#sometimes it feels like they wouldn’t care if it was fully non consensual

[sizablelad]

some men really do not know how to take no for an answer.

[samwisethewitch]

Cultural Appropriation in Modern Witchcraft

Cultural appropriation occurs when cultural practices are taken out of their original context and misused by outsiders. Cultural appropriation is different from cultural sharing, which occurs naturally in any multicultural society. Eating at an Indian restaurant is not cultural appropriation. Wearing a bindi when you don’t understand its significance in Indian culture is.

Cultural appropriation is a huge issue in modern witchcraft. When you have witches using white sage to “smudge” their altars, doing meditations to balance their chakras, and calling on Santa Muerte in spells, all without making any effort to understand the cultural roots of those practices, you have a serious problem.

When trying to understand cultural appropriation in witchcraft, it’s important to understand the difference between open and closed magic systems. An open system is one that is open to exchange with outsiders — both sharing ideas/practices and taking in new ones. In terms of religion, spirituality, and witchcraft, a completely open system has no restrictions on who can practice its teachings. A closed system is one that is isolated from outside influences — usually, there is some kind of restriction on who can practice within these systems.

There are different reasons a system might be closed. Some systems require a formal training and/or initiation, but there is no restriction on who can be initiated. Reiki and some forms of Wicca operate this way. (All other forms of Wicca are completely open.) Some systems are closely tied to a complex set of cultural beliefs that may not be fully understood by outsiders, so they are closed to people outside of that culture. Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) is an example of this. Some systems require a family lineage, so you must have been born into the system to practice within it. Zoroastrianism and some forms of traditional witchcraft fall into this category. And finally, some systems are closed as a kind of self defense, usually because they have been the target of persecution from outsiders — keeping the system closed is a way to preserve beliefs and practices that might otherwise be lost. African Diaspora Religions fall into this last category.

If a belief or practice is part of a closed system, outsiders should not take part in it. It really is that simple. If you aren’t Native American, you should not be performing smudging ceremonies. If you aren’t Jewish, you should not be practicing Kabbalah or working with Lilith as your “goddess.” If you aren’t Black, you should not be practicing Hoodoo. You get the idea.

On a similar note, just because a system is open does not mean you can do whatever you want with its teachings. You should still make a point of educating yourself on the system you are practicing and take care not to take things out of their original context. Some forms of Shinto are open, but you wouldn’t involve the kami in a Wiccan- or pagan-style ritual — Shinto has its own rules for ritual, which are very different from Western paganism. If you feel called to work with a cultural system you are not already part of, you need to be willing to put in the work of respectfully learning about and preserving that system.

It is impossible to appropriate a dominant culture. For example, in the United States, white American culture is treated as the default. There is tremendous pressure on all other cultural groups to speak English, dress like white Americans, and act like white Americans. White American culture has deep roots in Protestant Christianity, and these religious influences are enforced through social norms and sometimes through laws. Many businesses are closed on Christmas and Easter, and I live in an area where it is illegal to sell alcohol on Sunday mornings. White (Christian) American culture is literally being shoved down everyone’s throats all the time. A non-Christian immigrant wearing a cable-knit sweater, taking Sundays off work, or celebrating Christmas isn’t cultural appropriation, because they are expected to adopt these elements of the dominant culture.

It is also impossible to appropriate your own culture, even if you weren’t raised in it. For example, a Latinx person who decides to learn brujeria does not need anyone’s permission to do so. That practice is a part of their cultural heritage.

Dead cultures are a gray area, but the general consensus is that you cannot appropriate a system that isn’t connected to a living culture. For example, Hellenic polytheism is very different from modern Greek culture. A non-Greek person practicing Hellenic polytheism isn’t appropriating Greek culture, because that religion hasn’t been openly practiced in Greece for thousands of years. The same goes for many other types of reconstructionist paganism (paganism based on recreating ancient beliefs and practices) such as Kemetic (Egyptian) polytheism, Celtic paganism, Norse paganism, etc.

This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t still make an effort to be respectful of the cultural origins of these religions. If you worship the Kemetic gods, you should probably educate yourself on at least the basic history and philosophy of Ancient Egypt. You should probably try to be faithful to the ancient beliefs in your practice. But you don’t need any sort of initiation, because there is no direct connection between the ancient religion and modern reconstruction.

So How Do We Avoid Appropriation?

Know the difference between open and closed systems, and respect if a system is closed.

If a system is open or only partially closed, try to find a teacher or mentor who is already a part of that system. If an in-person mentor isn’t possible, try to find books and other resources created by people who are actually part of that culture.

Only use items or practices in your witchcraft if you have a good understanding of their cultural, religious, and/or spiritual significance.

If a member of a culture or magic system tells you their system is closed and asks you to stop using it, listen to them.

Educate yourself on how cultural appropriation contributes to systemic racism and other social issues.

Don’t try to sneak around culture appropriation. If you burn white sage to cleanse your space, you are still appropriating Native American spiritual practices (and contributing to the overharvesting of an endangered plant), even if you don’t use the term “smudging” or appropriate the entire smudge ceremony. If something is not yours to practice, leave it alone.

Learning about other cultures is not the same as cultural appropriation. Here’s a personal example: I live fairly close to New Orleans, and I think New Orleans Voodoo is a fascinating tradition. When I visit, I like to speak to local Voodoo practitioners and learn from them about their practice. That being said, I recognize that I am not a part of that practice, and I’m not about to start incorporating elements of Voodoo into my personal practice.

As a white woman, my track record is not perfect when it comes to cultural appropriation. When I first started my witchcraft journey, I burned white sage and worked with the chakra system. I didn’t know any better, and these things were presented to me as if they were open to anyone. But now I do know better, and I’m making a conscious effort to avoid appropriation in my practice.

I’m also trying to do better for new witches just entering the world of alternative spirituality. It’s important for us to talk about things like cultural appropriation so that baby witches know from the beginning what the issues are and why they matter.

[elysiadjarin]

Day 1: Somnophilia

Day 1 of Kinktober! The first prompt is of course, somnophilia. Here’s my masterlist for my Kinktober challenge.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Consensual somnophilia, cumplay, unprotected sex, nonhuman character, exophilia

Tags: Hat Man x reader, exophilia, kinktober

He Comes at Night

At first, you hadn’t been sure whether it was just another case of sleep paralysis, or actually something… else.

He always came at night, standing in your doorway as you lay on your back, unable to move. Though you were used to sleep paralysis and the oftentimes terrifying figures that came along with it, this one had been different every time it showed up. It just stood in your doorway, never really moving, just watching. You never felt the usual fear that came along with most sleep paralysis demons, just a sense of… calm.

It had gotten to the point where you’d simply learned to ride it out, accepting the calm of its presence until you fell back asleep. If anything, you’d started feeling a sense of comfort from its presence. Even living alone, you felt as though it were there as another presence, just to keep you some company. You’d even thought with a flash of amusement that maybe it was there to protect you.

But that was until a few nights ago. You’d found yourself abruptly awake again, immobile in bed. But it had been different. Your eyes wouldn’t open, and you distinctly felt something heavy on your blankets, pinning you to the bed. It felt far more tangible than anything else you’d ever experienced in a moment of sleep paralysis, and it unnerved you.

Of course, that’s when you heard… that. A whisper, slithering around you, crawling against your sheets as tangibly as the weights.

Sssso delicioussss. A poke at you. He’ssss finally not here. Hey, are you… awake?

Despite the situation, it wasn’t so much fear as annoyance that gripped you in the moment. If this sleep paralysis demon was enacting paralysis on you, why would you be able to respond?

A low cackle raked down your spine. That’sssss right, you can’t move, can you. Well, you won’t need to, sssssoon. Don’t worry, the chilling voice sneered, I’ll make ssssure you can feel it.

You’d just started to feel the panic set in when the weight was ripped off of you. A loud, fearful shriek pierced through the room, followed by a distinct crunching and gurgling.

I didn’t mean to, Hat Man, have merccccccy— The voice choked off in the thick air, just as your eyes snapped open.

Thick, black slime dripped from the mangled, gangly body that hung limply in the air. The figure that had been standing in your doorway every night now stood by your beside, a giant arm outstretched as dark talons clenched around the smaller creature. The black ichor dripped from its claws, and it threw the broken body down on the floor like a rag doll. It turned its head toward you again, but relief had crashed through you at its appearance.

The tall figure, now that it had appeared so close to your bedside, clearly towered at least seven feet tall. But even when it bent its whole body over, face nearing yours, you still didn’t fear it. It had leaned over, close enough that you could imagine that you felt its nonexistent breath on your face. Then it brushed against your forehead, as though it had kissed you gently back to sleep. You’d fallen back asleep as though knocked out.

And now, as you stood at your kitchen counter, holding a mug of tea, your mind had started to wander. Specifically, you’d started to wonder about your mysterious guardian. What had started out as a private sort of joke had turned into a reality, and you weren’t entirely sure what to make of it. The sensations and feelings had been far too concrete to be just a hallucination or just part of another sleep paralysis experience. Even now, you could still feel the sensation of the soft, gentle wisp of shadow brushing across your forehead.

Sighing, you dumped the mug into the sink and headed for bed, pulling at the hem of your large T-shirt. In the room, you slid off your shorts and put them on a chair, only in your underwear and shirt to sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took a moment to glance around the room. Your mind wandered to the weird, creepy spirit from the night before.

Tentatively, you decided to speak into the darkness. “Hey… I don’t know if you’re here right now, or—or listening, but… Hat Man. If you’re there, thank you. For saving me,” you said, tugging at your shirt. “I know I usually can’t move or talk, but… if you want company, you can come sit or lay down.” A little embarrassed at your own offer, you flopped back on the bed and rolled under the covers, burying your face in your pillow.

Even if it — he? — were there listening and you weren’t just talking to thin air, what would he think of your invitation? Was that too forward? Or weird?

You weren’t sure when exactly you fell asleep, but you certainly jerked awake sometime later when the bed next to you dipped. Your eyes opened, this time, and you saw the hulking figure almost meekly slide into bed beside you. His weight made your body slightly tip towards him, and he shifted to face you just in time to catch you against his chest. You noticed, now fully pressed against him, that he did have a slight, dusky sort of warmth, like the faint touch of a sunbeam filtering though curtains.

His giant talon paused, and he seemed to vacillate, as though unsure what to do with himself now that he was there. Tentatively, his fingers brushed against your arm. Your body seemed to gain a little bit more movement, just enough for you to sigh and lean further into his chest. He made you feel safe, and his presence was comforting. He didn’t seem to mind your advances, so you decided not to feel guilty as his giant arm wrapped around your back.

A soft, wispy hum escaped you, and you let yourself relax with the minimal movements the paralysis seemed to be allowing. You half-wished you could talk, just to speak with him. But at the same time, you could feel the drowsiness descend again. He felt too comfortable, and the solid weight of his body against yours made you melt like putty into the bed.

As you fell asleep, you swore you could feel the Hat Man brush another soft kiss to your forehead.

~

“Whoa, wait, you got yourself a Hat Man?” Your Tiefling coworker gave you a surprised look. “They usually only come into your life because they’re drawn in some way to protect you. Have you been doing okay? Staying safe?”

You nodded. “Well, I mean, now I am thanks to him,” you clarified, eyebrows furrowing. “What with my sleep paralysis and that weird… other thing.” You shuddered a little in disgust at the memory. “He’s been protecting me from whatever that thing was, I’m assuming.”

Harlow gave you a long look. “I didn’t want to really bring this up before, but do you know of anything in your heritage that might be… well, attractive to spirits? I’ve noticed before that you seem to draw the attention of non humans.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Well, you’re not wrong,” you admitted, rubbing your arm. “When I was born, my grandmother told my parents that I had ‘the blood of a beacon,’” you said. “I had a talisman she gave me, but… it’s been years, so maybe the potency has worn off.”

He nodded. “Probably. Especially if you have beacon blood; I’m not surprised you drew a Hat Man to protect you. You might as well be the Ultimate Desire for them,” he remarked.

Your eyes widened at his comment. “Ultimate Desire?” you asked, startled. “I mean, I know that my blood is attractive to spirits for its potency in spirit energy. But what does Ultimate Desire mean? And why would Hat Man want that?” You noted that he called it a Hat Man. So it apparently was a type of spirit or entity.

“Hmm.” Harlow pursed his lips. “Well, an easy way to put it would be… the Hat Men are guardians of sources of energy like you. They’re fueled by the energy you have, so… it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that he’s a personal bodyguard manifested by your beacon blood. The more your proximity or attention ‘fuels’ him and the more energy you give him, the stronger he’ll be and the better defense.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Huh. So I’m basically… the ultimate source, I guess. I mean, for Hat Man.”

“Yep!” Then he gave you a sly grin. “So, you gonna get up close and personal with him?” His eyebrows wriggled at you teasingly.

Flushing, you reached over and shoved his shoulder. “Harlow, seriously!” you groaned.

He laughed, rubbing his arm exaggeratedly. “Aww c’mon, I’m just saying. He’s basically the one least likely to betray you. In other words, the safest way to get laid—“

You flounced off, leaving him to laugh and try to wheedle his way back into your good graces. Still, your mind wouldn’t stop wandering to the Hat Man. Wondered how much safer you’d feel if he decided to be just a little more handsy…

Whacking your face with your binder, you shook your head and scolded yourself. Really, Harlow must be influencing you more than you expected.

~

You slumped against the counter, groaning.

Maybe Harlow really had gotten to you, more than you’d really anticipated at first. His words kept ringing through your mind, leading to thought trains that you hadn’t really anticipated.

He’s a personal bodyguard… The more your proximity or attention ‘fuels him’ and the more energy you give him… He’s basically the one least likely to betray you.

With a defeated sigh, you picked yourself up and dragged yourself to your room. You’d wanted to go to bed early, for more reasons than you’d care to admit to yourself. Still, even as you turned the lights off and went to go change, you wondered if he would return tonight. If he’d still join you. If he’d stay.

Tugging at the T-shirt you’d slid on, you hesitated for only a moment before sliding your underwear off. Tossing it aside, you slid into bed, rolling onto your side and staring at the empty space across from you. Reaching out, you smoothed your hand against the sheets.

“I wish you were here, Hat Man,” you whispered into the quiet darkness.

To your surprise, your body almost instantly froze. A dark shape walked into view by the side of the bed, and the now-familiar talons lifted the sheets to slide into bed beside you. You vaguely wondered if the sleep paralysis the whole time had just been the spirits and now your Hat Man having an effect on you thanks to the lure of your blood.

Before you could think too much about it, though, the burly figure slid closer. Still, he didn’t hold you like he had before, and a pang of disappointment rushed through you. His arm lifted, then he seemed to hesitate.

Your body loosened a little, giving you that smidgen of movement you’d been granted last time. Without even a moment of thought, you rolled forward and snuggled into his chest again, the dusky warmth of his body soaking into you again. You sighed, gazing at the lines of his chest and the slashed scars that crossed the dark planes. Almost thoughtlessly, you traced your fingers against the edges of the scars.

You wondered how he’d gotten them. Were you the reason? Because he protected you? A pang of guilt ran through you for a moment.

He shifted, finally putting his arm around you again, as though he’d been waiting for the permission. His head bent a little, and he carefully seemed to nuzzle your hair, as though checking on you.

A little sleepy, you glanced up at him, noting the curve of his jaw. “Hi,” you breathed, your murmur quiet and wispy. Still, he pulled back and seemed to observe you curiously. His eyes, you finally noticed, had a faint sort of pale blue glow, dim in the darkness and only obvious from how close you were.

“Thank you,” you whispered, every word an effort. “For— this—“ Your fingers slipped across the lurid scars on his chest, your eyes starting to slide closed. But you fought it for a moment, determined to just… thank him. Properly. Mustering as much energy as you could, you sluggishly forced yourself up a little, just enough to brush your lips against his chin, the closest part of his face you could reach.

The talons tightened briefly against your waist, as though they’d convulsed in surprise. He seemed to freeze in front of you, processing what you’d just done.

You let out a sleepy hum, the drowsiness descending on you far faster than you would have liked. You wanted to talk with him. You wondered if he had a voice.

~

Harlow took one look at you. “Ohhh, someone’s sexually frustrated.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t— Harlow,” you whined, feeling your entire face heat up.

He leaned against your desk with a sympathetic grin. “Look, if I call you out it’s only because I’m in the same boat or I’m about to help you. In this case both applies. Anyway, so, spill the tea.” He tilted his head, his polished horns gleaming under the office lights.

You sighed, then confessed everything to him. From the way you’d started feeling about your Hat Man to the way you’d started to… fantasize. Frustrated, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“I just… I don’t know if it’s because I’m lonely and he’s there, or if I— I don’t even know,” you sighed, closing your eyes in defeat. “I just don’t know.”

He chuckled, reaching over to pat your arm. “Look, like I said, Hat Men are there for protection. And by the sounds of it, yours is actually attracted to you. Spirits and entities like him don’t actively search for contact like that if they’re not interested in it.” He pursed his lips. “Not to mention, if you do actually get some— how big is he?”

You gave him a half-hearted glare. “Harlow—“

He snickered. “How tall is he. Seriously, you’re the one with the dirty mind here.” He flashed you that infuriating smirk as he teased you.

You rolled your eyes, giving up. “I don’t know, probably around seven feet? It felt like it, anyway, when he was standing beside the bed.”

“Oh so he’s stacked.” Harlow cackled. “But really, as I was saying, if you do bag that one, it’s quite the mutual benefit. It’ll be a direct method of energy transfer, not to mention that he’s absolutely probably going to be loyal to you if he gets those kinds of privileges.” He shrugged flippantly. “But that’s besides the point. Here’s what I’m going to suggest, so take this as you will.”

You left work that evening with your face burning but a solid plan from Harlow. You’d figure out later if you wanted to smack him or thank him.

~

That night, as you crawled into bed, you let out a breath and sat there, clutching the blankets. Biting your lip, you glanced toward the door.

“I hope you’ll join me again, tonight,” you ventured, calling out into the darkness of your room. Swallowing, you twisted the sheets in your fingers. “And… of course, you don’t have to, but… I’d love to be able to… to talk to you. Or— or hear more about you. If you can or want to communicate. I just…” You sighed.

“I don’t know if I have to not move when you’re around. I’m not sure how that works, but either way, I— I like having you around,” you admitted. “So… thank you. For protecting me. I hope you stay. You’re welcome to make yourself at home, here.” Taking one last glance at the door, you turned over and lay down. You self-consciously rubbed your legs together, almost embarrassed by your lack of clothing besides the T-shirt.

Would it be too obvious? Was it too much? Or maybe would that be enough-?

The bed behind you dipped just as you felt yourself seized by the paralysis again. But this time, it already felt minimal, as though the tight hold had been laxed even more than before. You rolled back, feeling your back hit the warmth of his chest. Every night, it seemed that he gained a little more solidity and form, and even more of a distinct body heat. The large arm wrapped around you again, sliding across your side and down your belly, talons slipping under your waist.

You hummed, the calm and contentment washing over you again with his presence. “Hi,” you murmured, your fingers managing to curl around one of his talons.

This time, to your mingled surprise and delight, you felt the soft huff of air against your neck like breath. It wasn’t really a sound, but it was something a little more. His face nudged against your neck and shoulder, while his lower body curled up as though to surround you as much as possible. Your heart pounded, almost giddy with the happiness that rushed through you.

“Missed you,” you breathed, your words less slurred than before. You weren’t fighting the sleepiness as hard tonight, and you wondered if it really was an effect that your Hat Man had on you or if it was something else. Still, you relished it.

His movements behind you paused, and you panicked for a split second, wondering if you’d scared him away. But then he nuzzled against you again, another huff washing over your neck. In the next moment, you heard a soft, rumbling growl, so deep that you almost wondered if you’d imagined it. The moment you heard it, your breath hitched. Your stomach clenched at the sound, heat pooling between your legs.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip helplessly, your entire body both aching and on fire where he touched you, held you. Chest heaving with a burning breath, you tried to control your reaction, suppressing your shiver. You didn’t want him to leave. Wanted him to stay.

Like a whisper, words bloomed in your mind, so softly that it took you a moment to realize you didn’t hear them aloud. So pretty. So soft, so kind. The deep voice, laced with a soft Brooklyn accent, took you off guard as it slithered through your mind.

Your back arched slightly, heat splashing across your cheeks. Before you could quite stop yourself, the way you arched made your ass press back against him. A soft gasp wrenched from your lips as you felt something distinctly hard and thick press back against you. It twitched slightly, and you could feel something damp soak into your T-shirt, smearing against your skin.

A low grunt sounded behind you, just as his hips jerked away. Abruptly, his body started to slide away from you, as though he were going to leave.

The desperation flashed through you, and you found yourself suddenly free to move. You rolled over, hand reaching out.

The both of you completely froze. Your eyes, wide open, riveted on his, your fingers splayed across the scars on his chest. His blue eyes, dim but clearly focused on your face as his chest heaved under your hand.

“Please,” it spilled from your lips, quiet and desperate in the silence. “Don’t leave.”

After a moment, he gingerly lifted his hand and reached for your face, talons barely brushing across your cheek. The whisper floated through your mind again. Sorry… The embarrassment was clear in his voice, and a pale blue flush spread over the area of his cheeks. For some reason, it made him even more endearing.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered back, sure that your own cheeks were flushed with arousal and embarrassment.

He drew closer again, as though he couldn’t help himself. His face neared yours. So pretty. So warm. Sweet. The murmur was followed by the revealing of his mouth. A maw that split open the dark silhouette, black tongue sliding over sharp fangs. Wouldn’t want ta take advantage, sweetheart. Your acceptance of his advances seemed to embolden him. Don’t wanna be too greedy.

You swallowed. “I… I want you to.” Your breath quickened a little, glancing down at his maw. “You can… I— I want you to have my energy,” you offered shyly.

The eyes flared, trailing down your body. Want you. Soft. Sweet. Pretty. He seemed fixated on the description, repeating them again. Still, you couldn’t help but find yourself liking his attention.

“You can have me. Whenever.” You bit your lip briefly. “Even if I’m asleep, if you need energy… if you— if you want.”

His breath washed over your cheek as he bent closer than ever before. Kind. His telepathic voice washed over you, saturated with adoration. Kind to Varen. His tongue gently swiped over your cheek.

You half-whimpered. “Kiss?” you pleaded, desperate for more contact.

His mouth slid across yours, gentle and without a hint of teeth. His tongue flickered over your lips, and you welcomed it. His tongue slid across yours, lithe and gentle. His talons wrapped around your waist again, pulling you into his chest. His name slipped from your lips, soft and needy, and he responded instantly in the way his body shifted closer, half-pinning you under him. His lips slid across yours, trailing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

To your frustration, you could feel yourself getting almost unbearably sleepy, the drowsiness tugging at you again. You suddenly wondered if it had to do with him drawing on your energy, feeding off of it, but in the next moment you were completely distracted by the way he gently rutted against your thigh.

Despite your best efforts, you fell asleep.

You dreamed.

Dreamed of Varen, mostly, your mind fantasizing about his claws wrapping around you, pushing you further into the bed, hands wandering further. Of him sliding your T-shirt up, tangling his talons around it, using it as leverage to keep your body still as he slid his cock between your thighs. You swore you could feel it, could feel his talons pricking faintly against your skin as he rutted between your thighs, his tongue dragging over your shoulder and up the arch of your neck.

You could even feel the way his precum started dribbling down your skin, smearing across your thighs, mingling with your own wetness, coating his cock as he slid it against you. And then his cock angling up, just as his talons tightened around your hips and pulled you down against him. His tip slid into you, just as his breath washed over your shoulder.

You woke up as Varen’s maw closed over your shoulder and he pulled you all the way down onto him. Still groggy and half-disoriented from waking up, you could only let out a strangled whine and arch your back, unwittingly pressing yourself further against him. The insistent throb of him inside you and the way your body clenchedaround him was proof that it wasn’t just a dream.

You were still groggy, whimpers spilling from your lips as you lay there pliantly, not resisting anything he was doing. You stayed half-asleep, already blissed out just by the sensation of him filling you.

So good. His soft accent curled through your frazzled mind, satisfied and soothing. So pretty. Doing so good, sweetheart. It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything. Gonna take care of you, pretty.

The knot in your core kept tightening, coiling with every gentle thrust he made, his hips fairly rolling against you. He shifted behind you, his claws gentle but decisive as he rolled you onto your stomach. His body followed, pinning you under him as his legs tangled with yours and his talons around your hips held you in place. He mouthed your shoulder, just barely pricking you with his fangs as his tongue soothed over the soft bites.

Your eyelashes barely fluttered, your body bathed in the dusky heat of pleasure. Despite being half-asleep, the way he steadily pumped in and out of you was so careful, so gentle. You already felt entirely wrecked, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whined. The angle and the way he curled up inside you kept hitting that one spot that sent stars flashing behind your eyelids every time he thrust. Your fingers clenched in the pillow, body trembling. You were so close.

Pretty little thing. Varen cooed, infatuation saturating every word, every thrust into you. Being so good. So… close… The soft, deep growl rumbled through his chest and down into you as well.

The tight coil inside you burst, like a coiled spring. The dusky heat washed through your body in a wave of pleasure, your orgasm roiling through you with a steady but undeniable strength. Varen fucked you through it, extending your orgasm as you trembled and sobbed out his name. He never let go of you, whispering your name as he kissed your throat and praised you softly.

It wasn’t until you’d come down that he came, jerking against you and letting out a low moan. His hips pressed flush against yours, his seed spilling into you with a rush of warmth that settled in you, soaking into the rest of your body. You basked in it, utterly spent and satisfied in a way you couldn’t remember ever being before.

Vaguely, you felt Varen roll back onto his side, pulling you along with him. Though he didn’t pull out of you, he still nuzzled against your neck and curled around you, pulling you flush against him.

You fell back asleep to the sensation of warmth and comfort.

When you woke up the next morning, Varen was gone. The only proof you had of last night was a small smear of faint blue on your inner thigh and the feeling of warmth still pooling in your belly, like a kernel of heat. With a smile, you looked up at the doorway again.

“Thank you, Varen,” you said softly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The only answer you received was a small flash of blue that flickered in the doorway.

~ Bonus! ~

Harlow took one look at you as you walked into work before letting out a whoop. “Heck yeah, bestie got laid!” He laughed, hugging you.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be annoyed at him, though you shook your head with a sigh. “Thanks for your advice, Harl,” you said, smiling.

He grinned, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Course, what are best friends for? Best wingman award who?” he cackled. “Anyway, tell me the dirty details. Oh, should we go celebrate?”

You shook your head. “Never change, Harl. Never change.”

[darylsgirl]

You know you want this

Request for non con :- Daryl and reader were previously in a relationship but Daryl broke up with her and left her hurting. But Daryl realises later on that he really wants to be with the reader so he goes to her place to talk to her, but she can't go through all that hurt again so she says no. This angers Daryl and he leaves and comes back drunk after some time. Then the non con part. But I also want the reader to come around after some time?Request two :  What about Norman edging the reader? Request three:  Can you do one where the reader tells Daryl she wants to try squirting and he’s down for it and she does it repeatedly so many time they just become addicted to it. Alexandria time.

Summary: Daryl breaks your heart after you let your feelings for him slip, Breaking you completely Spencer helps to put the pieces back together, Finally starting to feel like yourself again Daryl decides he wants you back and he’s not going to take no for an answer

A/N: Hey lovelies! Sorry this has taken me so long to write! I had a dream last night for another story so hopefully it won’t take as long for the next one! Thank you all for your patience! If you have any requests let me know! I’m always happy to add them to the list :) 

Hope you like this! Have a lovely day <3

Love Jen :)

Trigger Warning: Smut starts as Non-Consensual, Edging, Squirting, Violence, Eating disorder, Self deprecating thoughts. 18+ only please! 

                                           Masterlist

It had taken months to be able to look at his face without feeling your heart shattering, You had avoided him at every possible opportunity. Excusing yourself whenever he came into a room biting back the tears. 

When people had started to notice you moping around you knew you had to reserve your heart break for when you were alone, When you and Daryl had been together you had kept it a secret wanting to have something just for you both, Not wanting to share your secret happiness with others yet. You could see why he wanted too; he was a very secretive person not wanting to let anyone into his high walls. 

The trouble with this is when one night after over a year of spending the night in his arms you let it slip, Happily curled around him you’d told him you loved him. He instantly froze. 

“Go to sleep Y/N Ya drunk” He had muttered. When you woke in the morning he was gone leaving just a note on the bedside table “You can’t love me, Goodbye Y/N” 

Jumping out of bed you had searched for him around Alexandria to be told he had taken off hunting earlier that morning. When he finally came back he wouldn’t even look at you. You had followed him home desperately trying to get him to talk to you. 

“Please Daryl just talk to me! I know you feel the same way”  

“Nah, Go home Y/N I don’t love ya and I never asked yer to say ya loved me either!, Ya knew what this was” He sneered before slamming the door in your face. 

Hearing him say he didn’t love you was all it took for you to run home locking yourself inside for days, You tried to settle in the bed but his scent was everywhere. Dragging your pillow and a blanket from the bed you had curled up on the floor 

You stayed in the same position for days only moving when your bladder felt like hot knives were being poked through it. You’d heard as various people had come knocking to check on you but you just weren’t ready to see anyone yet.

When you did finally surface a week later you could feel your clothes falling more loosely around you, You were always slim but now you looked painfully so. Carol gave you a sad smile offering you a bottle of water that you took gratefully. Carol was the only person you thought had known about you and Daryl, She had never said anything but from the pitiful look she was giving you now, She must have known. 

“Why don’t I fix you something to eat Y/N” She offered, Her hand motioning to her house. You shook your head quickly. You couldn’t go there, That’s where he would be. 

“No” You croaked your voice raspy speaking for the first time in a week. “ I’m ok, I ate earlier” She raised her eyebrow not believing you but letting it go all the same. 

You spent your weeks like this only eating small amounts if you had no other choice than to accept, Feeling your clothes get looser and looser. 

Spencer had been the one to get you to eat a full meal for the first time, Sitting with you patiently at the cook out you had been reluctant to go to. He sat with you well after dark letting you eat at your own pace, While he filled the silence with idle chatter. 

You found yourself laughing at his stories, The sound startling you when it first came out a small smile crossing your lips. You stayed with him happily forgetting for a while. That was until you heard a loud snort from the other side of the table. 

Looking over your eyes met Daryl’s briefly, You hadn’t realised he was there listening to your entire conversation. Standing quickly you looked at Spencer “I’m sorry i have to go” 

Turning on your heel you ran towards your house. “Wait Y/N! Wait” Spencer said catching up to you within a few feet. You jumped in alarm when you felt his hand on your arm. 

“What's the rush? Hey listen, I was meaning to ask you. Can I make you dinner sometime?” You looked at him shocked not saying anything when he continued. 

“Just thought we could spend some time together, Yano just us.” You thought for a moment. 

He did seem to be a nice guy and he definitely wasn’t embarrassed about being with you.

Nodding slowly, you agreed not sure why he wanted to have dinner with you, making Spencer grin “Cool! Tomorrow? I’ll come by your place at 6 to get you?” 

Nodding again you let him give you a warm hug before turning again and heading straight for your house. 

Locking the door behind you, You let out a small smile, maybe this was what you needed to get over him, someone who seemed to care about you and might return your affections. 

The date had been nice and you had become a regular thing, He had taken to walking you to and from work holding your hand and smiling down at you every time his lips brushed yours to say goodbye. He had continued to be incredibly patient with you letting you warm up to him and letting your walls come down slowly. 

It wasn’t like it was with Daryl it wasn’t a passionate burning love, It was sweet, Caring and different. Your eating problems soon behind you with Spencer, Your heart still hadn’t fully recovered but he was doing a good job of trying to glue it back together. 

It still hurt every time you saw Daryl, His eyes starting lingering on you more now since you had gone public with Spencer. You tried to avoid his gaze, Reminding yourself of the hurt he had caused you and that it was Spencer who had picked up the pieces.

6pm was soon rolling around, Spencer and you had made this a regular thing every Friday you had a date night, You wanted tonight to be different, The more Daryl looked at you the more your lust for him was returning, You had to get him out of your head and give your all to this loving patient man.  

Pulling on the red figure hugging dress you found in the back of the closet you smoothed it down hoping it would signal to him that you were ready. Pulling your hair into a loose bun and picking out some loose wavy bits to hang around your face pulling the maroon lipstick out Daryl had found for you on a run.

You had only previously worn this in bed with Daryl, It was one of his kinks, He liked to see the lipstick smeared across his body where you had left your hot kisses. Making him increasingly harder when he saw the marks around his cock.

You felt your thighs brushing together feeling yourself heat up at these memories. Shaking your head you looked at yourself in the mirror smoothing the dress down nervously. You heard as Spencer knocked on the door. Applying the lipstick you smiled at yourself feeling hot, Before heading to the door. 

As you opened it you were shocked to see not Spencer but a very awkward looking Daryl standing in front of you, He didn’t ask if he could come inside before brushing past you into the living room. 

Your heart pounding in your chest you closed the door slowly following him timidly into the living room. 

Both in silence for a few minutes before you finally found your voice, “Wh...What are you doing here?” 

His eyes wandered over your body taking in your dress before staring at the lipstick. His eyes opened wide when he recognised it

His eyes looked pained now taking a deep breath “’m so fuckin stupid Y/N, I miss ya, I want ya back....For real....I want ya to be mine” 

Daryl had never been that forward with his feelings before. Your heart pounding in your chest, You wanted to fall back into his arms, But it wasn’t fair of him to ask that of you, This wasn’t fair at all. The anger bubbling up now, The fucking nerve of this man! 

“Get out” Shaking your head you felt the anger build “Get out Daryl! No, No you don’t get to do this!! You don’t get to see me happy and moving on, Trying to forget you and just think you can walk back in and it can go back to how it was!” 

“But....Y/N please. I-I” 

Cutting him off trying to cut the emotion from your voice “Spencer will be here any minute, Get the fuck out!” 

You took a step back as he started towards you, He watched as you flinched at his movements, Seeing the fear in your eyes. He was close too close, You could feel your body burning for him, It terrified you how much power this man had over you.

“Ya don’t have to be scared of me Y/N i wont hurt ya....Yer know that..” 

“Too late Daryl, You already did! GET OUT!” Pushing his chest harshly seemed to snap him out of it. Not saying another word he turned on his heel slamming the back door behind him. 

It took a few minutes to compose yourself, Grabbing the whiskey bottle from the cupboard you took a few deep swigs settling it back down and fixing what you thought was a convincing smile back on your face as someone knocked on the door again. 

Thank god, It was Spencer this time!” 

“Holy shit…… Sorry! Hey baby...,. You loook….. Incredible” Spencer said his jaw dropping when he saw you. 

Stifling your giggle you lent up kissing his cheek, Biting your lower lip slightly as you saw the Kiss mark on his face. The blush was rising in your cheeks the alcohol was definitely hitting you fast.

“Shall we” He asked, still in awe holding his arm out to you. Taking his arm you stepped out of the house closing the door behind you. The moment your feet hit the pavement, You almost walked straight into Daryl.  

“Watch where ya goin” He growled. Spencer feeling the tension put his arm around your shoulders protectively pulling you out of Daryl’s way into his chest. 

“C’mon babe, Dinner will be getting cold” You tore your eyes from Daryl’s turning your attention to Spencer as he kissed your hair. Smiling sweetly at him you let him pull you away down the street towards his house, Glancing backwards you saw that Daryl was glaring at you now with those dark eyes. Putting your arm around Spencer's back you tried to shake off his glare. 

He had looked pissed.. But what fucking right did he have to be upset? What did he think was going to happen? You were going to live the rest of your life as a nun moping around and starving yourself because of him?  Or that you would just forget all of it and just fall back into his eyes like the pathetic woman he thought you were? Fuck no! You tried not to let the anger build. 

During your meal you had tried to concentrate on Spencer but your mind kept wandering back to Daryl. You drank more that night than you had on any of your other dates trying to get up the courage to take things further. As you sat on the couch together kissing sweetly, You decided now was the time. 

Standing up you straddled his hips moving your dress up enough to give your legs space to move. Grabbing his face you kissed him eagerly. Moaning as his hands came to your thighs rubbing them gently before moving to the small of your back pulling your core and chest tight to him. 

Moving your lips now to his neck you kissed him hungrily. “Y/N….Y/N stop” 

Pushing away from him you looked at him confused “Why….?” 

“I really want you….REALLY want you but your so drunk!, it’s not right doing this now”

He saw the surprise and rejection in your eyes. Putting his hand in your hair he pressed your lips against his gently. 

“Baby I want to make love to you, So fucking much but not while your like this. But soon. I promise ok?”

You nodded giving him a small smile, He was a good guy and you appreciated that about him. 

“Guess i should go then…” You trailed off standing up from him and smoothing your dress back down. 

“Want me to walk you home babe?” 

Shaking your head “No it’s okay its only a block down i can manage” He stood walking you to the door he gave you one last kiss before wiping the slightly smeared lipstick from your face. Giggling you left. 

Walking slowly up the street enjoying the light breeze before sighing and heading into your house, Leaving the lights off you walked straight into your bedroom. 

That’s when you saw him. Lying on your bed, The same Jealous glare in his eyes. The previously full bottle of whiskey laying empty at his side.

“What the hell are you doing here Daryl?” You asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice. 

“What are you doin with him?” he retorted standing up from the bed now. He walked slowly to you.

Stuttering “He’s my boyfriend… Why wouldn’t i be with him” 

“Ya fuckin mine! Not His!!Tell me Y/N Ya let him touch you?” 

“What fucking business it of yours, I told you to leave me alone!” You snapped. He was standing directly in front of your now so close you could feel the breath on your cheek. 

“You wanna be a whore, Walkin around with the likes of him, I’ll treat ya like a whore Y/N only had to ask….”

Leaning into you he pressed his mouth to your ear “Bet he can’t make yer feel as good as i can” 

You froze as you felt him now his hands pulling you to him kissing your neck feverishly. 

“Stop!” You cried putting your hands to his chest. “You don’t get to do this! Break my heart then think you can just what...Come in here and I’ll fall back into bed with you? Fuck you Dixon” Your voice full of venom. 

You heard the growl rise in his chest, “That’s the fuckin plan” He sneered down at you. 

Gripping your throat tightly he threw you onto the bed hands quick as lightning he pushed your skirt up revealing the lacy underwear you had put on for Spencer. Throwing his body onto yours he tried to kiss you. 

Panicked you bit his lip hard drawing blood “Get the fuck off me….What are you doing!! I’m with Spencer!” 

Wiping his lip he grinned at you “Still feisty Y/N Fuck Spencer. I’m gonna show ya what yer missin with him”

His voice now a low growl “You know you want this”

Putting his hand into your hair he gripped it tightly pulling your head back and keeping it in place while he attacked your neck again struggling against his body he kept you pinned.. 

“Daryl….Please...Please stop this!” You cried feeling the tears hit your eyes as his hand ripped your underwear from you. 

“Ya know ya want me Y/N Why else would you be wearin a dress like this, Or that lipstick i got ya. Stop fuckin fighting this, I need ya now, You need me too” His hand now undoing his own pants as his teeth bit harshly into your neck and chest. 

In one quick motion he was inside you. “See” he growled “So fuckin wet for me” At first you were ashamed of your body’s reaction to him, Then your mind started clouding feeling yourself get wetter and wetter. He pulled his teeth back now replacing it with warm wet kisses.

You couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from your throat as his huge member touched that delicious spot inside you making your chest arch to meet his. 

You felt him smirk against your neck. Feeling the fight leave your body being replaced by the pleasure he was giving you he released your hair and lightened the pressure he had on your arms. 

Instinctively you raised your arms to his neck tangling your fingers in his hair pulling his lips back to meet yours, Every part of your fight gone now. Just loving this feeling you had been denied for so long. 

He kissed you wildly, his tongue pushing into your mouth groaning into the kiss when your tongue danced with his. 

“Tell me how much ya love this cock Y/N” He growled lips moving back to your ear nibbling softly. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the sound of his voice feeling your body give in fully to him all thoughts of Spencer wiped fully from your head. 

“Tell me Y/N! Tell me how you love my cock more than Spencer’s” he demanded. At Spencer's name your eyes flashed back to his. 

“We didn’t….We never….Oh god Daryl!” You were so close. 

Tormentingly his hips stopped then. “What d’ya mean ya didn’t? Is he fuckin crazy...Look at you...Look at this fucking dress” His hands went back to the hem of your dress which was now lying haphazardly across your stomach. Lifting your torso slightly he pulled it free from you. 

“Oh god, Y/N I’ve missed this sexy fucking body” His head darting down to kiss your exposed breast, Groaning you felt him pull out of you his lips moving down your body. 

“Daryl please, I was so close!” You begged, Missing the incredible full feeling you had moments ago. 

Grinning up at you he ducked his head again running his tongue down and around your navel.  

“Stand up” He ordered. It took a moment for your legs to respond, Standing with him knelt in front of you, He kissed both of your hips before kissing you harshly on your aching bud. 

Licking from bottom to top a few times before starting to suckle softly at first then with growing intensity as his fingers found your heat, Once he had buried his fingers into you, You felt your knees growing weak again. Tangling your fingers into his hair and desperately pulling his incredible mouth closer as it swirled around whilst rocking against his fingers. His fingers curling inside you hitting your g-spot perfectly. 

Just as you were feeling that blissful heat about to explode he pulled his mouth away, Fighting with him slightly you tried to pull him back, Grinning up at you he tutted “Not yet Y/N.” Removing his fingers from you he stood pulling you with him and pushing you up against the back wall. 

Kissing you deeply and lightly brushing his fingers up and down your sides. You were panting heavily feeling the frustratingly close high fade away. Once your breath was back under control he knelt in front of you again.

“Trust me” His voice a dark gravel breath as he moved his body between your legs lifting one foot from the floor and putting it over his shoulder. 

He gave you a swift wink before grabbing the other leg and putting that over his other shoulder. His hands on your hips to steady you he stood with you on his shoulders, Bracing yourself hands on the ceiling you let out a surprised yelp. 

His teeth meeting the inside of your thigh. “Oh yes, Daryl!” you groaned. He turned his face nipping your other thigh before hungrily staring down his main target. 

His tongue darted out of his mouth resuming its earlier attack on your aching clit, “Ahh please Daryl!” You begged as you felt your self building straight back up instantly.

Your walls were clenching tighter and tighter desperate for this knot to be unwound. Arching your chest, your head hitting against the wall a squealing moan escaping your chest as he nibbled softly on you. 

Your breaths getting deeper as you got close again. And just like the other two times he pulled his mouth away. Manoeuvring you off his shoulders into his strong arms before dropping you back to the ground. 

Your pleasure quickly turning into a frustrated rage. “What the fuck Daryl!” You swiped your arm at him trying to hit him in the chest, Catching your arms lazily he smirked at you not saying anything. 

You could feel the tears of humiliation springing back to his eyes, turning away from him you wrapped your arms around your naked body. He had to be messing with you, This was cruel and if you were honest kind of painful. 

“Get the fuck out” you yelled towards the wall not wanting him to see just how frustrated you were. 

As his arms reached out for you, You felt the shift in his mood. At first you tried to shrug him away but he persisted pulling you into his chest. Leading you back to the bed he lay down next to you. 

Still not saying a word he kissed you again sweetly this time. Letting you open back up to him as he slowly crawled back over to you, Nudging your knees open his mouth still on yours as he entered you again. 

You looked at him nervously as he moved slowly not wanting to ignite that heat again, Worried he was going to take it from you again. 

Hearing the deep moans coming from his throat as he kissed you, You allowed yourself to just enjoy the moment. He felt so good. 

Every thrust was slow and deep, Filling you so completely like no one else ever could. He knew just how much you loved the slow torture. Moaning back for him you could feel your walls clenching down again. 

Separating your lips you tried to control your high and calm your body down. Daryl watched as you squirmed, your chest heaving with your deep breaths. 

Bringing his nose to your hair nuzzling it slightly before whispering “Cum for me Y/N” His eyes meeting yours, You prayed he was being sincere as you couldn’t hold it back much longer. 

His hand coming up to your chest tweaking your erect nipples as he started to move faster in you. 

“Oh fuck! Daryl” You whined, Your entire body feeling on fire as your every nerve responded to his words and actions. You felt a different type of pressure build in your groin, It was the sweetest pain you had ever felt. 

Your body started to violently shake as it felt like lightning was ripping through your heat. 

That’s when you felt it, It was like you had been paralysed as Daryl pulls out quickly replacing his throbbing cock with his fingers again. 

Curling them back up to your g-spot his other hand palming your clit. 

“OH FUCKKKKKK” you screamed as the first wave exploded through you. You could feel the waves of wetness exploding from you. Staring at Daryl incredulously he looked just as surprised as you did at your squirt. 

You didn’t know what the fuck was happening to you all you knew was that it was the most incredible feeling you had ever had. 

It seemed never ending as arc after arc of juices spilled out of you hitting his chest, His groin and soaking the bed. Pushing his desperate cock feverishly back into you, He hit into you harder than before. 

Your juices were still leaking around him as he cried out. “Holy Fuck Y/N! I love ya,Yer fucking incredible!” 

Your orgasm still ripping through you “Ah fuck Daryl!!!” You screamed as you felt it hit its highest point before your body started to slowly climb down. 

“Ahhhh Y/N. Fuck” He cried out again as you felt him explode deep into you, You didn’t have the cognitive ability to comprehend what he had just said as you were clinging to  his neck like you had just survived a tidal wave. 

Not sure how long you had both stayed that way you felt as the sheets under you turned freezing cold from your juices. 

Daryl moved off from you then pausing to kiss your forehead. Collapsing at the side of you it took him a few more minutes of deep breaths to compose himself. Both just lying there in stunned silence. 

“That was…” He mumbled. “Incredible” you finished still seeing stars. 

Turning to place a loving kiss on your lips. Your brain finally starting to work again. 

“Wait….Daryl did you say…?” He pulled an arm over his face, his cheeks glowing red. 

“Yah and what if i do?” He asked you slightly angrily. 

“You don’t Daryl, If you did you wouldn’t have left like you did” You could feel the pain returning to your chest, All those months pining after him not able to eat or sleep with his absence. 

“I do Y/N I just didn’ deserve ya, Didn’ want ya to fall for someone like me when you could have someone better for ya, Someone like Him” His arm still draped across his face not looking at you. 

This was the most you had ever heard him talk about his feelings, Lifting yourself just enough off the bed to move upwards to his eye level you moved his arm away from his face making him look at you. 

“I don’t want someone like him, You’re the best there is. I wanted you, And you broke me” 

He looked at you guiltily “It damn near broke me too Y/N” He whispered. 

The silence was awkward now, Giving you a small smile “We should uh get cleaned up, Didn’ know ya could do that....” he joked motioning at the juices still covering his chest. He got up and you tried to follow your legs instantly, going weak before you hit the floor. He caught you with a chuckle.

Pulling you in his arms he kissed you passionately moaning into his kiss you pulled back “I didn’t know i could do that either, Can we do it again?” You asked innocently, your eyes still closed. 

He sighed heavily “I want to do that every fucking...Day” He growled you felt his member stir between you. 

Carrying you to the shower and turning it on he set you down on your feet before taking you again and again. When you finally both came up for air you washed each other off and went back to the bedroom changing the sheets quickly and sinking into a happy blissful sleep with his arms wrapped around you tightly. 

Waking up the next morning you were surprised to find the bed cold when you reached out next to you. Grumbling you opened your eyes searching for him, Eyes locking on him as he was pacing by the end of the bed fully dressed. 

“Morning sugar” You grinned seeing him still with you,

“Good mornin Beautiful” He whispered. You let yourself bask in the happy morning glow. 

“Y/N…..Y/N ‘M so fuckin sorry. ‘M gonna go just waited till ya wer awake, Needed ya to know how sorry i am” His voice full of emotion, He had glanced over to you occasionally not meeting your eyes. 

You looked at him quizzically “Why are you sorry?” 

Coming and kneeling at the side of the bed, He grasped your hand desperately in both of his. 

“Ya know why Y/N I…..uh…..I” Stammering his words, his chest rising heavily, his grip on your hand starting to feel painful. 

“I fucking forced ya!” You heard the emotion run over now as the sobs racked his body. 

Not sure how to respond to this, You had to admit it sure started out that way but if you were being completely honest you had loved how rough he was with you, How much he needed you. The jealousy that overtook his whiskey addled brain. 

He stood ripping his hands off you which brought you back to reality. 

“I’ll go, I’ll leave ya don’ have ta see me again Y/N ‘m so sorry” 

“Noo!!” You half screamed throwing yourself up from the bed and towards him completely forgetting about your state of undress.

Your hands gripping at his vest desperately, “No please! Daryl Please!! Don’t leave me i won’t survive it again, You can’t leave me” You were begging now trying to get his eyes to meet yours. 

He finally gave in seeing the pain on your face. You shivered slightly and he immediately wrapped you in his arms holding you to his chest, His heart pounding in time with yours. 

“But i...i….i hurt ya Y/N, I fuckin hurt ya.”

“No you didn’t Daryl. Look at me i’m fine! I’m ok! Please don’t leave! I just got you back” 

“I am lookin at ya!” He growled. Pulling you towards the bathroom he pushed you in front of the mirror. “Look!!” He half yelled. 

Letting a sharp gasp escape as you looked at your appearance. You were covered in bruises. There were clear finger marks on your neck, Marks from his teeth there too.

Looking down the bruises trailed across your hips with a few on your thighs. 

After assessing them for a moment and determining that none of them actually hurt, The longer you looked the more you remembered about how those bruises got there. Biting your lip you turned to look at him. 

Wrapping your hands around his waist, “Daryl really i’m ok! I bruise super easy, they look worse than they are, I promise. You didn’t hurt me.” Your voice dropping to a whisper “I want a repeat of last night, It was incredible” Feeling your cheeks flush you saw him looking at you incredulously. 

Pulling away from him slowly you walked backwards towards the bed keeping your eyes on him, You could see the internal struggle as he internally fought with himself. 

“C’mere baby i need you” You purred. Grinning as you saw the better side of him win, He rushed over covering your body with his kissing you feverishly, Lying you much more gently on the bed this time. Moaning into his mouth when your tongues met. 

This man was a 100 different types of perfection, His clothes hitting the floor desperate to feel your skin on his again. 

“For fuck sake!!!!” you whimpered as someone started knocking on the door. Panic in your chest as you tried to remember if you locked the door. Daryl stood quickly pulling his jeans back on swiftly.

“Y/N? Y/N you okay love?” He called through your locked front door.

Sitting up quickly and pulling the blanket around your chest hiding your body from his view. 

You hand covering your mouth it was Spencer, God he couldn’t find you like this. You felt tears spring to your eyes as you realised the depth of your betrayal. 

“Oh god, What am I going to tell him, He’s such a good guy and I did this. I’m scum!” 

Daryl scoffed “He ain’t a good guy Y/N and yer aint scum, Yer worth ‘undred of him!” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Exactly what i said, He aint a good guy. Yer don’t wanna hear it Y/N”

Pulling the blanket tighter around your body

“Don’t tell me what i want to hear, Tell me now!” 

Daryl looked completely away from you running his hand through his hair, his other hand balling into a fist. 

“He had a bet Y/N, Him and that asshole brother of his, On how long it would take him to bed ya, Said he were gonna let his brother have ya when he was done. Ta up the stakes he bet he could make ya fall in love with him first…” He trailed off his anger palpable. 

The shock evident on your face, You had trusted him, Thought he had really cared but you were just a bet to him? Fuck this! 

Daryl was hot on your heels as you ran full speed down the stairs and to the door. Ripping it open Spencer had just hit the bottom step as you appeared. 

“Hey baby…” Looking from your face to the blanket wrapped around your naked body. He took the steps back two at a time. “Mmm should i join you” He winked. Stopping just before the door he took in your appearance. 

The amusement dropped from his face as he saw the bruises “Babe what the hell happened? Are you ok?” 

Letting the fury show on your face you pushed the door open wider revealing the shirtless Daryl behind you “Yeah im great! Sorry you're too late asshole, Guess you lost the bet huh?” You spat with as much venom as you could. 

Daryl took a protective step towards you now as Spencer got closer. 

“What the fuck Y/N what the fuck is he doing here? Did he do that?” 

Raising your voice so the crowd gathering on the street could hear. “Don’t fucking start Spencer! I know all about your little bet!! You were going to trick me into falling for you, Fuck you and then hand me off to your brother? Who the fuck do you think you are? You and your brother can go fuck each other.” 

Humiliated Spencer snapped his false demeanour vanishing “So you let the dirty old Redneck fuck you eh? You really will fuck anyone won’t you!” Glancing between you and Daryl. Daryl moving forward and wrapping an arm around you ready to move you out of the way if this got any worse.

“You can keep the bitch, She’ll have fucked half the town soon enough Buddy. Just what Alexandria needed a whore who will drop her pants for anyone if they give her a drink, Tried to fuck me last night too had to pry the dirty bitch off” he spat. 

You couldn’t have held him back if you had wanted to, Daryl had flung himself at Spencer knocking him down the steps onto the street and straight on his ass. Straddling his hips he rained blow after blow, blood pouring from Spencer's face a mess of blood when Rick and Abe finally managed to pull him off.

Yelling at Spencer who was starting to get up timidly looking like he was about to hide behind his mother. 

“I ever hear ya talk about Y/N that way again i’ll fuckin kill ya! Ya fuckin hear me!!! Yer or yer fuckin dumbass brother so much as look at my woman again they’ll be no savin ya!” 

Pulling himself out of Rick’s and Abe’s grasp for a moment he threw a hard kick in the direction of Spencer's head. 

“Daryl Stop!! He’s not worth it!” Your voice shaking as you tried to get Daryl’s attention, placing your hand gently on his cheek he stopped fighting. 

“I ain’t lettin him talk to ya like that Y/N!” He almost whined trying to excuse himself. 

“I know baby, But it’s ok he aint worth it! You taught him his lesson, I love you, I’m yours! Let’s go back inside!” Very aware now of all the eyes on you both, You still in just a blanket and Daryl only in his Jeans. 

Daryl’s eyes softened pulling away from Abe and Rick again he pulled you to him.

“I love ya Y/N Ya are mine and now all these pricks know it” He half chuckled. 

“C’mon, I’d like to get back to our earlier activities before this prick interrupted” Giggling as his eyes grew dark. Throwing a dirty look at Spencer you let Daryl throw you over his shoulder, His arms clamped around the blanket to cover your body.

He ran with you back up the stairs. You heard as Abe guffawed letting out a wolf whistle as Daryl slammed the door behind you both, Moving to the curtains he slammed them shut. 

As he turned back to you, You dropped the towel swaying your hips as you walked over to him. 

“Show me how your’s i am Daryl” You purred forgetting all about the incident just moments ago. 

Your bodies collided, He showed you every spare moment he had just how much you belonged to each other, You couldn’t have even dreamt of how happy you were together. Spencer never hassled you again not even looking in your direction after that day, Much to Daryl’s amusement. 

His group had accepted you as family instantly. Never once questioning your love just embracing it.

Even though the situation that brought you both back together hadn’t been ideal you couldn’t help the grin on your face every time he drank whiskey. 

Thank god for Whiskey and Daryl fucking Dixon. 

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[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rose Tinted.

Pairing: Yandere!Kuroo/Reader, Yandere!Kenma/Reader, Yandere!Akaashi/Reader & Yandere!Bokuto/Reader.

Word Count: 3.9k.

Synopsis: Life is stressful. It was stressful when you were your own person, when you were free, and it is now, when you’re relegated to a captivity spent in the arms of your four captors. It’s only natural that you adapt to your current life by modifying the details of your old one.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Mentions of Past Toxic Relationships, and Implied Non-Con.

Kuroo reminds you of your old roommate, sometimes.

It’s a sickening comparison to draw, but you can’t help yourself, not when you’re with him, not when he’s acts so much like her. Kuroo’s a morning person, and with his busy schedule and all the time he spends traveling, he tries to steal every minute he can with you, every second you’re not wrapped in Bokuto’s arms or sitting on Kozume’s lap or doing whatever Akaashi does, after he forces those little white pills down your throat and your mind gets too fuzzy to form memories, even if that means he has to fish you out of bed before sunrise, deposit you on the countertop, and mutter one of his favorite threats in your ear, just to ensure you won’t make another lunge at the knife block. You’re almost grateful for that last step. It gives you an excuse not to strain yourself, so early in the day.

It’s a vague link, but it’s there. In the way he hums to himself as he cooks, how absent-mindedly he moves around the kitchen as he puts together the meal you’ve watched him make a thousand times. He’s more rushed than she used to be, though. Whereas your roommate would still have one eye shut as she cracked an egg over a sizzling pan, Kuroo’s already fully dressed, even if his shirt’s slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened and his blazer draped over your shoulders despite your attempts to subtly shrug it off. That was something she’d done, too, but differently, more innocently. She’d ruffle your hair as you collapsed on the kitchen island, commenting on ‘another late night’ or how helpless you’d be without her help. Kuroo doesn’t have to ask. He knows where you are, where you were, all the time, every day, and if there’s a lapse in your schedule he isn’t sure how to fill in, then you wouldn’t be watching him cook.

You’d be locked in a closet, left without food or water or warmth for however long it took for you to swallow your pride and admit that you’d spent two hours trying to break the deadbolt on your bedroom’s window yesterday, all while Kuroo sat on the other side of the door and congratulated you on finally being honest.

You almost don’t notice when the humming stops, Kuroo turning the stove off before he shifts, his eyes flickering in your direction while a soft grin tugs at the corner of his lips, more patronizing than endearing. You can almost bring yourself to hate him for it. In the moment, you think you do. “You’ve been awful quiet,” He starts, once you fail to say anything on your own. “Something on your mind?”

Lying to Kuroo is useless. Bokuto never catches it and Kozume doesn’t care, but Kuroo doesn’t allow it. He thinks it’s a sign of disobedience. He thinks it means you’re falling into old habits. “Just my roommate,” You mutter, hoping you sound disinterested enough for Kuroo to drop the topic. “She used to cook a lot, too.”

There’s a hum of acknowledgement, a collision of wood on wood as he opens the nearest drawer. Idly, you wonder if Kuroo can do anything without making noise. “Blonde hair, brown eyes? The same girl who always skipped out on rent?”

“She couldn’t keep a job.” You almost glance towards him, if only to smirk and tell him that, whatever he’s making, she would’ve made it better, but you stop yourself before you can. He wouldn’t like that, and as bland as Kuroo’s cooking is, your roommate probably would’ve burnt the pan beyond repair and left the mess for you to find, hours later. “It wasn’t her fault. She always got stuck with strict bosses, and she wasn’t good with schedules. She was really nice, though.”

Kuroo chuckles, taking a second to prod at your side. “C’mon, sweetheart, nicer than me?”

You don’t answer, but Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind. There’s another laugh, another prod, and he steps in front of you, positioning himself between your open legs and supporting himself against the cabinets lining the wall, caging you in. It’s probably supposed to be a playful gesture. It’s probably supposed to be, he probably wants it to be, but somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to feel so light-hearted.

When he raises a hand, you don’t flinch, but you have to fight the urge to recoil as he cups your jaw, tracing his thumb over your cheek. You don’t want him to touch you, but you know better than to push him away. “We’re in a good mood today, alright?” The question is soft, well-meaning, but you frown regardless, tightening your grip on the edge of the countertop. “No fighting, no tantrums, and no trying to get away while I’m gone. I know the others go easy on you, but when I come home, I don’t want to hear a word about your behavior.”

They don’t go easy on you. No one goes easy on you. Kuroo’s just too harsh.

Kuroo’s strict, but… he makes good on his promises. If there’s anything about him you like, it’s that.

Apparently, you take a little too long to respond. Again, you're forced to think about your roommate when he sighs, the same way she used to when you had to tell her you wouldn't be able to pick her up from that bar or go to this party, that you were too tired, that you didn’t want to see her face after working yourself to the bone so the two of you could afford to feed yourselves. Like she was disappointed. Like she had the right to be disappointed.

“I know you’re still getting used to this, but try to give it time. The guys and me, all of us love you, and none of us want to see you sulk. I’m not asking you to cheer every time I walk through the door, just…” There’s a pause, another sigh. Kuroo straightens his back, pressing a long, lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Just try to smile a little more, alright? I promise, I’ll make it worth the effort.”

Your answer is short, but you can still feel Kuroo’s smile against your skin. And, just for a moment, you think you might be grateful he bothered to ask.

“I’ll try.”

~

Bokuto reminds you of your boyfriend, in a certain way.

Out of all of your captors, his intentions are the most unquestionably romantic. Akaashi and Kuroo seem to think of you as more of a pet than a partner, and you’ve never been able to figure out what Kozume wants from you, but Bokuto’s straight-forward, Bokuto doesn’t feel the need to hide his intentions behind pretty words and selfish gifts and mantras about how much he loves you, even if the last still comes naturally. You don’t appreciate him for it. You don’t like him for it, but it makes Bokuto bearable. If you had the luxury of choosing a favorite, he’d probably be your first pick.

It helps that he’s still so convinced your relationship is normal. When he’s the one to wake you up, he lets you decide what you want to wear, and when he kisses you, you don't have to kiss back. You’re allowed to say no, with Bokuto. You’re allowed to refuse, and he won’t push you to change your mind.

Tonight’s an exception to that rule, obviously.

You think you’re in Akaashi’s bed. The sheets are white, tucked in a little too tightly at the corners, and the lighting is dimmer than it would be, if Bokuto’d had the patience to carry you somewhere more private. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you don’t have time to forget waking up. The jarring dip of the mattress, the strong hand on your shoulder, barely bothering to shake for a second before pushing you onto your back and pinning you down, thighs straddling your waist and his chest pressing against yours before you can do so much as open your eyes. You only realize it’s him, realize that it’s Bokuto when he kisses you, taking advantage of your stupor in that messy, clumsy way that always leaves you breathless and gagging. That leaves you hurt, more so than you would be if any of the others treated you so roughly.

He’s smiling, when he pulls away. It’s not soft and it’s not subtle, and it hasn’t faded by the time he finds your neck, latching onto the sensitive spot just above your jugular. If he had been your boyfriend, you might’ve laughed as his teeth graze against your skin, you might’ve found it exciting when he bite down. But, it isn’t. Your boyfriend would’ve asked, and Bokuto isn’t your boyfriend.

“I asked,” He cuts in, not waiting for you to finish. That’s fine. It’s expected, honestly. Bokuto’s like a puppy, too eager for his own good, a trait that borders on endearing at times, but only manages to come off as frustrating, now. “He’s always really busy, and you just looked so sweet, I didn’t know of I could leave you all alone.” There’s a laugh, abrupt and bright, the sound soon muffled against the crook of your shoulder. “Just an hour, alright? Then you can go back to sleep.”

“Kotaro,” You try, pushing lightly on his chest. It’s a futile effort, one that only results in a groan against your skin and an arm around your waist, but you try regardless. You’re not sure you’d be able to forgive yourself if you stopped. “It’s supposed to be Keiji’s turn and… I don’t know if he’d be alright with--”

That sounds like something your boyfriend would’ve said, too. Just an hour. Just an hour, then you’d be able to go back to sleep, or back to work, or back to whatever you did to pass time when you didn’t have any time to pass. And when you didn’t have an hour, when you tried to explain that, you two would spend an hour fighting, instead. At least you didn’t have to fight with Bokuto. He made that part easy, with his willingness to pout and cry and fuck you into the mattress with tears in his eyes because, although you could say no, he doesn’t care if you do. It just makes things easier when you don’t.

“I-” Again, you’re interrupted, the words fading into a small, high-pitched shriek as his canines sink into your shoulder. And you’d just gotten your hopes up that he might let his last set of love-bites heal without interruption. “I don’t want to do this.”

Now, that makes him pull away. It’s almost surprising, how little relief there is to accompany the gesture, how much guilt comes with having to meet those wide, glassy eyes and swallow the apology playing on your tongue. You didn't apologize to your boyfriend, not the last time, not the most important time. Or, your ex-boyfriend, you guess. You’re pretty sure you broke up with him, or he broke up with you, or someone said something that made you angry enough to storm out of his apartment and into Bokuto’s waiting arms, Akaashi beside him with a length of rope and a needle full of sedatives. 

His voice shakes when he speaks. ”Are you… Are you mad at me, again?”

You aren’t. It’s hard to be mad at Bokuto, and you’re so tired of always doing the hard thing.

“Wouldn it matter if I was?” You mumble, falling back onto Akaashi’s bed. “It’s not like you’d listen to me.”

You’re looking at the ceiling, now, but there’s a shift, a slight change. Soon, you can’t feel his weight on your chest, and you have to suppress the urge to mourn his stifling presense. “I’d try to.”

You almost wish it was Akaashi on top of you. At least then, you might be able to believe he knows he’s lying. “You wouldn’t,” You sigh, trying to sound exasperated. Trying to sound genuine. “If you listened to me, you would’ve let me go, by now. If you really loved me, I wouldn’t still have to tell you how much I hate it here.”

Less than a month ago, you’d yelled the same words. Screamed them, repeated them, told Bokuto how much you hated him and his friends and everything they’d forced onto you. Now, it’s all you can do to say them with enough strength not to crack under the pressure, not to give into the temptation to throw yourself at his chest and claw until he’s the villain again and you’re helpless, just an uninvolved bystander in your own suffering.

To your credit, it’s a fleeting urge, one that’s gone by the time you roll onto your side, away from Bokuto, curling into yourself as he settles against your back. There’s a heavy sigh, another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. His arm wraps around your waist, but there’s no attempt to drag you closer, no attempt to go any further. You almost wish he would.

It’d be easier to cry yourself to sleep, if you could blame him for forcing you to.

~

Akaashi reminds you of your co-workers, all the time.

He spends so much time working, it’d be impossible not to draw the connection. He smells like an office, like ink and metal and more chemicals than an editor should use, and he feels like one, too, his skin always cold and his hands always quick to clamp down around anything warm and kicking and alive. It reminds you of the receptionist who used to give you a hug every morning, a sourceless gesture that was always a little too tight to be comfortable. Of Kuroo’s handshake, when you were first called back after your initial interview. You suppose he has more right to the position than Akaashi, you must’ve worked under him for months, but Kuroo invited you out for drinks, he made small talk, he could take off his suit and defrost when he wanted to.

Akaashi couldn’t. Akaashi can’t.

That, or he won’t, and you don’t know which option scares you more.

It doesn’t help that he works so often, either, even when he’s home. You can try to block it out, try to ignore the constant click of his keyboard, the occasional creak of his chair whenever Akaashi tries to reposition himself, but there’s only so much you can do on his lap, your arms strung over his shoulders and your face buried in his chest, your sleep-deprived mind momentarily forgetting its distaste in favor of seeking out as much comfort as it could.

That might be what drives you to speak, to break the silence as Akaashi bows his head, his lips brushing against the dip of your shoulder while his hands fall from his laptop to your hips. As always, his touch is cold, unnerving, the shirt he’d forced you to borrow doing little to protect you from the chill. “I hate you.”

There’s a tap to your side, a noise of acknowledgement. “I know, angel. You’ve mentioned it before.”

“So much,” You go on, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt. “More than the others. Every night I fantasize about slitting your throat and stuffing one of your stupid toys in the wound. I still have a scar from that fucking collar.”

This time, you get a hum, low and absent-minded. “A small one,” He adds. “Kenma’s done worse, and I’ve already apologized.”

He has. This is an old argument, one you’re still mad about, but one you know you’ll never resolve, not with someone so apathetic. So, you try a different approach. Not something more honorable, but something different. Something that wouldn’t leave a coat of ash on your tongue, hopefully. “My friends probably think I’m dead by now, my family too.” It feels good to say, but it feels awful, at the same time. Like you’re admitting defeat. Like you’re submitting to the same man who's been whispering those very same words to you since your first night spent in his loving care. “Even if I get out, you’ve already ruined my life. I won’t have anywhere to go back to, not a job, no place to--”

“That’s a good thing, right?” It’s an innocent question, judging by his tone. You try not to take it as one. “You always hated your job.”

It’s almost a reflex to defend yourself. “I never--”

“Yes, you did.” If it was Bokuto, you could’ve told yourself he’d been fed a lie, or pushed into a delusion that featured you as a damsel in distress and him as your big, strong, brave hero. If it was Kuroo, you could’ve told yourself that he wanted you to believe you hated your job, your old life, everything he was kind enough to rip you away from. Kozume would’ve been uninterested enough to stop the conversation before you started to spiral, but you’re not talking to Kozume, or Kuroo, or Bokuto. You’re talking to Akaashi, and Akaashi doesn’t care whether or not you’re happy. He doesn’t have a reason to lie to you, not about something so mundane. “That’s why we had to take you home. You were too stressed, I was getting worried.” He pauses, his hands moving to your sides, pulling you away from his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look up, either, not until he cups your cheeks in his palms, his voice suddenly going from sterile to soft in the space between one breath and another. “It was painful to watch, it was painful for all of us. I know it’s hard to see from your perspective, but you used to cry so much, and you were so close to falling apart. We just did what we thought would help.”

“So you decided to kidnap me?” It’s the harshest you’ve been in weeks, even if you barely manage to raise your voice. You grab his wrists, but you don’t try to jerk him away. Instead, you settle on digging your nails into his skin, and in return, Akaashi ignores your minor show of rebellion. “You’re not doing me a favor. You’ll never convince me I want this, because I don’t. If you have to tell me I’m happy, it’s only because you know I’m not.”

“You’re not happy, but you’re happier than you used to be.” He doesn’t try to make light of the revelation, but his neutral expression still cracks, leaving the smallest smile in its place. Not amused, but not sympathetic, either. Not malicious, but certainly not kind enough to spare your feelings. “It’s easier, and I think you know that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just couldn’t handle life without a little help.”

You pull away, jerking your head out of his hands and crossing your arms in front of you, putting as much distance between you and Akaashi as you can. “You’re lying. You’re lying, and you’re not even doing it well.”

You can feel him let out a breath of a laugh, leaning forward just enough to push a kiss into your temple before drawing back, content to admire the long-awaited results of his work.

“Of course I am, angel.”

~

Kozume doesn’t remind you of anything, and it’s unbearable.

You’d worked with Kuroo, intimately. He’d introduced you to Bokuto, and you’d met Akaashi at his games, even if the two of you never shared more than a few polite niceties about the match at-hand. Kozume’s the only one who’s new to you, he’s the only one who’s just your kidnapper, even if he fit the role well. You can’t sympathize with him, because there’s nothing to sympathize with. You can’t understand his irrational connection with you, because he’s never bothered to offer an explanation. It shouldn’t upset you as much as it does. It shouldn’t be as awful as it is. He shouldn’t make you feel as disgusting as you do, but he does. You don’t know why, but he does, and you can’t forgive him because of it.

It’s almost a relief when you wake up alone on the edge of Kozume’s bed, tucked under heavy black sheets with sunlight already spilling through the open window. You consider rolling over, trying to go back to sleep, but you can already hear a lock clicking in the distance, light footsteps moving over wood as Kozume steps in, leaning against the doorway as he watches you start to stir. You’re purposefully lethargic, taking the time to sit up and rub your eyes until it doesn’t hurt to blink, but Kozume’s content to stare on. Part of you hopes you’ll get used to it, soon. The rest of you tries to smother the idea before it can spread.

“Mornin’,” He calls, when you make it clear you’re awake. He’s dressed, not formally, just jeans and a hoodie, but it’s more than you’ve come to expect from Kozume. Somehow, it only makes him seem more alien. “I’ve got few meetings today, Tetsuro’s out of town, Bokuto’s training, and Akaashi doesn’t get off until this afternoon, so you should have the house to yourself until sunset, at least.” There’s a glance to the floor, a quiet laugh. Despite everything, he can still seem shy when he wants to. “If you promise not to break anything, I could forget to lock you up before I leave. It’s not like you’d try to get out, anyway.”

“I would.” It’d be a damning confession with anyone else, but Kozume doesn’t blink twice. He’s already made up his mind, which means nothing you say matters. “I hate it here, and all of you know that.”

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t leave.” His voice is calm, his tone playful, but Kozume’s eyes narrow as he steps forward, and you square your shoulders, trying to glaring at the sheets rather than him. Still, you can feel him hovering over you, making you squirm as he goes on. “I mean, why would you want to? It’s not like have anything to go back to. Hell, from the way it looks, we might’ve been the only ones who stil pretend to miss you.”

“Of course I’d want to,” You snap, trying not to ball his sheets in your fists, trying not to acknowledge how reasonable he sounds, trying to ignore the part of your brain screaming for you to calm down before you make things worse for yourself. “I have a family. I have friends. I have a life outside of lying down, closing my eyes, and letting you live out whatever sick, perverted fantasy you’re trying to--”

“That’s not what I asked.” He doesn’t try to talk over you. He doesn’t have to, not when there’s already so little strength behind your argument. “You should want to escape, but…” Finally, his smile falters, but the unbothered frown that takes its place is no less comforting. He shrugs as he speaks, and you have to fight the urge to shrink into yourself. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. You open your mouth, then you close it again, then you close your eyes and drag your knees up to your chest, glaring childishly at the mattress, behaving exactly how they want you to. Kozume doesn’t try to push you any further. He doesn’t ask another question, he doesn’t force you to anwer, only sighing as he drapes an arm over your shoulder, slotting himself against your side, holding you. It’s cruel of him to do. It’s a small mercy. It’s nothing, it means nothing, but he’s mocking you, at the same time, belittling you, humiliating you. You hate him for it, but at the same time, you’re not sure you can. You’re so tired. You’re so, so tired, and you’re not sure you can be anything else, anymore.

You’re not sure you know if he’s wrong, anymore.

[heavenunderthemoon]

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

"Y/N."

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would've done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren't forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father's life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother's.

"Dad."

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father's abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn't particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father's face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn't and who was to say that it wouldn't happen to you too?

"Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?" He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father's voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn't composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn't afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

"I know, I love you too." You didn't know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn't done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would've said.

"I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug." If you hadn't been so worried that you might die soon you might've found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn't mind it. You didn't mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn't mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It's funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

"Remember when I taught you to drive?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn't learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. "There's no use learning to drive when your mother's here, sometimes me, and the metro, it's useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun."

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

"Yeah."

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother's features and the amusement playing on Foyet's, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

"I'm a terrible driver." You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn't seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn't been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn't miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

"You're good enough."

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

"I think that's good enough, right, Y/N?" The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of...mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father's stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn't smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn't ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn't hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

"Don't touch me." You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn't expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

"Wow, you've got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner." He chuckled to himself like he said the world's funniest joke, and you glared.

"Leave them alone." Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. "How about this, how about you go hide, I'll give you a head start, and then I'll come find you."

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. "No." You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother's flesh, yet, you couldn't just leave your mother. You couldn't leave her to die.

"Ah, come on. You're a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren't you guys supposed to be fun?" His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn't have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father's height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn't think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy's girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the 'bad guy' in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn't think you would ever be able to ignore that.

"Y/N, go." Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother's lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. "Mom, no." it came out shaky, and you didn't have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn't been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That's how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley's ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother's lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl's cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. "Go, baby. I'll be okay."

No, you won't. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother's arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother's hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn't care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

"I- I love you." It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

"I love you too." Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn't feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father's nightstand. It hadn't been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother's quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

"Y/N!" A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother's body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack's old room- eye's scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn't have much time until he was coming after you.

"I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are." He sang out. He must've taken your mother- your mother's body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn't difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn't it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

"I think I'll lay your body right next to your Mom. You'd like that, wouldn't you? So you can be together?" He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack's door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn't known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn't have given the man much thought. You wouldn't have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that's what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father's team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could've been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family's suffering once and for all. You weren't sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren't there before.

"You bitch!"

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn't look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that's for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother's dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn't hear anything that was going on. That he didn't hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn't dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn't died now. If anything, you might've made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That's why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn't really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn't want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that your mother was dead. It wasn't fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

"Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me."

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn't realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek's. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed...feral.

"Y'N, it's me. You're safe. it's me, it's Derek. Put that gun down." It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn't hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother's body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

"He's dead. Y/N, he's dead." The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who's blood was that? Was that your mother's? Was that Foyet's? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?' He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man's waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

"Y/N!" Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn't been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. "Are you okay, Y/N?"

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn't see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn't even been home very often. Then, you didn't have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

"I'm fine." You took a hand, running it through the boy's ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

"Let's get you checked out, yeah?"

[captainpikeachu]

What I desperately want for The Old Guard sequel is a storyline focused on Joe, Nicky, and Booker dealing with the emotional fallout from the first film.

Obviously Andy, Quynh, and Nile should still have the main center and driven action of the story, but I really want a softer emotional side story driven by the men. Because men in action movies rarely get that type of a story.

We in this fandom talk a lot about how the film is subversive and how it switched gender roles in letting the male characters play caretaker roles and do the emotional heavy lifting. And I want that to continue in the sequel. Especially because the emotional fallout between Joe, Nicky, and Booker is the one aspect of the story that we never got to see fully addressed.

Nile was ready to let Booker back with an apology, and Andy has essentially forgiven Booker the moment she realized why he did what he did, so both of them don’t have any fallout to address when it comes to Booker. But it is Joe and Nicky who haven’t gotten that chance to truly verbalize their emotions, and it is Joe and Nicky who suffered the most because of Booker’s choices. So I want the sequel to address that, and I don’t want us as the audience to be robbed of what could be an emotionally satisfying and powerful story where male characters’ main narratives aren’t about might is right and punching things to defeat their foe, but rather one dealing with emotional pain and accountability and reconciliation and forgiveness.

So much of modern media, especially action films, are driven by male characters committing some sort of violent act, often retribution in an eye for an eye, and that’s suppose to be heroic and cathartic. But it’s not, it’s just this continued perpetuation that link men to violence rather than highlighting that men should also deal with emotions and feelings in a healthy way.

The Old Guard did so well in centering its emotional heart with male characters that I want to see it continue. I don’t want the story to ignore what happened and just go with “oh Booker is back now and everyone just moved on” because the plot requires it. I want this to be a story where the characters actually address their feelings, talk about what happened to them, and how they feel, and how they can find their way back to each other.

Look, I’m not expecting some sprawling expansive deep narrative exploring trauma and recovery and forgiveness in all its stages, I get that this is a 2 hour movie at best and there are limitations. So I’m keeping my hopes realistic as possible that we simply get some interactions between Joe, Nicky, and Booker where they lay out all their feelings on the table and come to a consensus, whatever it may be. Because there is a story there to be told, an important story that we so rarely see in action films with male characters, and we have all the pieces set up for that story to happen. It would be a shame to let that go by and not take even just a tiny part of a sequel to address it. Especially when the comics even give basis for that narrative to take place in.

If Booker gets taken and tortured by Quynh as it goes down in the comics, then Nicky and Joe planning the rescue (which they do in the comics) can have far more emotional resonance. They can discuss their anger at Booker while also affirming their care for him and desire to see him unharmed, because they are good people who wouldn’t wish upon that kind of violence for their worst enemies, much less someone they love. And they do love him, and you can’t tell me that walking away was somehow easy for them or that it didn’t hurt them or that they don’t miss him.

And I want Booker to fully recognize his own love for this family, for Nicky and Joe, for the bond they all share, and that they all also love him in return and that he is not alone as he might feel like sometimes. That he can choose to do right by them, be strong for them, stand up for them, look beyond just his grief, and atone for the wrong choices he made and accept that responsibility.

I want their reunion TO MATTER. I want it to hit that emotional satisfaction, not just they get him back and it moves on like nothing happened before and all is well now.

I want the three of them to talk, really talk, and address how they all feel and where they stand with each other and how they can move forward.

If they cry or hug then even better. Show men experiencing emotions. Show men having conversations about those emotions. Show men talk about trauma and grief and depression as valid human issues that DOESN’T make men weak. Show men giving each other affection and support. Show men loving each other. Show men deal with trauma and pain and grief and anger in HEALTHY NON-TOXIC WAYS WITHOUT VIOLENT RETRIBUTION.

Show men supporting each other through the good and the bad.

Show men holding hands in silent support when they need it.

Let men CARE about each other.

[yan-twst]

yan-twst’s yandere twst base guidelines

long story short, i’m tired of not writing yan characters consistently so this is more so a guide for MYSELF to write them consistently. it’s not going to be 100% coherent or like, poetic, because this is moreso a reminder for myself to know how i’m characterizing these boys, but i thought i might as well post it so everyone has an idea how i work with yan characters

warnings: death mentions, general yandere content, mentions of verbal and physical abuse, non consensual drug use, you know the drill

riddle rosehearts is desperate for control and affection. his mommy issues make him seek out the sort of coddling and care he never got from his mother, and at the same time makes him want to establish he’s the one in charge to feel safe. he is easily jealous, doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty if it’s for his darling. he can be manipulated by them in his weaker moments, but he’ll usually be able to tell when they’re trying to use him and retaliate. he wouldn’t be opposed to letting those he trusts oversee his darling. he’ll keep his darling in his dorm; they may be allowed to roam around with trey or maybe cater, but riddle fully expects them to only go out when he’s there.

ace trappola is sadistic and a bit immature. he likes to make his darling’s life hell, tear them down and make them cry until he’s the one who comforts them (not very well). he’s the standard “little kid teasing his crush in the playground”, except way more violent. ace trusts nobody with his darling- he’ll use threats and violence to get them to stay away. he mocks his darling for being weak. ace can’t really keep his darling locked up due to his dorm situation, but his verbal abuse and manipulation are enough to keep them silent about how he treats them

deuce spade is conflicted but selfish. his past as a delinquent makes violence come easily to him, and he might hurt his darling in an outburst of anger. likewise, he’ll get rid of people he thinks are “getting too close” to his darling with threats of physical violence, and he’ll easily make good on those threats if prompted. the idea of locking them up isn’t something that comes up naturally (besides, he can’t really do that), but he’s always waiting for his darling in the door of their dorm in the mornings and drops them off, making sure they aren’t wandering off. he has bouts of extreme sweetness, talking about how they “changed him”, bringing them flowers, making them meet his mom- a big contrast to his violent tantrums, but his sweetness is enough to make his darling think he might stop hurting them (and also fear of what he could do if they broke up with him)

trey clover is a manipulator. he doesn’t really need fancy tricks or strength to make his darling stick by his side. the fact everyone sees him as a friendly and helpful man means nobody questions his actions too much. he pushes his darling to act the way he wants them to, usually gaslighting them or guilt tripping them into doing as he wishes. trey will not lock up his darling, at least not in school, but he’ll make them feel like they aren’t allowed to talk to anyone or interact with anyone other than him. he’ll also freely twist his darling’s words to make people who try to get close to them stay away

cater diamond needs to be told he’s loved, be told he’s good. he craves to have a close connection to somebody, and he’s just not used to feeling so attached to someone. he’ll use lots of blackmail to keep his darling obedient. whether he kidnaps his darling or not depends on how easily he can do so: if they’re the MC, he might not do so, since he craves to take pictures and show the world who he’s dating, and if he kidnapped them and published those it’d be too obvious. however, his blackmail makes it enough that his darling doesn’t dare go against him. cater won’t use violence to get rid of “rivals”, but he’s very much willing to use rumours and blackmail to ruin them

leona kingscholar wants both a plaything and someone to treat him like a king. he will make his darling feel weaker and inferior to him, but he’ll also seek comfort in them. leona has no trouble using some physical violence to keep his darling in their place, nor does he have qualms in killing people who he sees as a threat. luckily, it takes a lot to get him to that point, since he’s quite lazy about the effort it takes to kill. he fully expects his darling to pamper him, but he often makes allusions that once he sets a life for himself, they’ll be his “queen” of sorts. ruggie absolutely knows this is going on, and leona will let him be around his darling once in a while, as long as he knows his limits. lots of jealousy towards his brother- mentioning him is a surefire way to get beat black and blue

ruggie bucchi wants someone to call his own. he’s possessive and jealous, and he’ll do all he can to make them be his. he treats them more like property than as a lover sometimes. at the same time, he’s very much a needy lover, and he’ll be whining and keening for constanta affection. physical violence isn’t usual in his darling, but he has no issue getting rid of others- he’s very, very good at getting rid of the body. he keeps his darling locked in his room out of jealousy, and he’s got no problems with using his unique magic to make them give him affection

jack howl feels bad about how he feels but ha can’t stop himself. he rationalizes that he’s “protecting” his darling from the outside world, seeing them as weak and helpless compared to him. he scales up slowly in his obsession, starting from walking them around to locking them in his room. he thinks his darling is being thankless for not appreciating his worry. jack will not use physical violence on his darling, but he might make empty threats just to make them understand he’s stronger. jack will be hesitant to kill for his darling, however if he gets mad enough and if someone seems to be trying to rescue them or contact them, he might snap

azul ashengrotto is desperate to be reassured. he often cries and guilt trips his darling, asking them to assure him he’s good enough for them. the way he treats his darling wildly varies on his mood; when he’s feeling confident he’ll use smooth talking and act in a way so gentlemanly it might be able to temporarily make them forget their situation, but when he’s in the deep end of his insecurities he’s all screams and tears. when he’s out of his mind, he might leave bruises on his darling, but it’s more of a lack of control than a desire to hurt. he lets the leech twins around- under his watch- and makes them make sure his darling doesn’t think of escaping lest they be hunted by the eels. he’ll absolutely use a contract to take away his darling’s magic, and by extension take away the magic of anyone he sees as a “threat”. likewise, he’ll sic the twins onto the “threats” 

jade leech is sadistic but calculating. he wants his darling to be dependent on him and him alone. upon kidnapping them, he makes sure to treat them nicely; bringing them warm food, physical comfort, etc. of course he also punishes quite liberally: however, he’s always careful in how he does it. he either makes it out to be entirely his darling’s fault so that he’s not “the bad guy”, or he might send in floyd to make them suffer. either way, jade is always the one to comfort them, and make them associate his presence with being well. jade absolutely keeps his darling locked up, and while he doesn’t like them being alone with someone else, he does let floyd or azul see them sometimes, maybe for dinner or something. jade has no problem killing to teach his darling a lesson, but he’s more often lowkey and clean about it

floyd leech does whatever he pleases. it doesn’t take much for him to decide to take his darling and force them into his room into the role of a toy for him to squeeze and bash around. floyd’s darling is always bruised and injured in some way- floyd sometimes treats their wounds, sometimes jade drops by to treat them, but he’s too rough for them to heal entirely. floyd rejoices in his darling’s tears and missery: he isn’t going to comfort them or try to make them love him, but rather demand they act how he wants when he wants and hurt them to get that. he’ll happily kill anyone his darling even as much as seems to think of- and he’ll also be very happy to show his darling the corpse and the gore to make them cry and sob

kalim a-asim truly doesn’t want to do his darling wrong. at first it’s his worries over his darling’s safety that makes him take action and lock them in the dorm; he prepares a room for them, lavish gifts and whatnot. kalim seems to be trying to buy his way into his darling’s heart, believing his actions can be forgiven with enough repentance (but not giving up what he’s gotten). although kalim would never harm his darling, he’ll chain them up so they can’t run, believing he’s doing the best. while kalim loathes violence and death, if he truly does believe it’s “needed”, he might pay his family’s assassins to silently get rid of threats, but he’ll be very careful to keep this a secret from his darling. talks a lot about the future and how he’ll marry his darling and how good life will be

jamil viper wants to be, for once, the most important person to someone. he wants to be seen for all he is and congratulated, worshipped. his obsession starts with being praised and given attention, and suddenly he wants more. jamil has no issue using his unique magic to keep his darling locked in his room and acting as he wants; however, he wants them to act like that out of their own accord. punishments may be verbal or physical, but in the end, he wants his darling to act like they love him without him having to hypnotize them. there’s a fair chance jamil will let kalim know about the situation, albeit word it in such a way kalim believes jamil’s darling is actually a willing lover and lend him an extra room to keep them in or something. jamil will try to avoid getting blood on his hands, but if he sees that it’s going to be better off it he kills people who may try to release his darling or expose him, he’ll gladly remove them from the scene

vil schoenheit finds peace in having someone to control and fuss over. his day to day life is very busy, always having something to do, something to study, maintain his image and his grades and his job. when it comes to his darling, vil feels relaxed when he can simply pamper them like a doll: to have some absolute control for once. he prides himself in how he “polishes” his darling. vil will use any sort of potion, from potent love potions to numbing or calming draughts to keep his darling dumb and pliant under his care. because he believes that hard work means doing everything needed, vil will easily use untraceable poisons to get rid of those he thinks are trying to tarnish his darling. he doesn’t care if the love he’s being showered with comes from a love potion, as long as he feels like he’s being entirely appreciated for who he is (and not just who the world sees him as). he’d trust rook enough to stay around and watch over his darling, but usually he’ll just keep them in his room, knowing full well the potions make them too docile to hurt themselves or make a big mess

rook hunt loves all things beautiful and thinks of his darling as a muse. he’s the very image of the stalker who watches his darling through their day, stealing trinkets and making a small “shrine”, taking creepshots, and sending anonymous letters with enough detail to make his darling scared. he builds up the “fear” (in his mind, he’s just elongating the hunt, making it a game) until he finally catches them and takes his prize home. rook has no problem letting vil know he’s keeping someone locked in: honestly, this isn’t too surprising, and as long as he doesn’t cause trouble, vil might be willing to supply love potions and such to keept he ruckus down. still, rook much prefers to “tame” his darling the natural way- with fear, punishment, and reward. he’ll often make them think they have a chance to escape only to catch them later, crushing their spirits

epel felmier wants to be told he’s strong, he’s manly, he’s his darling’s one and only. he’s grown up seeing the traditional quiet marriages of the people back in his village, and he fully believes he’ll play the role of the supporting, strong, capable man to his darling, meanwhile they’ll be his domestic and pliant spouse (regardless of his darling’s gender). he may use his innocent appearance to fool them into his trap, and then use any means possible to keep them, from mild poisons in food he brings to spells that make their body lock up. he luckily isn’t one for physical punishments, but that can change if his darling tries to insult him or imply he’s effeminate or weak. 

idia shroud is a creep. he spies on his darling with the campus security cameras, he sends small drones to spy on them sleeping, when he dares venture out to the campus he nervously pockets their belongings and builds a literal shrine to them. he might even use ortho to lure them into his room- and once they seem to trust him just a little, he strikes and keeps them locked inside. idia is so very aware his darling thinks he’s a weirdo and a creep, but he still wants their affection. idia may force his darling into cosplays of his favourite characters, using empty blackmail threats or threatening to somehow hurt or sabotage the people they care about using his borderline horrifying technological creations. he even uses ortho as leverage, telling them that if they keep acting that way and crying they’re going to worry the small child who sees them as another sibling figure

malleus draconia has never felt this way before and all he knows is he feels a need to keep and protect. his dragon’s instincts are to hoard his treasure, and his darling is the most precious thing to him. malleus keeps his darling captive as part of that hoarding instinct, although he does crave genuine love and becomes frustrated and angry when he doesn’t receive it. if he’s angered enough, malleus might have outbursts where his darling is seriously hurt- although he’ll be very guilty later. he’s very, very jealous of anyone who gets close to his darling, and he really might turn them into a pile of ashes if they irk him wrong. he has his guards and lilia making sure his darling doesn’t run away, although more often than not that’s not even possible with the sleeping curses he puts on his darling while he’s away

lilia vanrouge has been alive for long enough to know he can get away with pretty much anything, and so he really won’t hold back. he’s a sadistic lover, but more than teasing or being mean it’s sometimes him downright enjoying his darling’s pain and misery. he has enough experience to know exactly what to do to make his darling do what he wants without them even realizing they’re playing right into his tricks, and if not, he’s never afraid to come back home a little bit bloody and make his darling guess who he got rid of because they refused to behave. lilia can keep his darling about anywhere; he’s experienced enough with teleportation magic to switch back and forth from NRC to wherever he pleases, but it’s more likely he’ll keep them in his dorm room so he can “play family” with malleus, silver, and his unwilling darling. 

silver is just doing what his heart tells him, unaware his love is an obsession. being raised by fae, he isn’t 100% of how human romance and courtship works, and it doesn’t really help his parental figures are either clueless in love or twisted enough to encourage his obsession. silver doesn’t want to punish his darling or bring them harm, but he’s ruthless on those he thinks are threats or are trying to tear him and his darling apart. malleus and lilia let him keep his darling locked in diasomnia, even offering to help keep them locked in when silver falls victim to his sleep. of course, the one thing silver wants is affection and warmth- the kindness and sweetness with which he treats his darling are so contrasting to how ruthlessly he kidnapped them that it’s almost painful to see his sad face when they refuse to embrace him

sebek zigvolt is mad. he’s mad that someone is causing him to be confused and distracted, that he can’t properly protect malleus because his heart is going wild at the thought of some silly human. he takes this anger out on his darling; they think he hates them, at first. but the stares, the blush, the fact he’s stealing their personal belongings, smelling their sweaters he stole before he goes to sleep tell another story. and yet he’s mad; when he kidnaped them, he locks them up, telling them he’s punishing them for distracting him. over time, he’ll give in, once his thirst for affection and for holding his darling override his initial anger. but that won’t change much- he’ll still be controlling, very violent when angered, despite him drinking up their praise and basically begging for their affection

[the-last-kenobi]

angst bingo prompt idea for "came back wrong": rex tries to rescue one of his brothers post order 66 but something goes wrong after the surgery to remove the chip

I love this. Let’s see what I’ve got in me today, shall we?

Tw for mental manipulation, non-consensual drugging, trauma, abuse, conscription/enslavement, murder, and VERY MORALLY AMBIGUOUS BEHAVIOR that I will not spoil here. Just be careful. It’s fairly sad.

What struck Rex most was how familiar his face was.

Of course, he was one of the brothers - the Clones - and all their faces were familiar.

But somehow he had expected him to look different, changed somehow, damaged, from his life under the iron grip of the control chip.

Instead he looked the same as he always had.

The twisted scar down the left side of his face, the jaw that was slightly blunter than Rex’s own, the extra stress line between his eyebrows that had somehow been there since birth.

Sleeping as he was right now, he looked more relaxed than he had ever seemed while conscious.

Rex rubbed his face in exhaustion as he finally stopped stumping about the recovery room and took the chair beside the bed, groaning a little as his knees protested at the movement.

“We’re getting old, Cody,” he said aloud, staring at the sleeping face. “We were always gonna get old before normal humans, but this... all this... I feel old before my time, that’s for damn sure.”

Cody, of course, did not reply.

Still, Rex felt better. He settled as comfortably as possible in the chair and closed his eyes, content to wait until his vod finally woke up — a free man for the first time in ten years.

][][][][][

Rex woke suddenly, inhaling sharply and jolting in his seat, feeling weirdly as if his consciousness had just been dropped unceremoniously back into his body. He’d really been sleeping.

Then he saw Cody, and his breath caught in his throat.

Cody was looking right at him, sitting up in bed — just sitting there, staring, no cold glare in his eyes, no clipped Imperial arrest declaration coming from his lips. His hair had gone more salt than pepper these days, but he was Cody, through and through.

“Hey—Cody!” Rex said, gasping. He leaned forward in his seat and grabbed Cody’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

Cody just blinked at him.

“It’s gonna be okay, vod,” Rex assured him, feeling a stupid grin spreading over his face. “I know it’s overwhelming right now. It happens to all the guys. But I promise this is real.”

The familiar scarred face tilted slightly to the side as Cody studied him intently with those mirror-image dark eyes. His hand remained limp in Rex’s.

“Some... memories will start coming back soon,” Rex continued. “But I’ll help you. It’s not your fault. Anything you can remember, I swear, it’s not your—”

“My fault,” Cody said hoarsely.

His grip suddenly turned to steel; he squeezed Rex’s hand so tightly that it hurt.

“No,” Rex said hastily. “No it’s not. Cody, it was a—”

“It’s my fault,” the former Marshal Commander of the 212th said firmly, his eyes roving around the room, taking it all in. “I need to get out of here. I need to fix this.”

Cody was not panicking as all the other dechipped brothers had, but he was still gripping Rex so hard that it was bringing tears to the other man’s eyes. “Cody...”

“I need to fix this. I failed,” Cody repeated. “Let me out.”

“I can’t do that, Cody, you’re not well...”

“Let me out. Now.”

“Cody—”

“Let me out. That’s an order.”

“No, Cody—”

“Let me out. I have to go.”

Feeling like he had no choice, Rex used his free hand to reach across and trigger a switch next to the bed. They always had to do this for newbies, although normally they were crying and screaming instead of just issuing orders.

In less than ten seconds Cody was unconscious again.

Rex peeled his hand away, wincing.

The door opened cautiously and a figure stepped inside, a cloak raised high to help conceal the magnificent montrals she was now sporting.

“I wonder how much he remembered,” Ahsoka said thoughtfully. “I feel like he would have been more distressed if he fully recalled... well, Utupau.”

“And everything after,” Rex sighed, rubbing his sore hand.”

Ahsoka nodded, still studying the man on the bed.

Rex looked at him too.

“He’ll pull through,” the former Captain of the 501st muttered. “Fine.”

][][][][][

The next day Cody woke for only minutes at a time, sleeping off sedatives and enduring scans.

Rex was away most of the day, but his friend was on his mind all the time, distracting him.

Cody’s solemn confusion hadn’t been as jarring as the screaming and anguished guilt he was used to seeing in his freed brothers, but there was still something so...

Unbearably sad about it.

Rex decided to spend the night on a cot in Cody’s room.

So he wouldn’t be alone.

He fell to sleep quickly, as he had been trained to do a thousand years ago in a world where everything had seemed simpler — even war.

Sometime in the night he woke to see Cody blinking blearily at him, saying: “...I... I failed... Do you know that Rex? I did.”

Before Rex could reply, Cody was asleep again.

][][][][][

The next morning before dawn, Rex was woken by the sound of Cody attempting to climb out of bed. He was unbalanced and clearly in some form of pain, his forehead deeply lined, but he persisted.

“Woah!” Rex stepped up and tried to take his old friend by the wrist. Cody batted his hand away without even looking at him. “Cody, hey, you can’t go yet. You’re not fully healed.”

“I have a duty,” Cody said. “I have to fix my failure.”

Rex bit the inside of his mouth, a sudden fear crossing his mind. “Cody... this can’t be... fixed. He’s... they’re all...” he swallowed hard, his throat so tight that it hurt. “He’s dead. You can’t—”

Cody’s head jerked up sharply.

Rex blinked in the fixed stare those dark eyes were giving him, a penetrating and cold look.

“Dead?” Cody questioned. “...Did someone kill General Kenobi?”

Rex’s heart plummeted.

He doesn’t remember...

“I... yeah, vod. Someone did. But...”

If Rex had thought his heart had stopped before, it was nothing, nothing to what it did when Cody shook his head and said, so very calmly, “I shot him off the cliffside, but I’m sure he survived. It was a controlled fall. The Jedi survived. I failed in my duty. I have to fix it.”

“No,” Rex croaked out. “No... that’s not...”

The door opened again, and Ahsoka stood framed there. She must have overheard, because she was looking at Cody with pity.

Cody locked his gaze on her, drawing himself up to his full height. “Jedi,” he addressed her. “Duty. Have to fulfill.”

“He’s dechipped!” Rex shouted desperately. “I don’t understand!”

“I have to go,” Cody said placidly. “Excuse me. Don’t worry vod. I’ll come home when I’m done.”

“You can’t!” Rex shouldered his way between his brother and his only remaining Jedi, terrified of the serenity of both of them; Ahsoka’s quiet sympathy, Cody’s placid desire to murder a man that was already dead, a man he had loved— “You have to snap out of it, Cody!” Rex bellowed, and shook the man by the shoulders. “Please!”

“But I’m fine, Rex,” Cody said, sounding surprised. “I just have one more thing to do. You saved me from the Empire. But Kenobi must die. It’s my job.”

“It’s not!” Rex screamed. “He’s dead, Cody! Dead! You already killed him, he’s dead, he’s been dead for over a decade! You already killed him!”

He was crying now.

For Cody.

For Obi-Wan.

For himself.

For Ahsoka.

For everyone.

Everyone.

“Excuse me,” Cody said politely, addressing Ahsoka over Rex’s shoulder. “I need to go kill Kenobi. Do you know where he is?”

“You have to fix him,” Rex begged her, struggling to keep Cody in the room. “Please. The Force. Something!”

Ahsoka glanced at him. Then she stepped forward and carefully pressed two fingertips to Cody’s forehead. She closed her eyes.

Cody closed his too, and for a moment there was silence.

Then he slumped in Rex’s arms.

“What - what happened?” Rex demanded, clutching his unconscious friend and looking around at Ahsoka in panic. “Wha—did you fix him?”

She shook her head. “No, Rex. There’s nothing to be done.”

“That’s not true,” argued Rex. “That can’t — don’t be — Ahsoka, we just have to help him!”

“Cody wasn’t ever fully under the chip’s sway,” she whispered. There was an apology in her blue eyes that he did not want, did not want to see. “Like you were - but he - he wasn’t able to resist it like you did. But he was... conscious... beneath the surface.”

No.

“Always beneath the surface.”

An Imperial trooper. Treated like garbage, like something disposable, barely worth keeping. Barely even worth using.

“He knew what was going on. He didn’t know why, but he learned over time. Overheard things.”

Forced to follow orders. Wage war on innocents. Execute innocents.

Cody felt so heavy. Like Rex was holding the weight of all his friend’s trauma instead of just his physical form.

Forced to issue despicable orders. Forced to be a cog in a machine that served the people and ideals he had so hated.

“He was constantly at war with himself. When we removed the chip from Cody’s head...” Ahsoka’s eyes were grieved. One slim hand came to rest against Rex’s shoulder. “His mind wasn’t prepared to cease battle so quickly. It... it broke him, Rex. The two sides of his mind clashed so violently out of nowhere with nothing to control which one was winning, and...”

“No,” Rex repeated. “No.”

“I’m so, so sorry Rex,” whispered Ahsoka. “We tried to bring him back, but he just... came back wrong. There’s nothing that can be done to fix him.”

Rex’s shoulders shook; he stumbled and slipped to the floor, Cody unconscious in his arms and Ahsoka kneeling beside him, her face painted with pain and concern.

Cody. Cody, and his scar, and his stress lines, and his familiar face.

“What... what do I... what...” Rex heaved for air, finding it suddenly so hard to breathe. His chest felt heavy, his throat so tight he almost thought he was being throttled by invisible hands. “What am I supposed... to do? J-just... put him out of his misery?”

Ahsoka took a deep breath.

Held it.

“...I don’t know. He’ll never be right again. He’ll never be...”

“Free,” Rex finished. “He’ll never be free.”

][][][][][

They had tried to heal him. They had tried to recondition him. They had tried erasing his memories of Order 66. They had even tried erasing his memories altogether.

But the broken mind of Commander Cody did not respond to time or treatment.

Most of the time he was calm. Sweet, reasonable, capable of cracking sly jokes.

But the slightest thing that triggered memories of Utupau would set him off.

Asking oh so politely for permission to go seek and kill a man long-dead, a man that he would once have never considered raising so much as a finger against.

He never harmed anyone in his attempts to leave.

But he harmed himself, skipping meals and sleep, banging slowly and repeatedly on closed doors, and demanding over and over and over to be let go.

And it took too much manpower to keep a constant watch on him. Manpower they didn’t have.

...So Rex, eleven years to the day after Order 66, settled his brother in a bed in the medical wing and set everything in order.

Waited for Cody to drift into a natural sleep.

And then, tears sliding silently down his weathered face, Rex pressed the button that would flood Cody’s veins with a drug that would ensure he would never wake again.

Cody slept.

][][][][][

[nakedmossy]

Depth Over Distance - Part Eleven  [Rudy x Reader]

[A/N: Welcome back. Short chapter to get me back into it. Sorry I was away so long, I needed to find myself again. Took longer than expected but that’s life. Its not always sunshine and roses, sometimes its cloudy skies and roots that trip you up. As long as you have the courage to carry on and the hope that tomorrow will be better, then you’re already doing more than you did yesterday. Be calm, be kind, be safe...Mossy x]  

You woke up slowly, without opening your eyes, and listened to the rhythmic sound of Rudy’s breathing beside you. You were laying somewhere soft - the couch maybe - and the air was warm and smelled of burning cedar and cologne. You felt your chest tighten and the urgent need to inhale, to circulate oxygen to your limbs, to stretch. You started with your toes, feet, then your legs, and inhaled deeply into a yawn as you moved your arms out from under a blanket.

“Hey” You heard Rudy’s voice, low and gravelly, itching with concern. You felt his hand float around your hair, softly brushing the top of your head. The corner of your mouth twitched as you started to open your eyes, the soft glow of the fire casting shadows around the room, Rudy’s wild hair and broad shoulders silhouetted in front of you.

“Hey, Y/N, slow down” A firm hand pressed into your shoulder as you tried to sit forward. Gently coaxing you back, he brought a glass of water to your lips and helped you sip until you had cleared the dry lump in your throat. Licking your lips, you felt the words form in your mouth.

“I’m still mad at you”

Rudy laughed, deep and sharp, his head dropping between his shoulder blades, before his gaze found yours. You saw candles reflected in his eyes which were wet with tears, his brow furrowed and his mouth tight. The afternoon sun shone through the window and you could hear the light patter of rain on the roof.

“You gotta stop scaring me like that” He said quietly, his hand still brushing your hair lightly away from your face.

“You gotta start telling the truth” You rebutted without missing a beat. “The whole truth” you added when his face eluded to a forthcoming retort.

He pursed his lips and nodded in resignation once before leaning forward and standing up, walking past you into the kitchen.

You moved your head around slowly, stretching your neck and wincing whenever your forehead pulled at the cut. The fire was crackling gently and the embers danced around and up into the chimney, sparking and caressing the darkness. You relaxed into the couch again, thinking back to the conversation you had had with Rudy before you collapsed. The fog set in again, the dark nagging in the pit of your stomach. You heard his words repeating in your head like a broken record; its not mine, its not mine, its not mine. Your stomach turned; you were going to be sick.

You stood as quickly as you could, tossing the blanket to the side, and scrambled towards the bathroom clutching your stomach. You barely made it to the doorway before you began to retch into the sink. Rudy called your name once from the kitchen before you heard him outside the bathroom. You kicked the door shut and held it closed with your leg, gripping either side of the sink with sweaty palms.

“Go away” you called between gasps, spitting saliva into the sink. You grabbed the jug of water from below the sink once you were sure the wave had passed and rinsed the basin out. It took a few moments before you could look at yourself in the mirror and wipe your mouth clean, you were so tired.

A gentle knock at the door reminded you Rudy was outside. You swallowed once more before taking a deep breath and turning the handle, pulling the door slowly open. Rudy took a step back and let you walk out, waiting patiently for you to gather yourself.

“I’m fine. Sorry” You said quietly, unmoving. He swallowed once and looked at the bathroom, then back to you.

“I think we need to go back to the hospital.” He was more telling than asking.

“I’m fine. Its just....its been a lot.” You motioned around you at the last 72 hours in general. “I just need...some time to recover.”

“Y/N...” He started, but you put your hands up in protest.

“Rudy. Listen to me for once, I’m not dying. I’ve had a concussion before. I know what to expect.”

He pursed his lips and set his jaw, looking over your head and taking a breath before looking back at you.

“You feeling up for a walk then? I think we could both use the air.”

You nodded slowly and let your breath out before motioning towards the bedroom where your clothes still laid in a pile on the floor. Slipping your wool socks on and pulling a sweater gingerly over your head, you felt yourself let out a small laugh at how bizarre this whole week had been since Rudy showed up. You didn’t know if your life would ever be the same. In some ways you hoped it wouldn’t be, but you needed some sense of normality back.

When you stepped out onto the porch to slip your boots on you noticed that there was a fresh stack of firewood piled in the box under the window, and the axe was stuck into the flesh of the chopping block. You inhaled deeply, revelling at the smell of the wet earth and the steam rising from the mossy ground below you and the fresh cut cedar. Behind you Rudy clicked the door closed and zipped up his vest, his muscular arms covered by a tight base layer.

“Creek?” He asked quietly, you nodded and followed him down the stairs towards the trail that lined the creek bed and wound towards a break in the forest.

You both remained silent for a few moments before the moisture in the air lifted something from your chest and tickled your throat. You coughed once, your eyes pinching shut from the throbbing pain in your head at the onset of pressure. Rudys hand found yours and squeezed it tightly.

“So” You said after clearing your throat. “Are you gonna tell me the whole story now or do I have to wait another 3 days and get in another accident?”

You smiled as you said it, coyly, but Rudy struggled to do anything but cringe.

“What story, exactly?”

“At the party, your welcome home party, when we were standing in the parking lot by the fence. I asked you to tell me about Anna, and you said very distinctly ‘she’s just my manager, that’s it’. And I told you we would talk about it another time, and that you were a terrible liar.”

Rudy scoffed in recognition and smiled quietly, looking at the tree cover. “I remember”

“Well, now is that time.”

His strong shoulders stiffened a little and he walked with more vigour than he had before. You struggled to keep pace with him, catching your toe on roots and debris every few steps and swinging your arms to quicken yourself.

“I wasn’t happy. I’ll premise all of this by saying that.” He started, his voice tight. “I was working, I had a steady income, I was doing exactly what I set out to do....but” he shook his head lightly, his hair swaying in your peripherals. “...it didn’t matter because no matter how much I worked or how hard I partied or how much money I made, I had a void I couldn’t fill.”

You looked over at him and noticed that his pace was quickening again, now you were half jogging to stay beside him.

“I was lonely and nobody noticed, or cared.” He paused, his face flushed. “Anna did.”

You stayed quiet, observing his face, trying to keep your breathing from becoming panting, but you were starting to get dizzy.

“She was a temporary distraction. A way to pass the time. It sounds awful, but...shit, sorry” He put his arm out to slow you and calmed down from the aggressive speed he was ambling down the path. “Sorry.”

You shook your head and caught your breath, holding on to his arm as a wave of dizziness passed. When you nodded and started walking again he matched your pace, slightly behind you.

“Anyways, yeah. I knew it wasn’t serious, I was in it for the wrong reasons. We kept everything quiet, just went on a few dates and made them look like meetings....it was fun for 5 minutes. When I started to notice she was taking it seriously I backed off. Or tried to. It was messy and she started to threaten me, said she would tell everyone that I took advantage of her and that it was non-consensual, which of course was total bullshit but she was smart and she knew how to talk to people and she wouldn’t have had any problem ruining my career, my life. So I left.”

You took stock of what he had said and waited a few moments before speaking. The creek was loud beside you now, the water smooth over twigs and rocks, bubbling in the back-eddy’s, crashing over the shoreline. You heard a bird overhead and listened to the sound of thunder off in the distance. The sky was grey but the storm would pass around you, you knew these skies well.

“Rudy I am so, so sorry.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, turning to fully face him. “This is....”

“...a mess” He finished for you, nodding and looking around, his arms crossed and his muscles causing the fabric to stretch. You wanted to hug him, hit her, and burn the whole damn city of LA to the ground for the shit storm he found himself in.

“What did she say to your dad?”

“She lied, naturally. Tried to tell them that the kid was mine and that she would take me to court if I didn’t pay child support.” His face was reddening and his jawline flexed. You felt dizzy again, but focussed on deep breathing. “She’s trying to refuse a paternity test.”

Your gut twisted and you reached out to touch Rudy's arm, but he flinched and turned away. Confused, you withdrew your arm and waited.

"Sorry." He muttered, pinching his eyes shut and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Im sorry. Come here"

He pulled you into a hug and rested his chin on top of your head.

"I just don't feel good about any of this. I dragged you into my shit and look what happened."

"Don't do that" you started, trying to pull away. The scent of Rudy mixed with the smell of the trees and wet earth was heady and intoxicating. He squeezed you tighter.

"Its the truth. I thought I could run away from this and I can't. It followed me here, to you. And i'm sorry for that."

"Im not." You said finally, pushing back far enough so you could see his face. “I’m not at all. I’m happy you came home.” The word ‘home’ sat heavily between you, littering the air with connotation. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

He frowned, unwillingly to accept your offer of companionship, still stuck in the deeply rooted feeling he had hurt you.

“Look at me” You said sternly, your voice sharp. He looked briefly, then looked away, so you lifted your hand to his face and forced his gaze back to you. “You’re not going through this alone. I notice, I care, and...I mean assuming you’re not going to get in your truck and leave me here to become bear bait....Im not letting you go through this by yourself. I will...I don’t know...politely ask her to pound sand and eat a dick if you need me to....or-”

“HA” He barked a laugh suddenly before grabbing your hand from his cheek and bringing it to his chest. “You’re ridiculous. But thank you.” He said genuinely. “Seriously.”

You stood in a contented silence for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Lets head back. I want to have a fire tonight.” He smiled, grabbing your hand.

“I saw.” You cooed before squeezing his hand back, falling in beside him.

The air was cooling and the sun was low, setting below the tree line. The air felt cleaner, clearer, easier to breathe. You walked in silence, both of you equally enjoying the peace that you found in the old growth forest. The soft packed earth below your feet like a wet sponge, the trees strongly shading you from the moisture packed clouds above. Something settled in you, set in your chest, calmed you. You felt happy.

_____________________________________

Tag List: @sunshinemadds​ @bluebirdsbluebells​​, @lovelymaybankk​, @poguestyleskye​, @alexa-playafricabytoto​, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​, @k-k0129​, @kimyeon-tae​, @ellystone​, @faded-blue​, @thebeautifulbookworm, @heypearce, @jjsthumbring, @poguesrforlife, @timotaychalabae​, @infinityspacesuniverse, @judayyyw, @nelebynele​, @p0gues4l​, @annedub, @justagirlpostingwhatsheloves​, @rudyypankow​, @thegeekyblondegirlwholovesstars​, @cocoopalace, @toribentleyva, @lennoxcobain, @runway-to-my-aid. @otrbnks, @jjtheangel, @thehomeiknow @lenaandcalliope, @rudths, @hopelesswritingxd, @timotaychalabae, @outerbanksbro, @otrbnks, @eclecticpuppyhollywoodhumanoid, @obx-saltlife, @perfektionsmakel @fanofmany @jeyramarie @sarapixieelliott08@lemur46

[thatfilthyanimal]

Fuck it.

It's taken me 20 years to get up the courage to talk about this publicly. It's still leaving out some details and is only ONE person's bullshit in a tangle of MANY, but this one has been the hardest to talk about that has affected me the longest.

TW's under the read-more:

(Trigger warnings for gaslighting, manipulation, abuse, power dynamics, death threats, violence, underage sex of varying levels of non-consensual, victim blaming, cheating, etc etc etc it's all bad ok?)

...Mostly because I ended up getting shamed for it early, and blamed for doing the things I did and blamed for feeling hurt, and I ended up believing I deserved and asked for it. It's taken a very, VERY long time to come to terms with that, realize I'm safe now, and agree that I wasn't to blame-- I was a fucking kid. This shit happened between 12-16. I was a kid riding off the coat-tails of my parent's divorce and dealing with the weird grooming of my older boyfriend at the time and just. It's taken a really long time to stop making excuses and forgiving shit from people who never really apologized for hurting me.

Even if they HAD apologized it wouldn't have meant shit. I've since spent the last 20-fucking-years feeling ashamed and holding back, and I'm pretty sure I'm processing some ugly PTSD lately and notttt doing good about it. Every time I tried to talk about this or think about it until more recently, I'd blank, I'd disassociate, I'd have a panic attack, I'd shut down-- I can't keep doing this.

And part of why I'm talking about it now is because one of the ONLY things that has ever helped, in all of these years, is knowing that others have gone through similar experiences. I think a post crossed my dash once? Years ago? Kids being convinced by peers they're something inhuman, and their friends using the power play aspect of that dynamic to hurt them. It's... oddly common, apparently? But I didn't know back then. I wish I'd known. I wish I'd been able to talk to ANYONE about it who could have looked at my situation and been like "dude, none of this is real and she's abusing you".

I'm 34. I'm exhausted. I want this bled out of me and I'm really really really fucking tired of it blindsiding me when I'm perfectly safe and happy. It's been ruining my life. I want it gone.

Anyway.

Here's what I wrote a couple weeks ago. This is the most coherently I've been able to get this out.

(Full transparency tho, I don't expect responses. It's heavy shit. I just. Need to let this out and try to finally move on, because it's costing me thousands in therapy and meds, costing me relationships, costing me time, costing me tears, just-- fuck, I want it OUT of me and I don't know what else to do.)

-

Me, for the last 20 years: Hahaha yeah it was dumb teenage shit, it wasn't that bad

Me, now: Oh yeah she literally threatened to kill me in my sleep for years if I upset her, and upsetting her included being mad when she'd cheat on me, sometimes right in front of me.

She convinced me I was something inhuman for YEARS. Played this huge game where she was an Alpha and could kill me at any time. I wanted to believe the person I loved, my best friend, and so I did. I wanted to believe there was more in the world than being my boring ol' self.

This meant, if she was having a bad day, it was suddenly something I unknowingly did "while asleep", and she'd yell at me, punish me by hitting me, giving me the cold shoulder for no reason, etc.

One time I talked back so she kicked my leg so hard I limped on it for weeks.

She sat there like 8 feet from me and aggressively made out with a cuter girl I didn't know she was with while everyone hollered and cheered them on, meanwhile she made excuses she couldn't even hold my hand while in school. By that point we'd been together for maybe 4 years.

Another girl excitedly told me in one of my classes once that she got a new girlfriend, and I was like, oh! neat! who?

And then she said my girlfriend's name.

I had to tell this girl she was already being lied to because -I- was with her. She'd never been told.

She tricked me into thinking another random stranger was inhuman "like us" and she egged me on, and I gave this random dude blowjobs for over a year thinking he was secretly my "mate" in another realm. We "weren't allowed to discuss it", she said. Meanwhile this guy used me.

Neither her nor this stranger ever attempted to return the sexual attention. Not for my pleasure, at least. I felt untouchable, and I felt like I was only good for others if I was doing something for them.

This has led to me having a lot of sex I wasn't interested in, over the last 20 years. I'm grey asexual, probably. Didn't know until I met my asexual partner.

Sex is finally enjoyable because I don't feel like it's all I'm good for. But I still fall back to it when insecure.

She told her lies to my boyfriend at the time, but only after I called her crying because me and my "mate" met up after school in the woods to fuck, which ended up not happening because I panicked. Thankfully, he wasn't a rapist. But he also wasn't there to be a loving partner.

Had he been a caring partner, and patient with my nerves, I would have absolutely let him do it.

Welcome to the scenario where we consented (but I really didn't, because I thought he was someone else) and no one believed I was molested when I'd tell them.

"But you wanted it."

(I didn't want to press charges on him-- he didn't actually do anything wrong. He didn't know what was going on, and maybe he should have communicated better with me, sure, but I forgave him.

For this, people assumed I was telling them for attention and pity points.)

My boyfriend, blindsided by everything and understandably upset, woke me crying because, hey, what the fuck, I had been cheating on him. I asked who he heard that from, and he mentioned her. Of course, she failed to mention her manipulation bullshit or the inhuman stuff.

Because, why should she be responsible for her manipulation and lying to me for years? Why should she be responsible for the guy she encouraged me to sleep with?

My boyfriend forgave it and we moved on. I slowly distanced from her and realized how much she'd been lying.

I'm fully aware it wasn't okay and she was being manipulative and cruel. I'm fully aware I'm safe now and that normal people don't approach relationships like that. It doesn't stop the knee-jerk reaction to panic when AFAB people show me affection.

[queerlymasculine]

note to subs with ptsd and other struggles related to childhood trauma:

I've had a bit of an Emotional Journey over the week or so, and I want to impart a few lessons. I can only speak for myself and my own experiences, so ymmv, but hopefully this will be helpful in some way.

(obviously, this will have non-specific, general references to childhood trauma. no details are given. this discusses expecting other people to act like one's abuser(s) did/does. but there are no details.)

disclaimer: everything I say here assumes a relationship with a dom who is acting in good faith. also, my dom and I don't play with rules or punishments, so when I say something like I felt like I had done something wrong, I mean it in a regular, everyday, interpersonal relationship way. this post is only talking about kink dynamics that are ongoing relationships. finally, kink is not a substitute for therapy with a licensed and competent professional nor for medical treatment if appropriate. go to therapy.

disclaimer over.

self-awareness is one of the most important skills you need to build in order to practice kink safely and responsibly. sometimes the way we react to things does not seem logical from the outside, so we need to understand why we react certain ways and be able to clearly communicate that. this does not just apply to reactions that may occur during a scene. in fact, I think it's even more important for reactions outside of a scene.

for example, recently, I realized I have not been as supportive to my dom as I would like. it's been a tough month for me for a variety of reasons -- not enough work, pandemic, ongoing health issues, etc -- and although it's understandable to be at limited capacity, I want to be a more positive, supportive person in general, at least towards the people I like. so I had this realization, and it's always uncomfortable to realize you haven't been acting in a manner consistent with your values, but because you're an adult, you tolerate that discomfort, recognize the behaviors you want to change, apologize, and move on.

except...... I wasn't feeling just that healthy discomfort. it was also something else. and what made it worse was that my dom didn't think I had done anything wrong, and at first, I thought I was fine. I assumed it was just the healthy discomfort, so I waited for it to fade on its own over time.

slowly, the situation changed from "I would like to be more supportive" to "I have been so selfish and I've been constantly asking for support and I'm a terrible person and ze must be angry with me for not being as supportive as I think I should be."

and then it became "ze is angry with me but won't tell me and I don't know how to make this better."

so that was when I realized I might be a little off base because that is not what ze is like lol and we had played recently and ze had been as just as amazing as always, everything has been wonderful, nothing had felt different. so something was off.

I decided to broach the topic again, and as I was communicating all of this, I realized:

lmao oh shit I feel like I'm walking on eggshells and waiting for the other shoe to drop and expecting to be punished (like, in a bad way, not a fun consensual way because punishment play could never be fun for me and I will never consent to it) by this person who I love and am close to and wishing for some kind of punishment just so I won't be waiting constantly for it. that's ✨trauma✨. that's not how things have ever worked in this relationship I am having at 29. that's how things worked when I lived with and talked to my family.

it made me doubly grateful that I had been so careful and discerning when deciding to be with my dom. when I have that walking on eggshells feeling, I can't guarantee I wouldn't do something I was uncomfortable with, just to make things right. but that's not something I have to worry about because ze doesn't give orders and would never ask me to do anything I wasn't comfortable with.

power exchange is risky, no matter what role you choose to play. when you have experienced childhood trauma, the risk increases exponentially. power exchange changes a relationship. even when we're not playing and we're just people, I am incredibly sensitive to my dom's behavior towards me. I wouldn't be this sensitive if we didn't practice kink because I wouldn't be as vulnerable.

and if my dom was truly angry with me, if I felt like I was no longer in hir good graces, if I felt like ze no longer wanted me? that would fucking hurt in a way I don't think many people would understand. because it wouldn't just be an argument or something. I consistently bear my soul to this person. I have never trusted another human being like this. I have given myself to hir.

I always say kink is play and that people need to stop taking it so seriously. and this remains true. it doesn't have to be a whole thing with all the bells and whistles. protocols are unnecessary unless you want to play with them. doms have no inherent right to my respect whatsoever.

but just because it's play doesn't mean it doesn't matter. yes, it's play, it's make believe, my partner doesn't actually own me because you can't own people, and it's just stuff we do for fun when we feel like it.

but the emotional stakes are real. the potential for harm is very real. if you have lived through childhood trauma and you want to do kink on the sub side of things, you need to know yourself well enough to be able to communicate your needs to your partner. you need to be able to communicate when shit like this happens.

awareness and communication is how you avoid sabotaging your relationships because you're trying to keep yourself safe. you keep yourself safe by knowing when it's trauma talking and not your realistic view of the situation at hand. you keep yourself safe by telling your partner what you're feeling and giving them the necessary context. you don't have to give details, but you do need to give context because that helps them understand and it gives them the tools they need to take better care of you and keep you safe.

it's not easy, but it's necessary if you want to be able to engage in kink in an ethical way. your dom can't take care of you if you don't tell them what they need to know. your dom can't give you what you need if you don't tell them. unexpected things happen, of course, and people make mistakes along the way and that's normal and fine, and your needs can change over time, and you learn more about yourself as time goes on because that's part of being a person.

but as a rule, you have to know yourself and you have to know what you need, and you have to give this information to your partner. you have to be willing to address issues as soon as they come up. issues might seem small at first, but it's better to have a conversation now rather than later. if you wait or don't fully air everything out, resentment can build.

again, this isn't always easy, and it's okay if it feels hard. but you still have to do it.

it might feel like a lot of work at first, but doing that work now when everything is fresh is better than watching your dynamic fall apart. it's work worth doing if you're in a dynamic you want to stay in. and part of being a human is learning to give other people chances to surprise you. I'm not talking about letting toxic people back into your life. I'm talking about giving partners a chance to give you what you need, and they can only do that if you tell them what you need and how to give it to you.

[wh-wh-whu]

New story! Featuring my girl Violet, and set in a dystopic future in which people are getting more and more sick, and big companies in the healthcare market give the poor lifetime debts while offering to the rich all sorts of unnecessary procedures... oh wait.

CW: self-harm, scars, implied school bullying and childhood issues, non consensual drug use, objectification, female whumpee, female whumper, unrealistic science, eye injury, conscious during surgery, non consensual organ removal, and I think something that counts as depersonalization?

———

Violet entered her bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror but didn't look at it yet. Her eyes were down as her hands occupied themselves with the buttons on her shirt. Only when she was done undressing did she look at the mirror. The girl in there looked back at her in fear.

The girl caressed her own face, her fingers stopping close to her eyes. Violet felt her own cold fingers on her face. It was good, feeling something. The lilac of her irises always caught people's eyes. Violet stared at the girl in the mirror.

"You should stop wearing these colored lenses", her classmates in school used to say. "They look ridiculous." "You just want attention." It was almost a lifetime of hearing these things, sometimes from people she cared about, and it hurt. But right now, it hardly mattered for Violet anymore. This old life was all behind her.

The girl in the mirror turned to the side and reached for her short hair to lift it and expose the back of her neck. The black lines looked like a tattoo. The logo of the Drop Labs, and a barcode. The Doctor had explained it, straightforward and cold: she wasn't a person, she was a thing. A product created and patented by the Drop Labs.

Violet remembered her meeting with the Doctor. She doubted the woman was an actual doctor, but that was how everyone called her, the president of the Drop Labs. She remembered the coldness of her words, words that would never leave Violet's mind.

"You were made from chemicals manipulated in the labs. The project took over 20 years to be concluded. You don't have a father or a mother. Your cells come from nothing. You were not even carried by a woman, you spent the start of your existence in a machine that simulates a uterus. You may think otherwise, but in truth, it can't really be said you are alive, and if there are things such as souls, you certainly don't have one."

The face of the girl in the mirror showed the pain of the memories. Violet wouldn't cry, she had promised herself no more tears over this matter. There was nothing she could do to change it.

The girl let go of her hair and turned back to face Violet. Violet lowered her eyes to the scar on the girl's chest, an ugly, large thing. The girl touched its edge.

"We want to mass-produce things like you." The Doctor's voice was back in Violet's mind. "Think of the possibilities. Your body functions are so close to ours. We could use such things to test new medicine, new procedures."

"We could even use you to provide blood and organs."

Violet's watched the girl's fingers tracing the scar as her memories went back to three days previously. She could almost feel the strong hospital smell in the air.

---

The nurses had tied her up to a stretcher. The Doctor arrived, and though her face was serious, her lips still curled up slightly. "We are just making a test."

A nurse held Violet's arm. Their other hand held a syringe with some colorless liquid that they injected into Violet's arm with cold precision. She wanted to protest, to scream, to struggle against her restraints, but she couldn't...

"Don't worry. This... 'anesthesia'," was Violet seeing things, or had the Doctor's lips curled up even more as she said that? "Won't leave you unconscious. It will just restrain your movements, so you won't interrupt the procedure."

Violet could still see her, her eyes unable to close. She could still hear her. She could still feel the smell. The ties still felt too tight against her limbs. More people entered the room. They carried surgery instruments - torture instruments - the blades ready to cut.

Violet felt the cold metal on her skin. It took just a moment for it to start to cut. Then came the pain, the strongest pain she had ever felt. She tried to distract herself, to think of something else, anything. But her eyes were unable to close, she was unable to stop facing those masked faces.

Rubbery hands touched her skin and her insides. They had opened her chest, but it wasn't over yet. They kept cutting, the pain kept getting worse. A thought came to Violet's mind that they wanted to take something from her.

The pain was getting unbearable. The world became foggy. The last thing Violet saw - or at least she thought she did, she couldn't be sure anymore - was her own heart being pulled by those hands.

When she woke up, she was still tied up. The pain was nothing but a bitter memory. She couldn't move her arms or her legs, but with some effort, she managed to raise her head to take a look at herself. The only sign that everything hadn't been a very vivid, very painful nightmare was the scar on her chest.

"You were unconscious for less than two days," said the voice that was quickly becoming the sound Violet hated the most. "As soon as the extraction was done, your healing started. In twelve hours, your body was fully recovered. Your regenerative abilities are impressive." The Doctor leaned down, caressing Violet's face in a mockery of tenderness. Even Violet's mother - the woman the Doctor paid to pretend to be her mother for almost all her life - would have been able to give her more comfort.

"The patient thanks your collaboration, by the way. He had been waiting for a donation for years."

---

Violet leaned down against the sink, her face now closer to the girl's. The girl looked back at her as if challenging her. What now? What are you going to do? She had always known there was something wrong with her, something other than the bullshit rare disease they made up to justify the constant visits to the doctor, the blood tests, and all the other things she had to do since she was a child just so the Drop Labs could keep an eye on her. Now she knew what it was.

She opened a drawer, taking from it the sharp scissors she used on her hair. Using the tip, she cut the left side of her face, just enough to draw blood. She watched the drops spill down the girl's face, but the cut soon was gone.

It was true. Everything the Doctor had said was true. There was no hope left.

Violet turned the scissors to her left palm, stabbing it over and over. She watched every wound disappear right in front of her eyes. She was left with a bloody but unharmed hand.

She looked at the scissors, the tips of the silver blades covered in red. Violet felt an impulse and acted on it before she gave up. She stabbed her left eye, going in deeper this time. She cried, but it wasn't just a reflex. The physical pain was small near the weight of everything she heard from the Doctor or the thought of what her future would be like.

Violet sank down to the ground, hugging her knees, and just cried. She couldn't tell how long she just sat like that, but when the tears had dried the pain in her eye was already gone.

She stood up and looked at the girl's blood-stained face.

"Just a little longer. We can handle this just a little longer."

[novelconcepts]

All of your fics are wonderful, but this fwb hit me hard and I’ve been trying to figure out why. I think it’s because of how you handled the casual sex and Jamie’s ‘fuckboi’ persona. It felt real in a way that fics in the genre often don’t. Having sex within 20 minutes of propositioning someone you don’t know? Very real. Often awkward. But real. Having lots of partners and not feeling bad about it? Real. Agreeing to a non-exclusive relationship of sorts? Real. Sure they both caught feelings and experienced jealousy because of the feelings, but I love that you never once made them hold it against the other. And I love that when they finally talk things out, Jamie doesn’t express regret for her sexual history. It was what it was. It worked for her. Now she wants something else. My life pre-Covid was a lot like Jamie’s pre-Dani—I don’t really experience romantic attraction, but sex is great—so it was just nice to see this reflected in a fic without the author unintentionally (or intentionally) moralizing about casual sex. So thank you.

One thing this show is really, really good about with these two characters is steering clear of shame as a driving force. Never does Jamie try to shame Dani--about her prior relationship, about her guilt, about the things Dani thinks is crazy in her own head--and Dani is exactly the same way; Jamie’s history comes up because she tells the story, and never again, never to be used as a weapon against her. Shame and jealousy, which are normally so prevalent in queer narratives especially, are both conspicuously, carefully absent from their story.  In writing a FWB story and still keeping it true to them as characters, then, that had to stay the same. Casual, consensual sex between adults is perfectly fine--and in fact, if either of them had a problem with it, the skeleton of the story wouldn’t have worked at all. Feeling romantic attachment and jealousy on an internal level, too, is very normal and human; I just wanted to be careful not to weaponize those things. At their core, these are women who stand on equal ground, even if they sometimes don’t see eye to eye or haven’t fully communicated yet. I wanted to really preserve that, no matter what--and try to do the same in all stories with them at the heart. And the bit about not expressing regret for history--that’s very Jamie in the show, as well. Her entire monologue is very much “the past happens, and then it’s in the past, and this is who I am now”. I really like that about a character who is, surface-level, rough and complicated. I feel like we don’t see that kind of character making peace with their past choices, or errors, or traumas quite in the same way very often.

[bluebirdwrites]

j stands for joker; batfam

warnings; language, violence, injury, non-consensual touching (nothing extreme), descriptions of death.

author’s note; so,, this is based off of Arkham knight slightly where jason gets branded by the joker. except!!! in this universe, the normal thing where jason died happened, and it’s batsis that this happens to during an unexpected situation.. if that makes sense? hopefully this isn’t too sucky :’) fem!reader too, btw (: here’s my dc masterlist in case you wanna, you know, check it out! requests the opennnn ;)

summary; with time, you hope that Joker will burn. that he will be marked by death the way that he has branded your skin.

Being held up in the bank with your brother on the way to get lunch is not how you expected the day to go. Not to mention, being Wayne kids had massive targets immediately on your backs in the case of bank robbers.

If only they knew Bruce Wayne was Batman.

“Fuck’s sake,” He drags a hand down his face, palming at his cheeks looking rather like a spoilt child with an angry pout on his face at a time like this. “Of all the times that I don’t carry my guns. This shit happens.”

You glare at him over your shoulder, making sure to thump him up the side of the head watching as the white strands mix with black, “Not the time when we’ll probably be the ones offered up as rich people bait Jason.”

It’s not the people that turn you in surprisingly enough, it turns out to be the white streak of hair that flops over your brother’s forehead that gives him away as the a Wayne boy, and in turn you as a Wayne girl.

The thugs parade around you both in a circle making sure to taunt you both, roughly shoving your brother to the floor even as he glares up with such a ferocity you know he’s itching to lose it. So, stupidly- bravely maybe, you step in, completely ignoring the glare that is now focused on you.

“Well aren’t you boys just precious? Look,” you let out a whistle and press the emergency button on your necklace that would alert the whole family. “How about you take your hands off of my brother and shove them up your ass so I don’t have to do it for you.” It is said lightly, even as Jason continues to give you a look of exasperation that says to shut up, it’s too late now.

The men laugh as the leader- seemingly a member of Jokers crew by the white clown makeup he wears- steps toward you and lifts your chin with a gun. “Listen rich-bitch, I don’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours,” the gun stays put as the man grabs your waist and brings you towards him by the hips. “That and I always like a woman with a mouth. I think I’ll take you with me sweetheart. Make everyone else leave, let’s keep the girl here for when the boss arrives.”

You can see three guys grab Jason and struggle to hold him as the guy turns you so your back is to his chest. “Everyone out,” the guy rubs the gun in circles on your temple and cocks it as you give a fuming Jason a hard look telling him to go. “Or her brains paint the wall a nice shade of red.”

Everyone leaves, and you’re sure your family will be here soon as the guy feels you up. You growl low in your throat and drive your elbow backwards as his hand grazes over your ass.

“Touchy, touchy,” the guy ties you up on a chair in the bank ripping your shirt from your torso. The gun is still pointed to your temple and your impatience grows. “The boss is here rich-bitch, and he’s going to have some fun with you.”

The clown is pasty white and scarred as always. Still wearing a purple suit and an orange plaid dress shirt. Still a psycho with green hair and an unflinching smile; this is your first time meeting him in civilian clothes.

“Well, well, well. Whatever do we have here? You wouldn’t happen to be Miss Wayne would you? My, my, my,” the Clown’s cackles bounce off of the walls as he claps his hands in glee. “Now you’re all mine, mine, mine, to do with as I please. Can’t harm that pretty face can I? I’ll have to get creative.”

He turns to the thug in the room, gun still hesitantly trained on you. The clown smiles, mouth gleaming yellow and bared as he purrs approaching his henchman holding out his hand expectant. “Such a good boy, give me the gun,” the goon is wary as he gives Joker the gun. “Time for the fun, pull my finger.”

The sound of the bullet ripping though the man’s skull is wet, spraying blood and brain matter from the impact of the bullet. The henchmen’s eyes are glazed as his body dully falls to the floor and pools with red. The clown cackles and jumps with glee, clicking his heels and shimmying around the fallen body.

Soon after, Joker brings forth a battery and generator that one would use on a car from a storage closet. He unhurriedly connects a wire to each arm and each leg and steps back chittering to himself as you wonder what in the hell is taking your family so long.

“Now pet, I’m not going to kill you! Of course not!,” his voice lowers an octave as the first circuit of electricity goes through you with the press of a button in his palm causing a loud groan to escape you and buzzing noises to fill your ears. “I’m just going to hurt you. Really, really, bad.”

A mere few minutes later, he stops the surges of electricity, seemingly frazzled as he approaches you with a metal rod and an unfaltering grin and twitching, deranged eyes. You begin to struggle, as it looks akin to that of a branding iron with its red hot end at one end of the metal.

“It seems that we’ve run out of play time dear, I’ll leave you something to remember me by until our next play-date since we’ve had so much fun together.” The clown lifts the iron poker for you to see, red hot with the letter ‘J’ held close to the side of your neck.

You’re straining in your chair as you think you can feel the buzz of your necklace on your collarbones, alerting you that they are coming. They’ll be here soon is all you can think as you try and stall.

“Go to hell you” it is said, and it is said with venom lacing your voice. It makes the clown all the more eager as he pushes the brand into the side of your neck. The pain is searing and it makes your toes curl as a scream rips through your throat as you become branded with him. His name on your body forever.

He soon stands back and claps his hands as he reheats the brand placing the mark multiple more times against your bare torso, becoming increasingly gleeful as you scream and cry. “You’re mine now girlie, got me all over you.”

The sound of glass raining from above like a hurricane is reassuring as the pain throbs and your body is searing and sizzling where his brand has been. The clown stands behind you, lifting your head by your hair. He’s leaning over your shoulder as he shows you off like a sick prize to your family in costume.

“Look at how pretty she looks all marked up,” he yanks your head to the side showing one of his brands and slides his hands up and down your torso where the rest of the brands lie. “Now she’s all mine, mine, mine. I had fun with her today, we’ll have to do it again sometime! Tell her daddy I say ‘Hi’!”

Tears are in your eyes as you look at the members of your family currently in front of you. Varying levels of anger are displayed, as they all twitch and glare looking ready to rip the clown behind you to shreds. Joker leans down to rest his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your neck and giggle as the lights go out and he is gone. Just like that becoming a ghost.

There is a beat of silence where your head rolls harshly to the side as you stare blankly with silent tears. There is a beat of silence as they realise that Joker is gone and of the pain that you are in and the state of your body. The beat of silence is the calm before the storm. In that beat of silence you are scared, utterly terrified. Not of the clown but of what he has done to you.

You don’t move and neither do they, too paralysed and too numb and in that moment you just want your family. The tears come faster, they come in fat salty rivets that cover your cheeks and drip off your jaw. The panic and the pain sets in next, overwhelmingly so, and it crushes you.

Your dad is there first, not as Batman but as Bruce Wayne- he must have come through the front entrance judging by the wide open door and police escort- as he reaches you, his daughter. The restraints are gone as you fall forward into him as he allows himself to run his hands through your hair and kiss the crown of your head.

“Dad,” you cling to your father and you are aware as he picks you up and wraps you in his suit jacket being careful of the brands that cover your torso. “Can we go home?”

Your brothers are in costume you realise, as they vanish in quick succession, one after the other. When you get outside, there is press and police and sirens. There are flashing cameras and yelling. The police force a barricade around yourself and your father make press leave.

The next thing you remember you’re in an ambulance and there are four people rushing towards you and your dad. Damian reaches you first, where an out of character hug happens as he leaps on you minding the bandages on your torso. He has his head resting on your shoulder and all you can think is, ‘I’m glad it was me and not anyone else.’

“I’ll kill him,” it’s said as a snarl and you know he means it. There’s no playing around with what he’s saying, with the sincerity of it. “He hurt you. Branded you, and I know you are not okay before you even say it. I was worried and I am glad that you’re okay.”

With glassy green eyes, he gently lets go of you standing slightly to the side and then Dick’s there, half picking you up and still being careful with you. But you can feel the anger bubbling in the trembling of his arms and the ticking of his jaw, the familiarity of the dangerous temper hiding under the surface. You can see the fear too, within the tears ready to drip down his cheeks and the shaky breaths he takes.

“Had us worried there pretty bird,” and he’s letting you sit back down fully and kissing your temple. “Don’t taunt the guys holding you hostage again please. Don’t take after Jason. Cass, Babs and Kate are going after Joker at the moment.”

He now stands to the side with his jaw locked talking to Damian. And Tim’s looking at you with tired, worried eyes as he takes large steps forward to hug you. He’s hugging you as tight as he can; so tight you can feel the racing and stuttering of his heart in his chest. He seems beyond relieved that you’re okay.

He’s pulling back to look you in the eye. “When I saw you before, I-,” he’s now gripping your shoulders forcing your eyes to meet the smouldering steely blue of his own, that show the distress within them. “I thought he was going to kill you y’know? I thought that- well, I’ll tell you later. Just know that I’m glad you’re safe pretty bird.”

As Tim joins your other brothers, it is only Jason with you now. You can see it in his eyes- he’s tearing himself to bits. He looks like he’s been crying, his face is puffy and his cheeks and nose are flushed pink. He strides towards you until he’s standing so close he’s towering over you wringing his hands looking like a kicked puppy.

“Why did you talk back to that thug in there? I had it under control! You were hurt by him, it should’ve been me! Why the fuck? I will kill that son of-“ he’s ranting and running his hands through his hair, mussing it up beyond belief. His eyes are blue green and darkening with his anger, and his lip is beginning to wobble the way it always does before he either explodes or is about to cry.

And you’re the one pulling him to you this time, tired arms around broad shoulders. You’re the one making him cling to you as he hugs you as tight and as tenderly as he can while his eyes water and he’s shaking like a leaf. Only when he’s ready, he’s pulling back and silently asking to look at the brand on your neck.

When he sees it, he looks green and he gags. Not because the wound is that bad, but because of what it stands for. Because of who had branded you, of the promise Joker made, of the fact you both knew Joker would be back for you.

The ‘J’ covers the entire column of the left side of your throat, it looks red and angry and painful. Jason is tentative as he runs a finger over it and you look each other in the eye. It burns. And with time, you both hope that Joker will burn too.

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 10/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (the content warnings matter this time!)

Content Warnings: Everything from the previous chapter applies as far as the Walsh business is concerned. Other than that, a very tame chapter. 

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

A/N: So, this is the last main chapter. There is an epilogue which I will post on Sunday, and then this grand adventure will be wrapped up! Thanks for being with me on this ride and for any comments, reblogs, and likes. I’m thankful beyond words. <3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 10: Snowshine

Walsh still looks exactly the same as the last time she was here. Emma tries her best to keep her stomach calm when all she wants to do is throw up on his face, projecting an outward cool that she doesn’t feel as he enters the room and looks up at her. 

“What the - Emma? What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Taking back what’s rightfully mine,” Emma says, gesturing to the box of pictures sitting on the bed beside her.

“Oh no, sweetheart. I would hardly call all of those yours.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, asshole.”

Through all of this, James has been watching a progress bar load on the computer screen. With a noise of victory, he looks back to her.

“There you go, Emma. All done.”

“You brought David with you? Mr. Wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly?”

“Oh, buddy, believe me. You’re gonna wish I was David by the end of this. Good job hosting a whole website with a bunch of non-consensual photos on it. But shame on you for making it so easy to break into.”

“You have another brother?”

“Didn’t I ever tell you that David was an identical twin?”

At the little jingle that plays from the desk, he tries to push James out of the way. “What did you do to my computer?”

“Gave it a little tune up,” James tells him, crossing his arms with pride as a little unicorn marches into the center of the screen. 

All three of them watch with rapt attention as the unicorn stands and waves, before squatting. 

“Oh my god,” Emma says, bursting out in laughter as the unicorn defecates in the shape of an artfully written “fuck you” in rainbow colors. 

After a couple seconds, the whole thing emits a screeching noise and shuts off with a loud pop. 

“All your buddies that subscribed to your email list got something pretty similar. I mean, I don’t know if they’ll all open it but with the heading ‘Check out the brand new section!’ I’m willing to bet a lot of dudes are about to lose their computers.”

Walsh finally makes it around James, desperately trying to turn on his computer but nothing happens when he hits the button. “All of my business files were on there.”

“You kept all your shit on your personal computer? Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought.” James turns towards Emma on the tail of that thought. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Emma responds, picking up the box of photographs and handing it over to James. They manage to make it out of the bedroom before Walsh must come to his senses, and he’s after them immediately. 

His hand closes around Emma’s arm, and she spins around. On instinct, Emma swings as she breaks the hold. And while James misses taking a snapshot of that hit, he doesn’t miss the one where Emma knees him in the nuts hard enough to bring him to his knees. 

“I have the perfect new image for the welcome screen on his trash web page,” James says as Emma backs away. He holds the phone out for her to see and she just barely stops herself from cracking up. “Here, take this. I’ll be right behind you.” He hands over the box, gently ushering her towards the door. 

She doesn’t go far, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear what James has to say to Walsh. 

“Here’s the deal, you Wizard of Oz-looking monkey piece of shit. All of the accounts for that website are completely wiped out. All that money you made off of people like my sister? That money is so far offshore that you’ll never be able to trace it ever again. Got it?”

“I’ll call the cops,” Walsh says weakly.

“You won’t. You have no evidence. And if you try to do that, or ever try to do this again, I will screw up your whole life. We’re in a digital age now, Walsh Whitney Covington. I have everything of yours now. Personal records, social media, bank accounts, the password to your pretentious little LinkedIn page that lists you as a connoisseur of wood, which… come on, man.”

“That’s all illegal,” he whines back, and Emma is mostly just enjoying the snivelling tone in his voice. 

“Yeah? And? I’m sure Emma signed a consent form for those pictures you had posted of her, right? You had her sign away her financial freedoms for the profits on it, too? Don’t ever fuck with our family ever again or you’ll regret it.”

After a couple more minutes of silence, James exits the apartment and gives her a bright smile. 

“Now, that was a fun afternoon with my brother. See? We should bond like this more often,” Emma says as they make their way out of the building and back down to where he parked his car. 

“Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. Jack would kill me if she found out this is how I spent my day.”

“You’re still with Jack?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I did marry her, after all. She wanted to wait until she made partner to have a baby and so I switched gears and became a stay-at-home dad after she went back from maternity leave. It helps to have a super lawyer as your wife.”

“None of the words that just came out of your mouth are what I was expecting when I called you about all this.”

“Well, it’s not like I send out Christmas cards with updates on the family,” James says, a little resignation in his voice. 

“Did you really take all the profits from the website?”

“And refunded the money you spent on that settee you bought there back before you started dating.”

Just as he says it, Emma’s phone dings with a notification. There’s a message from her bank saying there’s been a deposit into her account. Looking at the numbers, it’s way more than what she paid for the moderately priced item, but James shrugs. 

“Maybe I got the numbers backwards in my head. Added an extra digit. Whatever. So you mentioned earlier that you have a boyfriend? You haven’t changed your status on Facebook.”

“You follow my social media?”

“Just because I don’t let any of you know about what’s going on in my life doesn’t mean I don’t check up on you.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be at a Christmas party for his company down in New York but someone insisted we do this today.”

He rolls his eyes as he opens his door and climbs into the driver’s seat. No sooner is she seat-belting in when another notification chimes on her phone. 

“Did you seriously just buy me a plane ticket to New York City?”

“I’ll hand all of that over to David,” James says, indicating the box she placed in the backseat. “Besides, he and I are severely overdue for a brotherly chat.” Without another word, he starts a route for the airport. 

“When was the last time you had one of those? When you were fifteen?”

“Something like that. Hey, text him and let him know what’s going on. I should be back there in about an hour but I don’t want him to worry.”

She shakes her head, doing as he asked and sending a message to David. 

As they pull up outside the airport, Emma turns to James. “So, what do I still owe you?”

“Nothing. I got the cash he had stashed in his desk, all the money from his subscription side of the website, and free childcare for the evening after Jack gets home from the office today.”

“Did you tell David that yet?”

“No, but I will. And you know he will - he’s David. Go on,” he tells her when they arrive a short time later. “Enjoy the party.”

“Okay then. And hey, thanks for all your help. I couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone else.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, Emma?” 

Her door is open and she’s just about to climb out when he says her name. 

“It was nice seeing you,” he admits. 

She leans in quickly and hugs him, noting how familiar yet utterly foreign it feels. “Come visit us sometime,” she tells him as she pulls away. She stands there until his car pulls away and he’s out of view before she walks through the doors. 

Somehow, James managed to get her the perfect flight so she had enough time to get through security, although she looks suspicious as hell going in with nothing but her purse, if you ask her. It’s still considered early when she lands in the city, but with nothing else with her, she has to get party-ready with nothing but the money in her bank account. Thanks to James, there’s a little bit extra to play with in there.

Emma feels like she should be in some cheesy movie montage as she struggles to find everything she’ll need to get ready. Hair and makeup come first, and she’s thankful the salon isn’t far from a decent looking clothing shop or else her charges in cab fares alone would’ve gotten out of hand. 

The dress she finds is perfect - a sleek, black number that doesn’t fit too tight but that doesn’t hide her shape. It’s similar enough to the dress she was planning on wearing to this, the one she borrowed from Ruby as a first-date possibility but put aside in favor of the soft pink she wore instead. She admires the whole look in the mirror as the shop attendant helps her clip tags after Emma pays. She buys two pairs of shoes - a cute pair of cutout ankle boots and a pair of flats - in anticipation of the point in the party where she’ll want to feel her toes again. 

It’s only once she’s fully satisfied with the total picture that she heads out, making sure everything she wore down here is tucked securely into the weekender bag the attendant helped her pick out. 

This time, she opens the rideshare app for a little more comfort, and then it’s off to the Manhattan Penthouse to finally get to where she wants to be.

-x-

Tucking away the knowledge that Robin just gave him, Killian settles into his seat with only a lone glance at the empty chair beside him. He has Henry on his other side, and the rest of the Mills-Hood family in the remaining seats. They’ve not even begun when he receives a sharp, bony elbow to the side. 

“Hey,” Henry whispers as he leans close. “Isn’t that Emma?”

He turns his head, glancing in the direction Henry is pointing, and his breath catches. Sure enough, Emma is standing there in a black dress that surely should be illegal to look so good in. Her hair and makeup are all done, and she’s scanning the room. It takes another elbow to his ribs for Killian to finally stand up, waving over his girlfriend and attempting to wipe the surprise off his face while he does.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re just in time, actually. I’m so… don’t get me wrong, Swan, but I never expected you’d be able to make it.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek and taking a moment to soak up her closeness.

“Yeah, well, sometimes when you make a deal with the devil to take down satan, you get what you want faster than you expected,” she says, and while he doesn’t fully understand, he knows he’ll get the full story later. 

He pulls out her chair for her, pushing it in as she sits. “I do believe we all know one another,” he says to the table at large. “I’d told them to cancel your meal, so excuse me while I get that turned around.”

“Emma! I’m so glad you’re here!” Henry who’d been sitting on his right, beams from ear to ear as he slides over to talk to her. 

“Hi Henry. Everyone. Glad I could make it.”

Hearing her voice and the animated conversation that sparks up between her and Henry immediately calms his nerves for the evening, and he hastens to find one of the caterers so he can return to the table. 

By the time their dinner is served, he’s noticed no less than four times Henry has pulled out his iPod to jot down something in his notes. He smiles as he watches it happen, watches the gears turn in the lad’s head and the magic take root. He manages to keep it in his pocket for the entirety of the meal, but he’s pretty sure that was due to a questioning look from Regina right as the salads were placed in front of them.

With the rest of the table occupied with their desserts, Killian takes a moment to lean over, keeping his voice low as he whispers in her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she says, a satisfied little smile on her face. There’s been a peace evident on her face since the moment she walked in, and he’s intrigued but enjoying it. She was never too tightly wound to begin with, apart from the times she got stuck in her own head. This, he assumes, is due to the business with her ex being all wrapped up. 

After the dishes have been cleared, Killian rests in his seat for a bit. There’s still a lot more networking he’ll have to do, but for now he takes the time to relax as he and Robin discuss strategy for announcements. He’s in the middle of helping figure out the order when Emma’s hand creeps onto his thigh. His words falter for a moment, and he can see Emma’s smile get just a little wider. 

When her hand travels a little higher, he reaches down, knowing full well that his ears and cheeks are both bright with flush, and takes a moment when Robin is asking Henry a question to fully turn to her.

“Have pity on me,” he whispers, pulling her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it, and she laughs quietly, turning her palm to link her fingers with his. 

“Just this one time,” she concedes, settling in with their hands clasped. 

-x-

Walking into the venue, Emma is momentarily overwhelmed. She forgot that the Storybrooke office isn’t the whole team, and that a lot of the authors would be there, so there’s just a sea of people as far as she can see across the space. But then Killian stands up, her eyes finding his as he waves her over. 

And it’s halfway between where she is and where he’s waiting that it hits her full in the gut: She is in love with Killian. She is so in love with that man that she can hardly stand it. He has never once looked at her differently or placed unrealistic expectations on her - he never set out to hurt her. 

There, with the lights of the chandeliers glittering overhead, and the backdrop of the city getting dusted in snow, Emma realizes that she is looking at the man she wants to spend all of her time with if she can. Her heart squeezes, even as she smiles and accepts the kiss he places on her cheek as they settle in.

It’s the first time she’s ever been to a party like this, and she has to think it’s going pretty well. While Killian is occupied with his duties, Emma offers to watch Roland so Regina can go with Robin as he makes rounds to greet everyone. Emma follows him as he drags her from one end of the penthouse to the other, eager to show her anything and everything he can. 

By the end of the night, her feet hurt and she’s all too happy to get her belongings from the coat check room so she can slip on the flats she bought. She’s leaning against the wall, innocently trying to pry her feet out of the booties when Killian comes up behind her, his hand warm through the material of her dress and his voice hot in her ear. 

“Are you trying to kill me tonight?”

“I’m just trying to change my shoes. It’s not my fault your eyes automatically go to my ass when you approach me.”

He looks affronted when she turns to look at him, a smile hiding behind the expression.

“Besides,” she says, “I just can’t wait for you to get me out of this dress.”

“I’m ordering us a car right now.”

It’s amazing; she knows he prefers the quiet and solitude of their little town, but he performs so well in the city - like he was built to live here - and she loves that he chooses not to. They’re both on their best behavior in the car, but Killian purposely sat on her left so his hand can rest on her knee. Rather than spiking that part in her that’s always game for another round of sex, though, it reignites her thoughts from when she entered the party and she stares at him in the dark as the city lights pass them by.

When he notices, he turns to her with a peaceful look on his face, and they smile at each other. “What?” he asks, his fingers tightening once.

“Nothing,” she replies, taking the moment to rest her head on his shoulder for the rest of the journey. “Tonight was great.”

Back at the hotel, they at least manage to settle a bit before Killian follows through with her request, with both of them sighing as the dress slips from her shoulders and drops lightly to the floor. They take their time, slow and languid, savoring each moment with each other.

“I know I’ve said this plenty of times, but I am so happy you were able to make it,” Killian tells her as their skin is still cooling. She needs to go wash the makeup from her face but she’s not quite sure her legs will function in order to do so.

“Me too.” She stares at him, her eyes roaming his face and sinking into the wonder that has been the last three months of her life, thanks to this man.

“What is it?” he asks, his expression serious as he tries to figure out what she’s thinking.

“I… want to thank you for everything. You went into this without knowing and you still haven’t pushed me to talk about what happened or anything and so I just… wanted to say thanks.”

His smile falters, still there but just a touch disappointed that the words weren’t the ones he was expecting after she set it up to be something else, and she knows how it feels. Her thumb strokes along his cheek, pushing at his smile briefly as she leans in to kiss him. 

Maybe next time, she thinks as she moves to the bathroom to clean up before climbing back into bed. Outside, the city keeps moving on as their world slows for sleep. 

-x- December 21: Saturday

As usual, Killian is the one that wakes up first. He sets about ordering breakfast and jumps in the shower in the interim. Emma is awake and sitting up in bed when he comes back out, and he leans over the bed to kiss her good morning. 

“David texted me that he’s on his way home. He has everything we took from Walsh and he’s going to drop it off at my place.”

“That’s certainly good news. Even better news is I have coffee and breakfast being delivered soon.”

She chuckles at that. “Perfect. I wish I had more clothes with me, but I suppose yesterday’s will be fine.”

“My luggage is yours, love. I always pack extra just in case, so help yourself.”

Which seemed like a good idea, until Emma walks out of the bathroom after her own shower in one of his button up shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her supple form filling out the garment better than he ever could. 

They eat breakfast in bed, the curtains flung open wide to let in the weak, winter sunshine. As they graze their food, Emma books her ticket for their return to Storybrooke, crowing in victory when she scores a seat on Killian’s flight.

“I’ll text David and see if he can pick us up,” Emma tells him when they’re getting ready for their outside adventure, pulling her hat securely over her ears and wrapping her scarf around her neck.

They brave the cold to hit some of the popular winter activities in the city, taking in the Christmas markets and strolling Fifth Avenue. In the early evening, they meet up with Robin, Regina, and the two boys again to enjoy dinner together. With the pressure from the night before long gone, they talk instead of the upcoming holidays. 

It’s clear that Henry is willing to keep the magic alive for Roland, asking the younger boy what he’s planning on asking for Christmas when they go to see Santa after the meal is over. When Killian catches Henry’s eye a short bit later, the lad smiles and gives him a thumbs up. 

After dinner, they set out on their own again to see the Rockefeller tree in person. They stand there, watching the lights twinkle and the skaters on the rink until neither of them can feel their toes and their noses are bright red. 

Sinking into their hotel bed that night, Killian makes sure to set his alarm, but Emma grabs for it before he can set it down.

“Just wanted to double check. Wouldn’t want to miss your alarm or anything,” she says, that smile hidden in the corner of her mouth. 

“Cheeky woman,” he says quietly, making sure to kiss her hard and lovely before they each burrow under the covers. 

There’s another message from David waiting for Emma when they wake up letting her know they’ll be there to pick them up. Thankfully, with no luggage, their disembarking process is much faster and they’re able to get out of the departure door right as David and Snow pull up.

While they go their separate ways when they get back to town, he and Emma have a standing appointment for later in the afternoon to take everything that was acquired from Walsh’s apartment to send it off properly, as she did with her uniform. 

He sets to work on a mission, unpacking his bag and stripping off his dirty clothes to throw everything in his hamper. There’s still time before he meets with Emma, but since he’s been out of town since Friday, he’s behind on his weekend duties and he knows he’ll feel better if he takes the time to do it now rather than waiting. He throws his clothes in the wash, opting for warmer clothes for their task ahead. Instead of sitting around and waiting for the machine to be done, he takes the time instead to pack a picnic of sorts for the task ahead of them. Those items and a blanket all go into a tote bag he got from the last publishing conference he attended. 

Shortly after his laundry is folded and put away, Emma breezes through the door with a large box in her arms. 

“Ready?”

“Aye, just let me grab my keys.”

He locks the door behind them on their way out, and then they make their way to the beach closest to his flat. There’s a fire pit that was built ages ago, large stones surrounding it and a fresh pile of logs that Killian would place money on betting that David set it up for them. 

As he sets to work lighting the fire, he hands Emma the tote to start unpacking their items. She hums happily as she finds the soup, and again when she opens the second thermos that has the hot chocolate. He’s just finishing with his task when he turns to see her pouring the drink into each mug he brought, and raises an eyebrow as she tips a generous amount of whiskey into each one. 

She shrugs when she sees his look. “Believe me, I’m going to need it,” she says after a sip to taste-test. 

They stay on the beach much longer than most people would in December, with fresh snow occasionally falling around them. But they make sure each individual picture makes it into the fire. As delicately as they can, they remove them from the box, and he hands a stack face-down to Emma for her to fold each picture so he can feed it into the fire. 

She sets the thumb drive on the rocks around the pit, making sure to give it a solid stomp before throwing that in as an afterthought. 

“I’m sure it’s terrible for the environment but I need that thing wiped from existence.”

When each item has met its demise, including the box it was all packed away in, Emma puts out the fire using every precaution he’s sure David taught her.

Back in the comforting warmth of his place, Killian pulls out every blanket he owns and waits for Emma to come out of his bedroom from getting changed into pajamas. He piles them on top of her, going to change his own clothes before joining her on the couch. He holds her while she processes the whole thing - some anger and tears, some relief, until she falls asleep on Killian’s shoulder and he has to shift around until they can both stretch out. 

He doesn’t fall asleep until long after she does, whispering a quiet “I love you” against her hair before he finally falls asleep, as well. 

-x- December 23: Monday

They’re still on the couch when Emma wakes up, if only just barely. She’s facing Killian, her back pressed against the couch, with Killian’s arm looped over her waist. She’s just opening her eyes when she hears his gasp and then he’s teetering off the edge. Now wide awake, she peers down to see Killian wincing on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy, love,” he grumbles, rubbing his head where it smacked on the floor. She’s stifling laughter when he leans up and kisses her softly. “Good morning to you, my sweet couch hog.”

“We could’ve moved at any time. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I love you and wanted you to rest more than I cared about my own comfort,” he responds, only realizing as he finishes speaking that he may have said too much. His eyes, wider and brighter blue than she’s ever seen them, meet her steady gaze.

“I love you, too. But that’s a little dramatic of a reason for why you’re now on the floor.”

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. Or time. This time just happens to be on my remarkably uncomfortable area rug.” She can’t help the laugh that slips out this time and she runs her hands through his hair. Hangover be damned, she loves this man so much.

“Thanks again for last night. I was a bit of a mess,” she says, even though it feels like a vast understatement to what she actually was the day before. He waves his hand to dismiss her words.

“Sometimes, we just need to throw a mini-rager and burn a bunch of illegally obtained pornographic materials. You sure we’ll never need any of that as evidence in case there’s some kind of criminal investigation?”

“James was pretty clear with Walsh about what would happen to him if he tried to pursue legal action. Not only that, but every picture on the website has been removed and the only thing that pops up when the site is unlocked now is a picture of Walsh clutching his junk with an expression of pain on his face.” 

“I wish I could’ve been there to see you make that hit,” Killian admits, pushing up off the cushion to stand. “Come, love, let’s sail away to the kitchen where I can recite dirty poetry to you and make you breakfast.”

She laughs as she takes his hand, because while he doesn’t recite dirty poetry, he does make her breakfast and convince her to play hooky with him for the day. And when he takes her to bed a short time later, he infuses her skin with the words of his love over and over again. 

It’s the first time in years he doesn’t stick to any kind of routine at all, and they’re both perfectly okay with that. 

-x-

Epilogue