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digital-domain · 5 months

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Curiosity, the Killer

Mahito x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Synopsis: You went out tonight hoping to connect with a stranger. And technically, you did… after you got home. After he broke into your apartment and cornered you in the bathroom. Good luck getting rid of him - he’s not one to control his impulses. Especially when he’s feeling curious.

Tags: dark content, noncon, death threats, talk of murder, extreme possessiveness, general rough handling, biting, hair pulling, painful sex, creampie, mahito being a pervy lil pantie sniffer

Note: Might do a part two…my brain is rotting.

You slip through the front door of your apartment, kicking off your shoes the moment it shuts behind you. Tonight did not go as you’d hoped - although to be fair, you had an active imagination, and tended to set your hopes too high. In your mind, each time you went out was a potential first chapter to one of the guilty-pleasure novels you read (and sometimes, even attempted to write) in your spare time. A beautiful stranger would compliment your dress, offer to buy you a drink, dance with you where everyone could see, kiss you on the floor, take you home…

None of that had happened tonight. The closest you’d gotten was when a ridiculously drunk college student had thrust a shot of vodka in your face. You’d dodged, but you can still smell the splash of liquor that had landed on your dress.

You’d been with a crowd of friends - maybe that was the problem. None of them had been approached either, although a couple had left with guys they’d met on dating apps earlier this weekend. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe the idea of meeting someone in the real world had become a fantasy long ago. Maybe you were stupid to still believe in it.

In any case…the night is over. And with nothing to excite you, nothing to capture your imagination, sleep is beginning to take hold. You don’t let it catch you just yet - you make your way to the bathroom, and scrub at the makeup on your face until you’re back in your bare skin. The bathroom light flickers, and you make a mental note to change the bulb tomorrow. Not tonight - you’re too tired, and with your luck, it would probably end up shattered on the floor.

For a moment, you stare at yourself in the mirror. The simple, form-fitting black dress you wore tonight is one of your favorites. It makes you feel confident - beautiful, even. You let yourself appreciate it for a while before you finally reach for the zipper, contorting your arm to pull it down your back. A second later, the fabric hits the floor with finality, and you turn on the shower.

While you wait for the water to warm up, your eyes briefly flutter shut. Before you open them, before you take off your bra and underwear and step into your warm shower, you allow yourself just a moment to imagine what might have been. You sigh with longing, and wrap your arms tightly around your waist.

Then, at your weakest moment - a second pair of arms envelops your own.

You try to whip around, but they hold you fast, allowing you to turn just enough to get a glimpse of the intruder in the mirror, and to see a third hand clamp down over your mouth, dampening your scream before it makes it out of your throat. It’s a man, you think, but nothing about his appearance makes sense. The face you saw in the mirror isn’t right. It’s human, but covered in very un-human stitches, a patchwork that doesn’t quite add up when it’s all put together. When you look down, you see that his hand and arms are covered in them, too. And the hands…you saw three. You feel three digging into your skin. That doesn’t make sense. It’s not right. Again, you try to cry out, thrashing wildly in his arms as he presses into you.

He leans down, and flicks his tongue over your ear. “Hi. You just let me know when you’re done, okay?”

A fresh ripple of terror runs through you, because he sounds nothing like you expected. His voice is high-pitched and gleeful, far too casual for such a terrifying situation. You squirm against his grip, but it holds fast. You try to scream, again and again, until you finally accept that the seal on your mouth isn’t going to break, that the shower will obscure any sound that you do manage to make. You breathe shallowly, a black haze begins to obscure your vision. His palm is warm, damp, and smells worse than the stain on your dress.

“Are you done?” He laughs - actually giggles, like what he’s doing is nothing more than harmless fun. “Well, I guess you can’t really tell me. But you can nod your head if you are.”

You shake your head vigorously, trying desperately to tear your face from his grasp.

He sighs, exasperated. “If you don’t cut it out soon, I’m gonna have to kill you.”

At this, you freeze, too petrified to move an inch more.

“I don’t want you to die,” he continues, a petulant tone slipping into his voice. “I’ve got other plans. But I can’t just stand here covering your mouth all night.” He presses his face into the crook of your neck, lips scraping against your exposed skin. “I know you don’t really know what you’re dealing with,” he mutters. “But trust me… you would be really easy to kill. I just have to do this.” A fourth unseen hand juts out from behind you and wraps around your neck. The fingernails on this hand are long, and unnaturally sharp. Sharp enough to break your skin with ease. “It’s easy from here. All I have to do is squeeze, or slice…either way, you’ll die!”

What is this thing? You’d like to believe that you’re hallucinating, but the nails tapping against your skin feel far too real.

“If I let go of you,” he explains, “I need to know that you’re not gonna scream or try to run away. I want this to be a nice night for us. It’s not gonna be nice if I have to spend it killing the people that come running to save you. I don’t wanna be distracted.” He kisses you gently on the neck, and a chill runs down your spine.

The way he’s talking…it sounds like he actually thinks he’s being sweet. You’d be less terrified if he was self-aware. If he knew what a terrible thing he was doing.

He nuzzles his face against your hair, inhaling deeply as he raises a sharp nailed finger to caress the line of your jaw. “You looked so lonely tonight,” he sighs. “I noticed it right away.”

You stiffen. He’s so deep in his delusion that he seems to have lost all grasp on reality - but he’s right about the loneliness. What, and how, does he know?

“Even with all your friends around you,” he sighs. “So miserable. Like you were waiting for someone special, and they never came.”

Everything. He knows everything. He’s had his eye on you for hours…if not longer.

“You won’t be lonely anymore if you’re good for me,” he murmurs. “And you’ll be alive.” His teeth grind into your neck, gnawing away like a dog on a bone, and your body tenses at the sudden pain. “Come on,” he whines, his voice muffled by the pinch of skin still locked between his jaws. “Just promise to be good - just nod your head…”

What choice do you have? Even if there is some other choice, your mind is too scrambled to think of it. Too confused by all the impossibilities you’ve just witnessed, still reeling from the revelation that he’s been watching you all night. Later, you’ll try to work out how he managed to enter your home, but that’s not on your mind right now - not when your life depends on a single quick decision. You nod, and when his hands slip from your face and neck a moment later, you don’t make a sound.

“Good job!” The arms around your waist squeeze you tighter, and you hear the other pair clapping in celebration behind you. “I was worried you were gonna do something stupid. I’m glad you didn’t…I’ve got such exciting plans for you. I’d be so sad if I didn’t get to use them.” He drops his arms from your waist. “Turn around. I wanna see you.”

Slowly, stiffly, you turn to face him. The third and fourth arm have somehow disappeared - he looks human now, save for the stitches running across his skin. He’s got long hair, colored a light blue. For some reason, you don’t think it’s dyed. With everything you’ve just seen, unnatural hair doesn’t seem out of the question. His eyes are mismatched - one is blue, the other grey. They’re striking, shining with a bright intensity that almost makes you want to look away.

His left hand latches onto your waist, and the right twists through your hair. “You’re pretty on the outside,” he whispers, bringing his face so close to yours that you go cross-eyed. “On the inside…you’re the same as the rest. But I don’t care about that right now.” He pulls on your hair, practically humming in excitement as you cry out. “Or maybe I do. All your silly, stupid little human desires…they’re the reason you looked so miserable tonight, aren’t they? You wanted something - or someone.” He yanks your head up and down, forcing you to nod in agreement. “I know I’m right. You were looking for another human to…how do you phrase it? To sleep with?” He smiles, his eyes stretched grotesquely wide. “So many of you have that same desire…I’ve been trying to understand it. It’s been killing me, all the wanting, the not knowing. But then I realized - if I want to understand, all I have to do is try it out!”

He pulls you into a rough, sloppy kiss, and your eyelids shut, squeezing out the tears that have gathered beneath them. You don’t want to do this. The way he’s been talking makes you feel like a specimen under a microscope - or a lab rat in a cage. When it ends…will he let me go? For a split second, you see an image of your body lying cold and lifeless beneath your bedsheets. Your eyes snap open, and you see that his already are.

“Mmm.” His eyes are narrowed, his lips pulled into a grin just a bit too wide for his face. “I made a good choice…I like you. You get even prettier when you’re scared.” Without warning, bends down, grabs both of your ankles, and yanks you off your feet. Your ears ring painfully as he drags you out of the bathroom, across the hall, shouldering open the door that leads to your bedroom. He kicks it shut behind him. Then, he pulls you into the air, dangling your body carelessly in front of him. You squirm and thrash, caught like a fish on a line.

Carefully, he makes his way across the room, and deposits you on your bed, laying you down on your back. Before you can sit up, he’s kneeling on top of you, one leg on either side of your stomach, his body pinning you to your mattress. He pulls off his shirt, drops it to the floor, and tumbles forward, his stitch-covered chest slapping against yours as his tongue darts into your mouth, exploring every inch of the space inside. When he pulls back, he’s panting like a predator at the end of a chase, eyes lidded, tongue lolling from his mouth and coated in drool. “I like this. I can’t believe I waited so long to try it.”

A whimper escapes from your lips as he slides his hands across your chest and rips your bra down the middle. He gropes you freely, squeezing and pinching until you’re crying out in pain.

“You make such cute sounds,” he whispers, taking a break from his assault to brush your hair back from your face. He squeezes your cheeks between his hands, forcing your lips to pucker, paying no mind to the glare in your eyes. “Adorable.” He grabs your wrists, pinning them to your side, and slithers down the length of your body, settling between your legs. You feel an unwelcome rush of heat to your core as he buries his nose and lips in your panties, his grip on your wrists tightening painfully as he inhales. “You even smell good,” he sighs, his muffled voice vibrating up your spine. “Do you smell like this all the time? Or is it a special scent? Does it mean you want me inside you?”

“I don’t want you.” The words spill out before you can reel them in.

“Sure you do.” His tongue darts from his mouth, and slides greedily over your cunt, the thin fabric stretched over it doing nothing to dull the sensation. “I know how your body works. I know what it means when you get all warm and wet…” He raises his face, and grins up at you. “You’re ready for me. And I’ve been ready for you for a very long time.” He grasps your panties in his teeth, and jerks his head, tearing a massive hole that leaves your cunt completely exposed. “I’ve been so curious. So desperate to know what it feels like. Why you all want it so badly…”

His body slides up over yours; he gathers your wrists in one hand and pins them over your head. The other hand yanks at the waist of his pants, pulling them down just enough for his cock to spring free. “Keep your eyes open,” he hisses, the tip of his cock already pressed to your entrance. “You’re mine. My favorite little experiment. I wanna know how I makes you feel.”

Your mouth falls open as he thrusts into you - it’s too much, too big, too fast, and you hear yourself cry out in pain as your eyes involuntarily snap shut. A second later, a rough pair of fingers tug at your eyelids, forcing them open. The face of your captor bears down upon you, eyes alight with sickening pleasure.

“Does it hurt?”

You nod quickly, tears already building up in the corners of your vision.

“Awww.” He stares shamelessly into your watery eyes, the tip of his tongue sliding over his front teeth as he presses into you. “You’re pretty when you cry, too.” His thrusts are erratic, each one pushing deeper inside you, as if he’s testing how far he can go. As you stretch around him, the pain begins to fade, replaced by a sensation that sends your eyes rolling back, even as your stomach sinks with dread. You don’t want to enjoy this. You can’t. In vain, you attempt to free yourself, squirming desperately beneath him, contorting your trapped hands to scratch feebly at the back of his palm.

“You wanna fight? That’s so cute.” He shoves the full length of his cock inside you, cackling at the way your eyes widen in response. “So, so cute…makes me wanna keep you. Wanna see how long it takes for you to stop fighting…for you to like it…”

You try to tell yourself that he’s babbling, that he doesn’t mean any of it. That he’ll leave, that you’ll never have to see him again, that your life will go on just as it was before. It all feels like a lie. He’s insane, but he believes every word that he says. If he says he’s not letting you go…

“You feel so good.” He groans, and presses his face against your neck. “I don’t think this is gonna last much longer…but that’s okay. We’ll try again. We’ll practice until…” He gasps. “Until forever. Yeah. I’m gonna keep you forever.” His cock pulses inside of you. His hand slips from your wrists and slides under your back, locking you in a deadly embrace - as soon as your hands are free, you try to push him away, but he’s oblivious to your efforts and impossible to move, nestled securely against you as his cum gushes deep into your cunt. He stays where he is for many, many painful seconds, only pulling away when he’s gone soft inside you. Then, he turns you onto your side, and wraps his arms around your waist.

You let your own arms go limp. It’s too late to struggle, useless to try. Much easier to lay your head down, and surrender to the kisses peppering the back of your neck.

“All mine,” he hums, dragging his hand in loose circles over your stomach. “All mine.” He lifts his head, peers over your shoulder. “Oh, come on. Don’t look so sad.” You turn your head to look back at him, a tight knot forming in your stomach as he wipes a stray tear from your cheek. “You should be happy. You got what you wanted!” He cups your face in his hand, and smiles. “You belong to me now. And that means you’re never, ever gonna be lonely again.”

#tw: noncon #tw: dark content #jjk x reader #mahito x reader #mahito #jjk mahito #mahito x you

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m0chisenpai · 7 months

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Back In Black

Spiderman Across the Spiderverse

Miguel O'Hara x black!venom!reader

Warning(s): threats of violence

Hobie was communicating with somebody. Gwen could tell from the way his fingers danced across his watch. He was good at diverging from what his point was. Countless times he’d stolen bags of chips out of her hands without her noticing, snuck the tv remote to turn on his own show of choice. But Gwen could tell as his eyes looked down at his watch, he was sending something to someone.

The question was who was he calling. But when he caught her eye out of the corner of his eye, his lips moved. “Trust me.” and so she did. As she stood, half defeated behind a raging O’hara who tore through the crowd, eyes ablaze, he came to halt at the portal that opened in front of Mile’s body.

Something large, and inky with bulging white veins landed in front of Miles. It was twice his and Miguel’s size and its milky white eyes looked back into Miles’. His head began to ache and a flurry of white and black surrounded the beast as he squinted. But something in his bones told him to trust this terror that stood between Miles and the rabid leader of the spider society.

“Miguel” her voice purred, silencing the chaos around them.

Whatever, whoever this was had power because not one spider person attempted to step forward and take her down.

It slowly inched closer to the leader, hands sitting on her hips. “Attacking a child? New low for you, and our expectations were already low as it is.”

The leader clicks his teeth, fangs just barely revealing themselves past the scowl on his face. “Says the par-'' the growl that left her was enough to make Miles step back and Miguel to shut up. It’s eyes narrow and fangs, large and jagged make Miguel’s look like cat fangs. Those teeth could tear through a whole being, could even consume bones and all if it wanted to.

“Careful with your words. Y/N might have the tiniest of a soft spot for you, but I will not hesitate to tear you limb from limb and eat your heart out. And from her thoughts, she is not opposed.”

“I’d like to hear that from her.”

A silence falls between them. And the creature huffs and peels backward, sinking into the flesh of whatever it was encasing. Whoever was in it began to reveal themselves to be a woman who stood at half of Miguel’s height. She wears a spider suit, similar in style to Gwen’s, but it’s black and white, and it’s nothing like anything Miles saw.

It's similar to the creature's texture, slick and clings to her body more like a second skin than a spider suit.

Her mask covers half her face from her nose down and her braids end just a bit past her hips. Her eyes are sharp and if any one were lucky to get just close enough to see, they'd be able to make out the dusting of freckles across her cheek bones.

She looks back to him and she nods, “your going home kid.” The leader's eyes flash red as he points a finger to the boy hidden behind her body. “That kid is a threat! An anomaly! He shouldn’t even be here.”

“O’hara, your canon blah blah whatever theory is no more than an empty theory with no proof. Had it been true I should be dead, no?” her head tilted and eyes slanted as she looked up at him.

“You’re different.” His eyes soften. Because truth be told, you should not be here. You should be somewhere on your earth, in your perfectly normal little bubble writing the next big piece for the paper. You should be putting that big private university degree to use and getting you rmoneys worth.

But instead you stuck your nose somewhere you shouldn’t have been, on the brink of death. Till your little…friend came along. Now you spend your nights tearing out the throats of crimimals and the day you’re Y/N L/N. Editor of the city paper.

Anything but normal.

“No, I’m right. And you know you are wrong. Let the boy go home and if I find out anything or one lays a hand on him or his family.”

Her eyes cut to the crowd behind Miguel. And from her neck that inky creature reveals itself. Curling around to hover beside her head. Two voices harmonized to release a single threat.

“Your pancreas will become our dessert.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #black reader

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avvail-whumps · 3 months

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‘the facility’ — the breakout 1/?

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content warnings: prison whump, medical whump, captivity, imprisonment, prisoners of war, mass prison breakout, minor character deaths, blood, gun and knife violence, murder, manhandling

Noah’s wide eyes flickered desperately around him, as if trying to make sense of the deadly warning that had just rang out. As though it was some cruel, unfathomable joke, the automated voice spoke again.

“Code: Black.”

The personnel that had been speaking to him slapped their hands over their mouth, backing up with staggering footsteps. They gave Noah a wide eyed stare, before they were racing out of the laboratory with panicked speed.

Soon, everyone else followed.

“Code: Black,” the voice crackled. “Level Nine. All staff make their way to…gency…Code—”

Over the blaring sound of the alarm and the dark red tinge concealed over his vision, Noah just barely felt his new assigned Apoid grab his shoulder, and start tugging him out of the laboratory with intense urgency. Once he’d managed to unstick the abhorrent terror in him, the blood boiling panic spurred him on. This was the stuff of nightmares.

Code Black was only meant to be purely theorectical. The Facility was built to withstand multiple breakouts at the same time, but it must have devolved into something much more serious. If Level Nine was on a Code Black, that meant there was a mass breakout, and lots of angry prisoners would be on the loose.

The Apoid kept a tight grip of him as they raced down the corridors, filled with scrambling Personnel and scientists and even Apoids, their guns raised in case a threat came racing down the corridor. Noah’s throat was parched, each step foreign on his own two feet.

He could only think about one thing. Where was Fionn? In a situation like this, Apoids were the last to make it to the emergency elevators. They were expected to execute and contain as many prisoners as they could to buy time for an escape for everybody else, and the last thing he had said to him was not to come near him.

As the alarms continued to screech, the defeaning sound of gunfire suddenly pierced through the air. The staff that had been racing down the corridor screeched to a sudden halt, a burly prisoner rounding the corner with an Apoid’s rifle in his hand.

Noah’s eyes widened in shock, and the Apoid threw him behind cover just as he started firing into the crowd.

He heard a sickening thud next to him, uncurling his arms from around his head, just to meet the wide, bloodshot eyes of a dead scienist. Noah’s own filled with stinging tears at the sickening sight.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he wheezed, flinching violently when there were more gunshots and blood curdling screams. The Apoid wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hurled him in a different direction, staggering over his own two feet when bullets sprayed against the corner of the wall, just missing the top of his head.

He struggled to catch his breath.

Dead bodies were sprawled along the ground, patterns of fresh blood, streaks, puddles, hand prints, all surrounding them.

He resisted the urge to throw up as they dashed past, swallowing down the sting of bile in his throat. Noah ducked behind the Apoid as they came to a crossing, raising his rifle and gunning down a prisoner that had been careering towards them. They covulsed and crumbled to the floor, and Noah was glad they were going in the opposite direction.

The emergency elevators weren’t far from here. As long as they got them and to a safer, higher level that wasn’t in the same situation, everything would be okay.

Noah was suddenly shoved forward by his Apoid, who didn’t raise his gun time before a huge prisoner had grabbed him by the skull, and slammed his helmet into the wall. The Apoid stuttered from the sheer force, and even as Noah whipped around in shock, he could see he was dazed from the attack. Before he could shoot him, the prisoner had ripped his rifle from his very hands, and cracked his skull back against the wall.

Noah had to surpress a scream when the prisoner ripped the knife from his belt, and jabbed it straight into his neck. The Apoid went all tense and his legs buckled, but the prisoner was relentless. The knife jerked in and out of his flesh until his throat was mangled, blood even visible against the blackness of the uniform.

His foot slipped on a puddle of blood when he tried to make a getaway, his chin colliding with the solid ground with a painful crash. His heart was in his throat and his blood was burning in his own ears as he desperately scrambled forward, eager not to meet the same fate.

Before he could get up, he felt something roughly seize the back of his jacket, and jerk him back.

“No!” Noah screamed, desperately flailing in the prisoner’s grasp as he wrangled him onto his back, his blood soaked hands slipping against the floor as he frantically tried to squirm away. “Please, please, oh my god.”

The prisoner’s hard glare looked him over, fingers twisting into his jacket to get a look at his nametag. Noah’s vision was spinning, his head overflowing with thoughts of how brutally he was going to kill him with that knife, that his guts were going to be hanging all over the walls and he would never get to see his family again, and—

The prisoner let out a snort.

Noah flinched violently when his rough hands wiped away his streaming tears, smudging coppery blood all over his cheeks. The prisoner abruptly let go of him, and he scrambled backwards in sheer panic.

“You’re gonna wish I had killed you, little man,” he sneered, gripping the Apoid’s rifle in his hands with a smirk. “Better get running before he finds you.”

He watched with wide, unblinking eyes as he turned away and disappeared down the corridor, as if he expected him to change his mind and finish the job. His eyes couldn’t help but drift to the Apoid’s dead corspe, still convulsing as if he was alive, and Noah let out a harrowing sob. He wrenched away, heaving, before realising he was still sitting in a puddle of someone’s blood.

Disgust wriggled into his skin, and he forced himself onto his wavering feet, biting back his terrified sobs.

This was a nightmare. It had to be.

Just a cruel nightmare. One that he would wake up from, and he’d be okay.

But then something the prisoner said resonated with him. Better get running before he finds you. Noah didn’t want to think about the obvious implications of that warning; the easy deduction of who he was. It made him wonder if other prisoners knew, if Cash had told them to save Noah for himself. Because that was what he had told him, hadn’t he, when his arm had been wound tightly around his throat?

He staggered, shoulder hitting the wall with a thud. The sobs wracked through his body, constricting the air from his lungs, and it made it hard to even stand upright. Like this terrible weakness was plaguing his limbs.

Distant gunfire and shrill screams, ones of agony and pain, spurred him onwards. His vision swam at each dead body he came across, stumbling over bloated, bloody corpses, but he knew he needed to get to the emergency elevators - somehow.

The sound of raging gunfire got louder, and Noah sank behind cover before peering down the long corridor. Scientists were cramming themselves into elevators, bloody handprints smeared along the doors. There must have been dozens of bodies on the ground, all sprawled haphazardly ontop of each other, and Noah’s breath caught in his throat when he met wide, bloodshot eyes.

It was a massacre. Scientists and Personnel of all kinds were scrambling to get inside, most gunned down before they even made it, their bodies convulsing and hitting the ground with a thud.

One elevator, packed with Scientists, had been about to close, before a prisoner with access to an Apoid’s gun stepped inside. There was the uproar of frightened screams, and when the doors slid shut, Noah could hear the distant sound of muffled gunfire. He slapped a bloodied hand over his mouth, his knees buckling.

It was practically slaughter.

Prisoners were swarming everywhere on the Level, and everything was spinning out of control. These sorts of emergencies were supposed to be purely hypothetical - never in the history of the Facility had a Code Black ever been announced on those speakers.

Something twisted in his hair, jerking his head back, and Noah gave a sharp gasp as someone wrangled him onto the ground. A gangly prisoner was ontop of him in seconds, causing Noah to thrash out in panic, sinking a knee into his boney stomach.

The sight of the knife was enough to spur him into action.

The prisoner’s fingers were digging into his skin, stinging the flesh, yanking Noah along with him. His heart leapt into his throat when the knife almost slashed across his chest, forcing him to scramble, grabbing the prisoner’s wrist in a tight, desperate grasp. They let out a teeth bared hiss, attempting to violently buck Noah off. They succeeded, for just a moment, and Noah felt their leg shove him off, his back slamming into the wall.

When they came at him again, he threw himself out of range, boot smacking into their head.

It was with enough adrenaline fueled force that the prisoner flew back, the knife slipping from their fingertips. Gunfire rained over the top of them, and Noah pressed himself close to the ground, choking on hard pants. He met the prisoner’s eyes, just for a moment, before they both leapt for the knife.

By some miracle, Noah seized it first, gripping it tight in his hand.

The prisoner barrelled into him, knocking the wind out of his lungs, their nails scratching at his face and only narrowing avoiding his eyes. The skin tore, beading with little spots of blood, and Noah’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife when the pain made his eyes water. A desperate rush smashed into him. He might have told himself that he wasn’t thinking clearly, but he was. He wanted the prisoner to get off of him, no matter what.

Noah grit his teeth together, jabbing the knife into the prisoner’s neck. It was shocking how easily it went in, straight down to the hilt, and they made a garbled, pained noise, eyes bulging. Noah rolled them over abruptly, the air rushing back to his lungs, before he forced the knife out. A spray of blood erupted from the wound, feeling it drench his hands, and the prisoner’s body violently convulsed, jerking and stuttering, drowning on the fresh liquid.

Noah forced himself onto his feet, almost tripping over their corpse. The strength had completely lost him, the knife clattering to the ground, tearing his eyes away from the still convulsing body.

His legs carried him in the direction of the elevators. They were closed, taking Scientists and Personnel to safety, and Noah prayed to whatever was out there, that that could be him.

He screeched to a halt, hairs pricking on edge when a group of armed prisoners came around the corner, blocking his path to the elevators. Noah felt the world around him spin when their guns tilted in his direction, and he dove into a doorway just as they started firing. He swore he felt it shave the hairs on his head.

He held back a sob, kicking the door to the room shut behind him, before slamming his still bloody hands on the lock, sticky against the pad.

Loud bangs reverbated from outside, the prisoners shouting and attempting to force the door open. Noah’s wide eyes were glued onto it, crumbling to his knees, the tears sliding down his cheeks freely. It stung the scratches on his face, but he didn’t even have it in him to wince, numbed by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

When the banging stopped, Noah deflated. He lifted his shaking hands, staring at the sticky redness painting every inch of skin, filling his senses with tangy copper. Noah’s face wrinkled, and he let out a harrowing sob. He tried to scrub the blood off, frantically wiping it against the ground, the tears dripping from his chin like a downpour.

He backed himself up into the corner of the room, curling himself up so he was as small as he felt. The blaring alarm rang through his mind like a cruel mantra, sobbing until his throat went raw.

This was a nightmare. Just a nightmare - it had to be. Nothing like this could ever happen to him.

Noah choked on a startled breath, trying not to flinch at the assortment of sounds outside of the room. The crackling of gunfire, the screaming, the huge thuds and bangs. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately burying himself into his arms. He wasn’t sure how long he had spent huddled in the corner of the room, his head buried between his knees and desperately trying to breathe.

It didn’t come easy for him, with all of the blazing noises outside, with all of the memories of the dead bodies, Scientists, Apoids and Personnel alike, left as mangled corpses in a pool of their own blood. Noah’s chest stuttered, lungs fluttering, caked in tears, sweat and blood of both his own, and other people.

He wondered if hiding in here was the best option.

If the Facility was under lockdown, they would eventually send reinforcements to control the situation. No prisoner would ever leave, unless it was dead. But then Noah thought about Cash, and those dreaded warnings he had got, and he wondered if a door was enough between them to keep the vengeful prisoner far away from him.

It couldn’t be.

His puffy eyes squinted, lifting his head up. He wondered what Fionn would say to him. What he was doing right now. Any one of those lifeless Apoid corpses could have been him, and Noah would have never known. His heart squeezed painfully at the thought.

Above all, he prayed that Fionn was safe. Even though, out of the two of them, he stood a better chance at surviving this nightmare with his training and his weapons, Fynn still couldn’t be sure if that would be enough to make it out of here alive. It hadn’t been for his second assigned Apoid, who he had known for no more than ten minutes.

Slowly lifting himself onto his feet, Noah numbly stepped over to the door, ever so slowly.

Hiding wouldn’t work forever - the emergency elevators were his best chance to get to safety. The breakout could have extended to Level Eight or Level Seven, so he couldn’t delay a chance. Ever since the first disruption of chaos, the noise by the elevators had seemed to die down. Noah saw the mounts of bodies, and the amount of prisoners that had been slaughtering them. The initial scramble for safety will have quietened down by now.

He hoped.

His heart was pounding against his ribcage like a jackhammer, swarming up to his ears. He counted the agonising seconds that he stood there, staring at the door, not even daring to move. It was as though one breath would give him away.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the blurriness encroaching the edges of his vision. With a firm push, Noah slid open the door. He was met with the same blood soaked hallways, and flinched back when a body slumped unceromomiously by his feet. Another Apoid. He released a shuddering breath, tearing his eyes away.

With a pounding heart, he checked the corridor. Some shouting prisoners caused him to duck back, but they passed the elevators only after a few moments. The blood rushed to his head. One of them was open - empty and awaiting him, like some sort of enticing treat.

He had to move now.

Giving the corridors one final glance, his shaking legs managed to step over the dead body, bracing against the wall. Each little step was as though lead weights were melded into his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling on edge. With each second that dragged on, Noah’s desperation increased. It was like he could taste freedom and safety on the tip of his tongue, and his pace quickened just a bit.

He didn’t even dare look behind him, blocking out the rips of gunfire in the distance and the ear piercing screams.

There was a sudden breakout of footsteps behind him, and something hard barrelled into the side of his body. It sent him smacking into the hard ground, almost clipping his chin in an awkward way. He sucked in a sharp, pained gasp, head snapping up to find another scientist making a beeline for the elevator. There was blood dripping down his face, from what he could see, and Noah’s head snapped around in the direction he had come from.

His heart sank to his boots.

Cash was going at a calm, leisurely pace as he crossed the intersection, those intense eyes finding Noah’s immediately. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, as if he hadn’t been the one chasing the frightened scientists.

He heard the shrill beep of the elevator, and his heart leapt into his throat. The scared scientist was jabbing frantically at the button, tears slipping down his cheeks, and by the time Noah realised what was happening, the doors were already beginning to slide closed.

“Hold it!” He screamed, staggering to his feet frantically as he burst forward with a newfound shock of adrenaline. The scientist backed away from the buttons, bumping into the rail, his wide eyes flickering towards Noah. The doors continued to slide close. “Please! Please, hold it!”

He desperately threw himself at them, but it was too late. Noah pounded his fists desperately against them, a rush of anger and terror making his throat burn.

“Motherfucker!” Noah sobbed, banging so hard he was sure his hands had gone numb. “Motherfucker! Open the door!”

Instead, he was met with strong fingers twisting in his hair, and Noah only caught a glimpse of Cash’s face, before he slammed his head into the elevator door. He was out cold instantly.

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lets-try-some-writing · 23 hours

Text

Forbidden Sight

With the threat of the Fallen forcing Bumblebee to act and Megatron long since out of the picture, he is left with no choice but to seek out the aid of the divine. Unfortunately, meeting the divine is not all it is cracked up to be, and sometimes the price is not worth the sacrifice.

(Please note: This is LONG and there is body horror going on so do be aware.)

“No, I am not going down there again.” Ratchet clutched his dented arm possessively, his optics flaring in fear of all things. Bumblebee stilled as the Doctor’s plating flared, his servo doing a terrible job covering obvious digit shaped imprints. What could have possibly caused such damage?

“Ratchet, you are the only one who knows the way. You went with Optimus when he-” Ratchet cut him off with a look of pure terror and grief that ran so deep it was clear to see in his body, field, and expression. Bumblebee couldn’t help but stare in shock as the Doctor shook his helm frantically.

“No. No. I will give you the path I mapped, but I will never go down there. Not again.” Something had shaken him to the core. Ratchet was never like this, at least not around anyone who could see or hear what he was dealing with.

Bumblebee took a moment to meet the gazes of his team. They were worried. They looked to him for guidance. None of them said a word, but Windblade’s dipped wings and Strongarm’s nervous twitching told him everything he needed to know.

None were looking forward to the journey ahead, even in light of its necessity.

“Ratchet…” He trailed off as everyone fell silent. Guilt radiated in Ratchet’s field, but he did not budge. He wouldn’t be guiding them, no matter how much Bumblebee pleaded.

In order to defeat the Fallen, they needed information that no living mech, save for perhaps Megatron, possessed. With Megatron lost to the stars, Soundwave stuck in the shadowzone, and other possible sources similarly scattered or deceased, there really was only one choice. It was a faint hope, but Optimus had made the journey to Primus’s core long ago in search of both an end to the war and a way to restore their world. There were none left alive who knew the exact details of what went on that cycle, but Ratchet and a small cohort had journeyed with Orion Pax and they knew that when he emerged, he was greater than he was before.

Orion Pax gained knowledge on that dark cycle. Bumblebee’s hope was that he could do the same.

Optimus was gone, dead, and given to the Well. There was no one else except Ratchet, who might have had the faintest idea as to how to get to Primus’s core safely. And yet he was shaking, terrified to the point of being unable to move, regardless of how badly his field flared with the desire to flee. Something had happened, and that fact did not give Bumblebee any confidence.

“I… I will wait for you here. But Bumblebee, you must listen to me.” Ratchet released his death grip on his damaged arm, leaving it free for all to see. Sideswipe cursed softly somewhere behind him, but Bumblebee could only stare at the damage in horror.

Deep, dark, and dangerous dents that turned into tears ran across Ratchet’s arm. Rust and dried energon bordered the wound, nonlethal, but a testament to something powerful down in the depths. There were four clear imprints, huge and imposing digit marks—dug into metal that for all intents and purposes, appeared delicate now. If Bumblebee looked closely, he could see a fifth imprint running along the underside of Ratchet’s arm.

Ratchet had been grabbed by something. And whatever that horror was, it had destroyed the long maintained stoicism of a mech that had never so much as flinched in the face of danger, save for the sake of another.

“Don’t touch him. Don’t even try to damage him. He will not hesitate to leave a far greater mark.” Ratchet’s entire being spoke of desperation. His plea rang with true terror, not unlike the horror that had been evident in his voice when the Unmaker woke. Still, this was deeper, more… personal.

“I understand.” Bumblebee didn’t bother trying to convince Ratchet to come. He was dead set on remaining, and based on his reaction, it was a miracle he wasn’t already high tailing it all the way back to Iacon.

“Here are the coordinates of the tunnel entrance and mapped paths I recorded.” Ratchet sent a message over a private link, a file quickly blaring red across Bumblebee’s vision. He accepted it easily and shared the information with his team.

“Be careful. You won’t like what you see.” Ratchet stepped away, his gaze turning anywhere except the giant hole in the ground leading down to the core of their planet. Bumblebee nodded and gestured for his team to follow. There was no more time to waste and he couldn’t afford to think too deeply on Ratchet’s warning.

Bumblebee half expected to have to rock climb down the Well in order to get to his target, but according to Ratchet’s map, there was a path for him to follow. It did take him and Drift arguing over the thing for half a groon before they found the entrance, but once the journey began, any mirth evaporated in an instant.

“I don’t like this…” Strongarm muttered, breaking the silence for only a moment before it became suffocating once more. She shivered, and not even Sideswipe was willing to talk as they delved into the depths. Bumblebee did his best to lead confidently, but the road was long and there were things that shifted in the dark the deeper they went. The entire area felt oddly… holy, but only in the vaguest sense.

Controlled seemed like a better word. The path was controlled. Everything was methodical, placed with purpose, even if Bumblebee was unable to parse it out. Drift and Windblade made a few awed comments off and on, but as the light dimmed and the tunnels became more cavernous, his team refused to speak. Bumblebee couldn’t blame them, especially not when there were pedeprints in the dust from mecha who traveled with Optimus Prime millennia ago.

This place carried too much history to be disrupted for longer than absolutely required.

“We are almost to the core. Stay together, and don’t touch anything. This is a place for Primes and Primes alone.” Bumblebee shivered instinctually as his internal map alerted him to the fact that they were close. It was hard to keep track of the time so deep beneath the surface, but he assumed they had been on the move for around a cycle. He expected the trip to take longer. Wasn’t Primus at the very core of their world?

The tunnels made no sense. They hurt to think about.

“Sweet Primus…” Sideswipe cursed, but it was lost in the void as they stepped through a final arch, quickly finding themselves basked in the light of their maker, or at least, his core. Bumblebee had to pause and look on in both awe and a degree of existential dread as cogs larger than life turned in a rhythmic manner, adhering to laws and designs long forgotten by any living being save for the one who ordered their continued functioning.

A thin pathway led closer to the core, one large enough for a mech or two depending on frame type. A few stray Predacon corpses long rusted littered the ground, dark energon leaking from their battered frames. They were lifeless, but they were a reminder of the battle hard fought and won.

“Everyone, keep a ways behind me. If something goes wrong, one of you needs to get out of here and regroup with Ratchet and my old teammates.” He held out an arm, not thinking too deeply on the motion as he cautiously moved forward. He could sense his team moving slowly a few dozen feet behind him, watching him like techno-hawks as he followed the curved pathway toward where he assumed he could address the slumbering god of Cybertron, or at least attempt to commune with the Primes of old.

Everything seemed to pulse and hum around him as he walked. And yet, there was no noise. Not a sound, not a creak, not even his own pedesteps as the light of Primus washed over him in waves. He might have been imagining it, but everything about the area felt intelligent, even alive. If mythology was to be believed, then his senses would be correct. However, it only served to unsettle him as he noted the marks of small pedes moving forward and far larger pedes heading toward the entrance.

How long had it been since the soil was disturbed? Were these Optimus’s marks? Or had someone else made the journey down to Primus to cry out to their absent god? He didn’t think so. The marks matched Optimus’s specs. That thought bothered him, although he could not pinpoint why. The dust should have moved. Something should have changed. Despite that, the echoes of a darker time remained engraved in the very path he walked.

He stepped cautiously, his optics drawn to a series of cables and connectors hanging down from where Primus’s core reached an accessible level. He momentarily wondered if Optimus’s body was stuck amongst those of the Predacons, or caught in wires beneath the thin path he carefully tread. Was the body of his leader hanging limply, forgotten by all but the void that embraced him?

Bumblebee wished that were the case. By Primus he wished that were the case when he finally ascended, following the path as close as it came to Primus’s core.

He wanted to purge as he set optics upon the tattered mess that hung from countless wires and cables. There was no denying who it was. No other mech bore red and blue so proudly or carried a relic of a forgotten age within his spark chamber. He was thinner now, seriously emaciated with rust and dried gore of all kinds spattered across his frame at various intervals. His plating hung off him at odd angles, some pieces even missing altogether. His left finial was broken and the optic on the same side was damaged to the point of almost appearing crushed.

The connectors attached to him dug beneath armor and protoform alike, bloating his frame in strange, unusual places. Blue tinted ooze dripped from unnatural wounds, falling down into the void beneath. The cables seemed to slither into him, creeping into every seam and strut, pulsing with the waves of Primus’s light. The Matrix glowed in time with it all, seemingly content even as its bearer hung lifelessly.

“Optimus, I’m so sorry.” His digits shook, and it took all his willpower to not turn away and purge as he stared at what remained of his mentor, his leader, and the only fatherly character he had ever known. The Prime was not honored in death, not like this. His body hung up like some sort of twisted trophy.

It wasn’t right. Optimus deserved better than this.

“I wish I could bury you properly, but this will have to do.” He stepped forward, doing his best to not look at the deep gashes along Optimus’s back where his jetpack had once been. He could see cables slithering there, sliding deep and along Optimus’s spine. He fought the urge to gag as he readied himself to act.

He would take the Matrix out of Optimus’s chassis and use it to find a way to commune with the Primes of old. His leader’s body would then be cut free, and he could rest without being strung up like a tormented attempt at taxidermy. It was the least he could do. After everything, Optimus should be allowed to pass without being held up in a grim state of disrepair.

“I wish you weren’t like this… I wish things were different.” He found himself murmuring softly as his digits barely brushed against the relic. However, his movement seemed to stir it, and Bumblebee leapt back with a yelp as the Matrix became encased in arcs of electricity. Optimus’s body convulsed, the cables holding it up twitching and shifting as the body was lifted higher, away from Bumblebee’s reach.

“Bee!” Sideswipe was the first to move forward, with the rest of the team following behind him. Bumblebee wished he could curse and ward them all off as what remained of his leader contorted in horrible ways. The legs squirmed, kicking at nothing, as power rippled through the living corpse. The arms tensed up, digits twitching madly as the body’s optics began to flare without rhyme or reason.

His spark flared in its chamber, terrified as the corpse gave another unfortunate spasm, a deafening crack echoing amidst the eerie silence. The entire chamber seemed to lurch in a spiritual way before the lights all dimmed, Primus’s very core lowering in intensity. Nothing happened for a klik, and Bumblebee was half tempted to try and reach out again as the body fell still. Maybe it was just… lingering processor function acting up. Perhaps the Matrix was trying to awaken a host that had long since gone offline. There were always possibilities-

“Bumblebee.” The garbled designation in that oh-so-familiar voice shook him, freezing Bumblebee in place as the corpse’s helm raised. The lone functional optic blazed bright enough to blind a mech as it settled on Bumblebee and his team. There was no way Optimus was alive. He couldn’t be. That… the thing hanging from wire and cables was a corpse. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real.

“You have come to seek wisdom.” The corpse shuddered, its staticky voice steadying with every glyph uttered. Its helm tilted, the lone functional optic cycling in on Bumblebee in what could have been interest if it weren’t for the fact that there was no spark to power the frame that continued to defy reality.

“You come for my knowledge, that which has been lost to you, dear children.” The cables holding the corpse shifted, growing as more came down from the void. They slithered and writhed beneath the corpse’s plating, allowing the body to lower closer, almost to the point of being within touching distance. The blazing optic that illuminated the entire chamber flickered off and on, its gaze seemingly so glued to Bumblebee that it felt like fire on his plating. Yet, at the same time, it seemed the corpse was looking right through him, not seeing so much as observing.

“Little Orion came to me long ago. He too sought out my guidance.” The living corpse shifted, its arms moving in haphazard, jagged movements. Its digits twitched, seemingly trying to gesture and grasp at nonexistent objects. It hurt to watch as ooze leaked from between cracks, forced out by movement that should not have been possible. A few of the cables loosened, allowing the corpse to move a degree. It leaned forward, its tattered frame straining as its derma failed to match the syllables of the glyphs being uttered.

It was sickening. Bumblebee wanted to retch and flee, but his very spark lurched in his chassis, frozen before the entity that wore his father figure’s frame like a suit. There was no escape. Not for him, not for his terrified team.

“What will you give for that which you seek?” The corpse’s neck cracked and energon so old that it was little more than a tank churning goo dripped from torn ligaments and connectors. The corpse remained focused on him, a smile beginning to form on its face, cracking the delicate facial plating that once gave Optimus his classical reputation.

It reached out. Its arms gestured to Bumblebee as the light of Primus’s core pulsed behind it, shadowing it while also making it impossible to look away. It was a mockery of all Optimus was, and Bumblebee couldn’t help the rage that began to pool in his spark alongside the dread.

“What will you offer when my Champion gave me everything?” The Matrix flared, power arcing off it as the entity spoke. The corpse’s helm tilted a little too far to be possible for a normal mech, almost shifting a full ninety degrees. It grinned, its arms pulled close to itself as viscera and torn cables seeped out from between cracks in the corpse’s armor.

This thing was not Optimus. It merely wore his frame and mimicked his voice. Bumblebee’s desire to flee quickly found itself overshadowed by grim determination. Whatever the entity was, it could not be allowed to continue desecrating the frame of his leader and father.

“Who are you?” A slight tremor entered his voice as he spoke. His team huddled close to each other, stepping back from Bumblebee as the thing descended lower, its smile wide enough to tear through facial plating with ease. Bumblebee could see molar derma showing through the gashes that formed as the thing pushed Optimus’s body beyond its limits.

“I am the one below, he who formed your sparks from fire and starlight.” The entity’s smile softened, although it did nothing to take away from the rotted scent that emanated from the corpse. Rusted metal, stagnant energon, and the rancid smell of corroding internal fluids long since left to rot. That one optic blazed with renewed fury as Primus’s core brightened for a moment, joining the entity, the god as it, he spoke.

“I ask you again, what will you offer? How much are you willing to give for victory?” The cables slithered ever deeper into battered protoform, puppeting limbs as the god of all Cybertronians hung within the confines of Optimus’s corpse. Bumblebee’s digits shook as the being known as Primus continued to stare through the optic of his father.

This was so very wrong. What use would a god have for a mortal frame? Why would Primus do this to his chosen? Why would he demand sacrifices when already they had given all they could?

“I… I will give whatever is required.” He clenched his jaw, steeling himself for whatever was to come as Primus continued to stare, uncaring, unnatural, and yet so very loving all at once. His team’s fields flared in horror, and distantly he was aware of Windblade and Drift dropping to their knees in submission, be it out of fear or reverent respect. Strongarm and Sideswipe continued to step away, terrified as more cables wrapped around Optimus’s frame, supporting it so that the god could pilot it more freely.

“How noble of you. Optimus tended to you well. I can sense his touch, feel his influence all throughout your very being.” The corpse moved, the cables dragging it through the chamber as it did a slow circle around Bumblebee and his team. The god kept a safe distance away, remaining half submerged in shadow at any given moment as the spotlight that was Optimus’s optic continued to illuminate Bumblebee and those with him.

“I was right to let him keep you.” The voice echoed from all around and yet nowhere at once. Primus hung directly above Bumblebee for a moment, the corpse of Optimus Prime dripping fluids that made him want to gag. He resisted the urge, trying with all his might to not show how frightened he was as the god returned to his former position in front of the core, seemingly content.

“What does that mean?” The implications of the god’s words were startling to say the least. He spoke as though he controlled Optimus as easily as he did now, moving his body and commanding his voice. Would Optimus have left him if Primus had not ordained the Prime’s acquisition of Bumblebee after the destruction of his home city? Did Optimus have no free will? Or was the god toying with him just as Unicron had all those years ago?

“Nothing to you. It is of no consequence.” The god continued to smile in that sickly way that was only found on corpses where the mortician simply couldn’t manage to make the expression look natural. Optimus’s other finial snapped and fell into the void below as Primus contorted Optimus’s frame again, forcing it to jerkingly return to a somewhat comfortable position resting within the wires.

It didn’t look comfortable at all, not with wires and cables threatening to burst from every line and seam. If Optimus were alive, Bumblebee had no doubt that he would be in agony. He sincerely hoped his father figure wasn’t still functioning, trapped by some divine will within his frame as it twisted and shifted in ways it wasn’t meant to.

“Why are you doing this? Why can’t you let him rest?” Anger returned in full force as Bumblebee shook. Why did the monster that called himself a god have to do this to his chosen? Had Optimus not served enough?

He got his answer as the god paused, and then laughed.

It was a deep guttural and almost pained sound, one that bordered on a wheeze and the buzz of radio static all at once. Fluid must have been gathering in Optimus’s vocalizer all throughout his time rotting in the Well. The laughter merely emphasized that fact.

“Sweet child, have you no optics to see? Look upon this form, see that which it is and what it represents.” The god haphazardly threw Optimus’s arms open in a mock mimicry of an embrace. Primus smiled even wider, shattering further pieces of Optimus’s face as he forced it to match his design. He must have seen himself as benevolent and holy. He did not seem to understand the sheer horror of a god speaking through the deceased and rotted frame of a Prime.

“That means nothing to me.” Bumblebee stood defiantly, his door wings locked in place as he forced his hydraulics to stiffen. He refused to shake, to show weakness in front of an entity that bordered on maliciousness at every moment.

“A pity. No others have ever matched this one, my dear Optimus.” Primus spoke and almost lovingly forced Optimus’s arms to wrap around himself. The god tenderly caressed the Matrix, lovingly looking down upon it with what would have been an adoring expression if not for the rust that crept along the corpse’s face.

He looked so serene, and strangely enough, even holy. In Bumblebee’s mind, what he saw before him was a true depiction of their god. A rotting power of the old world who in turn chose new champions to pilot, corrode, and ultimately make just like him. Broken, and so very divine.

“So strong, so dutiful, so very faithful.” A look of pure joy spread on the corpse’s face. A piece of Optimus’s shoulder plating broke away and fell into the darkness. Primus did not react as he forced the arms of the corpse to stretch beyond their limits, as if to embrace the god’s chosen Prime with even more adoration.

“Always obedient and kind. He was, he is perfect. A true beacon for all my wayward creations.” The frame shuddered, almost like a clockwork engine as it let off steam. Energon long unused began to sizzle as the spotlight that was the god’s borrowed optic again returned to Bumblebee.

His team shook behind him. Sideswipe and Strongarm had long since fallen, their plating rattling as they unknowingly found themselves bowing. Bumblebee refused to budge. He clenched his servos into fists, unwilling to show the god before him just how frightened he was. Primus could destroy him in an instant, he was sure of it.

“How could I relinquish such perfection? He gives himself to me so very freely. Total submission, true supplication. Much unlike others who have come before and after him.” Again, the corpse moved forward, coming closer and closer to Bumblebee until it hung only a little ways off. He could almost touch his father’s broken face if he so desired.

But what truly set him off was not the proximity of the living corpse. Rather, it was the red and white paint that had been transferred onto the left servo of Primus’s borrowed vessel.

“You, did you-?” Realization dawned on him like a lighting strike. The corpse merely tilted its helm with its ever present smile.

“You think of the doctor, my Champion’s dearest friend. Yes, the damage was done by this borrowed servo. He dared to try and take what belongs to me and me alone.” Primus clenched the corpse’s fist, cables bulging within the limb in question as they were forcefully bloated with energon to facilitate movement. Bumblebee bit his lower derma as images of Ratchet’s terror and possible experience conjured in his processor. This thing had hurt him, that much was clear.

“He might have been a fine vessel once. But he is too tainted, no longer pure. Wise perhaps, and dutiful indeed. But he would never heed my call.” Primus reached up to cup his, or rather Optimus’s face. Weathered servos touched scuffed and dirty facial plates with all the delicateness one would give a porcelain doll. Bumblebee wanted to recoil in horror as the implications hit him. No mech should be subject to whatever in the name of the Thirteen this was.

“Optimus… my beloved Optimus. His faith has been a delight after so many ages of silence.” Primus maneuvered his borrowed servos down, brushing up against thin and frail armor plates. The singular functional optic Primus had to use trailed every movement, watching those servos which he controlled as they caressed the body the god inhabited. It was disturbing to watch. It almost looked like some sort of convoluted assault with how pleased the god looked as he forced Optimus’s body to examine itself.

“He gave himself to me willingly. Anything to win his little war. He called himself a sacrifice, but I have named him my Chosen.” The body shivered in what looked to be pleasure. Bumblebee couldn’t help the gag that he let out at the sight. The corpse merely continued to grin as it forced Optimus’s body to embrace itself, prompting a series of cables to burst and oozing energon to slide from new wounds.

“He obeyed my every command, listening to my whispers and calls for my brother’s return to slumber. He was so dutiful that he chose me over all others, even the likes of you.” The god laughed again, a sweet chortle that did not match Optimus in any capacity. Then, as if that weren’t enough, its helm tilted again, this time even further than before. Something snapped as Primus forced the corpse to comply with his wishes, ensuring the rotted frame’s helm all but swiveled into an impossible one hundred and eighty degree angle.

Anger swelled in his spark at the mere idea of Optimus throwing everything away for some dying deity. It wasn’t like him. Optimus was a Prime for the people. He would never cast away everything just for… some god who hardly cared. But what truly shook Bumblebee were the tears that began to fall from the singular functioning optic Optimus’s body still possessed. The tears were discolored due to rust and other contaminants, but they were real, and he highly doubted it was Primus who ordered Optimus’s coolant stores to empty themselves.

“He gave himself back to me entirely, and yet as he fell, he thought of you.” Bumblebee took a step back as Primus’s tone turned sharper, edging on something akin to agitation if not hatred. The god rattled, his borrowed frame shaking as the smile fell away.

“You and your fellow companions, his little playthings meant to guide and serve.” The god’s helm swiveled back into proper position, another unsettled crack echoing as something or other broke in Optimus’s battered frame.

“Be quiet. You don’t know him.” Bumblebee shot back, wrath, anguish, and everything else he had been doing his best to bottle up swelling to the surface of his mind and spark. Primus didn’t know slag. He had not been there as their people died off during the great war. He had not so much as offered one vague prophecy through his Prime throughout all the time Optimus carried the Matrix. He had no right to speak on the behalf of a mech who gave everything for their world.

“But don’t I?” Primus’s tone was sweet like freshly purified energex, but he did not smile.

“I know his spark. I lived within him throughout your entire war. His thoughts were mine to glean and his affections mine to allow or deny.” The corpse was moved, again shifting away from its lighted position and into shadow. Bumblebee couldn’t see it as Primus maneuvered through the dark, silence reigning for a long klik. The urge to activate his weapons was almost suffocating as he scanned the darkness, desperately trying to pinpoint the lurking threat.

His team didn’t so much as twitch as they remained in various states of terrified worship. Their optics flicked around, following Bumblebee’s lead as they too tried to track the threat. Not a spark spoke, not when the core of their world pulsed so calmly, serenely even. There was no acknowledgement of the body that hung in living chains, lurking in the dark and almost certainly observing.

“Do you miss him? Does this voice make you wish he were here?” The corpse called out, this time without any undertone of Primus’s interference. It sounded almost exactly like Optimus, and it came from all around. He had to fight back the instinctual urge to cry as the familiar gruff softness reached his audials.

It wasn’t Optimus. That wasn’t his father. Optimus Prime was dead and a god was making a mockery of him.

“Come. Come greet him.” He turned around, facing the way he came to try and determine where the voice was coming from. But when he returned to his previous position, the corpse was a mere few feet away, far closer than ever before. He let out an undignified scream as the corpse leaned in, its arms outstretched.

How had it moved so fast?

“You must come closer. He cannot hear you so far away.” The tone of the thing was sing-songy, but Bumblebee shook his helm rapidly in primal terror. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t HIM. The thing that smiled and watched him with one wide and far too bright optic was not his leader. The mech he wished he openly called father would have never done this. Optimus would have never beckoned him like some sort of… creature.

He stepped back, his bravery falling in the face of true fear. His venting hitched and he prepared to run as the corpse tilted its helm again, a snarl forming on its features for the first time since it began to speak.

“Why do you flee from me? Am I not your maker?” The thing lurched forward, its movements so stiff and unnatural the Bumblebee scrambled back just in time to dodge its attempts to grab him. The god seethed and Bumblebee’s team quickly floundered in their attempts to get to their pedes as a wrathful field pressed against them from all sides.

“Come here.” Primus looked enraged. His borrowed face contorted into anger so rarely seen on Optimus in life that to Bumblebee it looked like the mech he once called his leader was possessed by the Unmaker himself. The god looked a klik away from forcing his borrowed frame into combat before he stuttered, power arcing off him until at last, he stilled.

“You… must… run.” The voice of the corpse whirled to life once more, but unlike the clear sound that Primus produced despite the state of his borrowed frame, this sound was pained. It came in a wheeze that gurgled and croaked, finally matching the tears that stained the corpse’s face.

“Leave. Go before he can take you.” The body looked up, and the movement was smooth, evidently practiced. The optic that settled on Bumblebee was not nearly as bright. Rather, it was dim and flickering, sickly in the purest sense. It was a light that should not have been there with how badly the frame it was emanating from was damaged.

Bumblebee’s processor scrambled for an answer, but the conclusion was obvious. He didn’t want to believe it. A part of him hoped that his leader was at peace, if only in spark. But seeing the desperate expression on Optimus’s face… he knew who it was that spoke to him, and he wanted to kick, scream, and cry all at once as the body spasmed and control returned to the god of their world.

“How dare you.” The corpse bore no expression now. Only the words came out with a thick vile venom that stung just to listen to. The ground began to shake as Primus’s core pulsed rapidly, wires convulsing and ancient gears stalling for nanokliks at a time.

“How dare you taint him.” The voice rose in volume, no longer sounding like Optimus at all. A maelstrom of sound and sensation assaulted him from every conceivable angle as voices that were few and yet singular at the same time all converged on him. Energon and thick viscous fluid exploded out of Optimus’s throat as Primus’s speech shattered more and more of its components.

“He belongs to me.” The corpse stiffened, its singular optic blazing so brightly that smoke rose from places, prompting more tears to fall. But instead of smiting him as Bumblebee expected, the god instead fell still once more, his borrowed optic flickering as something seemed to change.

“He is innocent. Merely a child.” Optimus, the real Optimus spoke out in the gloom. His words were slow and agonizing, grating just to listen to. But Bumblebee found himself crying all the same as his leader began to plead, desperation evident in every glyph he uttered.

“I serve. I serve willingly.” He sounded like he was in agony.

“Glory to the one below. He who slumbers and gives us life.” Prayers flowed from his torn derma, regardless of the absolute torment he was likely enduring. Optimus held his servos in a loose symbol of the Primacy, his gaze unsteady as he spoke.

“Praise be to His holy station. His will is our demand.” He did not look up, but his stuttered venting spoke of life forced to continue operating regardless of its viability. Bumblebee couldn’t find the strength to wipe away his tears, not when his Prime pleaded for his very existence.

“There is no greater purpose than to offer Him our loyalty. For He is the truth where lies fester.” The prayers continued for kliks. There was no pause between them, nor did Optimus look up even once. Eventually, the prayers changed and strange glyphs that made no sense began to emerge in something akin to a babble. Bumblebee couldn’t tell if Optimus was too pained to continue or if something deeper was happening, but ultimately, the shaking stopped and everything returned to its previous state.

“What will you give to achieve victory?” The question was repeated and Bumblebee was not given time to move before the corpse swept down, grabbing his face with one monstrous servo so tightly that he could feel his jaw creaking. That lone optic all but blinded him as the god held him in place, all but lifting him off the ground as Primus demanded his answer.

“Would you give me your spark?” The servo that was not holding him still wandered to Bumblebee’s chassis, sweeping over his plating in a seemingly fond manner. He wanted to curl in on himself in shame, horror, and something that had long since evolved beyond terror. However, he was helpless to stop the god as he ran his borrowed digits along transformation seams, his expression hopeful as if he expected Bumblebee to open for him.

“If not yours, would you give me theirs?” Seeing his lack of reaction, Primus looked over his shoulder, down at Bumblebee’s team. He flailed, but the death grip the god had on his face was all but unbearable. Fear ran so deeply in his spark he couldn’t find a way to produce words. Linguistic codes were gone, far out of reach as he stared, meeting Primus’s gaze properly for the first time.

He saw his team reflected for a moment in that lone optic as it flickered and struggled to remain online. They were terrified, but similarly frozen. They were at the mercy of their god, and they had no say in the matter once he decided what to do.

“I am not a cruel maker. I am willing to make deals.” Digits reached up, dirty from energon, rust, and years of contamination. They brushed his derma, tracing around his optics and facial features like a lover would. He wheezed, tears falling from his optics with greater ferocity than ever as the god watched him with that strange apathy and love all balled together into a disgusting mix that left him wishing it could all be over.

Primus continued to touch him for a long few moments, a hum bubbling in his borrowed throat. Bumblebee sobbed softly all the while. This wasn’t right. Optimus was his father. All of this was wrong on a fundamental level. He only wanted information, a way to save their people. Why this? Why did it have to be like this?

“Ah… it seems the debt has been paid by another.” Suddenly, without warming, Primus let go of his face. Bumblebee fell to his knees gasping in sheer relief as the corpse pulled back, slowly returning to its original position.

“There shall be no sacrifice from you this cycle.” It spoke soothingly, as if nothing at all had happened during their interaction. Primus smiled in that divine manner that should have been comforting but only served to remind Bumblebee that this entity was a god more than capable of violence.

“You shall have your victory, when the time is right.” Weathered arms stretched out as the corpse performed a mock bow, at least as much as it could with the way it was bound.

“I will lend him to you for a time, at least until the threat is removed.” It straightened, more cables coming from the walls of the chamber to connect to Optimus’s battered frame. Bumblebee continued to shakily vent, observing in silence as the god pulled his puppet back, far out of reach.

“Go now. Tell the doctor and prepare yourselves.” Optimus’s arms were crossed over his chassis, an almost respectful position if it weren’t for the sheer amount of damage inflicted all over him from Primus’s attempts at controlling a mortal frame. Optimus’s lone optic flickered and glanced around for a moment before Primus uttered a final statement that haunted Bumblebee throughout his return journey.

“I know he was too afraid to stand before his god once again.”

Huh.

So what if he was?

Bumblebee couldn’t say he blamed Ratchet for much of anything anymore. He couldn't help but wonder if getting Megatron would have been the easier decision. At least the warlord wouldn’t condemn his spark to the void if he failed to show proper respect. At worst, he would be disemboweled. And quite frankly, compared to Primus’s little attempts at touch, he would prefer that any cycle of the vorn.

“I told you not to touch him.” Ratchet’s first comment was simple, but without any malice. Bumblebee all but collapsed into his arms, the aching marks on his face clear to see.

Ratchet didn’t comment after that.

No one did.

What happened that cycle was never spoken about, at least not in public. Bumblebee did his best to forget, especially when Primus seemed to keep up his end of his supposed… deal.

Optimus came back, pristine and shiny as if he’d never been dead to begin with. He showed no signs of distress or the vaguest recollection of events down in the Well. He played it all off as if he had been peacefully deceased and promptly returned to existence at the drop of a hat. But after everything, Bumblebee now knew the faint look in his optics, the shadow that followed him wherever he went.

Primus was watching. There was no escape from the god of Cybertronians and his precious Champion.

Over and over again Bumblebee found himself haunted, hearing the words replay again and again in his mind whenever Optimus’s optics met his.

”The debt has been paid by another.”

By the Thirteen. Just what had Optimus given to ensure no others suffered as he did?

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #transformers robots in disguise #optimus prime #ratchet #bumblebee #sideswipe #strongarm #windblade #drift #primus #the matrix of leadership #robogore #religious imagery #body horror #yupppppppp here yall go #another brain worm that went nuts

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capybaracorn · 2 months

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‘Until death’: The Bedouin clan resisting violent settler displacement

The people of al-Muarrajat remain undeterred, even after a recent and disturbing settler threat on their lives.

Mughayer al-Deir, occupied West Bank – On January 23, the villagers of al-Muarrajat woke up to find three child-size burial mounds near their children’s school. The message was clear: Leave, or die.

According to Alia Mleihat, 27, from the village, the fake graves sent “intense fear, anxiety and terror” through the village – a group of 30 shepherding families, all related.

“The [graves] the settlers put in al-Muarrajat are a direct threat from these monsters [that] could be implemented today or tomorrow because whoever made them goes past the village every day,” she said.

But even after this latest settler threat on their lives, the people of al-Muarrajat are undeterred.

“Those who did this must be held accountable … we will remain steadfast on our land until death, this doesn’t frighten us,” added Alia.

“On the contrary, it calls on us to be even more steadfast.”

Homes in Mughayer al-Deir [Al Jazeera staff]

The last of the Bedouins

In a series of violent pogroms by settlers in the occupied West Bank’s Area C since the Israel-Hamas conflict started on October 7, nearly all the Bedouin villages east of Ramallah along the Allon Road – rough terrain seen as integral to annexation dreams of the Israeli right – were targets of forcible displacement by armed settlers, often wearing military uniforms.

Humanitarians on the ground at the time told Al Jazeera that five al-Muarrajat families left, with expectations of more to follow and that Mughayer al-Deir – situated even closer to Allon Road than al-Muarrajat – would go as well, completing the displacement of Palestinians in the area.

But, four months later, the people of al-Muarrajat and Mughayer al-Deir remain on their land.

According to leaders and members of these shepherding communities, they stayed despite dangers and restrictions to preserve their Bedouin way of life – and because they have nowhere else to go.

Ibrahim Mleihat, 58, known as “Abu Muhammad”, is the mukhtar, or chosen leader, of Mughayer al-Deir, about a 90-minute walk away from al-Muaarrajat on a hill with the Allon Road on one side and surrounded elsewhere by encroaching settlers, including the settlement of Ma’ale Mikhmas and the outpost of Mitzpe Dani.

Ibrahim Mleihat, known as ‘Abu Muhammad’, is the mukhtar, or chosen leader, of Mughayer al-Deir [Al Jazeera staff]

Abu Muhammad described how things began to deteriorate in Mughayer al-Deir three years ago as settler outposts first appeared during the prior Israeli government headed by Yair Lapid and Naftali Bennett.

As happened in Bedouin villages elsewhere in Area C – land under Israeli military control earmarked to be negotiated in future peace talks – the harassment the Mleihat villagers had experienced for years escalated after October 7.

Settlers began surveilling them with drones, using loudspeakers to shout profanities about Islam or to amplify sounds to scare away their flocks, said Abu Muhammad and his son, Ibrahim Mleihat, 37. Armed settlers attacked them and stopped them from grazing their sheep on land they had used for years, penning them in.

Settlers also attacked Mughayer al-Deir families when they tried to access their only water source down the road – a trip made necessary because Israeli authorities prohibited them from piping the water directly to their community.

A Bedouin animal-holding pen that has been abandoned due to settler violence [Al Jazeera staff]

‘We are the government’

In Mughayer al-Deir, organised settler attacks reached a peak on December 28, said Abu Muhammad and Ibrahim. That morning, dozens of armed settlers in military uniforms and covered faces came to the village, invading homes and telling Abu Muhammad the villagers had to leave.

“This is our area,” they declared.

“We will never leave,” Abu Muhammad replied.

When some villagers defended themselves in their homes, settlers shot at the ground towards Abu Muhammad and his sons. As the situation escalated, he called the police.

“Don’t bother calling police,” a security guard from a nearby illegal settlement – an alleged ringleader of the attacks – told Abu Muhammad. “We are the government.”

When the police arrived, the settlers claimed it was the Bedouins who had attacked them. Abu Muhammad and five of his sons were arrested.

“Why are you arresting us while they’re attacking us in our homes?” asked a cuffed Abu Muhammad.

They were taken to Ofer Prison, where they were beaten and kept in cold cells with no water or food for long stretches, they said.

Villagers have been forced to buy additional animal fodder because settlers have prevented animals from grazing on traditional lands [Al Jazeera staff]

‘Grazing everywhere we now can’t’

The material and psychological state of the Mughayer al-Deir and al-Muarrajat families is deteriorating as their isolation continues, more than four months into the war.

Threatened with confiscations by settlers and authorities if they graze their sheep on traditional lands, the villagers only leave their land to get water from down the road or to buy fodder, Abu Muhammad says.

Typically, the rainy winter season provides grass for flocks to graze, saving lots of money. But, he says, they still buy one tonne of animal fodder every other day because settlers prevent them from moving about to graze.

“And then the settlers come onto our lands with their flocks, grazing everywhere we can’t go,” he said.

These burdens during what should be the most lucrative time of year are compounded by the strain on the occupied West Bank’s economy, which is forcing Palestinian families to spend money on basics like rice and flour instead of the cheese, yoghurt and meat the shepherds sell.

To remain financially afloat, families in Mughayer al-Deir are turning to loans out of desperation.

“Every household here now has debts that exceed 30,000 shekels (about $8,240),” said Abu Muhammad, whose community lives without running water and very limited electricity.

Struggling with the day-to-day of leading the community through this crisis, “I can’t even think of the future,” he said.

Animals kept penned up in Mughayer al-Deir [Al Jazeera staff]

The cost of surviving

The people in both Mughayer al-Deir and al-Muarrajat grapple with a lack of services on top of the economic situation.

Until recently, Alia Mleihat held regular school lessons for children in al-Muarrajat [Al Jazeera staff]

Until recently, the school in al-Muarrajat, which Mughayer al-Deir children also attend, was closed in the period following the October 7 start of the war. Alia Mleihat – who was self-taught in high school before attending the Open University in Jerusalem – would hold lessons with village children using books donated by activists.

“As Palestinians, our weapon is knowledge … with knowledge, we can convey our voice to the world,” she said.

In the middle of January, the school started again, but the children still face frequent closures and risks getting to school. Three out of 30 children from Mughayer al-Deir have already dropped out.

With the other Bedouin villages near the Allon Road now deserted or, in cases like Wadi Siq, even occupied by Israeli settlers, the isolation has cast a pall over the two remaining communities.

The attacks and restrictions have been especially hard on children. Ibrahim Mleihat has six children between one and 12 years old.

“We try to lie to the children: ‘Don’t be afraid, they’ll go away,’” he said. “But our children know we’re lying. They can see it in our eyes.”

In Mughayer al-Deir, villagers describe how children often discuss “Ameer, Jad’oun and Omer”, the Israeli security officers of the nearby Ma’ale Mikhmas settlement and the Mitzpe Dani outpost.

“The children dream that the [security officers] will kill them or take them away,” said Abu Muhammad.

A mother in Mughayer al-Deir described her six-year-old daughter to aid workers as intelligent and eloquent until the last settler attack, which struck her largely silent and unable to spell words.

Even under the traumatic, economically crippling situation they find themselves in, the Mleihat of Mughayer al-Deir and al-Muarrajat say they will not leave.

Abu Muhammad has heard from displaced communities how bleak their prospects are, struggling like the former community in Ein Samiya did, torn apart and scattered across Area B.

Such communities have found it impossible to keep up with their livelihoods as shepherds, the only option being to sell their animals and find jobs as labourers – at a time in the occupied West Bank when roads are dangerous, Palestinians have their movement further restricted, and the economy is in shambles.

And while some other communities had land elsewhere to flee to, Abu Muhammad emphasises that they simply do not have anywhere else to go.

Mughayer al-deir kids stand in front of settler outpost in background [Al Jazeera staff]

Though separated by a 90-minute walk or 10-minute drive, the people of al-Muarrajat and Mughayer al-Deir have gone months without seeing each other because of the settlers; one of Alia’s relatives had their car torched by settlers when they attempted to visit Mughayer al-Deir.

However, the physically isolated villages remain in constant contact, supporting one another as the only communities that remain in the area – and as family.

“I talk to them nearly every day about what’s happening there,” said Alia of her Mughayer al-Deir relatives.

“They’re brave people who defended themselves and stuck to their land.”

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just-some-trans-nobody · 3 months

Text

December Christmas Monster stories

17.) Dragon x Knight

Nammot the male dragon falls for a brave male Knight and one thing leads to another. Hope ya'll enjoy, this was my first time writing dragon smut.

Warning: NSFW, grinding, cum, person covered in cum, dry cumming, cock humping, thigh fucking, no penetration sex, gay sex, sex with a dragon, large tounge licking human body, threats of death, meantions of eating humans, possessive dragon, let me know if I forgot any warnings.

Minors Don't Interact!!! You will be blocked immediately.

Word count 2751

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Snow fell around the caves entrance slowly blocking the way if not for Nammot’s fiery hot breath melting it all away each time he let out a heavy sigh. Not many knights would make the treacherous path up the steep hill let alone do it in the snow leaving Nammot rather bored waiting for anything of interest to happen. He wanted a knight to fight, to eat up in one bite and play with his shiny armor adding it to his collection. That is what he told himself, he was waiting for a knight yes but not just any knight. He was waiting for a knight who had called himself Percevale.

Nammot was planning on eating him the first time they had met but instead of drawing his sword when he first laid eyes on the dragon he had greeted him and had even asked for his name. No knight had ever done that to him during his many years of terrorizing the villages and kingdom. It made Nommot pause his fire breath and think for a moment about it, he hadn’t said his own name in so long he had almost forgotten it completely. “Nammot you may call me but not for long little shiny one for you sure will be dead soon.” He had growled out, smoke pouring from his nostrils as he readied himself to hurl his fiery breath at him. “Nammot? A nice name. Does it mean anything?” The knight had asked, confusing him and once more causing him to stop the fire building up in his throat. “Pardon?” Nammot asked confused by the question. “Well my name means to pierce the veil, whatever that means. Names have meaning to it, what our parents hope us to do someday. Or for those who choose their own name it means the path they intend to take.” Percivale explained looking up at the dragon. “Seems your parents wanted you to see the dead.” He snorted sitting down on his hind legs, an action reminding Percivale of how a dog sits. “Heh my parents must have wanted me to be a grave keeper rather than a knight then.” Nammot was absolutely baffled hearing a knight actually laugh and make what seemed to be a joke to him. It was always screams or threats of death upon the king's orders. What kind of knight was he to not attack him but to be kind to him? It surely must have been a trap one he will not fall for. Standing back up he snarled as he for a third time readied his fire breath wanting to kill the knight for daring to make a fool of him thinking he could tick him. Seeing Pericivale reach for something he acquired his shoulder ready for the knight to draw his sword all the more ready to burn him to a crisp but all movements froze when the knight pulled out a small dragon carved from wood. “I made this for you. You always take things so I guessed maybe no one has given you anything before.” He explained holding the wooden dragon up for Nammot to see better and for a third time he cooled the fire in his throat and leaned in close to look at the small dragon held in Percival's gauntlet. His pupils dilated for a movement as he stared at his gift before turning back into slits as he leaned back. “Ahem your offering will suffice, I shall not kill you this time but if you come again I shall not be as kind.” Nammot sneered as he held out his large scaled paw for Pericivale to drop the wooden item into.

The wooden dragon now sits on top of his hoard, his prized possession though he never admits it. Percivale came back again and again, each time with a gift for Nammot, each time Nammot said he would surely kill him the next time they met but never followed up with his threat. Between their meetings the longer Nammot waited the grumpier he got, he didn’t like waiting for his devoted follower as he liked to call him. Percivale liked to call him his friend, though Nammot would scoff at the words but never correct him about it.

As the seasons changed to winter Nammot now waited for Percivale to visit him, growing more and more impatient. “This time I really will kill him if the cold doesn't do it before he gets here.” The moment Nammot had muttered those words he had regretted it. What if Percivale had really died and he just didn’t know him. The thought of losing his only friend struck his heart like a piercing arrow. This feeling only grew worse as the hours turned to days, still Percivale didn’t show. Nammot wallowed in his grief thinking his little knight was dead. That is until one day as Nammot was sprawled out letting out soft whimpers the sound of clanking footsteps froze him in his tracks. “Percivale?” He called sitting up staring at the entrance of the cave with baited breath but as the figure drew closer and made no sound Nammot grew worried it wasn’t him and some other knight had braved the mountain in the winter in hopes to catch the dragon off guard. Standing up Nammot readied his fire breath growling as his eyes narrowed.“Ah did the day finally come when you surely would kill me?” a voice called up, almost bringing Nammot to his knees. “Oh my knight!” He wailed out before clearing his throat trying to compose himself. “I mean oh it’s you… thought you were some other foolish knight here for me to feed upon.” Nammot said, puffing his chest out as he looked away. Percivale knew Nammot was embarrassed, he could read that dragon better than Nammot would have liked him to be able. “Ah yes of course, you must be starving with so few knights to eat. They’re all trying to avoid being out in the cold.” Percivale said with a shiver of his own. Smiling under his helmet he walked over to Nammot, not afraid of the dragon in the slightest and plopped down next to him. “What did you bring me this time, my devoted follower?” Nammot asked leaning his head in closer, he knew nothing of personal space and was almost pressing his large head against Percivales armored body. “Food.” He stated looking through the bag he had brought. “Dried meat, it lasts longer. Though with your size I would say this is more of a snack than a few days' meals as it would be for me.” Percivale laughed, taking out the large pouch of meats. Nammot opened his mouth in a silent demand for the knight to feed him. A demand Percivale followed with no second thought to it, just opening the bag and dumping the contents into the dragon's mouth. “Mind if I take my armor off? I worked up a sweat in the cold and now all my clothes are wet from it. It’s very unpleasant.” He started the long process of taking off all his armor, one Nammot nodded his head not caring at all. Dragons were always naked. Why would he care if a human was too?

He found himself watching Pericivale undressing in the corner of his eye, he was trying to act like he didn’t care in the slightest but this had been the first time he had seen the knight take anything off past his helmet and Nammot was a curious dragon. Humans had such an interesting body. They were no dragon of course, such puny things but Nammot found himself admiring Percivales body. Turning his head to look at him better Nammot watched Percivale spread out his cold wet clothes onto the stones in the cave in hopes the dragons heat would dry them. He was unaware of the glowing eyes scanning each scar and blemish on his body as he moved around naked in the cave.

A gush of cold winter air blew in from the cave's entrance causing Percivale to shiver as it bit at his exposed skin. That wouldn’t do, Nammot couldn’t have his devoted follower suffering from the cold. Letting out a displeased snort, Nammot swept his tail around Percivale pulling him in closer to his much larger body. He pretended he didn’t see the wide grin on Percivales face as he sat down leaning against Nammots stomach. It felt strange to him to have someone touching his weaker under belly. It was a great sign of trust for a dragon to show their underbellies let alone let someone be pressed against it but he had that trust for his little human. The two stayed like that for a few hours until Percivale drifted off to sleep curled up against Nammot. He watched the sleeping knight admiring eyes, how does a human like him feel so comfortable sleeping so close to a dragon? “Silly little human.” Nammot whispered, gently nuzzling his face against Perivicales, laying his head down, closing his eyes drifting off into a slumber of his own.

It was a peaceful rest until the sounds of quiet wimpers woke Nammot up. Lifting his head up he looked to Percivale with worry thinking he had hurt him by mistake in his sleep, gotten to careless and shifted his weight onto him crushing him, or maybe nicked him with one of his talons. Seeing Percivale was still in one piece with no crushed bones Nammot tilted his head and leaned him pressing his nose against his trembling form. Maybe he was cold, was that it? Nammot blew a small amount of his breath onto him hoping to warm his little devoted human. It didn’t stop the shivering or the whimpering much to his dismay. Frowning he gently nuzzled his nose against him. Sure enough that stopped the sounds that were causing Nammot distress. Sighing he relaxed and nuzzled him again as he slowly closed his eyes drifting back to sleep. His hot breath caressing Percivales body with exhale. After a while the hot careesses drew too much for Percivale, soft moans left his lips as his dreams turned from the earlier nightmares to sinful thoughts of desire. Nammot slipped into a lighter sleep state hearing the moans, he mistook them for the whimpers from earlier so to comfort his little human he nuzzled him again adding fuel to Percivales burning loins. He moaned much louder at that, waking the both of them almost immediately. Pulling back with wide eyes Percivale looked away, his face turning a bright shade of red as he did his best to hide his lower half. Nammot looked at him blinking a few times as the gears in his head started to turn, still a little slow about it until he finally took in the scent of his arousal. “Oh.” He said with a dry throat only able to let out the one word. “How indecent of you.” Nammot thought his teasing was clear but he froze when he noticed Percivales eyes had started to water at his words. His heart sank at the sight. Letting out a soft rumble Nammot pressed his nose to him nuzzling him once more. “I didn’t mean it like that silly little thing.” He hummed, sending vibrations throughout Percivales body. His tongue slithered out giving Percivale what was meant to be a comforting lick across his body, Percivale didn’t take it that way and moaned feeling the hot muscle drag up his body from stomach up to his chest coating him in drool. It wasn’t originally what Nammot was going for but it was an outcome he didn’t mind. His pretty little human made such lovely sounds. Wanting to draw out more he licked him again causing Percivale to gasp and writhe against the feeling. “What are you doing? Nammot stop it.” Percivale whined as his back arched. “If you wish it.” Nammot whispered, pulling back, he watched him with greedy eyes wanting to taste more of his flesh. Looking up at Nammot Percivale let out a soft whimper as he held eye contact with the dragon.“Do it again?” He whispered embarrassed by his words by controlled by his lust. Nammot smirked as he leaned back in pushing the knight's legs wide open with his nose as he stuck his tongue back up licking his crotch up to his neck causing Percivale to let out several gasps and whiny moans. The dragon let out a moan of his own, tasting the sweat on Percivales body. His skin tastes like sweet nectar and Nammot was almost tempted to take a bite but reframed himself from doing so. Letting out a moan Percivale pushed his hips up against Nammots tongue begging for more from the dragon. Leaning back Percivale noticed a shape to his side that wasn’t there before. Turning his head to get a better look his eyes widened seeing the dragons unsheathed cock. “By the gods I think that might be bigger than I am.” Percivale said in both shock and awe.

“Do you like it?” The dragon asked with a cocky tone, the smell coming from Percivale already gave him his answer. Rolling onto his back Nammot stretched out showing off his cock. “I assume you know what to do.” He said as if it was obvious and Percivale should be able to read his mind. “What? No, no I don’t know what to do. I’ve never fucked a dragon before!” Percivale exclaimed geturing to Nammot and his cock causing the dragon to frown. He was hoping Percivale knew what to do, he hadn’t fucked a human before, he hadn’t the fantiest idea on how this could work. “Climb on top of me and grind against me, it’s why I was licking you duh.” Nammot stated as if it was a fact and not him pulling something out of thin air. Percivale let out a soft oh as he stared at the dragon's cock. Gulping he climbed up his hip and straddled Nammots monstrous cock the best he could. It was burning hot, almost too hot for Percivale but the moment his cock touched Nammots he let out a long moan. Holding onto the ridges of Nammots cock for support he started to move back and forth rubbing his thighs and cock against him to simulate them both at the same time. Percivale was worried at first he wasn’t doing a good enough job as he stared at the unmoving dragon. Nammot wasn’t making a single sound, not even blinking. Just breathing heavily as he watched him with unsatiated hunger. Moving faster Percivale let out a louder moan as his back arched. Still Nammot made not a single sound, he dared not to as he didn’t want to miss a single lewd sound Percivale made pleasuring himself on his burning cock. The sounds and sight of Percivale would be his most cherished treasure for all times, he knew that already. Feeling Percivale grow slower Nammot growled and grasped his waist in his clawed hand holding him as he rutted his hips against him taking control of the situation. “Keep those pretty legs wrapped around me.” He ordered letting out a moan. Percivale gladly followed orders and squeezed his legs against the dragon's cock. Nammot wasn’t sure how long this went on. By the time he had his fill of orgasms both his stomach and Percivale was covered in his sticky cum. Percivale was dazed and panting, his last three orgasms he had been cumming dry, completely spent and having lost track of them long ago. Letting out an over-stimulated whine Percivale looked to Nammot with tear soaked eyes, neither had realized he had been crying from the amount of pleasure he had been feeling. “I don’t have anything left in me.” He said almost pleading to Nammot who nodded his head in agreement. “Nor I.” The dragon said, lifting the knight up, setting him onto his chest. Percivale let out a soft whine but snuggled into him almost immediately. “Wouldn’t mind if this became a regular thing when I visit you.” He said letting out a winded laugh drawing a rumbling laugh from Nammot. “If this becomes a regular thing I don’t think I would let you out of my cave.” Having Percivale live there sounded rather good in that moment, Percivale silently agreed with it too, he could get used to living like this.

#monster fucker #monster stories #monster boyfriend #monster #december christmas monster stories #dragon smut #dragon x human #dragon x knight #gay monster #gay monster smut #dragon x male #male dragon x male human #monster x male #male monster #male monster x male human #monster x knight #monster smut

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 11 months

Text

I Can’t Leave

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: When the reader is forced into hiding, she’s desperate to inform her fiancé and his son

Warnings: canon level violence, talk of domestic terrorism, some angst, guns

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

“Here you go,” I said, putting a glass of whisky in front of my father. I took my seat across from him, raising my glass. “To the Speaker of the House, part three.”

He smiled, touching his glass to mine before taking drink. “Thank you, dear. So how’s work?”

“It’s good. I mean, as good as hunting down predators and murderers can be,” I sighed. “But it’s good, I feel like I’m doing some good in the world.” I looked up to find my father’s expression falling. “What?”

“I just- uh… well it’s not that I want you to be unhappy but this next thing would be easier if you hated your job,” he chuckled awkwardly. Confused and nervous I urged him to go on. “Well there are some bad people after us, Y/N.”

“Dad, you don’t need to dumb it down. I’m an FBI agent, I take down bad people all the time. What’s going on?”

“Some extremists are after our family. Y/N, they sent death threats… about you specifically,” he said as gently as possible.

“Okay, so? I mean yeah, it’s strange that they were sent about me in relation to you but they’ve sent them to mom. I get them on my own from people we’ve locked up.”

“They suspect that the extremists are working with some members of Congress in the opposing party. Which can be incredibly dangerous for you.”

“So what? You want my team to investigate? I can hang back on this one if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well I’m glad you’re willing to hang back because… you need to go into hiding.”

I only stared at him, not believing what he was asking. “Did you seriously just ask me to go into hiding?”

“Y/N-”

“No, absolutely not,” I refused. “Dad, I’m an FBI agent. If anyone can protect themselves it’s me.”

“This is serious. I’ve talked to people in Homeland Security, people way above you and your team and they recommended you go into hiding.”

“What about you?” I was visibly upset now. “Are you hiding?”

“I can’t. The houses are already divided and each party is getting more radical. I can’t just leave, especially when I was just reelected.”

“So what makes you think I can just leave? Why can’t I just have body guards?”

“Because your job won’t allow that. I know you’ll run away from them with no regard for your own safety the second a — what is it you call them? Unsub? — when an unsub runs away. Besides, they said you won’t be safe unless everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Excuse me?” I was angry now. “What could possibly be going on that Homeland Security thinks I need to be dead? Oh my god,” I said suddenly, realizing what my father was asking. “Can I at least tell my team that this is fake?”

He shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry. Homeland Security wants as few people to know as possible.”

“Can I at least tell Aaron and Jack?” Tears were pricking my eyes now as he shook his head no. “Dad, he’s my fiancé,” I was begging now. “He has a son. Jack is basically my son. He already lost his mother to a bad guy. I can’t leave them. He can’t lose two mother figures.”

“That’s exactly why you need to be protected. So you can be a mother to him again.”

“Can’t you see this will do irreparable damage? Aaron won’t let me back into his life after I knowingly hurt him and his son in a way they’ve already been hurt. You want me to go into hiding? Fine but please let me tell Aaron.”

“I’m sorry dear, my hands are tied. Your death is already being orchestrated now. Your car will be crashed in about 10 minutes.”

My eyes widened as rage filled me. “I don’t even get to see anyone one last time?” I covered my face in frustration. I needed to calm down if I was going to think of a way to communicate with Aaron. “Fine but just let me do one last thing.”

My father nodded eagerly. “I’ll try my best to fulfill that.”

“Part of the reason I came over was to get my old Hot Wheels. I was going to bring them back for Jack. Can they say they were found in the trunk and you said to take them to Jack because I was delivering them?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t see why not. I’ll ask the agents posing as officers to bring them.”

“Thank you,” I breathed. “I just didn’t want to leave Jack with nothing, you know? I’ll grab them,” I said, heading into my old room. Immediately grabbing a post-it note and a pen.

I’m alive. Tell no one. Love you - Y/N

I folded it up as tight as possible and stuffed it inside the door of a ‘65 Mustang I had once broken the door off of when I was a kid. I then replaced the broken door, which only fell off when you rolled it around, before tossing it into the box with the others.

Aaron had been cooking lunch on one of his few days off, excited for Y/N to return home so they could have some alone time when he heard a knock on the door. Cautiously he grabbed his gun before creeping towards the door silently. Checking the peep hole he spotted two cops. Frowning, he put his gun down behind the door before opening it. Before he could say anything the officer spoke. “Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes?” he answered hesitantly.

“We’re very sorry to inform you but your fiancée, Y/N L/N, has passed.” Every ounce of hurt Aaron had ever felt hit him all at once. All the shots, stabs, and the countless punches Aaron had ever felt. This hurt more than Haley, which at the time he had thought would be the worst pain of his life. He didn’t even hear what the cops were saying until they mentioned his son. “We found these. We spoke to Y/N’s father and he said she was bringing them back here to Jack.”

Aaron stared down at the box that was filled near to the brim with Hot Wheels. The same toys that Jack and her had been so excited to play with together. He took the box before quietly shutting the door, wanting to be alone. Setting the box on the kitchen counter he leaned up against it, letting his agony consume him. He couldn’t even make tears fall as empty sobs wracked his body. Aaron was consumed with anger, hurt, sadness, any and every emotion associated with grief. But most of all he was trying to figure out what to say to his son. How could he tell Jack that yet another mother figure was taken from him?

Unable to handle anything he texted his sister-in-law that he had to go into work and asked her to take Jack for the night.

Aaron completely lost the rest of the day. He felt like he was in some sort of haze. He only “woke up” when he started going through Y/N’s Hot Wheels collection, desperate to hold onto her. When he stumbled upon the ‘65 Mustang he was consumed with memories. The first time he had met her parents she had showed him her old room including this exact car. She told him that she used to pass secret messages with her friends in this car. Curiously he fiddled with the door until it popped out. Peering inside he was surprised to see a note stuffed into it. Anxious about what he’d find he pulled out that note that had been very tightly folded.

Without even reading it yet Aaron already felt emotion consume him at the sight of her handwriting. Pushing through he read the note.

I’m alive. Tell no one. Love you - Y/N

He read and reread the short note trying to convince the whisper in his mind that it was in fact for him and Jack. Y/N’s father’s reelection had caused some sense of insurrection in radical groups and he had heard rumors of death threats against her family but they had received death threats in the past. They must have gotten worse and more targeted for Homeland Security to force her into hiding. He also knew she’d never fake her death without telling him and Jack and judging by the nature of the note being smuggled in she hadn’t known about the plan.

While he was relieved to know she was alive but afraid for her safety. If a threat was bad enough to force her underground it must be serious. And he still had to deal with the worst part of it… telling the team and explaining the situation to Jack.

He texted his sister-in-law again that their jet was delayed so he could take Jack for the night and bring him to school tomorrow. Just 15 minutes later Jack was back in his home.

After his son got settled in, Aaron went into his room. “Dad, where’s Y/N?”

Aaron hesitated for a second. “Um yeah, about that…” he had no clue how his young son would handle the news. Especially after Haley had already been killed. “Well first of all, Y/N is okay. She’s safe with a bunch of people to protect her but she’s going to be gone for a little while. Some people are angry at her father and well… they’re threatening to hurt her so some very powerful people think it’s best that she hide for a little while until she’s safe.”

“Is it like the people who hurt mom?” Jack asked with innocent eyes.

That hit Aaron like a bullet. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. “Sort of. They want to hurt her family but this is about something bigger than her family or our family.” He didn’t really think it’d be a great idea for him to explain the intricacies of domestic terrorism to his son right before bed. “But you can’t tell anyone about this, understood? We weren’t even supposed to know she’s alive. Not the team, not your aunt, not your teacher, not your friends. It could be really dangerous for Y/N.”

Jack nodded. “Okay dad. When will Y/N come back? In time for the wedding?”

Aaron also didn’t need the reminder that your wedding was supposed to be in two months. “I don’t know but I hope so buddy. I hope so…”

The next day at work Aaron was trying to work up the nerve to speak to everyone about Y/N’s death. There was a case about some women who looked like her and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this was connected but he knew he wouldn’t be able to share his theories with anyone.

As everyone filtered in they were all wondering about Y/N. “Hey, Hotch, where’s Y/N?” Morgan asked.

Aaron sighed heavily. “About that… I learned yesterday that um…” this was difficult to say even though he knew it was a lie, “Y/N was killed in a car crash yesterday. I thought this news needed to be said in person rather than over the phone.”

The room was left in shocked silence for a moment until Derek spoke. “Hotch I’m so sorry.” Everyone was keenly aware that this would be the second woman their Unit Chief loved that died.

“It’s not just my loss. It’s all our losses,” he deflected, the always altruist boss.

“How’s Jack handling it?” JJ asked.

“He’s not ready to talk about it so I’m giving him some time. I can’t imagine it’s easy losing another mother figure.”

“How are you handling it?” Rossi asked.

That was a question he didn’t know how to answer. Truthfully he wasn’t okay even though he knew his fiancée was alive because he knew dangerous people were after her. “I can’t really afford to think about it right now. Wheels up in 15, we’ll debrief on the plane.”

1 Year Later

Even though his fiancée was still alive he was still reeling from her loss. It was hard having absolutely no contact and no updates about the status of her or her case.

He was filling out case reports when he heard a knock at his door. “Come in,” muttered not looking up. After not hearing anything in response he looked up to find Y/N’s father, the Head of the Secret Service, Mark Sullivan, and the Secretary of Homeland Security, Tom Ridge. “Sirs, how can I help you.”

“This is about my daughter,” the Congressman began. “She’s alive.” Aaron wasn’t sure if he should reveal that he knew that or not.

“You already knew,” the Sullivan observed.

“Yes, I did. Y/N sent me a note,” he admitted.

“Has she had any contact with you since?” Ridge asked.

“She hasn’t. What’s happened?” he knew they wouldn’t come to him at work unless they needed profilers.

“It’s been a year since Y/N went underground. She’s been bouncing around various countries and they’ve somehow managed to follow her without us making any headway on the investigation. And we’d like the BAU to help us track these terrorists down.”

“I’ll have my team on it. Where are we going?”

“Brazil.”

In less than an hour the entire team was on the plane with Garcia calling in. “Why are we headed to Brazil? We don’t have jurisdiction there,” Reid asked.

“There’s a very high profile victim being hunted by a small domestic terrorist organization. The Brazilian government wants them out and they’ve given us full jurisdiction over any US citizens there as well as the ability to question any Brazilian citizens as long as they’re arrested by Brazilian officers or agents.”

“So who’s the vic?” Emily asked.

“It’s Y/N,” Aaron admitted. It felt like he had just released a breath he had been holding for a year. “She didn’t actually die in a car crash, she had been in hiding.”

The plane erupted into angry yells and confused conversations. “Hotch how could you not tell us?” Derek asked angrily.

“I know you’re all confused and angry, so was I. I wasn’t even supposed to know, Y/N had to smuggle me a note. As far as I know she never knew she was being forced into hiding until it was too late for her to say goodbye.”

“Still you should’ve told us,” Derek seethed angrily. He felt lied to by his boss and one of his closest friends. Both of which were always supposed to have his back.

“Enough, Derek,” Aaron said sternly, silencing the plane. “If you want to be angry be angry at the terrorists threatening her but I was just trying to protect her and she was trying to protect Jack and I. Like it or not this is bigger than you and I will remove you from this case if you can’t keep your emotions in check. Got it?” Derek begrudgingly agreed and soon enough the team was discussing theories.

It took a week full of interviews, analysis, dead ends, hundreds of suspects, and more fake names than they could count but the BAU finally tracked down the terrorist organization that sent one of their agents running. And along with with their investigation they had found where their teammate was hiding. Every member of the BAU wanted to rush over but they couldn’t afford to send the terrorists underground again so they waited for them to make a move.

As soon as the BAU got word that terrorists were moving in on Y/N’s location they headed over. Aaron’s heart was beating out of his chest the entire ride over. Terrified that they wouldn’t reach his fiancée in time.

They pulled up to the small cottage just as Aaron spotted some men dressed in camouflage creeping around the house. Aaron barely put the car in park, too anxious to get to his love. “FBI! Put down your weapons and step away from the house,” he ordered as the rest of the team and several other soldiers stormed out of the cars.

Seeing as they were outnumbered several of the terrorists put their guns down and raised their hands in surrender. The same couldn’t be said for the mercenaries at the back of the cottage as he heard a window shatter and several yells from inside. Immediately going for the door he had to knock it down, stumbling inside to find a stand-off. Y/N was stood half shielded by two guards with her gun raised at a few terrorists. The guards he recognized as Secret Service also had their guns raised and they were yelling.

“It’s over,” Aaron announced as soldiers appeared into the window, drastically outnumbering the two men who had their guns aimed at Y/N. One took a shot and he was instantly put down by at least five bullets aimed at him. The partner seemed to have been accidentally been hit because he went down with a yell. But Aaron didn’t care about him, he was concerned about Y/N. He looked over, finding her tending to one of her guards who had suffered a bullet to the arm. Her hands were covered in blood and Aaron wasn’t thinking rationally as he reached her. “Are you okay?” he asked, gently grasping her shoulders.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Can you call an ambulance?”

“Sure,” he agreed hurriedly. “This is Agent Hotchner, we have two suspects down and a wounded agent. Send medical assistance immediately.” By now the other guard and some soldiers who had medical training were attending to the wounded agent and pushing Y/N away. “Y/N,” he called, dragging her attention away from the guard.

She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in a year. “Aaron,” she began to cry, throwing herself at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for leaving,” she sobbed against his bulletproof vest.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” he hushed, squeezing her tightly and stoking his fingers through her hair. “I know you didn’t want this. Thank you for sending that note to Jack and I.”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of either of you losing someone again,” she explained. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Masterlist

#aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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bhaal-baby · 4 months

Text

Just a bit of Astarionx GN! Dark Urge angst. Hope you enjoy!

Sleep refused to take you.

You tossed, and you turned, counting backward from one hundred and back again, and still, you lay there, staring at an endless sky, exhausted and frustrated. You blamed the rock you’d accidentally placed your bedroll on for the night, or the slight chill in the air that caused your sore muscles to groan in protest, or Gale’s incessant snoring that you were going to have words about in the morning. But you knew in your heart that none of those things had anything to do with it.

It probably had more to do with the fact that only a few nights ago, you nearly murdered the man you love.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw yourself waking up covered in blood and viscera. Dazed, confused, and most disturbingly, satisfied, the same way it had been with that poor bard back in the grove. Only this time, the blood on your hands would be even more precious. You imagined white hair, stained red, and a bloodied pale face, lifeless and still. You imagined the bravado with which he carried himself would fade away in death, his meticulously kept walls crumbling as your blade ripped through him. Would he look at you in hatred in those last moments, or would those crimson eyes be filled with only terror?

He is so, so afraid. Of everyone, besides you, who he ought to fear most.

You shuddered violently, blinking away the terrible thoughts that plagued you. Sighing, you stood up. If sleep wasn’t an option, you may as well take a walk to try and clear your head, and patrol the perimeter of your campsite, ensuring the safety of your traveling companions that had become so much like family. It was ironic, you thought, given that you were probably the biggest threat to their well-being as they slept peacefully by your side. You wondered not for the first time if it was selfishness that kept you traveling with them. Your companions were strong enough to stop the Absolute on their own. You knew that. They would all be safer without one who kills in their sleep and battles the dark thoughts that you do.

“Going somewhere?”

Astarion stood just a few feet behind you. One of these days, you swore you were going to put a bell around his neck. He was far too good at sneaking up on you.

“I thought you were asleep.” replied nonchalantly.

“An attempt was made, but truthfully, I’m still getting used to sleeping at night.” He shrugged. “When I saw you sneaking out of bed, I thought I’d tag along and make sure you weren’t off to sate some of your more bloodthirsty desires.”

His words sent your heart into your stomach. He must have noticed your gaze fall to the ground because he added. “Really, as long as your knife isn’t to my throat, I’m not too concerned.”

You knew that was meant to soften the blow that he never meant to land. Still, it hurt to be reminded of what he thought you were capable of. Not that he was wrong. You couldn’t explain your murderous nights any better than he could, but a part of you wished he never had to see you like that, let alone nearly becoming one of your victims. He had been so kind to you the other night, even as you writhed against his bonds, desperate to make minced meat of his pretty face. He had told you then that he didn’t hate you for what you’d done, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he saw you differently because of it.

You decided to change the subject. “I’m going for a quick walk. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

“Ah yes, a quick nighttime jaunt through shadow-cursed lands. Splendid idea. Do you think some of those wretched shadows will invite us to tea?”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. “We won’t stray far from camp.” You sighed. “I just need to clear my head.”

Something that looked like concern flashed across his features. “Of course, I’ll join you. Maybe we’ll even sneak in a cuddle afterward.”

His flirting rarely phased you anymore, though you were often unsure of his sincerity, even after the nights you’d spent together. You could tell that, to some extent, it was simply something he hid behind. He must have found it easier to be the charming man who could lure anyone with eyes into his bed than what he really was. You saw the hurt and the fear behind it all, even if he didn’t want you to. And after the other night, you knew with certainty that he was capable of so much kindness. Not many people would do what he did for you the night your urges almost took his life.

He walked beside you silently for a while. You weren’t sure what to say to the man when thoughts of accidentally butchering him kept you awake. You plopped down on a fallen tree, motioning for him to join you. You could still see the faint glow of the dwindling campfire a ways away, but walking was doing nothing for your nerves.

It was nice just sitting with him for a moment. Without words, without touch. Just being in his company lit something inside of you. He tilted his head towards the starless sky and you took the opportunity to look him over. He was beautiful, that was certain. In the moonlight, he looked like a statue, something carved by the most skilled hand.

“Something is on your mind,” Astarion observed, catching you staring.

You scoffed. “You mean besides our impossible task of saving the entire sword coast from the Dead Three? Or the tadpole burrowed in my brain waiting for an opportunity to turn me into a mindflayer?”

Astarion leveled you with a knowing look. “Yes, besides the obvious. Now tell me what it is you’re stewing over in that pretty head of yours.”

You didn’t know how to answer him, but he deserved something from you. “I just wanted to thank you. For the other night.” You stared at your boots, sighing deeply. You could feel your cheeks warming. The words didn’t do it justice, but you didn’t know how else to show him what his actions meant to you.

He looked taken aback for a moment. “Oh. You needn’t thank me for that. It’s not as if I wanted to meet my grisly end at your hand anyway.”

You caught his gaze, fighting the hurt that threatened to well up inside you. “But it was more than that.” You protested. “When you had me tied up, you could have killed me. You probably should have. You would all be safer that way.”

Astarion’s easy expression morphed into one of shock. “I wouldn’t – I couldn’t.” He stumbled over his words, for once seeming unsure of how to react. He took a deep breath. “I meant what I said, you know. We’ll find a way to save you.”

Your heart clenched at the look on his face. It was softer than usual, almost vulnerable. You fought the tears welling in your eyes. “But at what cost?” It was almost a whisper. “How many innocent lives will I take before then? What if I hurt you?”

Astarion took your hand in his, and lifted it to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on the top of it. “I won’t let that happen.”

The gesture sent a pang through you and the tears began to fall but he continued. “You are the first person I’ve ever truly cared for and I am not going to let this take you from me.”

The sincerity of his words struck you. He meant that. He cared about you. Maybe as much as you cared about him. Maybe more, because if you truly cared about him that much you’d go far, far away so he could be safe. “Astarion, none of that will matter if I kill you. You can care all you want until my blade finds its way into your throat and then that’s it.” The words came out harsher than you wanted but you knew you were right. He wasn’t safe with you.

“I am not afraid of you.” he said, reassuringly squeezing your hand.

You jerked your hand away suddenly. You didn’t miss the way he flinched as you did so. The man had been through too much to die by the hand of the one he cares about most. “You should be.”

You stood up, turning to leave, when his hand shot out to grab your arm. You tried to shrug it off but he held tight. “You don’t get to decide that for me.” he hissed. His voice was harsh and almost angry but when you turned to look at him you could see the hurt in his eyes. “If you don’t want me, that’s fine. But don’t you dare pretend that walking away from this is somehow for my benefit. I may not be entirely free yet, but for the first time in centuries I can make my own choices, and I’ll be damned if you take that away from me.”

You opened your mouth, stunned by the desperation on his face. You couldn’t find the words to say. You’d only wanted to protect him but instead, you’d hurt him by being self-righteous and overbearing. You had no right to tell this man, who’d known only slavery for centuries, what to do. “I– I’m sorry.” you choked out, taking a step towards him. “I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, unsure what to say.

Astarion’s face softened, tugging you nearer to him. “Please,” he breathed, placing a hand under your chin and lifting your gaze to meet his. “Let me stand by you through this. We don’t even know if we’ll live through tomorrow with how things have been going. I don’t know what this is, or how it will end, but I know that I want to try.”

You could only nod, else the sob that had been building escape your throat.

Astarion looked at you and smiled, that charming smile that you were helpless to before leaning down and kissing you softly. It wasn’t like the other times you’d kissed, lustful and frantic, tasting your own blood in his mouth. It was gentle and lingering and spoke of a longing neither of you had the words for.

When his lips left yours, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you tightly. “Now, how about that cuddle?”

Thank you for reading! Do let me know if you prefer this Y/N style fic or if a third person gender neutral "Tav" would be better! I was really torn on which way to write this.

#astarion x reader #astarion x dark urge #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #astarion fanfic

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whumpshaped · 7 months

Text

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, suggestive stuff (duh its vampires), mind control mention, dubcon biting mention, noncon touching, restrained and cornered

It was so easy. So infuriatingly easy. Humans flocked to them with eager expressions and movements that seemed just a little off, as though they weren't in full control of their body. They wanted a piece of death and they were ready to give a piece of their own in exchange, they clung to their shirt and turned their head to the side insistently, begging to be bitten.

It was infuriating, because Helle had been just like that, once. Stupid. Naive. Helpless under the spell of a creature ready to devour them whole.

Usually, the pain broke the illusion for a split second. The human would gasp as their teeth sank deep into their neck, and for just a moment, Helle could feel their regret and fear — then they would fall back on the comfortable cushion of the venom entering their system, lulled into a false sense of security as they were slowly drained of their blood.

They were fed up with trickery. They were fed up with stupid mortals, they were fed up with trying not to cause a commotion in the shadows, they were fed up. Using charm and venom was the preferred way of hunting by many, but it certainly wasn't a hard and fast rule. They had speed, they had strength, and they had decades if not centuries of pent up bitterness that they would unleash upon the next lone human that happened to be unfortunate enough to cross their path.

It only took a moment to grab the unsuspecting thing, slamming him against the wall of a dark alleyway right out of some cheap horror. His struggles were entirely in vain as Helle pinned him against the cold bricks, one hand holding his wrists above his head while the other covered his mouth.

There it was. Fear. Terror. Something humans should've felt when looking at them. The poor thing's muffled cries and ridiculous struggle only reassured them that this method was leagues better than the one they had been taught, and they bared their fangs in a grin, revelling in the power.

"I'll take my hand away if you promise not to squeal," they cooed. "And if you do, well... there's worse things I can do than prevent you from speaking."

The human swallowed audibly, clearly using all of his restraint to bite back the sobs and slowly nod. Helle could appreciate the effort. They carefully removed their hand, pleased to find that the human did in fact stay quiet like they'd ordered, despite his very obvious desire to scream as loud as he could in the hopes that someone would come to his rescue. Helle could hear his heart pounding in his chest like a scared rabbit's, his breaths coming quick and shallow as he stared up at them, his fear almost palpable.

Well... not almost. As their fingers gently trailed along the human's neck, they could feel that rapid pulse, blood rushing just beneath the surface, rich, delicious, all theirs. Not offered this time, but taken by force, something they imagined would make it all the sweeter.

"Tell me," Helle began softly, tearing their eyes away from the human's neck and meeting his terrified gaze, "do you wish to be bitten?"

The stupid thing was shaking like a leaf, and Helle could hear the cogs desperately turning in that empty little head of his; trying to work out the correct answer with nothing but pure instinct. Prey weren't made to be asked questions, clearly. But they had to know, they had to hear that this was all against the human's will, they had to hear him admit it as though it wasn't clear as the day they couldn't enjoy anymore.

"There's no trick to my question, human," they went on, voice still smooth and patient. "I'm merely looking for an honest answer."

The human's fingers curled and uncurled uselessly, his arms finally going completely limp in their hold. He took a shuddering breath, exhaling slowly before he spoke in a hushed whisper; the threat of worse things still lingering in his mind, no doubt. "N-no, I– I don't, please, p-please, I just– I just wanna go home, please..." The tears started up again, and Helle licked their lips at the sight. "Are– are you going to kill me?" he forced out.

"Kill? No, not kill..." They leaned in, breathing in the scent of the human's delicious blood. "Scare, maybe. I seem to be doing very well in that regard."

"I, I'm already very scared," he confirmed right away, his desire to appease them driven not by magic but self-preservation. "I don't think I can be a-any more scared–"

"Perhaps not. But you can be in pain for me... you'd sound very pretty, wouldn't you?" They kissed the human's neck, relishing the shiver it elicited. "But not too loud, now. I can still change my mind about sparing you."

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps

#its half past midnight #i should be asleep #im not responsible for any of this #whump #whump drabble #vampire whumper #nonhuman whumper #restrained #noncon touching #citrus scale #at my beck and call #helle #beckett

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marvelmusing · 1 year

Text

In Another Life

Part Two

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: After a restless night of sleep, you wake with too many thoughts in your mind. The contents of the General’s war table provide an ample distraction, and soon the man himself joins you.

Warnings: canon level violence and threat, nightmare, mentions of blood and death.

A/N: I’m so glad people liked the first part of this, and hopefully I’ll have the inspiration to continue this as a little series. I’m planning on introducing Alina in the next part, so I hope you all enjoy this follow up.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

Even in sleep, the attempt on your life still continues to trouble you, poisoning your thoughts and refusing to let you rest. After the anxiety of the day, your subconscious pulls together the worst possible visions for your dreams.

The ringing in your ears is a constant as your head hits the wall repeatedly. Terror fills you, as time passes by and no one comes to your aid. The door remains shut. No one cares enough to save you.

You can’t hear your own screams but you feel them in your chest as hands press around your throat, squeezing tight. Feeling returns to your fingers, and you feel the shape of a carved wooden handle pressing into your palm.

Without a second thought, you push the weapon into her chest.

Everything blurs, and sound returns.

There’s a whisper of your name, and a wheezing gasp as you stagger around, trying to regain your balance. Then you see the blood. Red stains your hands and you crumple to the floor when you see him.

“No, no, no, please no.” You plead desperately, tears streaming down your face.

Scrambling forwards over the rough sand of the Unsea, you press your palms firmly over the wound in Aleksander’s chest.

“Please no.” You beg.

“No grave,” he insists. “For them to desecrate. Promise me.” Shaking your head, you lean your entire body weight into stopping the blood.

“You’re not dying.” You protest, even though you know it’s too late.

His fingers are curled tightly around your wrist as he speaks the words you always dread reading not matter how many times you’ve read this scene. Hearing them out loud, as he dies in your arms, is far too much. A broken sob chokes you.

“Promise me.” He repeats weakly.

“I promise.”

His grip weakens, sliding from your wrist. He stares up at the sky for a moment, and you curse every bright thing in existence. What you wouldn’t give to hide the two of you away in his shadows.

“Say my name. Once more.” He whispers.

“Aleksander.”

He reaches up, brushing his fingers delicately over your cheek, and the wetness of his blood smears over your skin. Even such a simple gesture seems too much for him. Sweat covers his brow with the exertion, and blood lines his lips.

“Aleksander, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”

Through your tears you can barely see the melancholic smile on his face.

You wake with a start, tears pouring down your face and his words echoing in your mind as he had taken his last breath. Pressing a hand hard against your mouth, you manage to stifle your sobs, though they shake your body as you sit up in bed.

Moonlight illuminates the bedroom, casting shadows over the corners and hidden nooks of the room. There’s a soft breath, and you turn to see the General lying on top of the covers. He’s wearing pyjama pants and a dark robe, no doubt to protect himself from the cold so that he wouldn’t have to share the covers with you. Despite the pillow he must have placed between you both, he’s facing you as he sleeps.

Your tears are silent now, as your sadness solidifies into anger, then determination. You will not let him die like that.

As silently as you can, you slide out from under the covers. With so many thoughts in your head, and emotions running wild through your body, there’s little hope for sleep. You might as well be productive.

The floor is cold as you make your way into the war room, and sit down at the table in the centre of the room.

Over the next hour you survey maps, you read through reports, and you try your hardest to understand what is happening in Ravka. It’s only once the sun is beginning to rise, golden light filtering through the windows, that you hear the General rousing from his sleep.

He stands in the doorway for a long moment.

“I believe you were told to rest.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You answer dismissively, not wanting to encourage thoughts of your nightmare to return. Instead you look down at the papers in your hands. “When are you travelling to Kribirsk?”

“We set off in two days time.”

“Alina will be there.” Fingers skimming through piles of paper, your gaze roams over the words inked there. A frustrated sigh leaves your lips. “How do you find anything in here?”

“Everything has its correct place.”

Raising a brow, you gesture to a rather chaotic looking mound of papers, maps, and books which prompts a half smile to tug at his lips. Hair mussed by sleep, he looks startlingly handsome like this. It’s only when he speaks again that you realise you had been staring at him for far too long.

“What are you looking for?” He asks, shaking you from your staring session.

“Oh, um, a draft list for who will be on the prototype sand-skiff.” He nods, moving to stand beside you and reach underneath a brown leather book. From there, he retrieves a piece of paper, which he hands to you.

“Her name isn’t on there.” He informs you. “I was finalising the Grisha for the sand-skiff when you arrived, I would have noticed her name.”

“No she isn’t.” You remark distractedly, as you read over the names of the First Army soldiers selected. Then you spot him. Tilting the page to show the General, you point down at the name. “But there, Corporal Malyen Oretsev. If he’s on the skiff Alina will do anything to be with him.”

“Who is he to her?”

“To her he’s a childhood friend, but they both want more. To us he’s a complication, but we need him to find the stag.”

“You mentioned the stag yesterday.” He says, but you can hear the question in his tone. You nod.

“Morozova’s stag. It’s real, and Alina needs it.”

“And this tracker.” He says, taking the piece of paper from you and looking down at it. “Is the only one who can find it?”

Rubbing a hand against your temple, you nod In response to his question, wondering whether you should tell him that Mal is his great-great-great-great-cousin. Or at least you think that’s how they’re related. Brows drawn together as you think, you can feel the General’s eyes on you as you ask him,

“Are you able to request soldiers from the First Army for your operations?” He nods. “Would you be able to request for Mal and Alina to assist in our search for the stag?”

Tilting his head aside, the General runs a hand over the lower half of his face.

“I could issue a request for them. Whether the First Army will agree is another matter.”

“I think they will. While Mal is a good tracker, he’s young, so they won’t see him as being as valuable. Alina is only an Assistant Cartographer, and in her opinion not a very good one. I don’t think the First Army will hold onto them for the sake of being petty.”

His eyes scour over your face as he considers your words. Then he nods, reaching for a blank piece of paper.

“I’ll write a missive for the Kaptain stationed at Kribirsk.”

As he sits down on a chair a few paces away, you remain quiet to allow him the time to consider his words. Though it appears he can multitask rather well, as he speaks to you without looking up.

“Will you be joining me?” He glances up for a moment when you don’t respond, and once he sees the confusion on your face he adds, “To Kribirsk.”

“Me?” He nods. His focus returns to his writing as he informs you,

“It will be a day’s ride on horseback.”

“I don’t know how to ride a horse.” You admit.

“I’ll teach you.”

“Within two days?” He sighs but doesn’t seem exasperated by your concerns.

“We’ll take the coach then. But I want you to begin learning to ride on our return to the Little Palace.”

You nod. Being able to ride a horse would help you in case of an emergency, so you don’t disagree with him. Though you still have plenty to think about.

“Won’t people wonder why I’m with you?”

“I don’t suppose so.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “After all, I need my assistant with me to witness the new sand-skiff.”

“Your assistant?”

“You need a role that explains why you’re always at my side.”

Something warm glows in your chest, at his words, and the thought of being by his side through everything.

There’s a knock at the door, saving you from having to respond, and the General stands and unlocks the door. He opens it slightly, his body shielding you from seeing whoever is at the door.

He steps away revealing a servant carrying a large tray filled with plates and bowls of food. Another servant trails behind with a smaller tray, in which there sits a teapot and some small jugs.

They both place their trays on the table, bow once at the General, then leave. He shuts the door behind them.

It’s only then that you realise how hungry you are. You eye the different foods in front of you. Warm bread, a small bowl of steaming porridge, fruits, cheeses, a few sliced meats. Mouth watering, you glance up at the General and immediately tuck into the food when he gives you an encouraging nod.

“I thought herring and rye bread was the typical Grisha breakfast?” You muse with a small smile.

“It is.” Raising a brow, you gesture to the generous spread of food covering the tray. He shrugs lightly, “I wasn’t entirely sure what you would be used to.”

“Thank you.”

You haven’t eaten in quite some time, and the fact that you’re finally feeling settled in this new universe fuels your appetite. You’re rather content to sit at the war table, with the early morning sun warming your back through the windows, and the sound of the General writing away.

“You aren’t eating anything?” You prompt him tentatively.

He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a long moment before he selects a slice of bread. With a delicate swipe of a knife, he butters it, before he layers on a generous amount of strawberry jam. You smile softly in response and fill your plate with another portion.

He observes your hesitation as you stare down at your glass of orange juice, and he quickly reassures you.

“It isn’t poisoned. I ensured that everything was tested beforehand.”

Cheeks warming as you realise he had been watching you, you shake your head in his direction.

“Oh, thank you. But I actually wasn’t even thinking of that.” His head tilts to one side as he surveys you with a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

“Then what were you thinking of?”

“Where does Ravka get oranges from?”

He laughs softly, surprise and amusement colouring his features. He looks so young for a moment and you look away quickly to avoid another staring incident.

“There’s an orangery just outside Os Alta. It’s where the majority of the capital’s food resources are grown.”

Humming in acknowledgement of his explanation, you nod as you take a sip of the orange juice. It’s sweet and refreshing.

“I’ll go with you. To Kribirsk.” You say, and he nods.

“I shall make the necessary arrangements. We will leave tomorrow instead, since travelling in the coach will take longer. You will need some clothing as well.”

Glancing down, you remember that all you’re currently wearing is your underwear, and the General’s black shirt. An embarrassed flush rushes over your cheeks, as you realise that the servants will have seen you in his war room looking like this.

There’s only one assumption they would make, seeing you wearing his shirt, and him still dressed in his night clothes, as you eat breakfast together. Of course, they don’t know that you’re only with him because he’s protecting you, due to the attempt on your life.

“I assume you have some sort of plan for her.”

A frown creases at your forehead as you look over at him in confusion.

“Who?”

“Miss Starkov.” You nod haltingly.

“In some sense.” He raises a brow at you, and you decide to explain. “Taking her off the sand-skiff means that she won’t discover her power. You and I will be the only people who know that she’s the sun summoner.”

Hesitating, you try to select your words carefully. You want to give him an accurate picture of who Alina is, without making it seem like she both hates and fears Grisha. Struggling to accept that you’re Grisha must be a foreign concept to a man who has lived for centuries knowing exactly who he is.

“She does have some internal prejudice surrounding Grisha, and I’m hoping by having her at the Little Palace before she knows she’s one of you will help her see that you’re all just ordinary people.”

“How will she discover her power?” You sigh a little. This is where your plan loses it’s already rather limited structure.

“I think you should be the one to tell her.” His eyes meet yours, and you hold his gaze as you continue to talk through your reasoning. “Every time she touches you, she will sense her own power. I think, over time, enough casual contact between the two of you will have her questioning what it is in her that calls to you.”

His brows are drawn tightly together, his arms crossed as he considers your words.

“At some point you should mention that you also feel something, and ask her when she was tested. Whatever her answer is, you can offer to test her again and draw out her power.”

“Then she can begin training and start to use her power.” He adds, running a hand over his jawline and down his neck. You’re glad he can see what you’re trying to do.

“I’m hoping that will make her feel more at home at the Little Palace, and realise that she belongs with the other Grisha.”

“What is it that you hope to avoid by doing all this?” He asks.

Of course he would ask you about one of the things you don’t want to tell him. Although you can’t lie to him. Not only would that complicate things, you know he would see right through it, and you’ve only just earned his trust.

You know that you’re alone, but you still glance around the room, lowering your voice as you inform him.

“On the night of the Winter Fete, Baghra tells Alina that you’re the Black Heretic.”

You watch his expression, trying your hardest to read him, but whatever he’s thinking is hidden carefully behind his eyes. He doesn’t seem angry or upset, though you have no way of truly knowing as you continue.

“She paints a rather terrifying image of you controlling Alina and using her to bring the world to your feet. Understandably she’s scared and Baghra urges her to run away.” You pause for a moment. “She does.”

He appears to consider your words carefully, his gaze dropping down to stare hard at the table.

“Then we must ensure that she doesn’t find out.” His words are stiff, perfectly pronounced, and you wonder what he is currently thinking, though you don’t dare ask him.

You nod, a small puff of relief leaving your lips. There’s determination in his eyes, as he raises his chin, and you know that this is something the two of you will tackle together.

The General stands up, eyes searching through papers as he looks over at a particular map. Glancing up at him, you can see his attention isn’t really on the details of the landscape scribbled down in front of him.

There’s a moment of silence, before he turns to face you.

“You know my name.” He states it softly, but there’s confidence in his voice.

You already know so much about him, it isn’t a stretch for him to assume that you know his name. You do. There’s no point in denying it.

“I do.”

“Why haven’t you addressed me by it yet?”

Looking down at your empty plate, you pinch the edge of the porcelain between your fingertips, and begin to lightly spin the plate.

His name might have been the first thing you should have told him. When he had asked for you to say something only he would know as a means to prove that you weren’t a spy or a crazy person. But that hadn’t felt right.

“You haven’t given it to me.” You reason. “I know what your name means to you. I didn’t want to assume that you would want me to say it.”

“Will you?” You frown at him, and he steps closer. “Will you say it?”

His words from your nightmare echo through your thoughts. Say my name. Once more. Aleksander. Please don’t leave me. Swallowing hard, you push those thoughts aside violently. He can never know his fate. If you’re smart enough, that won’t happen, and he will never need to know.

From your position sitting down at the war table you need to tilt your head back to look at him. But you need to look at him. You need to see his face as you say in a near whisper,

“Aleksander.”

Lips parted, his lashes brush against his cheekbones as they flutter, and you can hear his delicate inhale of breath.

As far as you know, you’re the first person to have known his name for centuries. The corner of his mouth lifts into a now familiar half smile, and that warm sunny feeling in your chest returns.

»»---------------------►

The next morning, Aleksander waits for you by the side of the black coach currently parked at the entrance to the Little Palace. You’re fiddling with the sleeves of your perfectly pressed shirt as you make your way down the steps towards him.

The outfit he had laid out on his bed for you fits remarkably well considering it had been created on such a short notice. It’s not dissimilar to the First Army uniform. A white shirt with black trousers, breeches over each of your shoulders, and black boots.

There was no jacket laid out for you, and a shiver runs through your body as a cool breeze meets your skin. When you stop in front of Aleksander you see a jacket draped over his arm, which you assume is for you.

“Good morning.” He greets you with a nod, which you return with your own quiet,

“Good morning.”

He confirms your suspicions when he opens up the jacket, gesturing for you to turn around and allow him to place it over your shoulders. Sliding your arms into the garment, you’re startled by how much warmth it provides.

“I’ve had it lined with corecloth.” He says in a low tone, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks.

The style is similar to the First Army uniform, though the hem hangs a little lower, almost like a kefta. Instead of green, your jacket is a deep blue, and in some lighting you’re certain it would look black.

Once you’ve turned around to face him he adjusts the front of your jacket as he continues to speak.

“It may be unnecessary, but I feel better knowing you’re protected.”

He may only be doing it because he needs you to remain alive, but you do feel comforted by the thought of your clothing being reinforced by fabrikators. At least getting shot wouldn’t be fatal, though you were hoping to avoid such an incident.

“Thank you, Aleksander.”

Your voice is a quiet murmur, but with how close you’re standing to him he undoubtably hears it. There isn’t anyone around, so there’s no concern for someone hearing you. You had agreed to call him by his name in private, and from the tiny twitch at the corner of his lips, you know he heard you.

He straightens suddenly, pulling in a breath and drawing his shoulders back as he looks behind you. Stepping away from him, you turn around and catch sight of two heartrenders walking down the steps.

“Ivan and Fedoyr will be travelling in the coach with us.” Aleksander explains in a quiet murmur as they cross the gravel towards you. “Once we reach Balakirev, the coach will change horses and they will ride on horseback for the rest of the journey.”

You nod in response.

Ivan’s expression is neutral, you had only seen him briefly before, but you have a feeling his face is typically quite unchanging. The last time you had been in his company was after you were attacked. Whilst you hadn’t met Fedoyr yet, you had trusted him enough to guard your door while you slept on that first night.

If there’s two people you would want close by, it would be these two heartrenders.

They both bow in the direction of Aleksander, and you wonder briefly if you should begin bowing when you greet him.

“Moi soverenyi.”

Aleksander nods at them nod, before he introduces you. Ivan merely glances at you, but Fedoyr’s smile is wide as he speaks to you.

“My name is Fedoyr. This is Ivan.”

A nervous smile tugs at your lips as you glance between the two of them, and you decide to settle your smile on Fedoyr.

“Pleasure to meet you both.”

The door to the coach creaks as Aleksander opens it, and he turns to you with an outstretched hand.

“Shall we?”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift

#in another life au #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone #in another life chapters

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saltpepperbeard · 6 months

Note

I cant stop thinking about the end of episode 6, specifically the Stede and Ed of it all.

Just the look on Stede's face when he pulls Ed in kills me. I need to know everything in there, in words.

Also, what do you think wouldve happened if instinct hadnt taken over? Would they have actually talked it through (as a crew?) Or would Stede have just brushed over it again and Ed accept it?. This is pretty much the only time he tries to actually help stede like this.

Also, because im rambling, why doesnt Ed defend Stede properly when people insult him? does he think it just doesnt affect him or something?

Pardon the tardy answer on this one, anon! I was in the void, only to get decked upside the head by Leslie Jones once I crawled out of said void lol. BUT OKAY OKAY-

*rubs hands together like a fly*

This face absolutely kills me too. And I feel like it says so much without saying a word at all. I feel like it says, "I'm so happy and relieved to see you right now because the true torture of the night was seeing you get threatened." And, "I love you so much for checking up on me, but I don't have it in me to use words right now, and can't really express what I'm feeling any other way than through actions." And, "I'm so terrified after what just happened, but having you here is such a grounding force."

Like just...the glassy sheen to his eyes but the relief to his overall visage...Mr. Darby I'm billing you for damages <3 sdjksldls. I think he was just so so happy to see Ed in that moment, and so relieved to have him after nearly losing him again.

And as far as talking things through goes...I honestly feel like Stede still would have stayed clammed up. I have a feeling it would have been like how it was when he initially opened the door, ie Ed doing the talking/leading the conversation while Stede stays quiet. Maybe Ed sharing such deep feelings and vulnerability would have eventually pried his shell open and gotten him to express a few fears? But idk, because at the same time, Stede witnessed Ed's bathtub moment, and it didn't really shake any of his own personal walls.

I just think he has such a complicated thing going with his own self-image, masculinity, and trauma, that it would have been very very difficult for him to openly admit to pain/terror/etc etc—especially weakness. Especially the thing that earned him vitriol and stones and death threats. And especially not to the man he respects and looks up to so much.

And SPEAKING of which, in regard to your last question, I think Ed doesn't step in to defend him for two reasons. One, he's the protector against physical abuse, whereas Stede is the protector against verbal abuse. This lovely post here [x] explains it beautifully; "they're both protecting each other from the dangers they know." Ed acts very quickly if some sort of physical harm threatens Stede, whereas Stede acts very quickly if some sort of vitriol threatens Ed. Neither of them want the other to experience the pain they're so acclimated to, and subsequently are each other's defender from such.

And two, sort of along those lines, I don't think he recognizes the hurt that can come from it, just as Stede maybe doesn't recognize the hurt that can come from all the violence. Maybe he doesn't realize how deeply it has cut Stede, just as Stede doesn't really recognize how deeply violence has cut Ed. I don't know how to word this properly lol but like...they view what hurts the other as almost a non-issue.

You can see their varying reactions and differences a few times in episode 6 actually. When Ned is physically torturing them, Stede doesn't really react when Ed is burned, but Ed reacts strongly when Stede is burned. And when Ned is flinging vitriol about prior to the violence, Ed doesn't really react to it, but Stede scowls and fights against his restraints.

And then when they're on deck, Stede doesn't think to take cover when the attack is starting, but Ed immediately flings himself in front of him. And when Ned is trying to goad Ed into getting upset, Ed doesn't take the bait whatsoever, whereas Stede steps up and gets upset on his behalf.

Not to mention also, Stede being like "Haha escaping violence? Not bloody likely" the morning after. I know that's episode 7 lol, but my pOINT STILL STANDS. They both expect those things respectively—Ed expects insulting talk from other pirates, and Stede expects violence in their line of work, but they're actually rife with trauma for the two of them.

TLDR, they balance each other and ground each other so well, but imagine how much more they would if they shared all these deeper thoughts. I'm still holding out hope that Stede will have his bathtub moment in season 3, or even just show a lick of vulnerability around Ed. Maybe the domesticity/concept of marriage will scare him enough into opening up a bit more/talking things through, or even just settling into a more mature relationship with Ed will give him the grounds to do so.

REGARDLESS, they are just a broth that's....*Roach voice* beautiful, complicated, balanced...

#Answered #Anons #OFMD #OFMD Season 2 #Gentlebeard #Blackbonnet #Stede Bonnet #Edward Teach #Revenge Rambles #i absolutely love talking about things with y'all!#and absolutely love spinning meta of course #and absolutely LOVE getting prompted to do so #So it's so very lovely and appreciated lol thank you anon!#AND STEDE JUST...#STEDE REALLY GETS MY COGS TURNING MAN LMAO #TFW UR SILLY LITTLE GUY ACTUALLY HAS SO MANY FRIGGIN LAYERS AND COMPLEXITIES HSDJKLS

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emotionalmessss · 1 year

Text

Stuck

A/N: I wasn't really sure where to go with this one-shot, but I think it turned out alright. Enjoy :)

Synopsis: reader gets caught by chrollo after escaping from him. Non-canon. No spoilers.

Warnings: violence, blood, threats, yandere chrollo, kidnapping, death, manipulation, forced relationship, forced touching. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Word count: 4.3K

My feet padded across the hardwood floor of my apartment, echoing softly against the walls as I made my way towards the kitchen. By the third time my body jolted awake from the night terrors that I was plagued with for the last four months, I decided that it was better to stay conscious. The pills I was given by my doctor did nothing but knock me out for a few short hours, only for the horrors to continue shortly after that.

The dreams were always the same. I would wake up in a house that wasn’t my own, covered in blood that wasn't mine, screaming and crying for help. My shrieks of distraught fell upon deaf ears as He watched me. His calm composure never faltered for a moment as he glared down at me with that smug grin that he always adorned. His eyes that were drowned out in pools of gray would watch me carefully, studying my reactions but making no move to comfort me.

“I told you not to disobey.” He would say. “This could have ended differently”

I would find myself crumpled up on the ground, legs folded underneath my frail body as I stared blindly at the crimson liquid that stained my hands. The slumped over bodies beside me were faceless, a mocking image of my own empty self.

I would wake up covered in a cold sweat, my night clothes gripping to my clammy body like a second skin. My lungs would tighten like a vice, burning and stinging every time I tried to get a full breath of sweet air. Falling asleep again after that proved to be almost impossible, which is why I spent most of my nights awake, coaxing the anxiety out of my system.

No matter where I went, how far I ran, how much I hid my presence, I could still feel the heavy weight of His stare. His dark eyes followed me wherever I went and whatever I did. It was exhausting. I would glance back every now and then, but there was nothing. Nothing out of place. Not even a shadow. But I still felt it. The heavy anxiety makes my blood turn cold, chilling me straight to the bone.

I couldn’t even feel safe in my own apartment. Which wasn’t really my apartment. I was borrowing it from a friend; a friend that He didn’t know even existed. She let me stay here for a little over four months now, not even thinking twice about giving me shelter without asking too many questions. I only gave her very few details, fearing that if I spilled too many details, He would find her and snuff her out.

I perched myself awkwardly on the tall stool that sat in front of the marble island, swirling the freshly poured glass of wine by the stem of the glass. The pale liquid tingled as it traveled down my throat, settling warmly in my stomach and making my head swirl slightly.

My palm rested against my cheek as I flipped through the pages of Phantom of The Opera. Losing myself in a book often helped with the anxiety. It was either that or the wine had started kicking in.

Some time had passed and the opened bottle that rested beside me was nearly empty. I clicked my tongue and checked the time on my phone. It was half past three and I was really starting to feel the effects. My head spun each time I made a slight move against the leather of the seat, my fingers gripped onto the counter as I tried to steady myself. I was hoping that the wine would make me sleepy enough to finally go back to bed, but unfortunately not. It only succeeded in dulling my senses, barely able to focus on the blurred lines of my book.

“Christ.” I pushed myself carefully off the seat and made my way towards the small bathroom.

After relieving myself I splashed some cool water against the skin of my face. The bags beneath my eyes seemed to grow in size since the last time and my eyes were bloodshot. The lack of sleep was starting to creep up slowly in more ways than one.

I managed to stabilize myself against the countertop for a moment, glaring at my reflection in the mirror that I had grown to no longer recognize. It was stupid. Tragic actually. If I were to go back in time, I would’ve stopped myself before introducing myself to Him and letting him take me out on a date. I would’ve spun around on my heels and walked the other way when He commented on the book in my hand in that tiny book store.

Fuck, was I ever stupid then. I was blinded by his gentleman act, falling head first into a dark abyss without even knowing. His acts of kindness clouded my poor brain, making me think that he was the perfect man. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Now I’m haunted by that raven haired man in my nightmares.

I pushed myself off the counter and made my way down the hall. There was no way that I was going to sleep now, and what’s a better way to spend a sleepless night than drinking an entire bottle of wine and reading a good book? Hah. I bitterly laughed at my delusional thoughts.

I glanced over towards my seat that I was originally occupying, only to see a shadow in its place. My feet glided to a stop and I immediately froze up, rubbing my eyes quickly to make sure it wasn’t just my drunkness playing tricks on me. I opened them again, still seeing that same shadow sitting at my spot.

“Wh-” My jaw slacked open, my eyes widening in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

Dear God, No. This isn’t fucking happening. Not now. Not here. No. As much as I could feel my body signaling to me to run, I just couldn’t bring myself to it. My legs remained frozen in their place as I looked past the figure and towards the front door. My body began to buzz with anxiety, coursing through my blood like a race car down a track. My hands were glued to my sides, shaking slightly with fear.

“If I remember correctly, you were more of a red kind of girl.” That voice solidified the fear running through me.

I heard the clink of the glass that I was previously enjoying as the figure brought it up to their lips, savoring the liquid before placing it back down.

“It’s cheap too. I would’ve expected better from you.” His voice was smooth, calm as ever.

His silhouette shifted slightly as he started to stand from the seat. I was still fighting silently to get my body to move, even just an inch, but I couldn’t. I blinked suddenly when the lamp clicked back on, momentarily blinding me. My eyes finally settled on the figure once my eyes adjusted to the bright light.

Raven hair covering up a bandana was the first thing my eyes noticed. Then it was blue earrings that I always wondered how he managed to put on. Next it was his clothing. He was dressed in a white button down top and a pair of black slacks. It was him. It was fucking him.

My throat made a noise of fear, a cross between a whimper and a moan. I could feel my heart racing against my chest, the little organ telling me to fucking move, to run, to hide, to do something. But I just couldn’t get myself to move. I could barely think straight at the moment, my thoughts of how, why and where clouding my judgment.

He took me by surprise, there was no question about that. I didn’t even want to think about what lengths he went through to get here. It more than likely involved bloodshed. Did I know he was going to eventually find me? Yes. I did. I wasn’t so naive to think that he wouldn’t ever find me again. But I was naive enough to think that I had a little bit more time before he did.

The snap of a book closing brought me back out of my thoughts. My eyes snapped back onto his dark ones. His expression was like it always was, blank and unreadable, but I swear I noticed a flicker of amusement across his features for a moment.

He said nothing as he stood up from the chair, his eyes remaining focused on me, watching me like I was a prey that he wanted to hunt down and eat. He finally broke from his emotionless gaze, cracking a small grin that would’ve gone unnoticed if I wasn’t so focused on him.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” I finally found my voice, albeit softer than I would’ve liked it to be.

I wanted to run more than anything. I had planned for this moment. I always kept a small backpack with my belongings if I ever needed to make a quick escape. But now that it was actually happening, I felt glued to my spot, unable to move or even breathe.

“It’s time for you to come home now. You’ve played your little game for long enough.” He spoke to me as if I were a child.

The chill in my body intensified at his condescending words. A large lump formed in my throat, rendering my voice useless at the moment. He was scolding me as If I were a child that had just been caught doing something bad, and I hated every second of it. I could barely look at him without feeling the urge to fling something in his direction.

For the first time since we’ve been in this standoff, I averted my eyes towards the door behind him. If I were quick enough I could get out that door and run. I knew that there was a chance that he would catch me before I reached it, but it was a chance that I was willing to take. I refused to go down without a fight.

“Running is not wise.” He spoke, seemingly reading my thoughts and placing himself steps ahead. “I’m not here to hurt you, y/n, but your next actions will be the judge of what happens next.” Chrollo knew my motives were to get as far away from him as possible, but he again, made no move towards me.

I scoffed and finally answered. “I’m happy without you. Leave now.”

Chrollo tutted, placing his hands into his pockets. His eyes closed for a moment, like he was trying to contain his annoyance. He rarely ever got mad. Sure, he got annoyed with me, but it was always laced with a bit of amusement. He got some sort of joy during our arguments, finding pleasure in making me feel tiny.

“Don’t be so stubborn, darling.” His composure remained calm, as it almost always was. “I admire your will, but it’s time to put an end to this.”

My knuckles ball up in a tight white fisted hold. Chrollo noticed my unwilling movement, his eyes slightly moving down to where my hands rested clenched at my sides before he looked back up at my face.

“For the sake of your friend, I suggest you comply.” The smile he adorned did not match the intent behind his words. Hearing them come out of his mouth made my fists clench harder.

My blood turned cold and I stiffened. “What did you do?”

Chrollo grinned, humming instead of giving me a response.

I repeated myself. “What did you do to her?”

“I see, you think me telling you what happened will make you feel better?” Chrollo paused in thought. “You will not find any comfort in what I have to say.”

His unrelenting stare pierced my soul, causing goosebumps to raise up on my skin and my mouth to slack open. Chrollo was smirking now, enjoying the realization that had crossed my features with his poisonous words. A mixture of guilt and nausea crept up from my stomach and to my throat, suffocating me more than his gaze. I didn’t even want to begin to imagine what those hands that held me countless times did to my friend.

I managed to tear my gaze away from him and back to the door.

My eyes flickered away from him and back to the door.

“Let’s be smart about this. You know-”

Before Chrollo could even finish his sentence, I launched myself forward. Pure adrenaline and fear were behind my uncalculated moves as I dashed around the island, past him, and towards the door. My legs were uneasy as I tried to reach the door before Chrollo could catch me, my head still swirling from the wine in my system. As I grasped out for the handle, blinded by new tears filling up in my waterline, I felt something cool press up against my neck, followed by an arm wrapping around my waist. My breath caught in my throat when Chrollo’s arm pulled me back tightly against his chest.

My head slammed against his shoulder as I tried to distance myself from whatever he was pressing against my neck. However, this action only succeeded in drawing myself closer to the monster.

I whimpered as I craned my neck away. The metal was cool and sharp, which meant it had to be a knife. The thought of him slicing my throat in one motion made me completely still against him.

“I told you not to run. I didn’t want to have to use force on you.” His warm breath was fanning across my cheek, a stark contrast to the cool of the small blade pressed against my jugular.

“Please. Please just let me go.” The tears fell out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

Chrollo tightened his grip around my waist, almost like he was scared that if he let me go, he’d never be able to touch me again. It was almost primal the way that he was holding me. The rough feeling of his dress pants reminded me that I was only wearing a small pair of underwear and a t-shirt. Another flush of humiliation crept up to my cheeks, making them burn.

“Why would I do that, darling? I’ve missed you more than you could ever imagine.” Chrollo’s words did not match his voice. It was too calm, like the waters before a storm.

My back strained at his words and I tried to push myself away from him. I stilled immediately when I felt the knife prick at the soft flesh of my neck, making my eyes go wide. “Get that away from my neck.”

“Are you going to run if I remove it?” He asked curiously, which I knew was more of a silent threat than a question.

“We both know how that’ll end.” I hissed, my shaky hands wiping the tears out of my eyes.

“Good girl.” He cooed, placing a kiss against the side of my head.

I squeezed my eyes tightly as I felt the warmth of his lips press into my hair. The knife and his arm left my body. I had to force myself to stand upright and not immediately fall to the floor since he was holding up most of my weight. My legs were still unsure of how to properly function, like a baby deer learning to take its first steps. Except I had the crushing weight of a killer just a few inches behind me, watching my every move to make sure I wasn’t going to bolt.

“Don’t call me that.” I spoke firmly, turning to face him now.

He wasn’t that much taller than me, but I still had to crane my neck to fully look up at him. While he slightly glanced down at me, looking at me through his thick lashes.

“If I remember correctly, you seemed to enjoy it a lot before?” His head tilted to the side and he grinned.

I scowled at his implication and moved towards my seat at the island. Chrollo allowed this, following behind me closely and taking the seat next to me. I glanced aimlessly around the kitchen, avoiding his gaze which was burning a side in my cheek. My eyes fell upon the counter, searching for something to help me.

If I were able to call for help, I could use the police as a small distraction to get away. I knew that the police would never be able to stop him, but it would give me a slight advantage of escaping. I hid the small glimmer of hope that crossed my face for a moment as I remembered that I had left my phone in the bathroom. If I could get access to it…

“You seem different.” Chrollo said, snapping me out of my daze.

I turned my head slowly to face him. “People change.” I reached for my glass of wine, which still had some liquid left, pouring the rest of the continents down my throat. It burned more than usual and I cringed.

“You’re so much more tense than before. Why is-”

“I don’t want to make small talk with you, Chrollo.” I snapped. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Chrollo seemed slightly taken back by my words, his eyes widened slightly before he reverted back. “I would think that you would be thankful for me. Afterall, your life was exponentially better when you were by my side, darling.”

I scoffed. “Thankful? I couldn’t be more regretful, actually.” My eyes narrowed dangerously, finishing off the glass of wine in another large gulp.

The more words spilled from his lips, the angrier I got. There was still that underlying fear that kept me from lashing out too much, in fear of my life.

“I think you’ve had enough of that.” He said casually, ignoring my hurtful words, his hand reaching forward to remove the glass of wine that I had been gripping harder than necessary out of my fingers and back onto the countertop. “You’ll get a headache if you drink too much.” He hinted towards the almost empty bottle.

I rolled my eyes at his words, he had only been here for a small amount of time and he was already trying to control what I was doing.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” I said without a care, fiddling with my fingers instead now.

“y/n.” Chrollo warned softly, not quite fully annoyed with me yet, but he was starting to grow impatient with my growing boldness. “You must be awfully tired by now. We should get going.” He continued.

“I don’t want to go anywhere.” My voice was monotone.

“Are your legs still sore? I can carry you if that’s easier?” Chrollo offered, his gaze shifting towards the shakiness in my thighs, despite them resting upon the seat.

“I’m fine.” I bit back.

“Then go grab that packed bag you hide in your closet, that should be enough for where we’re going.” He instructed, his attention returned to the book that he was previously reading. “I’ll give you a few minutes to collect yourself, and then we’re leaving.”

My face burned in anger at his words, slightly taken back by him even knowing about that bag. I managed to hide my surprise by pushing myself off the chair the moment he finished his sentence. I didn’t even want to look at him right now, knowing that he would enjoy the shock on my face.

My feet carried me back towards my bedroom, shaking as I tried to hold back the pissed off tears that burned in the back of my eyes. I knew in the back of my mind that he would find me again, and that it was only a matter of time, but part of me didn’t want to believe it. I was content with my life and how it was. I could’ve spent the rest of my life in this tiny apartment and been happy if it meant that I would be away from him.

I pushed open my bedroom door, closing it softly behind me so I wouldn’t alert Chrollo.

As reality slowly began to set in, I found myself getting angrier and angrier. The rage was bubbling up in my stomach. The rage for my murdered friend. The rage for the murdered innocents that died by his hands. And the complete and utter destruction of my own life.

My bottom lip quivered as I pulled open the closet doors, reaching down for that little black bag that I had shoved into the corner all those months ago. I felt defeated. All those precautions that I took seemed to die in vain the moment I found him sitting on that fucking chair.

I took a moment to slip on some jogging pants as well, not wanting to be stuck in my night wear around him any longer. I ruffled through the bag as well, remembering that I had stashed a small pocket knife in the bottom of it. I sat on the ground, legs tucked beneath me as I weighed my options.

I tucked the knife back in the bag and zipped it back up.

“That was a good choice.” I heard his voice speak out from the doorway, it alarmed me and I flinched. He was so quiet that I didn’t even hear him creep up on me, I was too caught up in my thoughts. “But you won’t be needing that. Hand it over.” Chrollo took a few steps towards me, lowering himself to my crouched form.

Anger. I don’t know why all of the sudden I was taken over by a huge rush of it, but I was. It could have been due to his condescending tone or his constant calmness, but it pushed me over the edge. My teeth gritted together, lips pressed into a thin line as I reached for the knife. The air around us had become thick with tension as I tried to focus on my next moves.

He was crouched so close to me that if I were to move even an inch, I would end up brushing against him. I could feel the warmth of his body against my chilly one, sending a flood of anxiety into me. Instead of moving away like my body wanted to, I held my ground, determined not to show any weakness.

My eyes shifted to the side as my fingers fiddled with the blade, slowly moving it around the bag, careful not to cut myself on accident. I noticed that he was watching me closely, his lips pulled back into a ghost of a smile. A sticky layer of sweat formed on the back of my neck, his eyes burning holes into the side of my head.

Faster than he or I could even process, my hand ripped out of the bag, knife in hand as I brought the knife across his face. My eyes squeezed shut and I let out a shriek. As soon as I felt the small blade meet his flesh, I flung myself back from him. My butt scooted across the smooth flooring, my back smashing against the frame of my bed.

All rationality left my system as soon as I made that choice.

I had propelled myself so hard backwards that the force of my back hitting the hard wood of my bed made my grip falter and the knife fly out of my hands. My eyes widened and my breathing hitched as I sandwiched myself away from Chrollo.

He had not moved from his crouched position by my closet. I watched as his head dipped low and he touched his cheek with his fingers, which was now bleeding slowly. His eyes seemed to widen for a brief moment, shocked at my actions for once. He pulled his fingers back and examined the small amount of blood that lingered.

I moved my gaze towards the bloodied knife that rested by my feet, too paralyzed by fear to even think about moving for it.

“I didn’t want to resort to violence with you, darling.” Chrollo spoke softly, as if he was trying to scare me even more with his composure. “But your attitude is really starting to test my patience.” He gritted out the last word.

My mouth slacked open and I finally managed to push myself up, never taking my eyes off him. I half expected Chrollo to charge at me, but he didn’t. Instead, he remained crouched, but this time he was looking at me.

“I was hoping you’d be a little more compliant, but I see that you insist on being a stubborn brat.” His words echoed in my head as I forced myself to run towards the door, hoping my sudden action would take him by surprise.

It didn’t.

Chrollo caught me within seconds, shooting up from his position in a matter of moments. He caught me by the waist, wrapping both arms around me and pulling me back from the door. I cried out at the sudden invasion of my space and squirmed against him. My fingers dug into his forearms in attempts to get him to release me, but it didn’t work.

I kicked and bucked and screamed like a wild animal, all the whole Chrollo cooed sweet sayings in my ear that I couldn’t quite understand right now. His words were blocked out by the thudding of my heart in my ears.

His unrelenting grip was strong, which only fueled me to fight harder. My body twisted and squirmed against him, unable to stop the fear that controlled my actions now.

“I’m sorry for this.” Chrollo soothed, his hands tightening around my torso. “But it’s the only way to make sure you behave.” Blackness flooded my vision before I could escape his grip. My legs began to tremble more than usual, almost completely unable to hold myself up now. “Rest now.” My eyes fluttered backwards and I let myself fall completely into his hold.

#chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #yandere #phantom troupe #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo fic #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x you #abduction #reader insert

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