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konigsblog · 3 months

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Yandere!König Alphabet.

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-CON, YANDERE, KIDNAPPING, FORCED IMPREGNATION (AFAB!READER), FORCED AFFECTION, NONCONSENSUAL TOUCHING, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. STRICTLY 18+ ONLY

AFFECTION: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

König will force his affection and adoration onto you, whether you like it or not. He doesn't care for the way you sob out and wail, or how you wriggle and attempt to free yourself from his painfully tight grasp. To König, you're everything, the love of his life. He won't hesitate to beat some sense into you if you continue to misbehave.

BLOOD: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

As a soldier, König is willing to get pretty messy with his darling. He fantasises about carving his name into your skin, to mark and scar you. So that no matter what happens, you'll always have a memory of him.

He wants people to know that you belong to him, are his beloved, his captive, and his one true love.

CRUELTY: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

König tries to be gentle when it comes to you. He understands that you're probably in hysterics, distraught that you've been abducted. He tries to put himself in your position, imagine what it would be like to be kidnapped and forced away from society, isolated inside of a stranger's dirty basement.

König's ‘love’ is nothing but sick and perverse. It's illegal and immoral, a violent and cruel act to keep you to himself. He's trying to protect you, and that's all that matters. Not how uncomfortable and terrified you are, but how safe you'll be with König by your side.

DARLING: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

A lot. From allowing you to leave the house, to rape and forced impregnation. König knows exactly what he wants from you, and that's what's between your legs. He denies you access to society and keeps you locked away downstairs in the chamber.

Against a 6’10”, 250LB+ male, you're weak. It's pathetic to see you fight back. König pities you for how desperate you are to escape. It tugs at his heartstrings, but he's trying to show you how far he'll go for your babies, to start a family with you. Can't you see how badly he wants you? How he needs you?

EXPOSED: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

König can become pretty vulnerable with you. He's not afraid to use his emotions to get whatever he wants. He's scarily skilled at manipulation and guilt tripping. When you squirm away from him in an attempt to hide yourself, he'll begin to scream at you. When you refuse his love, he begins to weep, his fingernails leaving indents along your skin from his grasp as he cries into your chest and wails about how heartless and callous you are.

FIGHT: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He's surprised, honestly. König didn't think you'd ever attempt to fight back against him, especially when you take into consideration his size and strength, how he isn't afraid to do the most vile, traumatising, and disturbing acts to you.

At first, he's furious. Not because he's physically hurt, but because of how you've betrayed him. How many times does he have to go over the rules before you listen? How many times do you need to be beaten and raped before you obey? Give in, Maus. He knows you're exhausted.

GAME: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

To König, this isn't a game. He's pretty serious and expects nothing but obedience from his beloved. Although, he can make it a game if that's what you need. But, it won't be enjoyable – not for you, at least.

He'll drug you up, to then interrogate you and spank you for every incorrect response. You don't know any better, but that's what makes it amusing.

HELL: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Being impregnated by that bastard would have to be the most traumatising and memorable experience you've had with König. You didn't expect it. Usually, he'd wear a condom, or pull out at the very last minute. But, not this time.

König made sure you knew exactly what he was going to do. He drugged you up and left you feeling almost lifeless, practically unconscious on the cold, filthy concrete ground. You could feel the familiar splitting sensation between your numb legs that would always bring tears to your glistening eyes. You could shake and tremble, gargle and mumble a string of incoherent pleas to König, but it was fruitless.

He wouldn't stop, not until he was positive that you'd be pregnant with his offspring. God, your reaction was painful yet entertaining to watch, how you plead with him for mercy, falling to your knees at the shock.

IDEALS: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

A future where you're his pretty little housewife, pregnant with a pair of twins after already having three kids together. Truthfully, that's all he desires in life. Kids with his captive, who's been conditioned to believe that this is a life you want.

JEALOUSY: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Absolutely. Jealousy is König's #1 issue. Before he abducted you, he'd stalked you. Seeing you hang out with your friends enraged him. He couldn't stand how you were so independent, how you had free will. König couldn't bear the way men would admire you from afar, how they'd grope you.

König doesn't find a healthy coping mechanism. The way he copes is by making ‘love’ to you and forcing you to say you love him, even if it isn't true.

KISSES: How do they act around or with their darling?

Possessive. Creepy. Touchy. He can't keep his hands off of you, or his mouth, or his cock outside of your holes. He's desperate to be inside of you, soothed by the familiar and comforting warmth of your slick cunt around his shaft. He has wet dreams about you choosing to make love with him. The thought of you initiating something with him drives him utterly crazy. He just prays that one day, you'll fall head over heels with him and offer your body to him as a gift.

LOVE LETTERS: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

König stalked you before he selfishly took you for himself. He watched your every move, with cameras and following you everywhere. He'd occasionally leave hints, like love letters, which you brushed off as a prank. Looking back on it, you wished you'd taken them to the police.

MASK: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

König doesn't show his vulnerable side to anyone but you. Not his mother, or his oma. They've never seen a violent, merciless, and ruthless side of him that you have. His soldiers have seen him end other's lives, but they've never witnessed the inhumane acts of torture like you have.

His true colours are that he's a crazy, ill bastard. He can act kind-hearted and forgiving, or murderous and vindictive.

NAUGHTY: How would they punish their darling?

Rape, beating, sensory overstimulation, deprivation, etc. He isn't afraid to see blood drip from you, or cover you in welts and aches. Only after his rage and frustration does he feel guilty and shameful for what he'd done.

You grow numb to it eventually. You grow used to the feeling of his broad, muscular hips smacking and battering into your rear for hours on end. Or the splitting and agonising sensation of his belt across your lower back and behind.

OPPRESSION: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Everything. From your right to freedom, to your right to speak. You don't get a choice, really. Since you're living under König's roof, you'll live by his rules. Whatever he says goes. Oh, you want to go outside? Who gave you the right to speak? If König isn't feeling kind, he'll restrict you from talking, unless you're spoken to first.

PATIENCE: How patient are they with their darling?

Although he loses his cool way more than he'd like to admit, he's extremely patient with you. König knows you're heartbroken and traumatised. He knows you refuse to accept your fate. So, he waits. He waits for you to develop stockholm syndrome and give in to his kisses and love. He'll dote on you, obsess and gush over how adorable you'd look stuffed full with his meaty, sweaty cock and pregnant with his children, until you finally agree and spread those pretty, bruised, and scarred thighs for him.

QUIT: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

König managed a large chunk of his life without you, but now that he has you, he can't imagine a life without you.

If you were to escape, he'd never stop looking. It's inevitable for poor ol’ you... You only exist to serve him. This is your purpose, to breed with König.

If you were to pass away, König wouldn't be able to go on anymore. The heartbreak would either take him, or he'd do it himself. You'll never escape him, Maus.

REGRET: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Of course, guilt is what comes with abducting someone. He feels disgusted with himself for depriving you of the sunlight, of hearing your loved one's voices. But, at the end of the day, he wouldn't change it for anything. Your misery is temporary, while a life with König is permanent.

STIGMA: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

König grew up feeling isolated. He grew up as a loner, a social reject, an outcast. To most, he was nothing but a freakish loser, too large and intimidating to be loved. Only a poor, cursed mother could love König unconditionally. König couldn't imagine a life full of loneliness. He needed someone.

König was never properly romantically loved, so he doesn't know what love is supposed to be. He's delusional – he knows it's illegal, but he doesn't understand why he can't have you like this.

Being in the Military only worsened his anxieties. He knew how dangerous and violent this world could become, and after laying his eyes on you, he knew what he had to do.

TEARS: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

A part of König absolutely hates it. He can't stand seeing you in such agony and pain. He hates the sound of your pained screams, how you wail out and sob, pushing König away and neglecting yourself.

On the other hand, König is aroused by the sight of your tears. It makes him feel like a bully. He sees himself in you, looking down on you, a sick grin on his face. König found himself in your position often, and now, he felt as if he had control and authority.

He hates the thought of you crying, but it gives him power and control over you.

UNIQUE: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Not really. König is just as obsessive, protective, and perverted as most yanderes.

VICE: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

König's emotions. He's easy to convince, honestly. Oh, you want to sit upstairs and listen to music? Alright, I guess, under his supervision. You want to look outside? ... Well, if you really want to.

Sometimes, he struggles saying no to you. It may give you a chance at freedom when König allows you outside for a minute.

WIT’S END: Would they ever hurt their darling?

To the point where the damage is permanent? No. Or at least not physically. The trauma is 100% permanent, that's for a fact.

König won't hesitate to put you in your place with a classic spanking, or emotionally hurt you. It drains him to do so, but it has to be done. He'll slap your face when you attempt to speak back, or pull your arm behind your back so that you're defenceless against him. He doesn't appreciate being slapped, Liebling. You know better...

XOANON: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Anything for his beloved. He will worship the ground you walk on, shower you in kisses, compliments, and gifts just to earn himself a small smile.

YEARN: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

For years before he finally abducts you. He can't resist you any longer, or control his sick urges for control and ownership. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you belonged to him.

ZENITH: Would they ever break their darling?

Mentally? Absolutely. You'll develop stockholm syndrome and will grow comforted by this cruel treatment. You won't be able to remember a life without König. You'll cling to him for love until you're sobbing and begging to be held for hours until you're falling asleep in his arms, accepting your fate.

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hughjackmansbicep · 18 days

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Delicate

a/n: hi friends!!!! im hoping to make this into a multi part series, got lots planned for this mini fic :))))) this is kind of the prolouge to the real deal, needed to get the setup for it started before we divulge. expect lots of twists n turns my friends!

Pairing: Logan Howlett X F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: uhhhhh none lol

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: The government has successfully began the eradication of all mutant species in the United States. Lucky for you your dad has taken careful precautions to protect you from the evil that lurks in the streets outside. Tucked away in a concealed basement you sat and rotted away clinging to your old life and dreams. What happens when one day you've got a severe hankering for some ice cream and he ran out of beer the same night? Both finding yourselves in the right place at the right time.

The world as you knew it was slowly coming to an end. Mutants everywhere were dropping like flies after the government slowly started poisoning everyone's food. Unless you were an off-grid loner living off the land, you succumbed to the same fate as everyone else, 6 feet under. Lucky enough for you, your father kept you pretty sheltered. Tucked away in your fully renovated basement, the world is ignorant of your existence. It was safer this way; I mean, sure, you missed going out to bars and seeing your friends; hell, you even missed those 8 a.m. bio classes you used to take. But this was safer; at least that's what your father always preached. “It’s safer down here, away from all those evil people.” He'd remind you every day, “You're to never leave my site, kiddo, and never step outside those doors.” Not like you could anyways, while your mutation allowed you to control the atoms around you and morph them into anything your heart desired, you had one weakness, adamantium. Your house was coated in it; every doorknob, lock, and even the goddamn windows were coated in the shit.

It was 3:00am, no one was home, and you found yourself craving ice cream. It wasn't uncommon for your dad to leave you to your own vices. He still had a job he'd have to attend to, and that more often than not led you to solidarity on his trips. And here you were in the middle of the night, the light from the fridge illuminating the dimly lit kitchen, tearing your freezer apart hoping to magically find a pint of Ben and Jerry’s buried deep in the frost. You groan, sinking down to your knees, met with disappointment and an ever-growing craving for the sweet, delicious taste of The Tonight Dough. Sure, you could've totally put in an Uber Eats order, but where would the fun in that be? You stood in front of the adamantium-cladded door, using all your strength to melt it to the ground, but to no avail. The only thing between you and your Jimmy Fallon-adorned ice cream was some space metal, and to hell if your dad really thinks that's going to curve the urge.

For the next hour, you ran around the house like a lunatic looking for a weak point. Maybe your father missed just one spot—one tiny spot in this prison he calls a home. A small hole fit for the size of a mouse teased you. Sure, you control all the atoms around you but your own? You'd never even attempted to entertain that idea, although the worst that could happen is you turn your body into a permanent pile of slop. That didn't sound too terrible when compared to being a basement dweller for the last 7 years. And it turns out it wasn't as bad as you'd thought; you melted your body down into a pile of liquid, slithering your way through the walls of your house before you were spit out from a hole in the bricks. The air on your skin cascaded goosebumps along your body; you honestly couldn't remember the last time you felt wind grace your skin or the sun illuminating off your shoulders.

You skipped happily toward the corner store, taking in every sound around you. The sound your feet made when they hit the pavement, the distant chatter of the locals crowding down the sidewalks, even the obnoxious sound of a car horn brought a smile to your face. You finally understood the saying, ‘the city that never sleeps.’ You reached the corner store, swinging the door open and prancing inside as if it were Disney World. Your happy fantasy faded as the man behind the register yelled at you to put some shoes on before walking into his store. You looked down, wiggling your free toes, with all the excitement of liquifying yourself to get a taste of the outside world, common societal rules had slipped your mind. “I um.. Just came to grab a pint of ice cream; I’ll be really quick, I promise.” You pleaded sheepishly, offering him a quick smile to butter him up a bit. He simply rolled his eyes in disgust and turned his back to you, mumbling something under his breath.

You made your way around the convenience store towards the dairy section when something, or rather someone, caught your attention. He looked tall, and even with a leather jacket on, you could tell he was huge. He had some silly-looking facial hair and even sillier-looking cat-ear-like hair, but man, he still looked good. Your eyes slowly traveled down his arms to his pants. Cute butt, you thought to yourself. He stifled a laugh before turning in your direction and saying, “Thank you.” He grumbled, turning back towards the beer cooler. “What?” You ask, heat rising to your cheeks once you realize you'd accidentally said that out loud. He didn't acknowledge you, just went back to scanning the cooler. You took that as a hint to keep moving, finally landing in front of the ice cream section and grabbing the last pint of your favorite ice cream. Carefully looking around to make sure nobody was watching you, you pulled the lid off and used your mutation to pull out all the atoms belonging to the anti-mutant poisons that were mixed in with the delicious sweet treat. Floating above the ice cream, you cautiously manipulated them into a different container of food and made your way back towards the front. What you didn't know was that the unfortunate corner store owner had been watching your freak act on the CCTV cameras the whole time.

Turning around one of the aisles, you had spotted two men in suits talking to the man upfront. You couldn't make out what was being said as they whispered, but watching him point to you using your mutation on the TV screen explained enough to you. You backed up slowly, trying to even your breaths out before you had a panic attack. You felt someone grab your shoulder, spinning you around into them. It was Mr. Cute Butt; he must be working with those suited men too. Your eyes go wide as you focus all your energy on him. You were attempting to melt him, freeing yourself from his grasp, but it wasn't working for some reason. He just stared at your brows laced together, trying to figure out what in the fuck were you doing. “You're going to shit yourself if you keep straining like that.” He whispered a low chuckle, following after.

You froze, looking up at the man with pleading eyes. “Please don't hurt me; I just wanted some ice cream. Please i'll leave right now, sir.” You rushed out searching his face for sympathy or remorse something in hopes he'd release his grasp on you. He looked confused at what you were saying to him as if you were speaking some foreign language, but that didn't last long once you two heard footsteps approaching you. “C’mon kid.” He grumbled out, dragging you by your arm, ducking in between the small isles towards the exit. “They're over here!” The man upfront yelled, and the mystery man beside you just groaned before scooping you up into his arms and rushing you out of the store. You both quickly fell into the crowd, blending into the sea of people that populated the streets of New York. As soon as you two were outside, he'd set you on your feet, his arm still gripping your wrist, dragging you through the city with him.

“I need to go home, sir; please don't hurt me. I'm so sorry.” You cried, tears adorning your cheeks as you pleaded with him; if your father knew what was transpiring at this very moment, you'd be toast. Absolutely never allowed outside your basement ever again; you could kiss the sun goodbye because you'll probably never see it again once he gets home. He ignored your pleas though as he pushed through the crowds to a parked motorcycle on the road. “Oh no, I am not getting on that thing.” You halted your movements, digging your heels into the ground. “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.” He laughed at you dryly hopping onto the bike, “They'll find you eventually.” He kicked the stand up, revving the bike on. You looked through the crowd behind you, worry etching onto your face. Maybe he's right; maybe I should hop on that bike and ride it into the sunset with this beautiful specimen, or he's no better than those suited men and could ultimately be leading me to my death. “Just get on the fucking bike.” He growled at the sound of sirens roaring closer to you two.

Begrudgingly, you hopped onto the back of the bike, plopping the helmet latched behind you on your head. At this rate, your sure your dad is going to skin you alive and hang you up to dry. “Hang on tight, princess.” He turned around to smirk at you. You snaked your hands around his torso, and he took off, the force causing your face to smash into his back and your grip on him tightening. You were sure if you had been gifted some form of super strength, you would've popped his torso clean off his legs with how tight you were squeezing him. You attempted to give him directions back to your house, but he couldn't hear you and kept heading in the opposite direction. He totally could hear you too, but he was ignoring your requests to return you home.

The quick 15-minute drive felt like an eternity with how utterly petrified you were. Matter of fact, you were so scared, eyes clenched shut, arms squeezing all the oxygen out of his lungs, you hadn't even noticed that you'd arrived at your mystery destination. He pried your arms off him, causing you to open your eyes; you were in complete shock. A gorgeous castle-like building stood before you, surrounded by trees, and a long gravel driveway trailed in front of it. A voice broke you from your thoughts, but this sound didn't come from the man sitting in front of you; no, it appeared like it came straight from inside your head. 'Logan, would you please introduce me to your new friend? The voice sang through you, your head whipping around frantically to find the owner of these words. “C’mon, I got someone for you to meet.” The man in front of you finally spoke, helping you off the bike and placing the helmet back in its spot on the rear. He guided you through the mansion all the way to the back, stopping at two huge double wooden doors.

“Come in, please.” Rang the same voice you heard earlier, the double doors slowly opening before you to reveal a small, bald man sitting in a chair. “And who might this be, Logan?” He questioned, looking towards the big man next to you. Logan, huh, you thought to yourself, cute name and a cute butt. Logan awkwardly shifted beside you, the bald man sending a booming laugh throughout the room. “Oh my God.. Did I say that out loud?” You whispered heat rising to your cheeks once again. Ignoring you, Logan started explaining to the bald guy, whose name you quickly learned was Charles, what happened earlier. Logan had seen what you were doing in that small store—how you made some substance float out of the ice cream and back into another pint. He assumed you were attempting to do something similar to that when he had grabbed you, and you began shaking like a Chihuahua, yet all you could think about during their discussion of the previous events was how you never got to eat the ice cream you risked your whole life for. “So,” Charles spoke, directing his attention to you. “What can you do exactly? What were you doing with that ice cream?” He hummed his eyes, raking you up and down, studying all your features. hoping they might tell him about who you are.

You were fairly normal-looking; I mean, to the average human eye, they couldn't tell you apart from another human. You felt like a deer in headlights right now, though; you'd never been asked or questioned about your mutation. You never dared to speak about it aloud; hell, your dad wouldn't even let you use your powers ever; it's like he was ashamed of you. “I can... manipulate things, i guess.” You spoke quietly; it felt taboo to you to speak about this, like this was some intimate, inappropriate topic to discuss. “And what do you mean by that?” He mused, deeply interested in your mystery. “I’m not exactly sure, sir. I just know I can do this.” You focus your eyes on the pen sat upon his desk, watching it quickly fall into a liquid puddle. “Fascinating.” Charles smiled up at you, “Can you change it back?” You trained your eyes down on the mess you created, quickly blinking as it slowly morphed back into its original shape of a pen.

Charles laughed in amusement before clasping his hands together. “We have much to discuss, little one, but for now Logan will show you to a room you can rest in. We'll talk more tomorrow.” He nodded at you before Logan had turned around out the door. You took this as your sign to follow, doors shutting behind you both. He guided you up the stairs, stopping at a random white door and handing over a towel and toothbrush he'd picked up on the way to your room. “Just try and get some sleep.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “I’m just up the hall if you need anything, i guess.” He nodded his head in the direction of his door. You just smiled, turning around into your room and softly closing your door.

You had no clue where the fuck you were or what these strange men were planning to do with you. You've heard the horror stories from your dad about how the government would poke and prod you if anyone knew what you could do. you'd be a test subject for rich white males to toy and play with. You'd set the towel and toothbrush down on a chair in the room you were assigned and slowly stalked your way to the bed. As you crawled into bed attempting to get some shut eye all that you could think to yourself was, "Man my dad is soo going to fucking kill me when he finds me."

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jinxthequeergirl · 1 month

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Fireworks

pines family x parental figure!reader/ implied stanfordx reader

Summary: based on the song "Fireworks" by mitski- you've lost yourself in your journey to bring back your friend from another dimension that you've almost forgotten about your family.

Warning: ANGST BABY!!!!! WOWOW! Also corny as hell

Enjoy

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~

You wondered how long you'd feel like this. The sense of constant unease and dread and guilt.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy staring at those pages."

You blinked with heavy eyelids as you stared at the half complete layout of the large portal machine. "I can figure it.. I know I can..." You mumbled.

"There's nothing we can do until we have the last journal."

You said nothing but focused on the pages, thinking till your brain was numb.

Stan sighed, realizing he wasn't getting you away from those books without a fight.

"ME and the kids are going to be outside incase you care to join us."

You mumbled or groaned he couldn't really tell the difference. He frowned he had noticed a change in you most recently though he knew you didn't think he did.

A slight grey in your eyes as you continued to work. He knew you wanted to bring Stanford home so did he. But not to the extent you had been pushing it too. So he quietly went to meet the kids upstairs.

You felt your eyes growing heavy. Your thoughts drift as you stared at the page and wondered when you had gotten to this point.

You had spent so much time crying for Stanford to come back, so much time blaming Stanley for losing him. Then the feelings just fossilized one morning. You knew they where still there. You still felt the grief, the guilt the anger.

But for some reason, you'd forgot how to cry.

You heard a faint popping from upstairs but didn't think much of it at first. Still dazing into the old journals.

Trying for anything. A spark of an idea a glimmer of hope, the courage to face what you feared be true, to feel less lifeless again.

hoping that the almost numb feeling wasn't your lost feelings for him. If that was the case, then that would mean you'd given up hope on finding him again.

You hear the popping again, followed by cheering. You look up for the first time in what feels like hours. Your neck hurts, and you groan in pain as your eyes are met with a photo of you and Stanford.

Is this what he would want for you? The feelings you had were real and still hurt. The feelings you had for Ford were just the same.

Your eyes drift to the photo next to it. You and Stanley and the kids squished together to fit the frame. A wide grin across all your faces.

You heard the popping and booming louder this time.

This isn't what Stanford would want for you. You decide as you push yourself out of the chair with a stretch and up the basement steps.

You he'd want you to realize that what you felt was healing. Not losing hope or feeling for him like you feared.

Your eyes adjust to the light as you step into the warm summer night.

He'd want you to connect with the people you called family.

"Y/n, you made it! We still have some fireworks left!" Mable cheered as you shut the door that led to the roof. "I saved all your favorite colors incase you came out."

Take care of yourself.

"I dunno guys. Isn't this kinda dangerous?" You asked. The twins shared a look with eachother before you laughed.

"Who am I kidding? Hand me the biggest one you have!" You exclaimed.

Stan laughed. "Ah there they are the y/n we all know and love!"

And more importantly be there for them.

You placed an apologetic hand on stans shoulder and offered him a smile. Which he returned.

You sat on the edge of the roof watching the fireworks for most of the night feeling your worries wash away.

Everything was gonna be alright with them by your side.

It always had been.

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

#ford pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #stan pines x reader #Stanley pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #Spotify

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ethereal-night-fairy · 2 months

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Slasher!Soap x Suicidal!Reader

After unwillingly escaping death you find that you're left to deal with the aftermath of your emotions.

Slasher Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, Suicidal Ideation and Depression, Reader is poor and struggling, Food insecurity, Stalking, Perverted Acts, Stealing, Jerking off, Panty stealing, Dub-Con behaviour, Slight Somnophilia, Reference to Crude and Objectifying language, Harassment and Torture, Choking, Attempted murder, sorry if I missed any.

Head heavy with fatigue you struggle to raise it away from the blue glare of your college laptop. The cracked digital clock hung on your dorm room wall showed it was well past midnight. Your shoulders were stiff, your hands stained with ink from your pen. It felt like things were bursting at the seams. Like you were one stitch away from falling apart. You felt like a chewed up rag doll. Hunched over your desk like some night crawler.

But you couldn't rest. Despite the pounding in your head you continued staring at your blue screen. You had your final exam in two days and you were working a twelve hour shift tomorrow since someone decided to quit last minute. Your stomach growls anger at you for skipping dinner for the third night in a row.

Pushing your smudged notes aside for the moment you open your budget planner. With the way things were going you weren't going to be able to afford eggs or meat for a while. Probably not until next month you think. You had to move out of the dorms soon as well. And all your money had gone towards securing another place to live. Luckily you managed to get a dingy basement studio about 20 minutes away from college.

On the bright side you'll finally be able to get your steps in now. It was the cheapest private space you could find with your salary. It would have been cheaper to share a living space but you couldn't deal with another year of shitty roommates. Shitty roommates who loved stealing food and borrowing things that weren't theirs. You're pretty sure you'd die of frustration within the first month if it happened again. Your so called 'friends' were of no help either. They only ever texted you when they needed help with coursework. It seems like that was all you were good for.

After everything that's happened this year you didn't know why you were working so hard for. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for you. You were suffocating in the oppressive darkness. And no one was willing to help. Not even the blue eyed devil who had promised to end your suffering.

All you could do was keep walking ahead hoping perhaps one day you'll reach the light. Wherever it was.

But right now you were just stuck in this never ending cycle of hate and compliance. At the end of the day you knew what you were, you were a coward. Someone who couldn't stand up for herself. Someone who allowed people to walk all over her. Someone who did everything to please others in the hope of receiving an ounce of love and affection. The very same you love you chastise yourself for craving.

Plastering on a fake smile was your escape from reality. Saying everything was ok was your bread and butter. It was better than becoming a burden everyone resented. So you had no choice but to say you didn't mind being forgotten, that you didn't mind being used and discarded. What else could you do? It wasn't like you were going to voice your pain. I wasn't like you were going to ask for better treatment. No one remembered you and no one cared unless you had something to offer….

Apart from…maybe….no not even him. He was just like the rest. Much like others he dangled a carrot in front of a starving donkey just to make a fool out of it. No wonder he left as soon as he realised he wasn't going to get what he wanted from you.

Images of piercing blue eyes flood your already overwhelmed mind. The same eyes that had followed you for weeks if not months. The ones that you thought perhaps liked you at the beginning before everything got so sinister.

You used to see them everywhere, at work, on the streets, at the library, at the park. Anywhere you went you felt them following you. You felt him following you. And then the notes started appearing, short and sweet. Always signed off with a heart at the end.

You'd be lying if you said they didn't make your heart flutter at the start, that his sweet words didn't fill the longing in your heart.

His calls started not long after the notes did. That's when the sinking feeling entered your stomach. Soap, his deep voice had uttered on the first night he had called you. His breath came out in hot pants as he asked you to say it back to him.

His name was odd but you didn't particularly care at that moment. Too concerned with how he got your number. That's when you knew you fell for a lie. But even after realising that you didn't want things to end.

You later found out why he gave himself such a silly nickname. With a kill record so clean you'd wondered how no one caught on by now, but then again you suppose the answer was in the name.

His notes soon lost their sweetness and the crude language objectifying your body flooded in. It wasn't long after the calls started that you noticed things going missing. First it was small trinkets, then much bigger things were gone from where you left them. It was only when you were down to your last three pairs of panties did you realise his overly perverse obsession with wanting you scared. He left your soiled underwear for you to find often with pictures of you sleeping in your dorm. If he was in a particularly cruel mood, he'd send videos of jerking off very close to your face while he degraded you for being so unguarded. He'd taunt you over the phone, often reciting off everything you did that day, down to the underwear you were wearing. And how he'd like to soil them with his seed. Much like how he'd like to soil and taint your flesh with blood. There must have been cameras in the room. It's the only way he could have known.

Coincidentally it was always on days where you'd get home from a long shift at work. He wanted you asleep. It's not surprising he'd take advantage of that. Especially not after all the explicit notes he left for you to read.

You played along to his sick twisted game of torture. You gave him the satisfaction of being scared. Of crying big fat tears when he wanted. And he loved it. He ate the lie right out of your hands. A couple tears spilled here, a couple choked up sobs there and he was panting like a dog over the phone. Almost certainly touching his needy swollen cockhead. You enjoyed being wanted for once. Even if you were just putting on an act to keep him interested. Being desired for more than what you could do for others felt freeing. Though this was just the other side of the same coin. You were being used either way. But this felt nicer.

He could still be watching now even though you haven't heard from him after the ‘incident’. After everything fell apart in a matter of seconds.

One slip in your expression was all it took for his demeanour to change from excitement to anger and then to confusion.

With the things he has claimed to have done he was being awfully gentle with you. You always wondered why? Was it pity? If it was, why didn't he just end it the night he had his hands wrapped around your throat. That night shattered any ounce of dignity you had left. You'd never forget the look of boredom in his eyes when he said ‘There's no fun in killing the dead Dove…’

Before he was so explicit on his desire to tear you apart. To cut and slice you until you begged and pleaded for mercy. To carve a pretty necklace of blood all over the delicate skin on your neck while he ruts his hard cock inside of you. He told you about his sick fantasies often. And he loved going into detail on how he'd dress you up before ripping you apart. You would have played along too. Had he not left so abruptly you could have slipped back into the facade he wanted.

There were no goodbyes exchanged, not even a nod of acknowledgement. You suppose you weren't even worth that to him. Or anyone for that matter.

You remember crying silently into your pillow after he had left. There was something else in his eyes that night but you couldn't decipher it. That hurt you more than anything else that happened. Because you knew that's how everyone viewed you. Like you were just an afterthought. Someone not worth thinking about. Maybe if you had played the role of prey better you'd be resting in your grave right now.

A sane person would have gone to the police the second the notes and calls started. But you think sanity had left you long ago. It's the only reasonable explanation for your behaviour.

For some odd reason at that time the thought of dying at the hands of a man so obsessed with you didn't feel so bad. Being wanted for once made your heart all fuzzy. Despite knowing why he wanted you. And what he was going to do to you. You desperately wanted to keep his gaze fixated on you. He has probably moved on already. Perhaps scouting out another town over for his next victim. You could still go to the police but you were too ashamed to do that after what you've done.

Back then you were just waiting until he made sure on his promises to end you. It was weird in the way you fantasised about all your troubles ending by his hands. You would picture him kissing your lips when your last breath finally left you. Kinda like the opposite of sleeping beauty yet for some fucked up reason you found it romantic.

You couldn't fathom anyone loving you in any mundane way. You would have experienced it by now if anyone had cared enough. You suppose in your mind Soap must have really cared for you if he was willing to end your suffering. It's probably the reason why you fell so hard for him. But those feelings disappeared the same day he left the job undone.

Tears sting your eyes but you hold them back unwilling to fall apart again. Especially now. You had things to do. You couldn't afford to deviate from your schedule.

You sigh, rubbing the tiredness and unshed tears out of your eyes. With your pen back in your grasp you click it to begin your mental torture again still wishing that you'd die of a heart attack or something so you didnt have to deal with this.

You only get two sentences written before a floorboard creaking halts your movements. You freeze not from fear but rather from confusion.

It couldn't be Soap right? He hasn't contacted you in weeks…But what if it was him?

Has he come to finally finish the job? You doubt it..did someone break in? Unlikely because there was nothing of value in these dorms, the majority of students were broke.

With your nerves vibrating with uncertainty you get up to go to the kitchen. You don't bother arming yourself, it's not like you have any will to live even if it was a break in. It's better just to accept your fate. You're exhausted anyway.

Despite trying to steel yourself for what's about to happen your hands still shake opening your door. Stepping into the dark hallway you find that the kitchen light is on despite knowing you turned it off before going to your room. You strain your ears trying to hear any sound of movement in your apartment. But it's eerily silent. Uncomfortably so.

What made it worse was that all the rooms except yours were empty now. So no one was here to help. Not that you wanted help. But you didn't like the uncertainty of the situation you were put in. It made your skin crawl.

For someone who wanted to die so badly you hated that your body still felt fear on behalf of your mind. The cold sweat trickling down your spine felt like a betrayal to yourself. You shouldn't be afraid…this is what you wanted…wasn't it?

Your heart pounds in your chest as you force yourself to move. To get closer to your demise even if your body tries to fight you on it. After the incident with Soap nothing felt the same anymore. You could tell yourself all you want that you weren't afraid, that you want to die but the fact this most likely wasn't Soap had your skin prickling with terror.

Somehow you still move you don't know how but you do. You cringe as your feet cause the floorboards to creak under your weight. But before you know it you're at the kitchen counter staring at a bag of takeaway with a note taped to the side. You feel something watching you as your brain finally deciphers the lettering on the paper.

'Look behind you 🖤'

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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me-and-your-husband · 2 years

Note

Bully!ellie !!!!! omg i neeeeeeed

i am obsessed omg

warnings: smut, mean!ellie, fingering (r receiving), fem reader, dirty talk, kinda public sex idk, shitty writing, not proofread, mirror sex

she wouldn't be the typical bully, not ellie. she wouldn't be super popular. she'd never hurt you. she wasn't known as a bully at all. only to you.

it would 100% be one of those instances where "she's only being mean to you because she likes you" like they tell little girls in the third grade (except it's not normalizing abusive relationships let's be real). however, you wouldn't even think that she had any semblance of care in her heart for you.

when she saw you around campus, she'd always make some snide comment loud enough for you to hear to dina or jesse. they'd always tell her to stop being mean, but she couldn't get enough of that look on your face, the look of "what did i ever do to you?".

she'd accidentally shoulder-check you in the hall, sometimes accidentally shoving your books out of your hands. she'd make snide remarks to you in the halls.

you ask for clarification from one of your professors on something menial. she'd laugh, "no shit."

you'd walk into a party wearing something you wouldn't normally wear, something a little more revealing. she'd laugh again. "you're wearing that?" and she'd give you a massive side eye. dina would shove her and just go "tf?"

she'd turn away, trying to mask the blush that crawled up her neck and to her cheeks, trying to mask the way she was sweating a little and her breath was uneven because you were showing more skin than usual and she felt like she was going to go insane if you looked at her like that one more time.

you'd be studying in the library, listening to music with headphones, when she walks up behind you, lifts the ear, and lets it snap back down against your head. she'd walk away chuckling, throwing a smirk at you over het shoulder.

truth is, ellie didn't know how to get your attention any other way, and she needed it. it killed her inside to know she was hurting you, but she just wanted to see your pretty face acknowledge her.

at night, while the moon's blanket was wrapping you in sleep, she'd be ranting to dina or jesse about how much she wanted you to like her back. she was hopeless. they'd always respond with "well, she's never going to be into you if you keep treating her like that."

she'd just huff and roll over in her bed to face the wall. she knew dina and jesse were right. she treated you like that because she knew she'd crumble if she couldn't interact with you anymore, but she couldn't bring herself to show you that vulnerable part of herself. as far as she knew, you weren't even into girls. she was afraid of rejection. not just any rejection, though. she was afraid of being rejected by you.

one, dreary friday night, dina dragged her to some party in the basement of some local. it was a smaller gathering, maybe two dozen people. when she walked in, the smell of weed and alcohol hit her immediately, pulling her through the door and slamming it shut behind her. the music and laughter immediately sucked her in.

she made rounds with dina, grabbing a drink and saying hi to the few people she knew. she had to physically stop her jaw from dropping when she saw you, holding a blunt, legs thrown over some random girl's lap.

dina slammed into her back when she stopped, spilling her drink all over the side of ellie's white t-shirt. "fuck, dina," she said, looking at the damage.

"just go to the bathroom and-" dina paused when she saw what had stolen ellie's attention. "oh, shiiiiit," she breathed out a laugh. "well, that's settled then. anyways, just go scrub it out. it'll be fine."

dina left ellie to go find her other friends. ellie's eyes burned holes in your face as you tugged the smoke in, blowing it out and then blushing at something the girl sitting in front of you had said. she was clearly flirting with you.

your eyes caught ellie's, your brows furrowing a little at the expression on her face. she broke eye contact, shaking her head before finding the bathroom.

she sighed as her fingertips pushed open the door, reaching for the lock after shutting it behind her. she cursed when she realized the lock was broken.

she gripped the edge of the counter as she stared into her reflection. she looked miserable, brows knit together and a scowl on her face. she huffed as she slid her shirt off, leaving her in just a bra. she located the stain and began to scrub furiously with wet tissue, to no avail.

her head snapped towards the door when she heard it click open, readying to cuss whoever it was out. she didn't expect you, slack jawed, to be standing with your back to the door.

"shit! sorry, oh my god," you said as you turned to leave, face and neck turning red.

"wait!" ellie said before she could think. she cleared her throat, "it's fine. it's not a big deal."

you turned back to face her, eyes drifting to her hands holding the shirt over the sink, trying not to look at her body (god, it was hard).

you pointed at her shirt timidly, "want some help?" you said, shuffling your feet, eyes still apologetic.

she looked back and forth between you and the shirt for a few seconds. "by all means," she said, tossing you the shirt and leaning back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest.

you moved to the sink, grabbing some tissue and wetting the shirt itself where the stain sat. you opted for gentle, deep scrubs instead of ellie's frantic, aggressive scrubbing. your fingers drew the stain out impressively.

"wow. not too bad, pretty girl," she said, grabbing her shirt from your hands.

"pretty girl?" you breathed. "since when?"

she just laughed it off. her fingers felt the fabric where the stain had been, still slightly damp. she noticed that your eyes were raking over her exposed skin, smoothing over her toned stomach and arms, pupils blown.

"like what you see?" she said, smirking. you bit your lip and looked away, flushing even more. she grinned, "tell me, pretty girl."

you avoided her eyes, "...yeah. fine, yes."

she hummed, taking a step closer to you. she held her shirt up in front of you. "should i even bother putting this back on, then?"

you looked up at her, noticing just how close she was. you could feel her warm breath on your lips, making you dizzy. it was so wrong, feeling like this for the girl who had made your life hell for so long. but you couldn't ignore the warm, sticky feeling growing between your thighs.

she backed you up further, so you were caged between her arms against the door. her eyes flickered between yours and your lips, leaning in, ever so slowly. you closed your eyes when she kissed you, whining into it. it was soft, delicate.

she cupped your face as her tongue licked into your mouth. your hips bucked up on instinct, telling her you wanted more. you pressed her against you before she pulled away.

"you want me, baby?" she said. you nodded fervently. "good, cause i want you."

her hands squeezed your hips, turning you around and pulling your back flush to her front. her fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off. "can i?" she said, hands ghosting over the cups of your bra.

"yes, ellie. please."

she pulled the cups down so your breasts spilled out. her mouth found your neck as she gently playing with your hardening nipples, you moaning at the sensitivity.

she continued sucking marks into your neck, soothing them with her tongue afterwards. her hands slowly crept down to the waistband of your pants, sliding them down to your knees.

she grabbed your hips once again and positioned you right in front of the bathroom mirror, all so you both could see everything she did to you.

"i want you to watch me, baby," she whispered into your ear, eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

you moaned when her hands ghosted over your clit through your damp panties.

"stop teasing," you said.

she hummed, "you're right. i've been waiting long enough."

she pushed your panties to the side, fingers sliding through your cunt and collecting your slick. "so wet for me already."

you moaned as her middle finger pressed into your drenched hole, slowly working deeper inside of you. she moaned at the feeling of you squeezing it.

"feels so good," you said, throwing your head back against her shoulder. her other hand came to your jaw, forcing you to watch her actions in the mirror.

"eyes on me, baby."

her finger worked deeper, the sounds of your slick filling the air obscene.

"need more," you whined, half-lidded eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

she hummed as she dipped her ring finger in next to her middle finger. you gasped at the small stretch, cunt clenching around her fingers deliciously.

a smirk sat permanently on her pretty lips as she worked in and out of you, your juices dripping down her wrist.

"such a slut," she whispered in your ear. "can feel you squeezing my fingers baby. want another one?"

"yes! yes, please ellie!"

"alright, pretty girl," she said, adding her index into your puffy hole. you began to feel the knot forming tighten, sending a rush of heat through your entire abdomen.

"fuck! ellie, gonna cum. gonna— ohhh," you moaned. her mouth covered yours to swallow your moans.

as you came down, ellie nuzzled her face into your neck, gently pulling her fingers out. you met her eyes in the mirror and watched her as she brought her fingers up to her lips, sucking on your sweet juices. she moaned around her digits, savouring the taste.

your pussy clenched even more at the sight.

she moaned, "taste so good, baby. now, let's get out of here so i can really taste you, yeah?"

part 2

let's pretend i don't hate this

permanent taglist: @winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

ellie taglist: @chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams tlou 2 #tlou #tlou 2 #the last of us #the last of us 2

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loveandmurders · 1 year

Text

What soulmate AU for which slasher ?

First sentence on your wrists with Ghostface:

On your wrist: "You gonna die tonight, love"

On their wrist: "And fuck, of course my soulmate is a serial killer"

(First discussion over a phone call of course).

Seeing colours for the first time with Tommy:

You didn’t think red would be the first colour you'd ever see.

He didn't think he would ever see colours in his life at all. And you are the brightest thing that ever happened to him, in every ways.

Sharing the same mark with Tiffany:

You were having a sexy shower with her when you both noticed the same little mark on your skin.

And everything made so much sense, especially how quickly you fell for each other.

Feeling each other emotions and physical pains with Jason:

You always knew your soulmate wasn't living a peaceful existence.

But you were both shocked when you felt the knife you stabbed into his side like it was yours and when he felt his hand around your neck like it was his.

After that, he tried to be more careful when he was killing people, so his pain wouldn't be yours.

You can’t hurt or kill each other with Michael:

Michael was about to kill you because you were on his way. Very confused when he realised he just physically couldn't.

On the other hand, you were very glad about it. (You started to like to tease him about it. It always makes him grumpy, though).

Touching/hearing/seeing each other for the first time and realising you are soulmates with Candyman:

You heard his deep and riche voice and knew who he was to you. You were in trance.

He saw your eyes and he never thought he would so deeply fall in love for anyone. All his past was forgotten.

Sharing scars with Bo:

Vincent was about to tie you up to a chair in his basement when he saw the scars on your wrists. Such a familiar sight so he brought you to his brother instead of killing you.

Bo kissed your wrists every morning and every night. His anger calmed down because you didn't leave his side from that day.

Dreaming of each other with Freddy:

Freddy was very unhappy and confused to see you walking in his world without being in danger.

He was totally pouting when you started to be able to control his dreams. He guessed he had found his own divinity.

#ghostface x s/o #ghostface x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x s/o #tiffany valentine x reader #tiffany valentine x s/o #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x s/o #michael myers x s/o #michael myers x reader #candyman x reader #candyman x s/o #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x s/o #freddy krueger x reader #freddy krueger x s/o #slasher x s/o #slasher x reader

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madschiavelique · 9 days

Note

Hello!

Sorry if you don't write for halsin, I didn't see bg3 characters on your list of who you write for on the pinned post. I was wondering if you could write a Halsin x fem reader where she is the leader of the tieflings at the Grove. They could be competitive or just learning how to work together for their people's interest. I think that could be a really interesting dynamic to explore. SFW or NSFW both sound good, so whatever inspires you.

Thank you so much!!

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : halsin x tiefling fem!reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : a bit of angst but mostly fluff (with some hurt/comfort), kagha being an absolute bitch, mentions of blood and wounds (healer gets hurt but don't worry halsin heals her), other than that lots of fluff, fem!reader, tiefling reader, no use of y/n

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 8,8k

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ author's note : okay so just to say i did not intend this to be as long and if it wasn't for me having life happening i would have made it longer by writing a smut, but hey if u guys want smut from this one i'd GLADLY write it. it took me time to write it also because i had another idea originally but it would have been way too long and have much less tension and would develop the reader too much rather than her connection to halsin SO YEA enjoy hihi

( proofread by the lovely @gracethyomen ☆)

Your people were watching you with concern as you walked down the slope towards the druids' quarters. The little ones had come to you in a panic while you were talking to Zevlor.

All you'd managed to decipher was ‘Arabella, druid, snake’, and you were on your way to sort things out.

You and your group of tieflings had been living in the grove for barely a week. At first the druids welcomed you with open arms, Nettie even allowed you access to the basements and other caverns of the place.

It was an ideal place for tieflings. Although the majority of the grove was outside where you could spend time close to nature, much of the area was sheltered by the shade of the rocks. Your race had become accustomed to living in underground spaces, so what better place to stay than here.

What's more, there were enough cellars and basements to house everyone. Plus, you didn't just stand there and do nothing, you took part in the life of the grove. Whether it was Mattis and his rings to sell or Dammon and his weapons, you were helping out with the trade, and you'd ordered that you and your people should take part in the life of the grove so that everyone didn't look like a green plant in the background.

However, the druids had become bitter of late, and the hospitality you so cherished seemed to be fading as tensions rose. On the one hand, the druids were casting evil glances at the tieflings, claiming that the latter were destroying the larders by their mere presence and that they were an evil people ready to destroy the peace of nature for whatever reason linked to their nature.

On the other hand, the tieflings were defending themselves as best they could by providing manpower for the security of the grove, not lowering the prices of their trade under any circumstances, and getting angry at the treatment they were receiving.

And out of those sides, in the centre, only two people managed to calm the situation: you and Halsin.

You didn't see much of him, as he seemed more preoccupied these days with the problems affecting the area around the little haven of peace, so he was frequently absent. But it had already been more than two days since Halsin had disappeared, and the conflicts in the grove were escalating.

Locke and Komira came towards you as you approached, the tiefling woman suffocating between tears and panic:

“It's Arabella, they took her and they won't let me see her,” she managed to say.

You put your hand on her shoulder to reassure her, ‘I know, I'll take care of it, okay?’

You walked down the few steps towards the fountain where a meditation session was taking place around an idol. Suspicions of a ritual aimed at closing the grove to the world ran from one mouth to the next, a further sign of the descent into ostracism of the latter. Angry druids acted as smugglers, dictating who or what could pass through.

“Stop right here, step back and join the other tieflings”, Jeorna said mechanically, arms folded defensively.

“Let me through, you and I both know I can solve this without any blood baths.” You weren't necessarily strong, nor did you have an innate talent for fighting, but if there was one thing you knew how to do it was to be eloquent, enough you hoped to allow all these worries to be sorted out.

Jeorna pouted, chewing the inside of her cheek as she gave you a simple nod towards the druids' stone door.

“Thank you,” you thanked hastily as you hurried towards it.

You felt the heavy gaze of all the druids on your back, the weight of your responsibility and your difference in this environment becoming almost suffocating.

You walked past the wall, down the small staircase to the druidic quarters. Kagha was there, next to Arabella, who looked simply terrified. Your eyes fell on the rock beside the girl, the glint of the druidess's vicious pet snake ready to attack at any moment.

“What's going on?” you asked as you approached.

All eyes turned to you, Arabella's filled with hope while Kagha's face contorted as if a pestilential smell had suddenly taken over the place.

“What are you doing here?” she stormed.

“And what are you doing here ?” you asked back, maintaining a firm tone.

“One of your kind has tried stealing the idol of Silvanus, a punishment is required for such an act.”

“So you'd be ready to threaten a child's life for a... piece of rock?” you asked, confused.

Kagha parted her lips, preparing to reply something, but the very simplicity of your sentence seemed to bring her back down to earth. This little affront, though, which in her eyes seemed designed to belittle Kagha's credulity in the eyes of the druids, made her boil internally.

“I maintain, a punishment will result for her.” she grimaced, her face bitter and twisted with anger.

“If anyone is going to be punished, it certainly won't be a child.” Your eyes lowered to Arabella, her eyes full of tears, “Let me receive what she must receive.”

The other druids took offence in murmurs, a cloud of low whispers encircling you all as you kept your eyes on Kagha.

“Nonsense,” she laughed, a touch of panic and surprise taking over her tone, “she's the criminal in this instance.”

“Since when do we judge children as criminals in this way?” You raised an eyebrow, shrugging your shoulders in incomprehension. “Kagha, this goes against every principle of your order.”

“Don't talk to me about principles, you vermin.’

Any diplomacy you might have shown was slowly fading as Kagha showed her true colours.

“Kagha,” Rath said as if he'd just been punched in the stomach by hearing her speak like that, “stop this nonsense.”

You took a step towards her, then a second, approaching her slowly and never taking your eyes off her. Some people see the underworld in the horns and tails of the tiefling, but your gaze burned with the fires of the Nine Hells.

“And what are you going to do, hm?” you asked as your face came so close to her you could feel her quick breath against your cheeks, “trap me in vines ? get your little pet to bite me wherever you please ?”

“Don't give me ideas,” she added in an evil, mocking tone, “my judgement will be-”

“What is going on?”

All eyes turned towards the entrance to the room, except yours, which remained riveted on Kagha. You hadn't seen much of him, but you knew his voice well enough to recognise him: Halsin.

Kagha took a step away, quickly whispering to her snake to come back to her before saluting, full of surprise:

“Halsin, you're back.”

Arabella ran towards you, gripping your thigh tightly with her little arms as you felt the fabric of your trousers dampen with her tears.

You tilted your head to the side, still watching Kagha. You had this deep longing, this need for her to remember your gaze, to remember for all the days to come of her eternal life that she would know the anger you bore for all your kind nestled just in your eyes.

Halsin came down the steps, his two arms tensed by the two huge baskets he was carrying. He came towards you, his eyebrows furrowing as he watched Arabella's back twitch. You put your hand on her hair, stroking it gently as she turned her head and her teary eyes met Halsin's.

He turned to Kagha, who still looked as surprised as ever.

“What is the meaning of this ?” he asked, confused.

Kagha fixed her gaze on yours, expecting you to reveal everything in your embittered state. You stared at her for a long time, then turned to Arabella, exhaling in relief.

“Nothing,” you managed to say calmly, “Arabella just got lost and was scared by the wolves.”

The druids' animals were a perfect excuse for the moment, and Kagha was looking at you with huge eyes. You weren't trying to fuel the fire of hatred, you were trying to calm it down and eventually extinguish it so that you could live together in peace. Throwing her to Halsin’s wrath wouldn’t help either of your peoples.

Halsin smiled, his eternal gentleness spreading across his face as he knelt beside Arabella. She sniffed, clutching tightly at the fabric of your trousers.

“I can see how they might frighten you, but they've got a good heart,” he said.

He lowered his hand to one of the baskets, taking a handful of wild strawberries that he'd gone to pick along with some other medicinal herbs. He took a small brown cloth bag and poured the red fruits into it.

“Here,” he said, handing the small bag to Arabella.

She took it in her hand, smiling at him as she sniffed from the tears.

“She should thank you,” said Kagha.

Her venom clearly knew no bounds, and the acrimony you felt towards her was not about to subside.

“She's had a great scare, I'm not going to ask her to be polite,” asserted Halsin.

“Come on sweetheart,” you said, taking Arabella's free hand, “let's get you back to your parents, okay?”

She nodded, squeezing your hand as you headed for the exit. You gave Kagha one last dark look, her eyebrows furrowing as she bit the inside of her mouth.

You took the little girl back to her parents, who took her in their arms. They dried her tears and asked if she was all right, if anyone had hurt her.

“This needs to stop,” said one of the tiefling, “we can't live in fear of what they'll do to us all the time.”

And he was right, you had to find a way to keep your people safe. When evening came, you went up to the telescope that Nadira was occupying, assuring her that she could go to sleep.

You needed a break from all the pressure. You were trying to prevent a conflict breaking out between two completely different peoples who had to live together. The prejudices of your race didn't leave you with an easy task, and this supposed ritual that the druids had started...

You watched the stars, hoping they would give you advice and answers to your questions.

“Beautiful, isn't it ?”

You almost jumped as you turned your head towards Halsin, who came to sit across from you on the cut log.

“Nature has always brought beauty everywhere, in the skies, on the grounds, even in people,” he smiled, resting his forearms on his knees.

You sighed, watching the skies. “If only all people had the beauty you speak of within them.”

"It's a part of nature to be as deadly as it is beautiful.” he said, shrugging as his eyes drifted to the sky in turn. “Plants will make their poisons, predators will make their prey, roses will make their thorns. It's a part of it, just like within each and everyone of us lives a part of light and a part of darkness. We're made in nature's image, after all.”

You leaned back on the rock against which you were sitting, looking at him. He was so serene, so gentle. It seemed impossible at the time to consider that he had any darkness in him.

“What can a rose do against a sheep and its hunger?” you asked, curious.

He laughed softly, his eyes landing on yours as he faced you. “I guess she can't do much, she can try her best with her claws but... nature is as beautiful as it is cruel.”

There was a melancholy in his sentence, hidden behind the softness of his smile.

“Has nature disappeared in the Shadowlands?”

His smile slowly faded, his honey-coloured eyes illuminated by the moon watching you.

“It has not disappeared,” he said, “it has... shifted, been turned into something dark, something undead that defies the laws of nature itself.”

You nodded, your tail coming to rest on your lap.

“Maybe the shadowlands is the only place where the rose can sting the sheep,” you said, gently brushing away the dust that had settled on your skin.

You could feel him looking at you, and you didn't know whether you wanted him to go on forever, or for your eyes to meet his and for him to look away.

“Is that why you're so absent from the grove?” you asked as you finally found the strength to look up and meet his eyes again. “To search for a way to cleanse the land?”

He nodded, smiling gently. “Indeed. The shadows of the past haunt me, they have been doing so for the last hundred years.”

You sometimes forgot how wise he was, how many lives he'd lived, how many lovers he must've had… You find yourself thinking about the question for a moment. His kindness was unparalleled, his generosity and selflessness boundless, and to top it all off: By the Nine Hells, he was handsome.

You wondered if he had a partner, if he had vowed never to love again after his one and only love, or if he wasn't interested.

You straightened up, kneeling before him as he looked at you with surprised eyes.

“Halsin,” you began as you looked into his eyes. “I know that you try to do good in every place that has suffered, it is a noble goal I can't deny it.” You sighed, the despair of the last few days weighing on your shoulders as you loosened them. “But you have to understand that I am starting to be the only one trying to keep the grove at peace.”

His lips parted. You stood up, wiping the dirt from your knees.

“And the grove is not part of the past,” you said to him as he stood, “it's now or never.”

You waved goodbye for the night, leaving to find your sleeping bag in the subterranean caverns while you hoped that your words would have brought him some clarity.

The next morning, ready to take part in the day's gatherings and help in the grove, you learned that Halsin had left earlier that morning, and that once again there had been no news from him.

Your hopes were gradually crumbling.

The rumour that a druidic ritual to close the grove off from the rest of the world had been set in motion under Kagha's orders was well-founded. You sighed, hoping that Halsin would return during the day and not be absent any longer.

Another member of the grove seemed to be missing. Old Auntie Ethel was nowhere to be seen near her stall of potions and other health elixirs. So it fell to you to supervise it during the day.

Night came, and just as you were about to go to bed, Arabella and the other children came running to you, screaming.

“Do you want to wake the whole place up?” you shouted in a whisper.

“You've got to come and see, quick!” urged Arabella as she pulled you along.

The children crept towards the fountain, and you followed them, wondering what they had been up to. You passed the stone wall, descending the steps to the druids' quarters.

“Are you insane? Do you want to get yourself killed coming here?” you scolded them in silence.

“We've found something you really must see!”

They took you to the centre of the room and made you wait there, passing behind some vines to open what you recognised as a chest in the half-light.

They came back to you with a letter in their hands, holding it out to you insistently. You took the letter in your hands, and what you read in it made your blood run cold.

Shadow druids. Kagha had allied herself with them.

“What are you doing here?!”

Kagha's furious voice echoed around the room, the little ones next to you flinching.

"Go back to bed,” you said firmly to the children as your eyes locked on Kagha's.

“But-”

“No buts, you're going back. Now.”

The kids didn't wait a second longer, running for the stairs.

“You're not going anywhere,” Kagha shouted as she came towards them, but you blocked her path.

“So you’ve chosen the Shadow Druids,” you said bitterly, pointing to the letter.

Kagha's face broke, realisation washing over her face with a meagre transition to raw anger.

“You'll never understand anything,” she spat.

You frowned, a flash of destructive malice shining in her eyes.

“Always getting in the way where nobody wants you,” she said, looking at you with disgust and contempt, starting to circle you like a wolf around its next meal, like a predator around its prey, like a sheep around its rose. “You think you have every right here. You and your kind think that you can steal anything you can get your hands on, destroy the order of the grove, intrude on the tranquillity it offers, and you think you'll never have to pay anything in return.”

She chuckled, watching your gaze darken. “You'll never be welcomed, and I'll see to it personally.”

Kagha drew her scimitars, and you braced yourself for whatever injury it might cause.

It was an unfair fight, you had no weapon, no spell, nothing to protect yourself with. All you could hope to do was dodge. She sliced an arc through the air towards you, and you stepped back. She made another strike that split the air, but still couldn't reach you. You were agile, and that worked in your favour.

You ran the length of the room, jumping and trotting to avoid her attacks, but you didn't have time to read the labels on all the potions on display, or the contents of the parchments lying here and there, which could have been of great help to you.

Kagha got fed up with chasing you soon enough, and her voice boomed through the room when she said: “Flagellum!”

A bramble whip wrapped itself around one of your ankles, knocking you off your feet and taking your breath away as you hit the ground. The thorns of the whip dug deep into your leg, and you could already feel the blood spreading under the fabric of your trousers.

You tried to get to your feet but Kagha punched you in the face and cut your lip, rolling you onto your back as she knelt on your arms to stop you doing anything.

“Did you honestly think everything was going to work out?” she said through clenched teeth as she pressed the tip of her scimitar into your arm, “That everything would work out perfectly and we'd find a balance?”

The blade of her sword dug in past the fabric of your shirt, the pain slow and making you grunt. “Never, never would both sides have emerged victorious,” she growled as she withdrew the blade from the flesh of your arm, coming to place it under your throat.

You held your breath, were you going to die like this?

“The shadows were always the answer.”

And as you tried as best you could to shake off the thorns tugging at your leg or to lift your arm out of her grip, you felt the metal covered in your own blood pressing against your neck.

“Kagha!”

Halsin's voice echoed around the room, Kagha turning and letting her attention wander enough to loosen her hold on you. You kicked at the ground to push yourself away from her, the brambles wrapped around your leg making you grunt as you managed to put some distance between you and her.

She sat up, panicking. Halsin was with Rath, the children must have alerted him and found Halsin on the path.

“Halsin, I can explain-” Kagha stammered.

“Your fate will be decided tomorrow. You let yourself be devoured by power, and for that you will be judged,” Halsin said, trying to restrain his anger. “Rath, take her to one of the cells.”

His eyes fell on you on the floor, bloodied, his fist clenching until his knuckles were white.

“I'll look after her,” he said, walking slowly towards you.

You tried to calm your breathing, to take your mind off the fact that you'd just had a brush with death and it had left its scarlet signature on your throat.

He knelt down beside you, examining your leg, surrounded by brambles. He brushed away the thorns and the vine, letting his hand fly over it, but leaving open wounds all the same.

You watched him as he examined you, and noticed that he too was injured. Blood was beading from his forehead and his salient arms were covered in scratches.

His eyes came back to you, and he brought his hand to your chin. Your body instinctively recoiled, and his eyes softened. Tenderly, he ran his fingers over the drying blood on your throat, his eyes drifting to the arm you were holding, which was staining your hand red.

He sighed, and the muscle in his jaw tensed, your cheeks warming at the sight. He turned towards you again, wrapping one arm under your knees while the other encircled your back.

“Hold on to me,” he indicated as your able-bodied arm came around his neck.

He lifted you as if you weighed absolutely nothing, pressing your body against his and making sure he didn't hurt you.

He began to walk, taking you towards what appeared to be his own quarters.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

You pressed your head against his chest, sighing as you gradually came down from all that emotion.

“The children brought me back here to read a letter. Kagha has joined forces with the Shadow Druids, and she intends to perform The Rite of Thorns and cut the grove off from the rest of the world.”

“The Rite of Thorns?” repeated Halsin, not quite believing it.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sighing, a nervous chuckle running up your throat, “she doesn't fancy us.”

He walked through the doorway into his room, which was deeply filled with plants, bags of herbs and a bookcase full of nature reading. He set you down on his bed, which was absolutely huge. It was strange that an elf should grow so tall, and the bed reminded you of that. You looked round the four corners of his room, filled with plants climbing the walls and unvarnished wood.

Halsin didn't ask you any questions at the time, suspecting that your mind was wandering between what had just happened and the present moment. However, as he closed the door to his room to avoid any further worries, he couldn't help asking you a question: “You seem surprised,” he asked as he turned to his shelves to prepare his remedies. “Why?”

His question snapped you out of your reverie, and you turned to face him. His back was facing you, and your thoughts took a different turn for a moment. Enough, however, for your cheeks to heat up.

“It's just... I thought you were so connected to nature that you would just sleep outside on the grass.”

He chuckled softly, turning to the table that was to serve as his desk as well as his workbench.

“Most of the time that's the case, but you have to admit that the comfort of a bed is sometimes more pleasant than the rock, or a rod that ploughs your back.”

“Don't you sleep in bear form, though ?” you asked, trying to adjust your posture so as not to let drops of blood fall onto his sheets.

“I do, but I can't stay in its shape forever.” he stated, pressing herbs, fats and other ingredients into a mortar. “Going back to instincts at all times can do no good to us all.”

You hummed, nodding in agreement.

Your eyes fell on your ripped sleeve, the light glinting off your open wound as it drifted down your leg. The fabric of your trousers was speckled with black spots, the blood taking precedence over its original colour.

You wanted to apologise, for the blood, for your presence here, for the trouble your people had caused. But could you blame your people for simply living? Sure, children pilfered, and the history attributed to your race didn't help prejudice, but to the point of closing down an entire place simply by your presence? No, you couldn't apologise.

Not when you were helping them, not when you were doing your best to contribute to the serenity of the grove.

Not when that crazy Kagha had almost taken your life on the sole pretext of your appearance.

“Why did you leave ?” The question escaped your lips, a little more shakily than you had hoped from the tightness in your throat.

Halsin turned to you, frowning.

“Last night, were my words flat of meaning?” you could feel an intense knot in your throat.

He came towards you slowly, bowl and leaves placed on the ground as he knelt in front of you. Even so, he reached your sitting height. His lips were parted, his gaze soft and attentive.

Your heart broke, and your voice cracked as the beast of sadness clawed at your eyes and throat.

“You left me, after I told you I needed help,” you cried, hot tears of anger and exhaustion running down your cheeks.

“I-” began Halsin.

“You left me.” you repeated, your lips and chin quivering as you saw the reflection of your demonic eyes in Halsin's. You lowered your head, closing your eyes as you brought the back of your good hand to cover them.

All of a sudden, everything fell apart. The quarrels you had to watch over every day, the hard work you put in to make yourself look right, your escape from death tonight and the constant insults and hatred took their toll on your strength and made you break down.

Your face twisted with fatigue, tears trickling down your nose to your chin. You twitched, you were so tired.

Then, like someone covering you with a warm blanket, Halsin came and took you in his arms. He wasn't afraid of your dark eyes, or of being pierced by your horns in his arms, or of your claws that could be used as a weapon. His arms wrapped around you, and you felt so small and safe in them.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly as one of his hands caressed your back.

You began to sob again, your hands coming to rest on his broad back and holding him close to you as if this candour were going to vanish at any moment. You didn't know that you needed this embrace. To be held, to be comforted, to be safe in his arms. He didn't say anything, just stroked your back and hair gently, letting your tears and emotions flow into the silence.

When it seemed that you had no more tears to shed, and that you had calmed down, you remained like that against him.

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled against his shoulder. “for the blood, and for screaming at you and... for the trouble of my people.”

Halsin pulled away from you, and you regretted his action. Part of you wished you'd stayed there, in his arms, talking softly with an open heart.

The thought that your reaction would have been different if it hadn't been him who had embraced you came to mind, and your still swollen eyes met his, full of tenderness and understanding. He took your face in his hands, and your head seemed very small at that moment.

“This is far from being your fault, little bird,” he assured you, his thumb brushing away the remnants of tears on your cheeks. “I left you alone in the face of the fiercest of enemies: ignorance.”

“Yes, but I could have probably done better, at keeping the peace of the Grove in one piece.”

“Look where this led you,” he said softly as he eyed your leg, your arm, and your cut lip for longer than the previous two before coming back to your eyes. “You'll never stop compromising your own well being to help others, will you ?”

“I guess that makes something we have in common.” You smiled, and it was contagious enough for Halsin to mirror you.

“I cannot deny it, but I cannot deny the fact that you having been hurt because of my mistakes and blindness fills me with intense dread and guilt.” One of his hands ran along your shoulder until it came to the cut of your arm, his fingers pinching the fabric as his second hand came to hold your arm. ”May I ?”

You nodded, and Halsin waited no longer before tearing off your sleeve with total ease and setting the fabric aside. He stepped back slightly, placing both hands just above your knee, his gaze on you as he waited for you to confirm. You nodded once more, and the fabric, stronger than your shirt, tore like the transparent film covering the egg yolks.

Your leg and arm were burning, tolerable of course, but that didn't stop it from being extremely unpleasant. He took a basin, placing both your feet in it, and conjured up water which ran down your legs and cleaned your wounds.

Halsin watched the wounds, muttering under his breath words that you didn't fully understand. The only thing you could translate from him at the moment was his frustration.

“It's going to be a bit cold,” he warned, almost in a whisper.

He took the green goo he'd concocted, spreading it with his fingers over your wounds as you shuddered and breathed in through your teeth.

“Why not simply use a healing spell?” you asked as he placed a leaf on the poultice.

“Kagha fights with poison, her scimitars can be coated with it by occasions, and I don't doubt that her link to the Shadow Druids might have altered her magic to the point where these thorns could be poisoned as well.” He turned to the next wound on your leg, “And I prefer to use real remedies if that's the case.”

You watched him at work, carefully applying the mixture and then pressing a leaf onto it.

“Are your wounds related to the reason you left today?” you asked.

His eyes drifted to the scratches on his arms, as if he'd forgotten about them.

“Yes, it so happens that one of the druids came to warn me in the morning of a problem not far from the forest. I suppose you see who Madame Ethel is?”

“I replaced her today at her stall,” you replied.

“We went to her house, it seemst that the Sunlit Wetlands have been profoundly changed by an evil that Ethel spread. She was a hag.”

You frowned. “Was?” the past tense made you doubt things had gone as planned.

“I went there on my own and as I entered the swamps I realised that something was wrong. It was when I got to Ethel's cottage that I realised her true identity, leading me to tracking her down deep underground to get to the bottom of it. She poisoned this land, I couldn't let her get away with destroying nature forever. I ended her henchmen and took care of her right after. A hag knows how to defend herself, she left me with a few meagre memories that will be gone soon enough but she was a tough opponent.”

Halsin had been out all day, investigating and risking his life to flush out a Hag who was deceiving the people in the grove into thinking she could help them. Who knows the next person she would have picked out and brought back to her cursed shack?

You also knew that Halsin preferred to avoid bloodshed as much as possible, and that he had spent a whole day killing creatures in the marshes. The guilt was creeping up your cheeks and up the back of your neck.

“And I screamed at you for doing something right, by the hells I'm so stupid,” you sighed as you brought your hand to your forehead.

Halsin smiled, regaining your eyes as he finished with your leg. “You had your reasons to be angry. I don't blame you, I don't know how I would have reacted either if I were in your situation.” He straightened up, dipping his fingers into the cup again before gently spreading the contents over your wound. “I never thought you had so much to endure by yourself. Between us both, I am the one that should be sorry.”

You said nothing, simply watching him at work. Once the last leaf was in place, he looked at your split lip, and your cheeks heated up like the inferno.

Halsin hooked your chin, his thumb pressing just below your lip as he watched the cut with a look you couldn't quite make out. Your cheek had swollen slightly, Kagha hadn't gone easy on you.

“Punch?” he asked simply, without taking his eyes off your lips.

“Mhm,” you simply hummed, hoping with all your heart that Halsin wouldn't feel your frantic heartbeat on your lip.

His thumb flew over the skin of your lip without ever touching it, murmuring: “Te curo.”

Your lip sealed, painlessly, with the electric sensation of magic emanating from his fingers.

He moved away, preparing to clean his utensils, but you stopped him. “May I?” you asked, pointing to his wounds. You wanted to help him in return, to do something, anything.

“It's just a few scratches,” he reassured you, “I can take care of those myself.”

“You took care of me,” you said as you tenderly took the bowl from between his hands, “Let me look after you.” He sighed, knowing you wouldn't flinch. He sat down properly in front of you, almost between your legs, placing his hands on the sheets not far from your hips, ready.

Just as he had done before, you said the incantation: “Aqua Pura.”

The water ran down his arms, cleaning his wounds until it ran up his temple to clear the cracked blood on his forehead.

“I didn't know you practised spells,” he said, surprised, “How did you learn?”

You dipped your fingers into the generous remains of the mixture, straightening up to gently apply it to his wounds.

“We were travelling during a summer so hot it felt like the underworld had swallowed us up again,” you began. “Hunger was an agony and madness we could endure, but the lack of water was starting to genuinely affect us. Luckily, some druids took us in for a few days in their temple. While some druids-to-be were training to learn spells, I was allowed to learn some of them alongside them. Nothing really extraordinary, just some healing spells, but above all a spell that would prove indispensable if the thirst returned: the creation of water.” You placed a few leaves delicately on his wounds, feeling his attentive gaze on your face.

“I told myself that, by coming here, I would find the precious help that had been given to me and my people,” you moved on to his second arm, “but I don't know if I was right.”

You felt an electrifying warmth settle on your thigh, Halsin's hand having rested tenderly in compassion on it.

“I'm terribly sorry that my absence and ignorance led you to doubt the help you were entitled to receive. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to put an end to this nonsense.”

You gave him a tender smile. You trusted him, after all he had just saved your life. You tilted your head to one side, your fingers tucking behind his pointed ear a stray lock of hair that must have fallen out of his bun during a day full of fighting. You applied the last of the poultice to his wound.

“I'm grateful that you came tonight,” you said. You cupped his face, looking into his eyes before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”

Halsin seemed surprised by the touch, but smiled softly, straightening up and turning to face a wooden chest of drawers. He pulled out a shirt and trousers which, from what you could imagine just by looking at them in the half-light, would be far too big for you.

“You can take my quarters for the night-” He paused for a moment, watching your arm, and clutched the clothes in his hand. “Would you... need help putting these on ?”

Despite Halsin's care and attention to help with your injuries, your arm and leg were still hurting intensely. You couldn't find words that wouldn't make you sound desperate, so you simply nodded, your heart racing again.

He came to kneel beside you once more.

“Can you stand up for me?”

You tried to stand up, pushing on your good leg to keep yourself upright. You almost lost your balance, but Halsin took hold of your waist to keep you in place. Keeping his eyes on you, he took one of your hands and placed it on his shoulder.

“Hold on to me,” he offered.

He brought his two giant hands to your belt buckle, loosening it and unbuttoning your trousers, sliding them gently down your legs, taking care not to move the poultices. His fingers brushed against your skin, under which little fireworks sparkled.

Once the trousers were off, he took the ones he'd pulled out for you in his hands, a sort of sirwal pants that was loose-fitting and wouldn't touch your wounds too closely.

The fabric was thin, and his warm hands running up your legs sent shivers down your spine. You hoped he wouldn't notice them, that the half-light and the cold on your bare skin would be enough of an alibi. You wrapped your tail around your leg so that it didn't stick out too far from your pants.

He tied the lace of the latter around your waist, not tightening it too much. Then he raised his eyes to yours, his hands still on your hips, gently pulling you back onto the bed to sit up.

“May I?” he asked again.

And again you nodded.

His hands moved up from your hips to your waist, gripping the sides of your shirt and helping to pull you out of the fabric. The cool night air spread over your back, but its freshness couldn't quell the fire in the back of your neck as Halsin's eyes bore down on you.

There was a moment of hesitation, of expectation almost. Waiting for a gesture, a sound, a look that would mean yes.

But Halsin inhaled deeply, taking the shirt between his fingers, rolling up the sleeves so that you could slip it on without worry. The shirt seemed as long as a dress, reaching halfway up your thighs.

He pulled the covers over his bed, opening them so that you could slide under them.

“Get some sleep, if you have a problem, I won't be far,” he said as he tucked you in properly.

“Okay,” you assured him.

He looked at you for a moment, his hand coming to brush a strand from your face.

“Sleep well,” he said before standing up.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

And he left.

Your lungs let out a breath they'd been unconsciously holding. You took the duvet and covered your head as if it could hide you and mute your heart.

Your duties as leader had, for most of your life by now, forced you to put aside advances or the idea of romance to keep your head on straight. But Halsin was getting in the way, shattering the wall of protection you'd built for yourself.

You could feel the fabric of his shirt on your body, a caramelised smell of wood, tall grass and warm stone permeating the fabric. His smell.

You surrendered yourself to its comfort.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep. The long day's work and your near-death experience had made you very tired.

It was the sun streaming through the windows that woke you up, its warm caress on your arm and face providing a pleasant morning kiss. You had no idea what time it was, you didn't know how long you'd been asleep, but it had been more than restorative.

Swapping the sensation of rocks and gravel scraping your back every night for sleeping on a straw mattress with a real bed worked wonders. What's more, your arm and leg weren't hurting so much any more. Halsin's poultices had sucked out all the poison they could, and the wounds had largely healed.

You tried to sit up, then to stand up. You took off the trousers, turning them the other way round and putting them on again to let your tail slip under the lace so that you didn't have to keep it wrapped around your leg.

There was still a little weakness and numbness in your leg, but fortunately it wasn't unpleasant enough to stop you from walking.

You rolled the fabric around your ankles to avoid tripping over the length of the pant legs, and walked out of the room. The place seemed deserted, so you set off back outside the Druid quarters to find your people. They must have been worried, and you feared that the absence of their leaders had led to a catastrophe while you were resting.

The druids' cave was empty too, which was most unusual.

You reached the stone door, passed through it and fell silent.

Around the fountain of Silvanus, the druids had gathered. The rite had stopped, much to your relief, but there was a real sense of tension.

Kagha was on trial before her entire circle.

You didn't move any further, not daring to violate this sacred and serious moment.

“Kagha,” Halsin spoke as he stood in the centre of the fountain, high up where the idol of Silvanus once stood. “During my absence, two papers representing evidence of your connection with the Shadow Druids were found. The first,” he pointed to the letter you had read the day before, “was found in your chest here in the Grove. And the second,” he held up a second letter for all to see, passing these two to the other Druids so they could all read them, “in the swamps.”

You crossed your arms, attentive.

“Yesterday, following rumours that proved to be true, I began a cleansing of the sickness that had taken over these lands. During this operation, however, on my way to one of our ancient sacred trees, I found this paper in a hole in a false bark.”

The druids' eyebrows furrowed one by one as they read and heard Halsin's arguments.

“The hatred and contempt of others for Kagha led her to join the Shadow Druids.”

There were shocked murmurs and surprised looks were directed at Kagha, who seemed to be dying of shame and guilt.

“These ideas and behaviours led her to want to perform The Rite of Thorns,” he turned to you, his gaze resting on yours, “and to come to violence.”

He called your name, and in an instant all eyes were on you.

He came down the steps of the fountain, coming to you so that you could lean on him and walk to your people.

“Kagha even went so far as to attack the leader of the tieflings and deliberately wound her in an attempt to kill her.”

Shock was rising among the druids, and your people all came to you as soon as Halsin had brought you close enough to them, who were waiting on the steps leading to the fountain.

Halsin turned back to the druids.

“Many stories were relayed to me during the night by the Tiefling, accounts unworthy of the status of druid and protector of nature. Kagha was prepared to kill a simple, frightened child in need of help.”

Kagha looked down at her feet, her face contorted with guilt.

“Every druids in our circle will exchange as to your fate, Kagha, for we cannot remain indifferent to your actions.”

Two druids came and grabbed Kagha's arms, leading her towards the stone door. The rest gathered round, chatting frantically amongst themselves.

The children hugged you, tears in their eyes as they asked you what had happened. The parents and the others were furious that this pest had had the audacity to touch you. Zevlor pushed them aside, insisting that you were hurt and needed some air after all that had happened.

“You scared the hells out of us, are you alright ?” he asked.

“Everything's fine, more fear than harm,” you reassured him. “I've spoken to Halsin, things are going to be alright.”

Halsin walked towards you, and Zevlor took the opportunity to move all the tiefling away so that he and you could have a private conversation.

“Slept well I presume?” he asked, a charming smile gracing his lips.

“Best sleep I've had in ages,” you confirmed, leaning against a wall to keep yourself upright and not put too much weight on your leg.

“How are you feeling?” he questioned, placing his palm on your forehead to see if you had a fever, then taking your arm in hand to roll up the sleeve and see the state of your wounds.

“Better than I expected. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't shown up.”

“I'd rather not imagine,” he assured. “I spoke to Zevlor and the others last night to explain the situation, and their explanations were very surprising. I honestly had no idea what was going on here.”

“I think we came very close to a catastrophe,” you confirmed, your eyes riveted on his.

“Why did you lie,” he began, “when I came back and Arabella was crying?”

“I thought... blaming each other wasn't going to solve anything. I just hoped that Kagha would understand that she had made a mistake.” you say, your eyes drifting over the fountain which, until recently, was an object of constant torment. “Besides, I was alone in a whole room of druids who were supposed to obey her, I didn't know how things could develop with so much tension.”

“I understand why you did what you did, but I beg you: if ever in the future any incident of this kind should happen again, I ask you to come and see me and tell me about it. What do you say, little bird?”

The nickname for the second time made your heart leap into your chest.

“All right,” you assured him.

“Good,” he turned to the group of druids still chatting. “I must get back, but be assured we will have a long discussion necessary for the balance of the grove after this.”

“I'll wait patiently,” you smiled at him as he turned to leave.

The verdict came, and Kagha was exiled. Halsin came to find you, and a long conversation about recent events ensued.

At the end of it, he came to the conclusion that he had to ensure that his presence was in the daily life of the grove until you could all leave peacefully.

You and Halsin looked after the harmony of the Grove between the druids and the tiefling, while you helped him with the purification of the land.

There were many things you and Halsin didn't say, glances that lingered, closeness that went beyond the merely professional, and a tension in the air that needed to be broken.

The goblin camp that had so far caused problems was deserted thanks to some travellers, and soon a party was organised for the tieflings' departure.

The evening before departure came, and the Bosquet fountain was decorated as if in a real fairytale. Garlands of magical fireflies hung in the air, butterflies fluttered everywhere, and the dishes scented the night air.

Alfira played her lute with other druids for music, Vollo told the children fantastic stories, and everyone danced and enjoyed themselves.

You were wearing a dress sewn by the druids in gratitude for peace, with a relaxed, elegant cut, made from their own fabrics and detailed with lace made from spider's webs. Your horns were adorned with jewels, your eyes highlighted with make-up and perfumed with delicate flower essences.

It was Halsin's turn to arrive at the fountain, wearing a superb suit in shades of brown and green that blended perfectly to underline his elegance.

He greeted a few people, his gaze roaming over the crowds before finally settling on you, his eyes roving up and down your silhouette in what seemed like a trance. You smiled, bringing the cup of your drink to your lips.

He moved towards you after greeting most of the people.

“I almost didn't recognise you,” he admitted, “I'm glad I haven't been drinking yet, if I had I would have choked uponseeing you, and I wouldn't have had all my wits about me to properly appreciate this rare opportunity to see you like this.”

Heat rose to your cheeks.

“I hope my glass will let me hear and understand all the lovely things you have to say to me.”

“Then I can start with the most serious part,” he smiled, facing you, “I wish to travel with you.”

It was you who nearly choked at the announcement, turning to him, confused.

“Travel with us?”

“Only if you agree to receive me,” he continued, not wishing to impose this idea in any way. “The Shadow Lands still haunt me and I know that you must inevitably pass through them to get to Baldur's Gate. I simply ask to travel with you, to give you my help if need be, and…” his hand along his thigh came gently to take yours, “to spend more time with you.”

Your heart was racing in your chest, and you grinned until your cheeks ached and you started to laugh.

Halsin looked deeply confused, had you had more than one drink already, or had he simply said something ridiculous ?

“What is it?” he asked, smiling.

“Nothing, it's just," you composed yourself, pressing his hand in yours, "I was wondering when you were going to ask me all that.”

His face relaxed, relief lowering his shoulders.

In the distance, Alfira and the orchestra were now playing softer music.

He raised your clasped hands.

“Could I have the undying honour of dancing with you?” he asked.

“It would be my greatest pleasure,” you confirmed as you joined the group of dancers. You put your free hand on his shoulder, and his came to rest in the hollow of your waist.

“How long have you been thinking about asking me this, to travel with us ?” you questioned.

“Since the trial of Kagha, when things started to get better at the Grove,” he said, waltzing gently with you.

“And,” your smile widened, tilting your head back slightly, ’how long have you been thinking about wanting to spend more time with me?’

He couldn't help but smile back. ‘Since our discussion under the stars.

“About the sheep and the rose ?”

“Precisely the sheep and the rose,” he agreed. He moistened his lips, his eyes falling on yours. “And then the next night, after Kagha had wounded you.”

You remembered that night as if it had been etched in your memory forever. As well as the fear, the pain and the fatigue, you could never forget the feel of Halsin's hands on your body, or his smell, or his eyes on you.

“I have to admit I could barely refrain myself from keeping my touches polite,” he admitted, lowering his lips to your ear. "My hands were aching to linger on you."

“I wish you had never left them from me.” you confirmed in a whisper, his voice and breath on your neck making you shiver.

Halsin hummed, his chest vibrating against you. You were aware of how close you were, how the air you shared had thinned.

“Fortunately,” he murmured, his hand roaming over your back and bringing you a little closer to him, ”this is something I can remedy for both of us.”

Your breaths spread across your cheeks, your noses brushing.

“I want to have you by my side, in every land we roam, in every place we stay, under any sky that covers us.” he whispered as you felt the warm, tender skin of his lips graze yours. “I want you.”

Neither of you waited any longer to kiss, abandoning yourselves, to the feelings, to the envy, to the sweetness of the night.

Cheers of joy echoed around you, applause resounding throughout the grove. Halsin smiled against your lips, his hand cupping your face as he continued to kiss you.

Everyone celebrated your love, which had no intention of waning.

#mads' requests ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #halsin #halsin x reader #halsin x you #halsin x tav #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 x reader #halsin imagine #bg3 x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader

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ollieink · 11 months

Text

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃!

childe x fem!reader ( wc 4.8k)

inspired by 'pretty poison' written by the very talented vent1k1n on ao3, literally so good. never thought strip russian roulette could be so smeggsy wtf.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | dead dove: do not eat, non-con, rough sex, size difference, bit of gunplay, spitting, forced orgasm, corruption, yandere undertones, threats of murder, childe is a menace, reader has a petite body, dash of angst, russian roulette, mafia alternate universe, betrayal, please don't read if you're not comfy with these themes.

"Tartaglia is heartless."

That's what papa's soldiers said after he asked for your hand in marriage. It was a way for both ruling families to finally come to terms. Some were against it, others hopeful. And you had to admit, Tartaglia was hypnotizing. You saw him from afar one time, two times, a couple of times—from across the bridge that separated papa’s territory from his. He was the ocean come alive, all the good and all the bad. When he crossed that bridge to meet you, everything people warned you about him burnt to the ground.

Your chest fluttered on the wedding night, but it wasn't what you thought or hoped it would be. Tartaglia merely wished you a good rest before departing to his room. Of course, this wasn't a marriage of love ( you'd gotten carried away in your fantasies ), but rather a strategic move on both mafia families. Even then, the painful sprout of thorns in your chest didn't go unnoticed. Maybe it did for him. Or perhaps he did notice and just didn't care.

Papa didn't want you seeing all the bad things he did, so violence was a thing that happened from a distance. It was the same with Tartaglia. He'd tell you to go to your room when his men came in for a meeting, reassure you everything was okay—that you didn't need to worry your pretty head off. Perhaps he truly cared about you ( even if it wasn't the starstruck love you hoped it to be ), and that fleeting period in your life was the happiest. That is until you peeked into the basement of his manor, and a pair of dead blue eyes looked back.

You’re not supposed to cry over a stupid boy.

The sky has given way for a thunderous storm. Loud cracks of thunder light up the city, matching your heart's ferocious churning as you think over and over again: why, why, why? It pours rain as you pound on various doors for refuge, but everyone knows better than to open them at this hour. Crossing the bridge is a death sentence; Tartaglia’s men are stationed there, and they'd surely capture you on sight.

Afraid that he’ll catch up, you run into the city’s emptiest corner—an unsuspecting alleyway where the city lights can't reach. There’s nothing but rubbish here: overflowing dumpsters, shattered alcohol bottles someone must've thrown in a drunk daze, vulgar graffiti on the walls. Buildings tower overhead, placed so close together only a few people can walk through at the same time. The path winds 'round and 'round. You aren't sure where you're going, as long as you get away from here.

More lightning cuts through the pouring sky, and amidst it, a sweet voice calls out for you.

“Darling~”

All the hairs on your body stand, and you run faster than ever before. He's still using that sickening term, as if you really do hold a special place in his heart. Even if it wasn't real, you were content being something he felt obligated to take care of—because you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered when his hand tightened over yours, how he looked standing bare feet in the ocean shoreline. And you were happy being just an afterthought to him. But this is too cruel for you.

"Come back to me, darling. I'm sorry if I scared you."

His footsteps are getting closer and closer.

The alley takes a quick turn, and what you see next crushes all hope of getting away. A wall.

No, no no no no.

There must be another way out, but everywhere you look is a dead end. When the heavy footsteps finally stop a few meters away, you turn around. With a violent crackle of thunder, light briefly fills the alley; it barely makes a dent in Ajax's dark blue eyes. The electric crashes through the sky reflect off the taut muscles—wet with rain—on his arms. His black shirt, soaked all the way through, clings tightly to indents of hard flesh on his torso. And a smile haunts his face, kind like you remember.

"Why are you running away from me?" Ajax takes a step closer and reaches out a tempting hand. It's his left one, and the two rings on it are evidence of your weak union. "Let's go home, my love." He beckons in that familiar, gentle tone he only used with you. It made you feel special, but now you know it's just a trick.

“Bastard!” You scream with all the broken pieces of your heart. “You were just using me! I saw what you did to my father’s men in your basement, what you said about killing me! It’s a low move, you know—to murder someone in their sleep.”

Your words stir a devilish grin from him, and all traces of sweet, sweet Ajax disappear in an instant. "Ah, so you heard that too." He steps closer again, and the cobblestone wall hits your back. "It's a shame, ya know. If you weren't so nosy, I would've let you alive for a bit longer. Maybe we could've had our first kiss on the lips too, hmm? Bet you would've liked that. I know I would—you were always so kind to me. A bit too kind."

"Get away from me! If papa finds out about this, he'll kill you!" you scowl, hoping to get some leverage over this situation. But Tartgalia is a proud man. He simply laughs, as if you're a child throwing a silly tantrum.

"Well, he isn't here right now is he? It's just you and me." As his hand lifts, a flash of lightning exposes a revolver nestled against his palm.

"Ajax. . . ?"

Even his name sounds unfamiliar. The remaining bits and pieces of your heart break, not instantly, but in a way that hurts much more—slow and agonizing, holding onto hope that you know doesn't exist.

Blue eyes sweep up your body, savoring your disheveled appearance under this stormy night. Your plush thighs look so squeezable, and oh, that teeny tiny waist that's just begging to be held down.

“Let’s play a little game. It'll be fun."

Despite his voice sounding playful, the cold smile twisting his mouth wrecks shivers through you. He opens the gun to reveal six bullets settled ominously inside. “Each piece of clothing you take off, I’ll get rid one bullet. You have ten minutes before I pull the trigger, darling. Let's see if you're alive then. And if you are, I'll let you go. Promise." He chuckles at the way your eyes widen fearfully; it’s just too adorable. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

There's no way you're going to listen to him. He already messed with you enough—from the wedding vows, the delicate cheek kisses, and late-night strolls along the beach. All of it was just a pretend game for him, and the thought boils your blood just as much as it hurts.

“That game's stupid. I’m not doing anything for you."

“So, you’re gonna play tough, eh?” Tartaglia hums, unbothered by your disobliging attitude. In fact, the smirk on his face gives you the impression that he enjoys it. He points the revolver aside, and with a spark, fires it. A shrill noise reverberates through the cramped alleyway, and you jolt as the bullet whizzes past your cheek. “I won’t miss next time.”

Angry tears sting the corner of your eyes. “You’re fucking disgusting."

"You have ten minutes, sweetie. Or would you rather just let me end it all for you right now? I promise it won't hurt." There's a slight pause, then Childe's grin widens even more. "Or perhaps you want to spend your last moments as husband and wife? I know we never got the chance to be really intimate."

He'll shoot you if you try to run. For a split second, you consider trying to reason with him. Maybe he really did feel something—even if it was the most empty-minded feeling that ever crossed his cold heart. But that hopeful thought quickly vanishes. Ajax doesn't exist. He never did.

Finally, with a long exhale, you hesitatingly begin to slip off one heel.

“Mmm, good girl.” He takes out one bullet, letting it clang against the floor and roll by your feet. His gaze feels sharp along, glued to every movement, every nook and cranny of your exposed skin. When you get the other heel off, Childe hums cheerfully and drops another bullet. Papa always told you to be brave, but you’re shaking uncontrollably under this heavy aura of death. Your fingers tremble as they loosen your dress, and when the ribbons slowly but surely come undone, all the silk cascades into a bundle of light pink. A slight sigh comes from Childe the moment your adorable, white undergarments are revealed—so untouched, so innocent. Your skin suddenly feels too uncomfortably tight under his heavily inspecting eyes.

Childe chuckles as you hug yourself ( to cover up and protect yourself from the stormy weather ). Seeing you like that—all vulnerable and small—it's just too cute. He lets go of another bullet, and it lands with a sharp ting.

"Come on, take it all off," he playfully orders.

It's a decision between pride or life—an easy option for most, but difficult when it ends up in your hands. "Go fuck yourself." When you make no effort to strip any more, merely scowling at him with dewy eyes, the blue-eyed man breaks into wild laughter.

“You’d rather die than let me see you naked? Ah, how cute, but. . .” He closes the metal cartridge, spins it, then lifts the gun back up to you. “I’d think twice if I were you.”

"If you lay a finger on me, papa won't let you get away!" you glare at him, but all it does is stir a snicker. Suddenly, Childe steps forward and kicks your knee out. You hit the floor coarse with wet dirt. “Hey—!” Tartaglia wastes no time listening to your protest. He carelessly turns you over with his shoe, then presses the underside of it onto your stomach—a sharp contrast to the way he always treated you like glass. It was that side of him you learned to love, not the heartless man everyone viewed him as. Perhaps if you'd been smarter, you would've seen right through him. How love is but a fool's game to him. And how it was always his plan to use you.

A flash of thunder lights up the sky behind him, and the rain falls harder.

Your face contorts with rage. “Fuck you!"

“Quite the dirty mouth for such a sweet girl," Childe coos, kneeling down to harshly grab your chin. "Haha, you look so cute when your cheeks are all pushed up like that."

He leans in, and suddenly, a pair of lips capture yours—sweet and creamy as if he just finished a glass of honey. His tongue breaks into the wet cavern of your mouth, exploring the darkest corners. You feel the metal of his piercing, how it presses against your tongue. Each groan he makes resonates deep within your chest. Determined to resist in any way you can, you bite down hard enough to split open his bottom lip.

Tartaglia jerks back with surprised laughter, dragging his pierced tongue over the blood. "I always expected you'd like it rough, darling. But it's fine—I like it too." As if taking your defiance as a challenge, he curls his hand into the back of your hair, and with a harsh tug, smashes your lips together in a desperate frenzy.

"Mmph!" The sheer force of his kiss muffles your voice. He forcefully pushes down your jaw, giving him enough room to shove his slithering tongue inside again. Saliva trickles down into your throat, and his mouth hums against yours; it urges you to amuse him more. You refuse at first, but as his disgusting saliva builds up from just how sloppy the kiss is, you're forced to take tiny gulps, and those gulps soon turn into hesitant swallows.

After a long moment, he finally pulls back. “That’s right. Drink it up, filthy little thing.” In a fit of rage, you spit on his face, and he recoils to wipe it off his cheek. Instead of seeing anger on his face, there's nothing but the flushed look of unhinged amusement. He suddenly jams his gun into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden intrusion. He hovers a finger over the trigger with a smirk on his face. “Wanna try that again?”

Tears blur your vision, but they're quickly blinked away. You won't let him win. You won't let this bastard get the better of you.

"That's what I thought." Childe moves the gun to the side of your head, showing exactly who's in charge. His other hand settles upon your pelvis; it nearly folds across the entire width. "So tiny. . ." You flinch as his touch moves lower, caressing all the subtle curves and dips of your flesh. "Ever been this intimate with anyone, darling?" He plays with the band of your panties, letting it smack against your hip after every tug. The ginger coos, as if your reaction was somehow an answer—the way you tremble, the way you glare at him with such lovely flushed cheeks. "Mmm, guess not. But that makes it more exciting, right?"

He suddenly turns you around, easily jerking your limbs until you're sitting on his lap. His hand falls from your neck, between the valley of your breasts, then to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Thorns sprout from the pit of your stomach. It's tingly, prickly, threatening to swallow you whole from the inside out.

"Don't touch there!"

Tartaglia lets out a low chuckle, pushing the barrel of the gun carelessly against your jaw. "Stupid girl, don't you see what position you're in? I'll show you what a man can do to someone so weak." The pads of his fingers are rough, so embarrassingly intimate as one traces your slit. "First, I'm gonna put my cock in here." He slips a gloved finger inside, and you keen at the unfamiliar disturbance. Tiny hands grip onto him tighter, desperately searching for purchase with each scarlet mark it leaves on his skin. You want to scream at him until your throat bled, but all you can muster are pathetic little whimpers.

His voice dips lower, husky with sweet poison. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you like this." His finger slowly drags in, out, in, and out. Each movement is earth-shattering, something you've never experienced before. It renders you completely useless. And despite how much you try to fight it off,fs you're losing yourself to him—body squirming, hips bucking disgracefully against his gloved hand.

"Think you can handle the real thing, sweetheart?" Childe's teasing remark reduces you to a mess of shame and boiling hot anger. You want to tell him to shut up, but your teeth are gritting together to prevent any more noises from coming out ( you don't want to feed his bloated ego any more than this ). However, as he curls his finger and hits a sensitive wall of flesh inside you, an embarrassing mewl chimes from your throat. "Heh, this wet already with just one of my fingers. Didn't realize my wife was so slutty."

"Ah!" You pitifully claw against his shirt, squeezing your legs together to make the electrifying feeling stop. But Childe doesn't give you time to rest. He holsters his gun and forcefully spreads your thighs—smeared with wet dirt, gravel, and slick—before shoving in another finger. The added friction makes you kick your feet in protest. "Nghhh! No, st-sthawp, Ajax!"

Childe's ears perk up at how his name sounds along your pretty tongue. It was something he shared with you after a night of heavy drinking. He never planned to reveal it, but the alcohol influenced him more than he thought. And perhaps it was also because of the way you looked while basked in silver moonlight.

"I hate you!" With an infuriated shriek, you pound against his chest, but that only seems to rile him up even more. His fingers hit even harder, deeper, faster. "Agh! Mmmf, n-no. . . I hate, nghh, h-hate you!"

Tartaglia lets out a snicker. "But you look like you're loving what I'm doing to you. It's not good to lie, you know that, right?" The repulsive, sopping noises of him toying with your cunt mortifies you. There's some pain, pleasure, and an exhausting sense of weakness as you're unable to do anything but lay there. "If you come on my hand, I'm gonna have to punish you for lying~"

Your stomach coils up into a wad of throbbing nerves. The lack of control is terrifying, but you still try to be defiant. "I'm not, ah, going to—!" After a harsh thrust of his fingers, with a loud cry, your body releases all that tension onto his glove. Everything goes blank for a second as your chest heaves up and down. It's so dizzy, the world is spinning.

"Mmm, looks like you need to be taught a lesson on how to be a good girl." His fingers pull out with a squelch, going to unbuckle his belt. There's a very noticeable bulge in his pants. And when he wrenches the restrictive garment down, releasing his hard, massive, swollen cock, new profound terror seeps into your guts. He's planning to put that disgusting thing in you; the thought is horrifying. You try to scurry away, only for his toned arms to push you back down. "Don't run from me." With a smirk, Childe turns your little body around to face him. His weight presses against you, slowly until you're both on the ground. The rain hits his back, droplets rolling down his sharp jaw and onto your face. "This might be a bit rough on your tiny body."

Before you can comprehend his warning, he pulls your soaking wet panties to the side and snaps his hips forward. The painful disturbance makes you wail, your cramped insides trying to resist Childe's member with all its might. It burns. White hot, like a metal rod dipped in lava. For a second, your body shuts down, vision blacking out before startling back awake.

"N-No, hurts. . . 'Jax!"

He jerks his hips, forcing his big cock deeper.

You're gonna die. He's going to kill you.

"Tight—" he hisses, then sucks in a breath that shifts into laughter. He's enjoying it; the cold sweat dripping down your face, how you kick, whimper, your sensitive insides gripping him so intensely. "Hahaha! I can't fuck you stupid if you're gonna keep clenching down me like that." He's smiling, like this is all some kind of joke. However, when you suddenly squeeze even tighter around him, that attitude breaks a little. Teeth gritting hard, Childe buries his head into the shallow dip of your shoulder. He's holding you so close with shivering arms—you can almost confuse it with love. The tender kind you prayed for, something that consumes you whole as if passing through a cloud heavy with rain.

After composing himself, he finally lifts himself back up to look you in the eyes. His face is contorted into a look of pleasure: red cheeks, eyes sharp with wicked amusement. "Ghh. . . W-What did I just say?"

You squeak as he rolls his hips, slipping in a few more inches you didn't realize existed ( it already feels so full ). When he makes a small pump to adjust to the wet heat, your eyes squeeze shut at the throbbing pain. It's too big—the tip feels like it's going to tear through your cervix. But just as you think it's pushed all the way to the hilt, your eyes go wide as he forces in a few more inches inside.

"Ahhh!" You glance down, horror flooding your veins at the sight of there being more to take in. His cock stretches past your limits, making your stomach protrude a little with its shape. The filthy sight burns hot shame throughout you. He's really inside. Not wanting to look at it anymore, your eyes wander elsewhere, but Childe isn't merciful enough to give you that salvation. He takes your chin and forces it forward.

"Look at me."

It's cold enough to see his heavy breaths come out as wisps.

The ginger flutters his eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling before he fucks you loose. “Such a needy hole for me. So tight, and so fucking warm." When his member draws out slightly, the glossy sheen covering his hard, veiny skin makes you dizzy.

“Let go of me!” you command him, holding back the hot tears brewing in your eyes. In an attempt to relieve the pain, you lift your hips off the hideous thing, but a strong hand grips your waist and jerks you back onto it.

“Mm, now what did I say about not running away?”

Childe pulls himself out to the tip.

Knowing what's coming next, you shout, "W-Wait!" A screech claws out of your chest as he slams back inside with a heavy, wet squelch. Searing pain unfurls inside your weak body, the excruciating thrust of his thick cock too much to handle. You tremble as he withdraws again, agonizingly slow as if to see what other cute reactions you're capable of making. "No, stop—!" He doesn't listen, chuckling as you scratch the muscular jut of his shoulder blades.

“Haah, fffuckk, that’s good,” he admits, thrusting hard back inside with a grunt—so brutally you think for a moment that something split inside you. It’s his massive girth that stretches your insides uncomfortably, the way he’s so much bigger, how he didn’t bother being gentle. The tears you’ve been trying to hold back spill out, and you scream as he sets an unforgiving pace. His body is much bigger, stronger than yours. He easily rocks you back and forth—like you're just some fuckdoll for him to use whenever and however he pleased. All your cries and the way you slam your fists against him are ignored. “Aww, are you crying?” His voice drips with mockery.

You hate it. You hate it so much.

Your hands push against his chiseled stomach. "Get out of me!"

Tartaglia laughs in a way that makes your cheeks burn helplessly. "You're still fighting? Don't you see it's useless, stupid girl." He squeezes your wrists together and pins them above you. There's no way he can possibly hold you down with just one hand, so you struggle, and struggle, and struggle. But nothing budges him at all. His lips are back on yours: kissing hungrily, teeth biting, tongue not wasting any drop. The hot and slimy kisses trail to your collarbone, leaving thick trails of drool. It's like he's salivating at the thought, the feeling, the everything about you.

"I'm not your toy!" you scream at him.

The blue-eyed man lets out a stuttering breath, followed by a snicker. "But you're my wife, which means we're bonded together for the rest of eternity. Remember our vows? Until death do us part." He groans, shifting his weight back a little to get a full view of your adorable face—all red and tear-streaked. “Haaah, you’re so cute when you make that stupid face. That kind of expression would drive any man wild, so don't go showing anyone else." Childe lowers himself to whisper in your ear. "Or I'll get really mad.” He grabs the plush of your thigh, jerking it onto his shoulder to better fuck you into the concrete.

"Ah! Stop, Ajax!"

"That's right, say name name just like that. Go on, cry it all out," he grunts. The shameful wet noises of his hips pounding into your cunt—over and over—fill up the alley. You want to block it out and only listen to the crackles of thunder, the rain as it swallows you up in a bitter cold. But each thrust of his dick breaks your resolve little by little. You’re afraid of someone stumbling down this path and seeing you like this, but you also yearn to be saved.

"H-He. . . lp." It hurts to say anything; your throat is hoarse from all the screaming and pleas for him to stop. "Papa, help me. . ."

The moment you call out for your father, Childe's grip tightens into steel. A punishing thrust rips a cry from you, trembles wrecking through your lithe figure. "Pay attention to me." His voice comes out a low growl. Your vision that was starting to black out returns abruptly. "Who's fucking you right now? Who's making you their bitch? That's right, me. So just forget about everything else and only look. at. me."

There's something so harsh about his words and it confuses you. You've never him like this before—the way he's looking at you with those terrifying eyes.

He glances at the slick gathered between your hips. "We're making such a mess. Finally consummating our marriage after all this time, hm?" Childe takes your left hand, and in a surprising gesture of intimacy, kisses the rings on it. You watch in disbelief as he lifts your hand to his cheek, nuzzling against it—like your warmth is his only flame in the middle of a freezing winter. A strange look dawns his face; you can't pinpoint it no matter how hard you try.

You flinch from his touch despite how gentle it is. "N-No, stop. . . I can't do it anymore. I'm gonna die."

Something flickers across his face, but it's quickly covered up with a smirk.

"Mmmf, you're tightening up again," he heaves out. There's no smile on his face anymore, a concentrated expression taking its place. You feel every bit of his sweat on you, as well as the way your ribcage rattles with how resonating, deep and full his moans are. "I s-should've been, agh, doing this more often while I—ghh!—had the chance." Suddenly, his eyes narrow, cock quivering. "S-Shit, 'mm close. Gonna fill you up nice and good. You'd like that, yeah?"

When you shake your head frantically, he takes out the revolver again and aims it between your eyes, hand trembling slightly from the intense pressure wrapped around his cock. “I’ll blow your, nghhh, p-pretty brains out after I fill you up.” That dark promise widens your eyes in fear; the adorable reaction makes him bursts into wild laughter. But from the way he bites his lips soon after, eyes filled with desire, it's clear that he's struggling to keep himself composed. “Ah, that look on your face; it’s too good! There's still two bullets inside. I’ll do it, darling. I’ll really kill you.”

"Ajax," you plead with a cracking voice. The look on your face must've been priceless ( maybe it was the despair, the defeat, the betrayal, who knows ). His body suddenly shakes with hearty laughter.

"Ha, hahahah! You can be so, so, so cute when you want to be." Childe lets out a low groan. With one last violent thrust, he releases all his cum—in hot, sticky spurts that leave you shivering—deep deep into your womb.

Everything goes numb, the loud thunder and pouring sky becoming white noise.

You stare up at Childe as he spins the revolver's cylinder one more time. The bullets in their cartridge rotate with a clinking noise, metal on metal, beckoning death from its slumber. There's a chance you'll die, and a chance you may walk out of here alive. But your heart is broken, and no one can survive without a functioning heart.

Childe smiles; it isn't playful but rather weak. "Ha, don't look at me like that. It makes me feel kind of bad. But don't worry! If you survive this, I'll let you go like I promised earlier."

He presses the nozzle against your forehead slowly—perhaps to prolong your despair, or maybe it's because of something else. You think you see something change in his blue gaze, but those eyes are still dark—as heavy and cold as a thousand seas. Even then, you find yourself clinging to that tiny spark of light.

"I love you."

The words spill out from your mouth.

Tartaglia sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes widen, filling with some strange emotion you've never seen in them before. After a bit, he squeezes them shut, as if your words seared his flesh. "Don't say things like that either." He finally looks at you with an unclear expression, one that surely isn't warm but not cold either. "It makes me feel like I'm gonna do something I regret."

His finger moves to the trigger.

And you wait for what's to come.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

## 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 | thank you for reading! got sick and tired of proofreading, so you'll probably find grammatical errors or clunky sentences. but wow i actually managed to write something kek.

#( general ; ollie's writing )#childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #smut #childe smut #yanderecore #yancore

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charliehoennam · 7 months

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A/N: fulfilling @j23r23's request. Subtle reminder that my ask open again! Tried my best to sum it up, hope you enjoy <3

Summary: Reader's a pub owner and fianceè to The Alfie Solomons. Turns out she's a bit more than just that.

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!reader

Warnings: Language, Adopted!reader, not proof-read, I think that's it??

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

Most people would have been nervous if Alfie Solomons strolled on into their area of business without any notice.

Everywhere he went, his most trusted and strongest lackies followed behind for protection. They were intimidating on their own, but Alfie's dominant presence was enough to make anyone mentally retrace their days, wondering if they'd made their weekly payment for protection or if they'd gotten in trouble with any of Alfie's clan.

You, on the other hand, were not like the others. You remained calm, cool and collected the minute he wandered into your pub.

Despite it being young to the busy street and small in comparison to the neighboring establishments, you had heard many things about Alfie. Only rumors, however, mostly from your drunk clients at the Glass & Barrel.

Some would argue that he was full of himself. Others would make remarks on how he was a form of savior with the jobs he'd given them. A few despised him with all their might for the beating he'd ordered onto them. Judging by what you knew of these specific clients, you knew it hadn't been for nothing.

It was early morning when you hear the doorbell chime. You could hear him mumble on as he looked around at the pub, but couldn't quite make out what he said.

You knew right away who he was. The hat and the cane were dead giveaways, but it was his demeanor that made it clear. And what he did for a living did not sway you in the slightest.

You had expected his visit for a while. It was just a matter of time that he showed up to explain how his method of security works. It was simple. You pay and his boys protect. Extra pay meant he'd place a strong lad in the pub to chase away any unwelcome, rowdy guests.

The first thing Alfie noticed about you when he walked in and sat down at the bar was how unfazed you seemed. He knew at the moment that you were a fearless woman and he admired that.

He assumed you had to be that way, given the dubious characters that milked the bottles from your shelves and the barrels in the basement.

However, there was still a sweetness in you that teased his curiosity. It made him yearn for a woman in such a foreign way that he hadn't felt since he was a young lad.

Since then, his visits became more and more often until you realized he was stopping by about two or three times a week. The funniest thing about his visits was that he never drank anything other than water. It was quite comical.

He enjoyed charming his way into your heart. Every visit consisted of laughter, taste-tests of his finest brews, playful flirting and him trying to convince you to go out on a date with him.

You resisted. Alfie knew that you wouldn't be easy. He could barely imagine just how many drunken fellas have tried their luck with you. The gun you hid under the bar wasn't for nothing.

In fact, your reservation made you all the more special.

He respected your pace and, every time you turned down his invitations, he didn't press you.

"I respect that, love. But a man's gotta try, right? Maybe one day I'll get lucky and you'll say yes."

And he was right. One day, he did get lucky indeed and you finally accepted one of his relentless invitations. However, you requested that it'd be during the day.

You told him it was because the pub made more money at night, but really, you didn't want to give off the impression that you'd be repaying him with sexual favors.

Not that you didn't want to. Alfie's ruggedness was just one of the many features that you admired. You were more than attracted to him, but you weren't the type to sleep with someone so early on.

It was an unspoken boundary, but Alfie understood you better than you could ever imagine. He didn't need to hear you say it and he never forced you or questioned you about it. Truth is he was willing to wait as long as he needed to because he knew it'd be worth the wait. Because something told him that you would be the one.

The chemistry between you and Alfie was naturally cohesive. He cherished every moment he got to spend with you. Every laugh and smile he teased out of you were trophies to him.

Your relationship grew into mutual petting and necking often stolen in secret at the opera, in the corners of fancy restaurants or in the convenient shadows at the pictures. It gradually grew to the point where you finally felt comfortable enough to invite him to spend the night with you.

Alfie was right. It was definitely worth the wait.

He made sure to take it slow as to burn every single second and touch of into his memory. He wanted to make it about you and your pleasure.

Every kiss of his lips burned into your skin. His beard scratched your soft flesh of your as his kisses trailed over your body. His greedy hands pulled and squeezed you tightly, aching to meld your bodies to become one.

He couldn't get enough of you and you couldn't bare to part from him. The softness of his hair when your fingers raked through it, his hairy chest brushing against your breasts and then your back, the moans and groans vibrating from the depths of his core. It was enough to have you addicted to him.

That night with you was unlike any night he'd ever spent with any other woman. There was meaning to this act, deep meaning. You were the woman he loved, the one he hoped to marry. You were the woman that had given him hope to become a father and inspired him to be a better man. Despite being a hardworking man, he felt the lost desire to have a home to return to. Suddenly, Alfie had hope for a future in which he wasn't alone.

Throughout the time he'd gotten to know you, he noticed how you always seemed to stray away when the topic shifted to your family. You didn't lie about them. You told him just enough to satiate to his curiosity that was entirely about your adoptive parents.

The truth was that you barely knew your biological family. You knew who they were - your loving adoptive parents had always been honest with you about your origins - and that you were indeed one of the legendary Shelbys of Birmingham.

You hadn't thought about them for a long time until your now-fiance Alfie was meeting with Tommy Shelby at the distillery.

At first glance, you didn't know who was sitting across from Alfie in his office until Ollie told you and asked you to wait.

You stood outside of the office, away from Alfie's sight. It was clear Tommy was in rough shape. You'd heard about the beat down; you were amazed to see him still walking.

If he recognized you, he didn't make it obvious. He only saw you on his way out of Alfie's office, but he simply walked past you and left the distillery without looking back.

An emptiness hollowed you inside after he left. You wondered if he knew who you were. You wondered if anything would've changed if you had told him. After all these years, you doubted he'd even remember he had a little sister younger than Ada. Granted he was older than you - you yourself didn't remember anything from that time - there was a small part inside you that had hoped he'd remembered, but you had finally been answered.

It'd been a couple of days since you saw Tommy at the distillery. Although it hurt a bit to know he hadn't remembered you, you accepted fate as it was and felt like you could finally put it behind you as if you had finally buried the past.

Until the devil himself walked into the Glass & Barrel, announcing his arrival with the doorbell chime. He paused for a moment and let his eyes scan the pub.

It was early in the morning with only a couple of your regulars: veterans of the war drinking away their sorrows, and Bubba: the large bouncer Alfie insisted to keep inside the pub.

You froze as you watched Tommy take a cigarette before sliding it across his lips to wet the bud. From the corner of your eye, you noticed how Bubba looked at him and sat up alert, instantly recognizing him.

Bubba was a tall man who had gained his nickname for seeming common and unthreatening. You'd seen him in action plenty of times dealing with the rowdy clients to know he was anything but. He could blend into the crowd just as easily as he could fend off four men at once. Bubba always loved a good fight.

You nodded at him to let him know it was alright. He opened his newspaper again, but his eyes stayed locked on Tommy from the far corner.

You treated Tommy as you would treat any customer and offered him a drink.

"Whisky, please," he answered as he sat in front of you at the bar.

"Brown or white?"

"Brown" he nodded watching you move behind the bar. "This place yours?"

"It is, " you answered setting a glass in front of him to pour his drink.

"Nice place... Decorate it yourself?"

"I did."

He nodded and a small sip of his drink.

"You grew up 'round here?"

"Around London, yeah. Moved a bit here and there, but always stayed in London."

"You know, I once had a little sister. She was taken away early from us. My poor mum, she did her best to raise us. We were a bit of a handful. Six in total... Last I heard about her is that she lives in London."

Tommy cradled the glass in his hand and admired the brown liquid, but he could feel your eyes burning through him.

You froze as the realization washed over you. It was no coincidence that he wandered into your pub. It was entirely intentionally.

"Runs her own pub. Seems like that tends to run in the family," he paused and eyed you with a steely steady gaze, as if he could see right through you. "Does he know?"

Tommy felt like he already knew the answer. Alfie would have most likely brought it up during their first meeting if he knew.

"No. I haven't told him. I don't feel it's necessary to."

"I can respect that. But it doesn't change the fact that you're still family."

"With all due respect, Mr. Shelby, I have a family."

"I'm just saying, that's all. If you ever need a hand, you know where to find us."

You didnt bother replying since he was quick to stand, snuffing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the bar.

He stopped just before the door to set his cap on his head before glancing at you one more time on his way out.

You felt Bubba's eyes boring a hole into you so you quickly moved about, getting back to work. There was no doubt he'd be telling Alfie about this little visit. Tommy's a wise man; Bubba knew his visit was no coincidence despite having not been able to hear your conversation.

The truth would have to come out.

Once Eddie arrived to take over the night shift, you made your way a few streets over to the home you and Alfie shared.

Unlocking the door, you walked inside to hang your coat up. But from the corner of your eyes, you could a familiar shadow standing by the fireplace.

Alfie was never home this early. The lack of acknowledgement to your arrival made you certain something was up.

"Alfie. You're home early," you smiled walking towards him.

"Yeah, I am. I had an urgent matter to tend to myself."

"I see..." you nodded as you slowly drifted over towards him over the wooden floor that now felt like eggshells. Had Bubba told him about Tommy's visit? Had word spread about your relation?

"I heard tommy Shelby went to see you today... Care to tell me what that was about?"

"Before I tell you, Alf, there's something you should know."

As he lifted his gaze from the warm fire, his eyes carried the same softness he heard in your voice.

"I never told you this because I never thought it'd be relevant. But the truth is that I was adopted when I was a child... From Birmingham. I was 12 when my parents told me I'd been a Shelby."

You paused, hoping for some sort of reaction from Alfie, but there was nothing that could hint at his reaction.

"I didn't even who they were until that day I went your office. To be quite honest, I didn't even think any of them remembered me. That's why he came to the Glass & Barrel, to tell me he knew it was me."

Unbeknownst to you, Alfie already knew the truth. There was a doubt in the back of his mind that questioned - if you did in fact know your biological family - where your allegiance would lay and, at this point, it was only growing within.

His doubt consumed him, slowly but surely, over the following days. Everything had changed.

You first noticed that Alfie started missing dinner. After you moved in together, he was always home for dinner.

The mornings you once used to treasure due to the breakfast you shared with him were shared only with the presence of Cyril.

Gone before you woke up and home after you'd fallen asleep.

This night, you decided you were not going to bed. Tonight would be the night you confronted him.

The exhaustion of the day was beginning to set in. Your eyes felt heavy as you struggled to read your book, attempting to keep yourself awake.

Cyril, whose head was resting on your lap to be petted, snored peacefully. Blissfully unaware of your brewing angst.

Adrenaline quickly chased away and drowsiness you felt the minute you heard Alfie's car outside. It was now or never.

You waited for him to unlock the door and hang his coat up along with with his hat, still seated on the couch.

Alfie noticed the living room light on as he walked towards it and spotted you on the couch.

"Bit late, innit love? Should be in bed."

"Why are you avoiding me, Alfie?"

"No one's avoiding you," his foot was already on the first step of the stairs. Your anger quickly turned to tears as he proved you right.

"Then stay down here and face me, damn it."

Your hands trembled as you marched towards the stairs. Alfie stopped halfway up them when he turned to face you.

"I did not choose this, Alfie. I did not ask you be a Shelby. I did not choose the family I was born into. But if there's one thing I did choose was you."

Silences lingered heavily. His blue eyes stared down his nose at you. Your chest rose and fell with the adrenaline and flood of emotions coursing through you. As frustrated as you were, you didn't want to hate him. You couldn't if you tried.

Alfie hadn't thought about how his attitude would have affected you. He needed time to think. He trusted you blindly, but not knowing if your allegiance could change paralyzed him.

He watched how deeply emotional you were about his absence and realized that - the same way you chose to leave your biological family in the past despite knowing who they were - he needed to make a choice too.

He walked down the stairs until he stood before you.

"You're right, love," he nodded gazing into your tear-filled eyes. "I'm sorry, yeah?"

His palm met your cheeks as he cradled your face in his hands.

"I'm sorry."

"Do you really think I would betray you, Alf?"

Your hands wrapped lightly around his wrists.

"For a moment, I wasn't sure if I'm not honest. Fuck, love. You gotta see from my side, yeah? Just wasn't expecting the love of my life, the apple of my eye, to be a Shelby. And that you knew."

"I didn't it mattered, Alf. I'm no Shelby. This is where my family is. In this house, here with you. I'm a soon-to-be Solomons."

"Right, you fucking are," he whispered wiping an escaping tear from your cheek.

"I choose you, Alfie. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, love. C'mere," his arms opened and welcomes you into his embrace. "I choose you too."

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons x f!reader #tom hardy #peaky blinders

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ja3hwa · 7 months

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So random thought right...

But i can't help but think about a witch x vampire trope where the reader is some kind of witch or fae or something magical, and Mingi (@atinystraynstay gave me the idea to make it for Min hehe.) is a 400+ year ish old vampire.

To set the scene... Imagine you are this young creature just wanting a fresh start in a new town far from your coven/clan since you were banished as an outsider for having beliefs that all creatures no matter their species, should be deemed as equal.

So here you are, putting down your deposit for this abandoned manor that no one seemed to want since people had said it was haunted, people died in there blah blah. You didn't care. It was the most beautiful thing you had laid your eyes on, and it felt like you needed to be there...

You had to have it.

Once inside your newly purchased home, you found yourself wandering the halls and rooms to find any hidden gems and secrets. Unbeknownst to you, there was a basement, hiding a dark sinister truth.

A few months passed, and you've finally gotten comfortable in the home, having not even noticed the basement. Until on faithful night while you slept, you swore you could hear humming, like someone or something was tugging you awake.

Like a silent song, beckoning you to find the holder.

You manage to find a sealed entrance, covered in ruins, chains, thick wooden boards, and writing that says turn back. Do not enter.

Death lies within

Of course, you just laugh. After all, what could possibly be so dangerous? Humans were such fragile and scared little things. It was more likely to be some spell casters chambers or some orc's dungeon. Nothing you couldn't handle.

So you casted a spell, unlocking the dark tomb. What you didn't expect is to find a coffin in the centre of an eerie empty room. It was chained and had scribbles of ruins and sigals on it.

Typical witches, you thought, afraid of anything that they can't control.

You opened the coffin, removing the spells casted on it slowly, trying your best not to set off any of them. And once the lid was opened, you were faced with a gorgeous eternal looking male. His skin like porcelain, hair like silk. He was the most handsomest creature you've ever laid eyes on.

Something in your soul was calling out for you to wake him. Gift him blood so he could return to the waking world.

So you did.

Slicing your wrist, you angeled your arm aboved his slightly agaped dried out mouth. Feeding in slow droplets of blood. At first, you think your blood did nothing. But then, without another thought, your body moved quicker than lightning. Your back being slammed against the nearest wall, in a blur. Your eyes try to focus on the being in front of you, one hand holding you tightly by the waist, while another held the back of your neck. Trapping you against the concrete.

You've never felt such a painful pleasure like the one that is piercing your jugular. Two pointed teeth sinking deepering in your skin, drawing blood from your main artery, making your head dizzy.

He fed on you. Stealing slow, big gulps of your rich, thick blood. You feel a tingle in your core, something stirring in your entire system and without another whimper escaping your throat. You cilmaxed from the intense amount of power surging through your veins. Like everything in your life suddenly made sense.

And once you'd calmed down, he would finally pull away, licking your wound shut and cleaning any spilt blood he could get to before whispering softly in your ear;

"My beloved. My mate..."

Anyways I'll go back to being on my hiatus. Hehe. ✌️

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lycheedr3ams · 1 year

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Death's Angel

Part 6: Escape

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, possessive!konig, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

IMPORTANT NOTE: the taglist is getting too long for me to manage, so this will be the last post that I will have a taglist for. i appreciate all the support!!! just be sure to check my blog for future updates. if you aren't on the taglist but asked to be here, either i missed you or tumblr won't let me @ you also, we are nearing the end! I think this is gonna have 8 parts. thank you for your support!!!!

.......

series inspired by the art below!

konig's promise of taking you away at any moment you asked him weighed on you for weeks. the more you grew attached to him, the harder it was to hide your relations with him. you couldn't exactly go on proper dates in his cold, dark room in the castle basement. he couldn't take you on picnics, take you on carriage rides, or anything that any normal couple would do. you weren't a normal couple. you were a princess, and he an executioner. you two were never supposed to even speak with one another.

the one thing, the one romantic thing that you could do in his room, was dance with him. konig didn't know how to dance. he only knew the dance of an axe over the chopping block and how to sharpen its edges with stone. he was hesitant at first, but loved how close to you he could be. he was quite clumsy, and he'd frequently step on your toes every now and then. but each time he did it, you smiled.

"it's okay, konig. you'll get the hang of it," you'd say as you smiled up at him sweetly. he would quietly nod and furrow his brow in concentration as he danced with you.

his hand would be so gently laid on your waist, and his large hand on your shoulder grounded you and kept you in the moment. it didn't matter what mean thing your sisters had said to you, or the fact that you couldn't care less about your provincial duties. when you were with konig, when he was touching you, you were there, and that was all you knew.

but his hood always remained on. you asked him, once, if you could see his face, and all he answered with was a quiet "no" and you never broached the subject again.

...

"konig," you said to him after you two had danced and then made love. truly, made love. it was so soft, and he pressed so many kisses on your neck and boobs and back. konig always grew a little soft after you two danced.

"ja, liebe?" he asked as he gently stroked your hair.

"do...do you think we could...leave, soon?" you whispered as you gently balled up your fist.

his hand stopped in your hair for a moment, but he quickly resumed his gentle caresses. he breathed deeply. "it's as i said. say the word, and we go."

"i...i want to go soon, konig. i don't know where. just far from here."

"how soon?" he asked.

"next week," you said before he could even finish his question. this had been on your mind for so long. konig changed you, the night he asked what you would do if you weren't a princess. you'd been fantasizing about having your own cottage with him, being able to garden and tend to your animals everyday while he was a blacksmith, maybe, or a mercenary. the cathedral ceilings and polished dinner plates of your castle no longer appealed to you.

konig kept caressing your hair. "and how far?"

you gulped. "could we...leave the country? just go to a neighboring one. right near the border."

konig thought for a moment. "ja, we can. i know of a village just beyond the mountains. you will like it. i will build a house for you."

you smiled against his bare chest. "i'll build it with you, konig."

he shook his head gently as he squeezed you. "nein. i will build a house for you, by myself."

"if you insist," you said as you pressed a gentle kiss to his chest. "a house for us, konig. us."

konig was silent for a little while. you were growing worried, but he finally replied. "a house for us, meine Engel. i will build a house for us."

"i've already begun to stow away some of my savings," you whispered as if you feared the stone walls had ears. "we will be set for life."

"do not worry about that, Engel," konig said confidently. "i will take care of you."

"i know you will," you said gently. "but you'll be giving up your profession for me. i want to repay you in anyway that i can."

"there is no need for that," he said quietly as he held you closer. "you are worth more to me than all the riches in the world."

your heart fluttered as you closed your eyes and relaxed against him. your cheeks grew warm and you smiled.

"i love you, konig," you whispered as if it were the most normal thing in the world to say. once you processed what you just said, your eyes shot open, but your face stayed glued to his chest so that he couldn't see. you held your breath.

"and I love you, meine schatz," he said as he gently pressed a kiss to your head through his hood. you looked up at him with gleaming eyes, and he lifted his hood up slightly to kiss you.

you made love again that night. the words that had lingered in silence for so long had finally been spoken. he put you in missionary, focused entirely on your face as he filled you so gently yet so fully. his hard, smooth cock dragged slowly along your slick walls, and you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you.

"i will do anything for you, Engel," he rasped into your ear as he filled you. "i will take care of you."

"konig!" you moaned. you looked up at him, cock-drunk and in love. "i'm yours. i'm yours." a few tears escaped your eyes.

you kissed him again, and your fate with him was sealed.

...

a few days had passed since that night. the day you and konig were planning to run away was quickly approaching. you had packed a few things in a spare backpack, including the trinkets he gave you through the course of your relationship. you hid the gold entitled to you interspersed through socks and underwear in your backpack. you looked out the window of your bedroom out over the castle grounds, and felt resolved. you were ready to leave this life behind, and just be. with konig.

you got dressed in your room as normal, and made your way down to the banquet hall for breakfast. but when you reached the banquet hall, you found three of your sisters shouting to your parents. your other sisters sat as still as statues at the dining table. all heads turned towards you as you stepped in.

"what's going on?" you asked nervously.

"you harlot!" one of your sisters exclaimed. your mother and father looked like they had seen a ghost. you looked around, and the room was spinning.

"you've been sleeping with the executioner!" another sister yelled as she held up a black executioner's hood. that was one of konig's gifts to you, and you thought it would be kept it safe in your bedside table.

"you went in my room!?" you yelled.

"guards! get the executioner at once!" your father yelled. time began to move slowly. your sisters were screaming, the guards' metal armor clinked and clacked as they ran down to search for the executioner, your mother hugged you tightly in fear. but all you could think, the one thing that managed to keep you grounded in the ensuing chaos, was konig.

you thrashed out of your mother's embrace and ran faster than you ever had in your life to find him. the guards could run, but not as fast as you in their armor. you ran to the only place he would be at this time in the morning.

you burst through the castle doors and ran, panting, up to konig, who was sharpening his axe in the blacksmith's hut. he looked up at you happily at first, but his expression changed when he saw the tears flowing from your eyes.

"konig! konig! they know! they know!" you yelled as you panted. konig looked over you and saw half a dozen guards running towards him with swords drawn.

you looked up at him, your eyes wet and puffy, your dress wrinkled and heels broken.

"come," he said as he picked you up in one motion. you yelped, but held onto him as he ran towards the stables. the alarm bell was ringing in the castle as all guards now saw the executioner running off carrying a princess towards the only escape. your siblings and parents watched from the great porch with horrified expressions.

"i'm so sorry konig," you cried into his shoulder as he ran.

"shh, shh," he soothed between breaths. "i told you i would take care of you, didn't i?"

you nodded and gently squeezed him. you finally reached the stables, which had been unattended momentarily during the chase, and konig threw you on top of the biggest horse before putting on its bridle and getting on in front of you. there was no time to put on a saddle.

"hold on, Engel!" he yelled before smacking the reins against the horse's neck. you held onto his hard, tree-like torso as he kicked the horse with his heels, and it shot off through the stables. the guards that had made it to the stable doors were swept back as your horse sprinted through.

you looked behind and saw that there were now three mounted guards following you. "konig!"

he spurred the horse on faster, but the main castle grounds gate was already closed. "hold on, this will be bumpy!" konig yelled. he sharply turned the horse around and you flew over the castle grounds as he guided the horse towards the hidden exit behind the grounds, past the gardens. the guards' horses were fast, but no match for the bestial horse konig had chosen.

you buried your face in his back as the wind whipped by you and the ground rolled under your feet like waves. the alarm bells sounded louder over the grounds as panic rose, echoing against the stone walls of the castle, and screaming could be heard from servants out in the fields as you passed.

your horse jumped over the hedge at the edge of the grounds, the guards far behind, and you fled with konig through uncharted wilderness with nothing but the clothes on your backs.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful, @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl, @elichisstuff, @konig-breedme, @tr4psta, @cutiecusp, @konigsleftkidney, @local-vampire-s1ut, @ihaveaproblematicbrain, @twice360noscope, @madzeesstuff, @crazy-phan-girl13, @babygirl-panda19, @warrior-of-justice, @eluffi, @mooniesthings, @elowynnlane, @zaxlrza, @red-bed-bug, @alexdoesntlikeyou, @helmipss, @11aplacesange11, @rouge-swears, @pasta-m1lk, @ghostinvenus

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senanatheskenana · 1 year

Text

Sinclair Boys When Their S/O Leaves Them

Bo Sinclair

Bo saw it coming. He knew it was going to happen at some point- he couldn't hide what he did for long. He made a point to reserve a part of him for that heartbreak, but without realising it, it became smaller and smaller.

He was happier than ever when he was with you.

The outbursts were at an all-time low and Vincent wished he could thank you for that.

But that didn't mean they didn't happen.

Bo still had moments where the anger and the frustration boiled over and usually it was aimed at you as well as his brothers.

He knew it scared you and every time his head cleared enough to think about it, he'd get disappointed in himself again.

But this time when he cooled off, you weren't there. He searched everywhere- tore the house and town apart- but the only thing he found was a hastily written note from Vincent, explaining that you had fled.

Vincent knew his brother would explode once he realised what had happened, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be around when Bo did. He hides away but he can hear his twin sobbing and screaming and punching at the walls.

~~~~~

All Bo can think about is how his mother was right.

"Yer an idiot if you think anyone'll love you as you are. No one'll wanna be around an unstable monster like you"

"Yes, Momma"

He'd wanted to do everything to prove to her that she was wrong but the older Bo got, the more he seemed to give in to the idea that she was right all along. Maybe he wasn't worth all the pain he was putting you through. Maybe he was a trainwreck just waiting on the tracks.

The only thing he was certain of now was that without you, he was nothing.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent knew that he had let himself indulge in his delusion too long. you weren't forever and you certainly weren't his. But he had hoped that you'd, one day, care for him and forget the fear- forget about the thing he did to make you stay to begin with.

But of course, you never did. The marks made it hard to forget about the long days spent tied down in the basement. The smells were a constant reminder that you could be the next person in the machine, as soon as Vincent's obsession with you dies out.

Part of him knew that you were only being receptive to him out of fear but the feeling of just having someone tolerate him was enough for him. He'd never hurt you even if you chose to remain resistant, and he wondered if he had made it known to you, that you may have stayed.

Maybe he should have listened when Bo practically screamed out to him.

~~~~~

"You freak- (Y/N) DON'T LOVE YOU! "

Bo was right, he knew. But still, it hurt to hear.

"You think they coulda looked you in the eye and told you they cared about you- coulda kissed you on all the parts that scared them? Wake up, Vince. You've been a fool if you think someone like that could look past the murder- Could look past you"

And just like that, Vincent was left alone in the basement, flipping through sketchbooks, tracing the lines that curved to create your face. He felt sick when he did. He was homesick for a place he had never truly been.

He didn't scream about you, or get angry because, in truth, he was the one who left the door open for you. He just hoped that by some grace of God, you would stay with him.

Lester Sinclair

Lester takes his truck out and searches into the night for you.

Surely you couldn't have gotten far on foot but there were coyotes and dangers in the wilderness.

Ironic, he thought, given that the reason you had run off was because of him.

He'd done so well at hiding what he and his brothers were doing in Ambrose but it could only stay quiet for so long. He knew you were going to see something.

What he didn't expect was for you to ask if he was cheating on you.

Of course, he wasn't, but you were sure you'd seen women in his truck on multiple occasions- nearly every week. He was always so secretive about it, and you became worried that he was sneaking around with people.

Lester would rather you know he was a murderer than think he doesn't love you.

He finds you walking along the roadside, shaking and sobbing.

~~~~~

"Hun, please get in the truck. I don't care- if you wanna leave, I'll take ya where you wanna go. Just don't go runnin' off like that again, you coulda gotten hurt."

"How do I know you ain't gonna kill me too. Is that what you were plannin' all along? To let my guard down and lead me into a trap?"

Lester flinches at your voice. He hates that you would even think that he could hurt you. He slowly drives beside you and pops open the passenger side door.

"Please get in. I won't take ya home- I'll take ya anywhere you want, just please dont do nothin' stupid"

So you hop in but stay against the door, as far from Lester as possible. He can't believe that he's driving you away from him. He can't believe he was stupid enough to continue killing even after having met you.

It's a long drive made even longer by the silence, but you eventually arrive at a relative's home. He attempts to touch your hand but you pull it away.

"Lester please don't touch me right now, I might be sick." He shrinks back and places both back on the steering wheel, clenching them until his knuckles turn white.

"I ain't gonna hurt you, hun."

"Go back to Ambrose, Lester. I won't say a word to anyone about this. As far as I know, I'm pretending this is all a dream. We never met, are we clear. I don't know you anymore."

Part two here

#house of wax 2005 #house of wax x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #slashers #slasher x reader

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sardonic-the-writer · 1 year

Text

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩

↳ summary: you ask your distant and cold professor for some help with your thesis. good thing he seems to be an expert on fear

↳ warnings: mentions of murder, booze, guns, and some gore. canon type gotham violence. a wiff of stalking maybe?

↳ song: aleph—gesaffelstein

masterlist!

University life wasn't much different than you had expected. Television and movies glam it up to make it sound like the peak of your young adult life. A time for exceeding expectations and drinking cheap booze out of those weird solo cups in a random person's basement. But this was Gotham—where crime is the highest in the country and misfortune runs galore. The closest anyone got to walking into a stranger's basement these days was with the threat of a gun at their back.

In preparation for the quote-unquote finest school Gotham had to offer, instead of going out and buying the list of supplies your school recommended, you simply lowered your expectations. Not like there was much to begin with in the first place. You could get a protractor later.

Your thought process proved to be worth it too. Barely an hour into your first day, the campus was evacuated as a precaution for a major villain sighting in the area. Something about filling up a building with highly dangerous gas. As of weeks later, details still hadn't been released to the public. That was fine by you. All you cared about was not getting ripped away from your precious lunch again.

The campus cafeteria was drafty and smelled of mold, parties were thrown way too often, and most of your professors were stern with classes people only took so they could get their degrees.

In that case, Mr. Crane was no different from any of the other teachers.

There was certainly no lack of students in his class on the first week—the largely female percentage most likely gathered because of his pretty face. But by the end of it, over half had already dropped out.

You were not one of them. Somewhat regrettably, you had begun to think after hours of pouring over papers in just the first week. But you needed this class to fully understand your thesis topic and you'd be damned if you moved all the way out to Gotham for nothing.

That was what you were thinking about as you rounded the back row of Doctor Crane's class, staring blankly at the missed call from your mother atop your phone's home screen.

It had practically become a ritual for her to call you at least once a day since you'd moved to the city. Anytime you didn't pick up, it would send her into a frenzy—despite your multiple explanations of why you have your phone on silent during lectures. But that wouldn't stop her from constantly pleading for you to come back and finish getting your degree at home. Because even if it would take longer, and completely drain your bank account, at least you would be away from those lunatics. Or so she called them.

"You have nothing to worry about." You'd told her one time while watching a bowl of ramen bubble angrily on your stove. "Even if I was mugged or something, I'm sure the Batman would save me."

It had been meant as a half joke, said only to quell your mothers worries. Yet the more and more newspaper stands you passed on your way to the store, the more the vigilanties name came up. Often accompanied by the words HERO or SAVIOR afterward.

The sudden memory of newspapers stopped you right as you were about to cross the threshold from the lecture hall to the rest of the building. You were quick to turn around, flipping your phone back into your pants pocket loosely before approaching the professor's desk. A few more students filed out from behind you, one even tossing you a wave, before it was just you and the professor left.

Doctor Crane was nothing short of intimidating. Everything from the clean cut suit he worse, to his icy blue eyes—and even his second title as lead doctor in the nearby Arhum Asylum—was surrounded by an air of stoic professionalism.

The man hadn't even been there on the first day of school. Something that would have off-put you if not for the sudden evacuation, haulting any chance of first impressions. Instead, he had shown up the next day like nothing had happened: lips pressed into a tight line and eyes dull as he spoke to the class without really looking at anyone.

He had made it clear on multiple occasions that he was rarely available after class or for tutoring hours, but you doubted that even if he was, nearly anyone would show up for a one on one conversation.

Looks like you would have to be the outlier today.

You waited patiently as he shuffled from one stack of paper to another, eyes never once drifting over the rim of his glasses to look at you. Occasionally you would catch a glimpse of his usually devoid face break into a little frown before making a mark on a paper and moving on. You resisted the urge to peak and see if any of those papers were yours.

"Yes?" He adressed you by your last name suddenly. Packets and papers continued to shuffle. This time he did spare you a glance, a flash of something swirling in his cold eyes before disappearing. Or maybe that had been the dim light. It had been to quick for you to catch.

You cleared your throat before speaking; adjusting your bag unconsciously.

"I had a question or two for you about my thesis topic." You said with a level tone. He asked what it was somewhat dismissively, his monotone way of speaking ever present.

"I've been researching fear and its effects on the human brain for quite sometime, so I felt it was only fitting for that to be my topic."

That seemed to gather his attention. When you looked up from your examination of the plain black stapler on the corner of his desk, you were met with one raised eyebrow. His hand was writing on the stapled essay before him considerably slower.

If you squinted hard enough it almost looked like he was smiling.

"May I ask what has garnered your interest in such a subject?" He pressed. For a moment your mind went a little blank, not expecting such undivided attention from him. It was unnerving, concidering that before today he probably didn't even know your first name.

"Well, I've always been interested in how much emotions have a grip on the mind." The words were now tumbling from your mouth in a flurry of half-baked thoughts.

"It was only after moving here that I really realized how it can affect an entire city, much less just one person. Everyone knows how absurd the crime rates here are, but I don't think they've ever seen the stark contrast in the Gotham residents from, say, another neighboring city.

And not to mention there's a whole group of personas parading around the block inspiring pure fear. When the bigger crimes aren't outwardly released to the public, I'm starting to think the ones the police can cover up are being covered up. I did a quick search of specific types of crimes related to the patterns of people like the Joker, Bane, and Scarecrow, and too much adds up for it to all be a coincidence."

You reminded yourself to breathe. You knew you were passionate about this subject—hence the decision in thesis topic—but you were never this chatty with it. Something about Doctor Cranes' unwavering stare drew it all out of you in one go. He was a surgeon at the moment, prying your brain apart from the inside out and turning it over in his hands.

Or maybe you were over analyzing things again.

"And what do you think of this Scarecrow?" He had stopped grading now, plucking the clear rimmed glasses of the bridge of his nose and folding them neatly beside him. In a second, his icy blue gaze seemed to intensify in strength, pinning you in place like a specimen of his to observe. You made the brief connection between this and a lepidopterist pinning up butterflys by their wings. It was quick to leave.

Instead you thought back as news clippings and articals flashed in bold print on your mind. Pictures of the victims he had since left behind followed.

Most of them had died from shock or poison, toxins coursing through their bloodstream too fast for their bodies to handle. Not a wonderful way to go, but it was no better or worse than the dozens of mugging gone wrong that occurred everyday. If you ignored how they had all clawed their eyes out in terror, that is.

Your response came slow and methodical, words chosen with care. You were well aware that people had been thrown out of prestigious universities for speaking their minds about less, and you couldn't afford that right now. Besides. He had asked you a question. Who were you to deny him?

"I think what he's managed to make, to do, is a breakthrough in the scientific and medical field." If your professor noted the way you swallowed thickly he didn't say anything.

"What else?" It was almost like he knew every thought that crossed your mind before it even formed. As if he had been preparing for this exact moment.

You could continue. You could tell him that you'd started sitting by your thoroughly locked window at night, waiting patiently to catch a glimpse of a masked maniac. You could tell him that monster was the exact thing that pushed you to move to Gotham. You most certantly could tell him that you wanted to get your hands on that gas to do some tests of your own—see exactly what this Scarecrow had managed to create.

But instead you looked to the left and told him that was it.

"Well if that's all, I would like to continue this conversation at a later date." Doctor Cranes glasses were back on now as he stood up and began gathering his things.

"I'm not sure—"

"I'm quite interested in what you have to say." He adressed you by your last name again, shutting his briefcase closed with a chilling click. "After all, I have written some papers on this exact subject."

You know. You had read them in your search for more information on the Scarecrow's toxin.

"I'll keep that in mind, professor." You glanced at the doorway, wondering if it would be unacceptable to make a dash for it. You didn't want to be late for work any more than you were already. And if you were being honest this conversation had taken a turn you weren't prepared for.

By some grace of god he let the conversation drop. Not caring to spare another glance at him, you took to the door, planning out the route home in your head.

If he watched you go, you didn't notice. It wasn't until you had gotten home in your stained work uniform, beat up trainers grayed with labor, that you noticed your folder for his class was missing.

"Shit." You dragged a tired hand down your face, kicking off your socks as you lay next to the spread out compartments of your backpack.

You sighed. Looks like you'd be seeing Doctor Crane again sooner than you thought.

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