgot you had a meeting soon. Excusing yourself before leaving early too, Ghost stood there with a mug that only grew cold.

Not only that but after dark, he'd secretly sneak into your office to get close and hold hands under the only light you flicked on as he whispered sweet praises into your ear. Before you were constantly complaining about happening to leave early (it was midnight) as Simon ushered you out.

Now you hold onto his warm figure, his huge arms cage you into his embrace harder as you struggle to say goodbye. By the end of the night, he'd be the one to escort you back to your room, all the way until he made sure you were locked and safe. No matter how many times his rough accent softly demanded you tell him what was bothering you, you didn't say anything.

♡ ♡ ♡

"I'll be fine" You shush him, your finger coming up to sew his lips shut as he quietly chuckled. He stood tall and relaxed, the only time today when he can truly let go of his tense muscles. Your soft touch brings him back to the present as you press a quick final goodnight kiss to his cheek. Giggling when the heat instantly rose to his face, his lovesick eyes never wanted to leave you but sadly he watched you turn away.

You seemed to quicken your paste when you shut the door, as much as you reassured Simon you were okay you weren't. Feeling like you were being watched it was past midnight and the barracks fell deathly silent. Not a whisper of someone talking or the sound of someone snoring on the couch as an ad played. Only your footsteps quickened down the hall, twisting around every corner the sound of swift heavy boots followed quickly behind.