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poisonhxart · 4 months

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#obrpov 12: are we the hunters? or are we the prey?

▸ tw: confusão mental, menção à morte e tortura, sangue, morte por soterramento.

26 de dezembro, aproximadamente 23h.

Havia monstros no mundo. Não só aqueles moldados pela Essência ou criados a partir do Cinábrio. Monstros de carne, osso, nome e intelecto. Seres humanos cruéis, insaciáveis pelo sangue e pela dor. Predadores naturais daqueles que eram mais fracos ou que estavam em menor número.

Conrad Vaughn era um deles.

Arianrhod não precisou de muito para saber sobre o médico. Uma investigação direcionada, idas à área restrita da biblioteca em busca de arquivos sobre um homem que não só tinha trabalhado com Owen, mas também com o Império. Nome conhecido dentre o mundo de jalecos que andava pela Academia e como muitos deles, havia registros guardados por ali – fosse de seus feitos públicos, ou daqueles que não eram tão públicos assim. Rebeldes mortos eram lição para outros que perseguissem a causa, mas algumas muitas famílias não queriam ter envolvimento algum com a Ordem.

Os Llewellyn eram uma família assim.

Arianrhod não era assim.

A poção tinha dado certo. Um fio de cabelo descoberto num golpe de sorte havia sido o mais inesperado de todos os seus presentes de Frostalia; era tudo o que ela precisava para lançar aquele feitiço de localização ao vento e deixar que a Essência fizesse seu trabalho, trabalho esse mais eficiente do que jamais tinha esperado. De todas as suas hipóteses, a mais provável era de que o médico estivesse longe dos arredores do Castelo, aproveitando o Frostalia; o único detalhe que ela talvez tivesse deixado passar era que ele estava desesperado demais para isso. Um homem que não tinha hesitado em mandar um capanga atrás dela há pouco mais de uma semana não era um homem que estava em segurança, mas estar perdido no meio do Bosque Esquecido ainda era imprudência demais... e sorte demais.

Ela não tinha pensado suas vezes antes de sair da Academia correndo. Que se danasse o toque de recolher, a oportunidade era única demais e preparação não era cogitável quando, dia após dia, tudo parecia piorar. O tempo que tinha em mãos foi o tempo que gastou para apagar todo e qualquer resquício de sua existência no laboratório e se armar não só com a cimitarra, mas com o punhal que havia ganhado de presente naquele Frostalia.

Árvores e animais e neve desapareciam em seus olhos no que corria pelo Bosque. O mapa enfeitiçado ainda brilhava em suas mãos e conforme ia mais e mais fundo naquele território conhecido ao ponto de conseguir se guiar por ali com os olhos vendados, ansiedade e adrenalina se uniam na formulação de perguntas para aquele inevitável encontro. Ela sabia o que perguntar, porque sabia o que queria saber. Ela sabia tudo, só precisava de confirmações. As respostas já eram dela.

E eram tão dela que quando se chocou contra um corpo no meio do caminho, não hesitou em imobilizá-lo. Aquilo não estava no mapa, não estava nos planos e se ela não poderia estar ali...

— Blake?! — Reconheceu primeiro o cabelo bagunçado, então num gesto ríspido virou o rosto do irmão para o lado estupefata. — O que diabos da Essência você está fazendo aqui a essa hora? — Saiu das costas do mais velho, se recompondo no que apanhava seu mapa, agora úmido pela neve. — Se você me viu no mapa e resolveu vir atrás de mim, eu juro que...

— Outch, para de ser maluca, mulher! Pô, mano, tu chega assim, me derruba, me joga na neve e ainda — Ele não terminou. Não poderia. Mesmo que Arianrhod também não estivesse em um humor tão bom para entrar na do irmão, ela preferiria seguir numa discussão sobre irresponsabilidade do que ouvir aquela risada. Era o tipo de riso de unhas longas e finas, que gemiam ao arranhar o chão e rasgavam a pele num ganido. Era horrível. Tão horrível que os irmãos se entreolharam instantaneamente.

— Linda menina de olhos de tigresa. Procurando pela mamãe, não é? Ah, a mamãe morreu. E o irmão dela. E o amor dela também morreu, eu me lembro. Ahhh, foi tão lindo de se ver, você não acha? Aqueles olhinhos, olhinhos lindos que nem os seus, tão cheios de vida... morrendo... — A voz invadiu a mente dela antes que a figura ocupasse seus olhos.

Mesmo que exigisse um pouco mais de trabalho de sua memória, ela se lembrava daqueles olhos. Se lembrava muitas vezes de tê-lo visto em reuniões ao lado de Owen, conversando como se fossem não só amigos, mas gênios incompreendidos. Por muitas vezes, era exatamente assim que aquele homem se sentia.

A ira sempre morna em seu íntimo voltou a acender. Era engraçado que, para uma terrarium, ela tivesse tanto calor dentro de si. Era uma fúria quente, não como o fogo inferni, mas como magma. Mais frio em muitos momentos, mas de letalidade avassaladora. Foi esse fogo, essa ira que a consumiram naquele momento. Os olhos analíticos e calmos não enxergavam mais paz em sua frente. Não enxergavam nem mesmo a figura do irmão ao seu lado quando toda a determinação de seu corpo a fez começar a correr na direção daquele desgraçado. Ela não ouvia Blake, não ouvia a si mesma, só ouvia aquela maldita voz.

— Uh, uh, uh, parece que alguém tá nervosinha. Calma, menina, não é você quem queria respostas? Eu estou te dando elas! Sua mamãe morreeeeu. — Ele cantarolava e sua voz parecia ressoar não só pelas árvores de galhos secos do bosque, mas por todos os músculos de Arianrhod. — E eu me lembro bem de como foi. Ahh, Owen, pai de vocês. Que homem incrível, inteligente... tínhamos planos maravilhosos juntos, antes do Império me chamar. Estou fazendo uma pesquisa, sabia? Uma pesquisa sobre novas formas de inserção do cinábrio no organismo... cinábrio gasoso! Ah, que maravilhas que não podem ser feitas com cinábrio em forma gasosa...

— Cala a boca! — Ela gritou, e Arianrhod raramente gritava. Seu sangue fervilhava a cada palavra escutada, cada palavra desperdiçada, cada maluquice que aquele homem lançava ao vento como se estivessem ali para tomar chá juntos. Ela odiava aquilo. Odiava o descontrole, odiava a imensidão de sentimentos, odiava tudo aquilo que sentia e que ouvia e odiava aquele desgraçado acima de tudo isso.

Num gesto rápido, mais rápido que ela pode, as mãos se encontraram com o chão e uma linha de rochas se ergueu até alcançar a frente do cientista, interrompendo seus passos com um paredão. Pelo periférico do olho notou Blake próximo de si. Era como se a raiva dele fosse tanta quanto a dela, e ao ouvir alguma coisa que o irmão disse, ela finalmente notou. Conrad Vaughn era um etéreo, mas não só isso: era um etéreo que falava coisas diferentes na cabeça de cada um ao mesmo tempo. Era um etéreo que estava incitando nela o despertar daquela ira.

— Uh... parece que querem me encurralar, mas eu sei fazer uma coisaaa... — Ele cantarolou, e de repente ficou invisível. Por todos os deuses mortos e espíritos da Essência, aquele homem era uma praga. Estava completamente fora de si, dizendo coisa com coisa, sumindo e reaparecendo como uma presa inquieta. Arianrhod suspirou. — Você vai acabar igual a sua mãe... eu me lembro dos gritos dela. Ah, tão brava... e toda assim. — Ele se tremeu para exemplificar. A terrarium quis esganá-lo. — Pra uma artífice, ela nunca reagiu muito bem ao cinábrio... uma pena. Ela era tão talentosa, uma estudiosa incrível... uma pena, uma pena que não seguiu o Império. O Império é poderoso e glorioso e ela preferiu as sombras. Ela morreu... morreu assim, com choques. Primeiro pelo seu pai, ah que homem inteligente, depois pelo Império... Foi tão lindo, tinha tanta luz, tanta luz em meio a tantas sombras...

As palavras oscilavam em tom e em volume na cabeça dela; ora aquele homem parecia distraído, ora com muita raiva. Ele parecia estar alucinado, as íris azuis mal focavam em algo antes de ir para a próxima coisa e o mundo parecia se perder nas vistas daquele homem. Havia clara oscilação e descontrole de sua magia e o pensamento mais óbvio finalmente saiu do fundo de sua mente, passando por todas aquelas camadas de sentimentos amplificados. Erguendo a mão até Blake, ela o puxou.

— É o Cinábrio. — Murmurou, prendendo o irmão perto. Não era uma dedução genial, era o mais básico possível da análise de vida daquele homem.

Era um cientista, mexia com cinábrio todos os dias. Mexia com cinábrio em invenções e em torturas. O desespero alheio, ao mesmo tempo que era combustível para aquela alma corrompida, era também sua ruína – mesmo que Arianrhod imaginasse que ele tinha mais ruínas do que poderia contar.

Carmesim foi o líquido que coloriu a neve. Carmesim como sangue, como cinábrio. Carmesim como a visão daquela terrarium era manchada naquele momento por aquele sorriso maquiavélico e desesperado. Se aquele homem ainda tinha algo de si próprio em seu corpo, era a dor em seus olhos. A essa altura, seus órgãos estavam todos corrompidos e até a genialidade que talvez um dia tivesse tido, havia se transformado em nada. A fala de seu irmão era a conclusão de seu pensamento.

— Ele está morto. — E estava certo. A vida a qual ele ainda se agarrava não mais o pertencia.

— Eles gritam… eles gritam bem alto e cada vez mais alto e eles morrem… — O homem repetia enquanto isso. Não foi surpresa ver o chão ceder abaixo dele, porque se Blake não o tivesse feito, teria sido uma decisão sua.

Conrad Klein Vaughn. Cientista renomado, defensor da honra e da glória do Império, figurinha carimbada em torturas de rebeldes há tanto tempo quanto a vida daqueles dois jovens que selariram seu fim. Era até curioso, ela pensava ao se aproximar, que o que estavam fazendo era misericórdia, apesar de toda a vingança. As paredes de terra mal iluminadas pela lua, aliás, a lembravam de algo. A lembravam da massa marrom do Barmbrack no Arkaween. O corpo pendurado, incapaz mesmo de voar como era de sua natureza fazer, o pedaço de terra com cheiro de decomposição.

O Universo era realmente uma vadia ardilosa, revelando seu futuro próximo de maneira tão clara. Era realmente a morte que tinha sido preditada. A morte do mordomo, do assistente, do médico. A morte de cachorros do Império, de companheiros de seu pai. A morte de pessoas que haviam feito mal a tantos como ela, e que se não fossem parados, fariam ainda mais números.

Ela não deixaria que isso acontecesse. Dr. Vaughn não voltaria a conhecer a luz do dia e seria engolido pela terra, terra que ela mesma manipulava ao redor dele, assistindo sua queda cada vez mais e mais funda sendo regada pelo chão que os sustentava. Era assim que tinha de ser, afinal – sem brechas para a sobrevivência. Era seu destino e quando a Essência determina algo, cabe a seus filhos obedecer.

Arianrhod e Blake eram servos da Essência, filhos daquela mãe temperamental à qual só podiam ser gratos. O que tinham entregado à terra nada mais era do que uma oferenda, uma demonstração da lei da vida: algumas pessoas haviam nascido para serem presas, outras para serem predadoras. Naquela noite, olhando para o irmão no regresso ao Castelo, ela sabia que estavam longe de serem presas novamente.

Aquele era só o começo da caçada.

#obrpov: are we the hunters? or are we the prey #tw: confusão mental #tw: menção à morte e tortura #tw: sangue #tw: morte por soterramento

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malkaviian · 1 year

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I've having brainrot over Fredgolden since yesterday

#au talk #im so embarrassed and this whole post is embarrassing but i think i deserve to be a bit cringe for a moment #anyway I just think the wolf/lamb symbolism is more fitting to them in this case ah #the lamb walked in a place full of wolves; hoping they were tamed enough. but not this one #fred was just expecting the right prey; but not even to kill- at least not directly. he wanted someone to abuse to release his frustrations #he doesnt mind prison itself; but hes greatly annoyed by the concept of having to take orders from someone else #who think they are inherently better from him. and he saw in golden the perfect opportunity #he seemed way too weak mentally to fit in there with the others; and he was physically cute. so he took the chance #and it worked! he got his little plaything; who had to watch his steps #because even a tiny bit of doubt of what they do could end horrible- for golden; who had; like; a reputation actually.#not to mention also send him to prison bc the whole thing is illegal. so now he can abuse him in whatever ways he wants #and the victim cant say anything because HE will be the one with the problem. perfect!!#he thinks is pathetic how everything worked out just because he gave him the tiniest bit of attention #but thats what makes it so perfect; he didnt even had to make that much effort #and of course; he had to share his prey with the rest of the wolves hes fond of <3 #now im gonna go to back to sleep #uuuu #abuse tw #ask to tag

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yanderestarangel · 5 months

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♡ — 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐑𝐄 | 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘'𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃!𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐑

— TW: smut, praise, dark themes, age gap, leve yandere, age gap, friend of your farher!albert wesker, v!sex, manipulation, nsfw, distorted mind, oral, afab anatomy, blackmail, recorded sex, daddykink, no pronouns used besides 'you'.

♡—Wesker was a sick man, he knew that, but Albert's darkest desires could not be ignored for long. He was your dad's co-worker, and to tell the truth, he hated the man, however, there was something about your father that interested him... You.

♡— Wesker, unfortunately for you, laid eyes on you, it was just small glances behind the dark lenses of his glasses, but soon after, you were already in the scientist's darkest thoughts. He thought you were a precious thing, a little pearl that needed to be protected by him, so he decided to get even closer to your dad, it was so easy to manipulate the man and infiltrate your family that Albert found it pathetic, but he needed you... Being close to you, you were eating away at his mind with every bitter second that passed in the older man's abjacent solitude.

♡— Wesker could just get rid of anyone in the worst way possible and lock you up in a place isolated from everything and everyone, make you his untouched little doll, lock you in a glass dome and watch you all day — he could force you to loving him, worshiping him like a god, he wanted to make you walk on the ground he walks on and see your tongue lick every drop of his seed, things escalated very quickly for him, but he didn't care, in the blonde's head, he was a superior being, and could do anything he wanted.

♡— Wesker researched every strong and weak point of your personality, in a few days he had a folder and raw files of hours and hours of recordings of you, either with the wiretap he secretly placed on your cell phone, or with the cameras hidden behind home — which he put it when he went to your house, to drink some wine and hand over some papers from the umbrella to your dad — or for the hours he spent stalking every post of yours on the internet. He knew everything about you... Absolutely everything, you were his obsession, you were his property and his alone... It didn't take long for you to realize that.

♡— Wesker began with calm touches, as if he were watering a flower, wetting your petals of desire with the nectar of hot, forbidden touches. He would pay you so much attention, wearing the best smile behind his serious and cold face, his lips would always have an expression of comfort for you — He would always shower you with sweet nicknames, telling you how proud he is of you always giving your best to you. college grades, or how good you were. He would divert your father's attention just to visit you in your room, giving you expensive gifts that you had wanted for a long time. "— I just remembered you baby, it suits your eyes, don't worry about the value sweetheart." Albert would speak in a hoarse tone, placing the emerald necklace around your neck, brushing his fingers for too long on your skin and leaving soon after, leaving you with a confused feeling in your chest and a heat in your core.

♡— Wesker has been mentally writing down the best nicknames he can think of. "— My Prince/Princess, My doll, My baby boy/baby girl, My little gem, My good boy/girl, honey, darling, dear, sweet little thing." And all of them are accompanied by mischievous phrases and smiles. " — Good job prince/princess, you did well... Keep it up." " — you really are a cute little thing, aren't you? Making Daddy happy." The scientist would purr in your ear, away from your father's eyes... Not that he cares much, but he loves the feeling of adrenaline, seeing your face blush, you would be a mess for a simple compliment or word of affirmation... It was so cute to him, like a stalking prey, a deer lost and beautiful in the snow.

♡— Wesker knew that resisting his charm was never an option, and it wouldn't be. He is a man who knows how to play his cards right, and it wouldn't take long for him to trap you in his web of manipulation and possession, he would make you his body, mind and soul, break you to the breaking point.

♡— Wesker would have luxurious dinners at his penthouse, calling his family, an excuse to see you again. He would get your dad drunk enough to pull you to some corner of the house and pull down your clothes, slapping your ass hard as he knelt kissing your clit, forcing you to lean against the cold wall while he fucked you out. "— Fuck imagine if your father comes in here and sees his sweet son/daughter like that? Fucking his friend?" Albert smiled mischievously, as he inserted two thick fingers into your hole, stretching you to the sides, leaving you well prepared for him. He would hold you with his strong arms, taking you to the table where your father slept drunk, fucking you in front of the man's sleepy body. " — Fucking h-hell Mmm- imagine if he wakes up? Seeing you like this? Seeing that you're nothing but a fucking slut." He babbled, pushing the base of his dick into your cunt, while you covered your moans with your hand, feeling your eyes roll back into your head with pleasure.

♡— Wesker will fuck you in your own house, making an excuse for your father who needs to recommend some colleges to you, while he aggressively beats you on the mattress, tying your ankles with his tie, while overstimulating your pussy, inserting his shaft repeatedly into your uterus, he'll just take out even the tip and put it all in at once with a sadistic smile on his thin lips. "—I could fuck you like this all day."

♡— Wesker would say such dirty and sweet things to you while turning you into a dumb mess. " — Your sweet little pussy is made for my cock, isn't it?" His free hand reaches down to caress your breasts, pinching and pinching your sensitive nipples, eliciting more moans from your lips. He continues to tease and torment you, pushing you closer to the edge of orgasm before pulling back, prolonging your agony - and his, you could beg and whimper, as he takes a cell phone out of his pocket, focusing on your wet, abused hole. " — Oh, you little slut," he grows. " —I love the way you look when my cock stretches you out like this Ah- Fuck sweetheart-" And just as you're about to fall, he slows down once again, prolonging your ecstasy, the buildup almost unbearable. "—Not yet, my dear," he whispers in your ear, his voice filled with wicked delight. "—You will come when I say so. Only when I give you permission."

♡— Wesker will take several photos of your body covered in semen, in compromising positions and with his dick in your mouth, videos, gifs or any digital media available, he will manipulate and chat you so that you are always his, always stay on his side.

" — You will never run away from me, my little pet... Or else... Your father and all your family, friends... They will know what a whore you are, so just be good and keep your mouth shut, pretty boys/girls don't think."

©𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙇 2023

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eldritch-spouse · 17 days

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You are running naked in the Jungle, searching frantically.

You look and you see another human, the first one you've seen in months and you run towards them.

“Thank God! Listen, we need to get out of here immediately, it's dangerous! Do you know the way out? Back to civilization?”

You feel a tentacle around your ankles

[Months? Couldn't be me, I'd just die. Let's downsize that to a week. Fem reader.]

TW: Reader has a self-loathing inner monologue; Reader is in a bad place mentally; Dubcon to full consent.

It was a stupid idea.

You knew that when you started it. So did everyone that tried to convince you otherwise. But common sense isn't something that could have stopped someone like you, someone who was ill enough to think taking a break from life in the middle of buttfuck nowhere would work out.

You didn't even have any sort of experience in this type of thing. Neither did you seek any kind of useful tips.

You just wanted to escape.

And you did, literally, into a forested nightmare that you got lost in not even hours after your arrival.

You just wish you could find your car, you just wish you could find somewhere warm and comforting to sleep in.

It's been days. Probably a week by now. Your stuff all disappeared, somehow. You swear you're not tripping, it all just vanished! Your phone, your bag, your keys...

Your back hurts, the nights are cold and humid and you're sure you're getting sick by now. Clean water would be a godsend, you've been drinking and cleaning yourself with some questionable-looking sources for a while. Not to mention you can't feed yourself properly, and you certainly don't know how to hunt.

Not that there's much to hunt. Every time you think you hear a peep, there's a brush of foliage and silence dominates seconds later.

You're going to die.

A horrifying reminder that has your chest pounding painfully and sweat glistening on your forehead.

You don't want to die.

But the modern human wasn't born for the wilderness, and you can only stand being clothed for a little longer before the sensation of being dirty has you clawing the skin off your body.

It was a fucking miracle that you managed to get a small fire going.

Finally.

You can heat up that fish you caught earlier.

If it's still good. Is... This is safe to eat, right?

You lean to sniff at the leaf-wrapped catch.

Eh. You can stomach it...

God, you're starving.

One thing that's been bugging you for a while is how... Deserted this whole place feels.

You're no wildlife expert, but isn't this kind of location supposed to be brimming with animals? Why is it that, everywhere you go, it's mostly just you and insects bumbling around?

Shouldn't there be some mammals here? Some birds? Maybe a squirrel or a snake... Aren't there predators you'd have to worry about in this kind of scenario?

Ironically, being alone makes you feel even more stressed out than if you were constantly surrounded by wild animals.

You huddle closer to the small fire.

Alone.

But always so on edge.

Always getting that tingling feeling crawling up your spine.

The one that screams- Look, look behind you! You're in danger!

The phantom feeling of something hovering behind your neck, goosebumps that hardly fade every time you do turn around to check and find nothing.

Is this a normal amount of paranoia for your situation? Is this your brain trying to cope with the fact that you haven't seen much wildlife so far?

Or is there something watching you from beyond the trees?

Something stalking.

A persistence predator, coming and going, to check on its latest prey.

Oh, and what a catch you are. Big and juicy compared to the things that probably roam this place -Roamed, more like...

Have you wandered into the territory of something that'll inevitably snap its jaws around your neck?

...

Just eat the fucking fish already.

Food.

Focus on the present.

The smell starts to hit your nose. Salt, oh what you wouldn't do for some simple salt. How do people get salt?

You're glad you got some berries along the way too, because this fish is probably going to taste like ass. You're sure they aren't poisonous or anything of the sort. If they are, then you've been eating them for the past few days so honestly you could keel over at any moment.

You'll see.

Once the fish has roasted enough where it's likely safe to consume, you peel it open messily and start munching indiscriminately, ravenous.

It's... Well, it's sustenance.

It's about the most nutritious thing you've eaten since you got here.

This survival thing is harder than the fake actors on TV make it seem.

A sudden crack of a branch has you pausing mid-chew.

You truly feel like a deer when your head snaps up and you stand very still to listen for a follow-up.

Nothing.

Tired eyes strain, trying to make sense of a darkened blob in the distance.

Huh.

What the fuck is that thing?

Tall.

Two legs...

Arms?!

Shit- Could it be?!

That can't be possible, someone else roaming around this maddening forest. Is that a sign that you're somehow getting closer to civilization? That you're making it out by sheer luck? What cosmic force could be on your side this time? Maybe they just live here, like some kind of off-grid retired agent- Okay, you've been watching too many movies.

Without stopping to think twice about frankly important concerns regarding this sudden development, you place the cooked fish down on the leaf it was previously wrapped in and start scooting forward towards the silhouette you saw.

That build can only belong to a man. Well, you assume as much anyway. It's hard to spot more from here, with the foliage covering their form.

" H- Hey... "

You haven't used your voice in a hot minute. Some part of you almost doesn't recognize it. A healthy dose of paranoia stops you from brushing aside the obstacles and facing this person.

But you need to at least try, right?

The worst that can happen is that you really are hallucinating for some reason or another.

With a surge of bravery, but mostly desperation, you push all the branches and greenery away to run towards this person, opening your mouth to greet them, to beg for help, ask for new clothes or just something cooked!

" Hey! Please, I need your... Help? "

Nothing.

There's no one.

But that doesn't make sense, you clearly saw a silhouette, someone was there! You didn't even have to run that far, how could it be that you already lost sight of them? That they could get away so silently?

No. Everything's wrong.

Before you know it, your vision is blurring and your face heats as tears stain your cheeks.

Why... Why would your mind fuck with you like this? Going from a shining shred of hope to complete despair in seconds has you screaming inside.

Why is this happening to you?

Are you really about to die in a stupid fucking patch of nothing just because you can't deal with the stress in your life like a normal person? Just because you made one bad decision when everything was weighing heavy on your conscience? Are you really so incompetent and so pointless as a human that this is how your story ends?

Anger and regret blind you to everything, fingers course through your knotted hair as you sob and tug, having no way to calm yourself and nothing to unleash your tension onto.

The moment you try to stomp your foot in a petulant act, you find it rooted to the ground. It takes a couple more insistent tugs upward for you to realize that something is coiled around it, keeping it firmly planted.

The train wreck of emotions and bile of self-hating thoughts takes a backseat, goosebumps pricking your skin from tip of the head to your very toes. The first thing you think of is some kind of snake, eyes bulging behind digits.

You look down frantically, shaking, but in spite of the sky being clear, all you see is this reddish mass, with neither end nor beginning. What... What the fuck is it?!

The thing tightens around your ankle, starting to slide up the length of your right leg, up to your knee. And immediately, you panic, kicking and shrieking, achieving absolutely nothing and getting promptly tugged to the ground.

Yeah.

Maybe freaking out isn't the best bet for your survival here.

Twigs and dirt get on your face, it takes some coughing and swiping to finally clear your field of view. But honestly...

You almost wish you hadn't.

Curved over your prone figure, staring down, is a creature you have never seen before.

Bipedal and quite large, like the silhouette you had glimpsed before, but so very far from human. The reddish coloration spanning the length of that bizarre body makes him -Because, again, you can only assume that is a male- Look as if he's made of flesh quickly molded together to imitate the figure of a human. What initially made you think he was skinless soon turns into the realization that there was never room for skin anyway.

Because his body is quite literally comprised of what you can only call tentacles. Tendrils and coiling tissue that clings and organizes itself in the vague lie of an organism like yours.

From elbows to fingers and knees to feet, the tendrils become a lot more discernable, coiling and uncoiling while he watches curiously. The thing around your leg is one of said tendrils, coming from the mass forming his own. Along the length of its torso, sharp-toothed mouths form and shift, almost seeming to have a mind of their own as they scent the air and snap at nothing.

That head has got to be the most striking feature. It's an amalgamation of tentacles all wrapped around each other, leaving room for an incredibly sharp golden eye to fix you in place. This thing looks like it crawled out of a sleeping ocean, like the roots and vines of an ancient jungle came together to form a totally new an extension of themselves. He looks like he's been sculped from the guts of others yet also composed in a way your mind could never hope to grasp.

Somewhere between trying to determine if you're dealing with an animal or a person, you reach the conclusion that an animal wouldn't stare you down for this long.

An animal would take a couple of seconds to determine if you're prey or predator and act accordingly. He would have snapped your neck or suffocated you like a boa constrictor with those tentacles by now.

And yet, he just stares.

Like you're the strangest creature to ever grace the woods this thing probably calls a home. You're as freaky to him as he is to you, enough so that he seems out of depth on how to proceed.

You stare back.

This has got to be the monster that you saw back there. Watching you. Now that you think about it, maybe this was the reason you'd always have a tingling sensation reminding you that you're not alone. Because he was there all that time, stalking.

Plenty were the moments he could have dug your grave until now. It's strange that he hasn't. Because surely, he's seen how you're failing to adapt to this location. Every step you take, you're stumbling and getting pricked, hungry, thirsty, afraid, disoriented- You're a fish out of water and he could have ended that misery a long time ago.

Odd.

Neither of you move. It blinks, vertically. You blink too.

And then, it makes this chitter.

Wet, like a gargle, followed by some kind of rumbling as more of those tendrils that form his limbs unwind, explore.

They reach down towards your frame when he squats, and you stifle the urge to scream at the sight of them getting nearer. Because who knows what he's going to do...

They poke and prod, grabbing lightly at parts of you, wet yet not quite. Two coil around your arms, then elbows, then wrists.

Other strays squirm around your sides, unintentionally triggering a squirming reflex as you muffle helpless laughter.

The monster seems intrigued by the noise anyway, making his own vocalizations as if attempting to communicate with you.

Abruptly, there's a blur of movement and you're yanked into the air by the arms, shrieking in fear and pain.

Not for long, because more of his freaky, flowing appendages wind around your middlesection, hips and knees, pulling in different directions.

In seconds, mere moments, this being has you suspended in the air.

Immediately, your panicked mind is going places where it absolutely shouldn't.

He seems more relaxed now that you're restrained, that gaze becomes softer, clouded with curiosity. To be monitoring you this long, you don't doubt he has his own questions and intrigue regarding how you work.

When that hulking red mass walks towards you, anxiety prevents your mouth from staying shut.

" H- Hi? "

A sound not too different from the peep of a skittish bird.

One that causes him to cock his head in a brief pause, processing the noise, and returning it with his own light gurgle. One of the mouths on his figure gets the pitch right down to a T.

Soon, he's lacing a hand through your hair, grabbing it, manipulating the protrusion and stroking your head inquisitively. He squeezes and almost scritches at your scalp, reminding you of the way someone acts when spotting a particularly cute cat. Yes, hair is likely a mystery to this creature, you can kind of understand why it'd linger here.

But that doesn't change the fact that you're being patted like a pet by a strange, unknowable creature- And that's morbidly hilarious.

When your cheeks start to puff with laughter, his attention finally deviates. You can feel the tendrils that form every digit when he splays them across your face, tracing your eyebrows, playing with the tip of your nose and even trying to poke into your ears- Something he halts when you jerk away rapidly each time.

When he starts trying to put a digit in your mouth, he's a lot more careful, aware that you have teeth and can bite, even if yours are quite small and blunt compared to the ones he sports. He succeeds, because your strength is nothing compared to that of a monster of his size and nature. The digit he dips into your mouth rests there placidly for a couple of moments.

You aren't sure what to do. Biting is not a bright idea when you know this creature can probably easily dismember you in this position. He himself looks slightly lost, as if he put his finger in your mouth out of impulse mostly. A false sense of security begets your own curiosity.

Perhaps you're just insane already -That probably says a lot about your overall mental fortitude- But seeing another living being that behaves and looks vaguely like what you might call a person makes you feel calmer than you have since the beginning of all this. You know it's an irrational feeling, that you're not any safer than before, but it's a thread of comfort you desperately cling to.

And it's what allows you to look this thing in the eye while you experimentally lick his bizarre tendril-clump of a finger.

It was only a little flick.

But naturally, he felt it.

The monster rumbles something incomprehensible at you, leaning closer still to cast a shadow upon your front. In this position, he looms between your clothed legs, though seems mostly unaware of the lurid position he's got you in, fixated on your mouth.

The sensation of his digit unfolding into two separate thin tentacles is bizarre. You picture a human finger splitting in two and curse your brain. Said tentacles poke and wriggle, capturing your tongue between themselves.

Yes, that's probably the part of your body that most closely resembles the mass of prehensile tissue composing his own.

The touch has you drooling, saliva trying to break down something probably few to no humans have ever come in contact with. He tastes slimy yet slightly rugged in some areas, not something you'd write home about.

Reflex has your poor muscle squirming to be freed, but that only causes him to tighten the grasp upon it. And, surprisingly, to let out this humid noise that sounds far too much like a groan of delight for you to interpret it as anything else.

There's a pause from your part as you wonder, incredulously, if this thing just got turned on.

There's not much time to ponder, because that digit very quickly slips out, and as he examines the sheen of drool on it, something else steadily approaches your mouth.

Ah, you've graduated from finger to proper tentacle mouthfucking. Commendable.

Making light of the situation is about the least recommended course of action, but after what you've endured so far, you think you deserve to be a little, tiny bit, insane.

Apparently convinced that you won't try to harm him, the crimson monster wiggles that darkened appendage and taps it against your lips, seeming very interested in how this is unfolding.

You should not have opened your mouth.

But you did.

And he visibly brightened up.

The tendril wedges itself in without much hesitation, resting upon your tongue. Much thicker than his digit, your jaw has no choice but to stretch, and your lips wrap around it in a rather phallic, dirty image. You barely realize you're making an effort not to scrape your teeth on the appendage. Perhaps because the sensation of it is a tad spongy and remarkably similar to that of any standard manhood.

And, as if to give reason to your lewd comparison, he shudders at the warmth of your wet mouth, the thing pulsing within you.

While he mostly simply lets the extremity sit there motionlessly, you do explore, trying to lick around it out of morbid curiosity. He watches you avidly, but apparently, what really gets to this bizarre entity is feeling you suck down the saliva that pools in your cheeks, swallowing.

Suction. Because of course he'd enjoy that. What man doesn't?

That begs the question, is the thing in your mouth part of his genitals?

Again, thinking is a privilege you can't afford when that tentacle starts sliding down your throat experimentally. It doesn't take him long to trigger your gag reflex, a violent kick and curve forward from your part causing him to pull back quickly. But he continues to test the waters afterwards, probably seeking the sensation of your stressed throat muscles tightening around him.

Instinct takes over.

Because even if he seems truly out of his depth maneuvering a human body, he's curious and, if you had to guess, attracted to you. Enough to put sensitive things in your mouth, to fetishize that part of you. Hormones make things work, which means he soon realizes he can make repetitive back and forth motions to get friction.

And so, just like that, you're getting fucked in the mouth, inside the woods, by an eldritch abomination of a monster you might find in a cheaply made H. P Lovecraft rip-off.

It should not arouse you.

It should horrify you.

... But it doesn't.

Those reactions are missing, leaving you befuddled at your own enjoyment of the situation. Are you just happy to have someone around? Has it truly been so long since you received this type of attention that you don't mind if it comes from an entity of unknown origin who is clearly not civilized? Are you just a freak actively discovering new sides of your sexuality?

Who knows anymore.

All you know is that there's a wet noise ringing every time he thrusts that slimy thing into your mouth, that he's resorted to gripping your hips hard while making intense eye contact, that he growls and gurgles whenever you have enough control to suck at him. If you had to guess, it's his unwavering, lewd and fascinated observation of your face and lips that has you likely forming a wet spot on your poor pants.

You think your wanton squirming is subtle, but reality proves otherwise when the monster starts getting distracted, one of those pupils shifting to the rhythmic movement of your legs as you shamelessly seek friction. At first, he seems irritated, as if questioning why you'd want to leave when you'd been so docile so far.

Then it appears to click.

You can almost see it in his face, in spite of how inhuman it is, that eureka moment.

And the tendril in your mouth slows down to a crawl.

He starts pawing and pulling at your pants, but not aimlessly. Not at all. He's studied you, he knows what he's looking for, the button and the zipper. You pale a few shades, the only way this thing could know how to take pants off is if it saw you doing it, if it saw you relieving yourself or trying to bathe to avoid infections.

Just how many embarrassing moments did he catch?

Too many, probably.

Still, you're pleasantly surprised to see him so easily remove the garment, fluidly shifting the positions of his tendrils to avoid tangling the fabric in them. Your pants come off without a single blemish, aside from those they sustained previously. Is he removing them so carefully because he thinks you need them to survive or is he just being considerate?

Your underwear is treated the same way, he spares no extra thought to it, and only appears to pause once your pussy is exposed.

Usually, you'd feel self-conscious in this position. There's not a lot you can do to properly groom yourself without the simple privilege of soap and whatnot... But what does it matter here? As far as you know, for this monster, pussy is pussy regardless of it being shaved or bush-heavy, "perfumed" or au naturel.

And a soaked, needy hole is hard for a lonesome monster to ignore.

He looms closer to your womanhood, watching closely, gargling a string of vocalizations you still can't interpret, until another tentacle slithers into scene and slaps against your cunt.

No, literally.

The thing whips from mound to the bottom of your entrance, swiping up and down in a pace that has you seeing stars every time it flicks your clitoris and catches on a clenching entrance. To say your legs kick out occasionally from the intensity of the stimulus is no exaggeration, but he's quick to adapt his hold so you have no way of wiggling aside.

You don't know why it's doing that, but frankly, you don't care much, it just feels good. A racing heart and a heaving chest have you tipping your head back to moan against the thing stuffed in your mouth. You realize, a little belatedly, that he was probably mostly just trying to lube that appendage with your own arousal.

Your plump pussy still tingles when the assault stops on all sides, you strain to watch what he's doing, observing the monster evaluate the sheen now coating that wriggling extremity.

He's less careful than before now, a product of excitement no doubt, parking the somewhat thicker length at your entrance and pushing in tentatively for only a couple of moments before ramming a decent chunk of that tendril into your cunt.

Eyes bulging, you spit out a beastial sound that startles the monster, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch. He's reached a depth within you no one else has found before, and the pressure is such so that you've been robbed of the ability to speak.

He shouldn't be that far in you.

You may come from extremely distinct backgrounds, but some things are vastly universal, like the facial expression of pain. Which, credit where credit is due, he picks up on relatively fast. The moment the entity removes a good chunk of its length, you sigh and sag in momentous relief. That's a lot better. You still feel as if you're being stuffed to the brim, but there's no longer that stabbing pain.

He understands what he did wrong after a couple of still moments and some bizarre palping sensation from your insides.

Much like the previous tendril in your mouth, this one too starts to thrust back and forth, with more care now, experimenting with differing speeds and curling in various ways as he gets closer and closer to watch how you react.

You're no researcher, but maybe if the mounting pleasure wasn't swimming to your head and making it very very hard to think coherently right now, you'd be fascinated with the way this monster is being so thorough in his examination of you, wanting to learn what makes you tick in every way, what has you choking out noises and rolling your eyes.

So intense is the heat rushing through your body from his repeated, filthy motions that you hardly notice anything happening until his all-seeing eye is almost glued to your face. The tips of the tentacles that make up his rather disturbing head unfurl and appear to drip downwards, clinging to the sides of your face so he can fix it in place, observe every detail as soon as you part your mouth to moan and gasp and babble nonsense. Each noise you make is eagerly eaten up, he tries to mimic the same motions that make you squeal as if begging for more of them.

There's no time to warn or even shriek about it, your orgasm barrels its way down your body with the intensity of a bullet, curving you in its tentacles, a breathless "oh" being all you can offer as your abdominal muscles contract and you squeeze the life out of the tendril inside you, making a mess that drips to the ground between you two.

It may not have been easy to spot in that pleasured trance, but the monster halted to watch it all unfold, mesmerized. Retracting to test the nature of the new slick now grossly painting you.

By the time you're done riding the high of your climax, you've been shifted again, this time a little lower, and you find the entity staring down to the spot where your core meets something that wasn't there before.

You'll admit you didn't have the time to properly process the full extent of his appearance when he first appeared before your stunned self. Now you're unsure if this monster had some kind of pelvic pouch, or if he merely unfolded two more tendrils out of his mass where one would expect a dick to be.

The two appendages wriggle and roll impatiently, seeking each other before parting in search of heat, of wetness, slapping against your belly and thighs. They may not look like it, but you can only guess those are his cocks. And he's considering something quietly.

It's hard to tell what he's thinking right now, the communication barrier doesn't help. Maybe he worries that the length of them will hurt you. Perhaps he wonders if he can impregnate you this way. It could just be that he thinks perhaps mating with a strange human is not a good idea, but the way those things are spreading a coat of thick precum on your skin says otherwise.

Instead of letting his stall further, a small hand reaches down to feather over the tip of one of those members, immediately getting captured and pulled at in the process. His figure rattles, hips offering a useless piston before his head snaps back up to watch you.

" ... Try putting one in. "

You murmur, knowing damn well it can't understand a single word.

He looks back down, peels back to spread your cuntlips invitingly, then seems to make up his mind, allowing the very tips of both squirming cocks to connect with your entrance. They've found warmth and they're desperate to worm in, stretching and flirting with your walls.

You grin incredulously, already trying to guess what it'll feel like, gasping as soon as he leans forward and allows more exploration. The first hint of a burn arrives as he rumbles in delight-

But a branch snaps in the distance.

And the moment is ruined because he halts immediately, your cry of frustration ignored entirely.

His body twists in an unnatural way so he can glance behind, inhuman eye seeing through greenery and undoubtedly spotting something off.

In the tense quiet that has now settled, even you pick up on the faraway mumbles of what must be people.

Eyes widening, snapping out of this episode, you begin to squirm earnestly now, wanting to see them, to find a way back, to go home!

Finally, people came looking for you!

The monster snaps back around, making you realize how truly fucked you are in these circumstances. Something flashes in that gaze, a hint of contempt, of hurt maybe.

Something too human to fall upon such a nightmarish face.

You can only scream as more tendrils dart in lightening speeds to cocoon you inside them. That single noise being all that escapes before you're forcibly gagged and physically thrown over the monster's shoulder.

His molding body swings from tree to tree in a blur of movement, taking you God knows where...

And leaving your saviors in the dust.

#Sever oc #terato tag #monsterfucker #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #monster boyfriend #tentacle monster #monster x reader #monster x you #minors dni #not sfw

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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

Text

@ramlightly graciously let me write a fic based on this comic. Check it out, it's so cool!

"Dominate Person" is a nasty spell that can fully submit a humanoid to your power. It's unclear if the victim has self-consciousness in the moment but since it's possible to throw Wisdom saving rolls I think you can feel that you are controlled.

Thanks @bhaalbaaby for beta-reading!

Puppet Master

Synopsis: Astarion is enchanted by the "Dominate Person" spell and almost kills Tav.

Tags: angst, comfort

TW: A description of physical violence

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion wants to move. To hide in the shadows and shoot the necromancer from there.

You are surrounded, but you keep doing your work.

But he can't.

His body is paralyzed, and he feels a wave of panic.

No, not this. Not "Hold Person"!

He can't do this. He can't make it.

Paralysis is like being sealed in a tomb with too little space to move. Helpless, voiceless.

What if something happens to you when he is like this?

"Astarion, use your daggers!"

Is it you? Or one of the adventurers you've teamed up this morning to kick necromancers out of the town?

Astarion just has to wait. The spell wears off when the spellcaster is down. Or a healer manages to find a way to get rid of the invisible chains.

Or...

USE THE DAGGER

The voice is intimidating, too loud, and too powerful.

It's like the Cazador's voice in his head again. Suppressing. Ordering. Torturing.

No, no...

Astarion feels his hand move toward the dagger. The strings make him move.

It's not "Hold Person".

It's "Dominate Person".

Full control of the victim. The voice your body cannot resist. You become one of them, fighting for them.

Murdering your loved ones.

KILL

Astarion rushes forward to you. To the only person he loves and cares about. The only person in the entire world who has never hurt him.

"Astarion! Help me! Astarion, what's wrong?"

Astarion pushes you into the ground with all his newfound vampiric strength.

No, no, please, stop it!

MURDER THEM

The dagger stabs through your stomach, causing an internal rupture. The second dagger wounds your chest.

You stare at him in pain, in silent prayer. You watch your lover killing you.

Blood. So much blood. Your blood.

A strong hand pulls Astarion from you, but it's not enough.

Astarion has an order from his new master.

To kill you. To make sure you are dead.

It is the worst type of dissociation. He is just an observer.

His hands rip you apart as if you are a prey he's found in the woods. Your eyes are full of terror and pain.

VAMPIRE, DRINK THE BLOOD.

No, no, I won't do it. I don't take the blood without consent... NO!

His fangs pierce into your neck, taking the blood non-stop. To satiate him, to let him feel alive.

And to drain you.

He is less than a slave. A puppet. With his locked mind in agony.

CRUSH THE SKULL

Astarion grabs a handful of your hair to smash you against a stone. Your body is motionless. Broken. Almost dead.

And then...

The agony of death pierces the mind. It's an acid flare of horror - too familiar for the undead.

It happened to him once, many years ago. When he was killed by Cazador and revived as a vampire spawn.

That's how death feels.

But he isn't dying. More than this, his body is his again.

Astarion stands up, feeling the nightmare wearing off.

Your body lies on the ground in blood and gore.

Astarion falls to his knees, his hands shaking.

And yells.

You wake up, your body sore and in terrible pain.

Astarion.

Your mind reacts with a panic attack - a near-death experience causing mental anguish. Your body remembers how Astarion jumped on you with his daggers.

How he ripped your throat.

How he almost crushed your skull.

You try to collect yourself. "Dominate Person". One of the nastiest spells necromancers know. Create a humanoid puppet and make them kill their friends and loved ones. While they silently scream, locked in their minds.

Some people never recover from that. Offing themselves, not being capable of dealing with what they did.

Damn, and what did it do to Astarion? It's what happened to him during his enslavement. Orders impossible to resist.

You want to call for him, but your body refuses to act. It remembers.

His hands, his fangs.

And his eyes in such desperation you've never seen.

Before you manage to collect yourself again, you fall into oblivion.

Astarion is silent.

His nails pierce his scalp. His teeth are clenched. His eyes open wide as he stares at the wall.

The companions who murdered the necromancers ignore him, but he doesn't feel any hostility.

Just a spell. It happens.

"Astarion... Is this your name, right?" a young fighter approaches him. "You need to take a bath."

Astarion looks at himself. His clothes are covered in blood. Your blood.

"Tav will be fine. We have good healers here. Don't blame yourself."

As if enchanted again, Astarion walks away. In silence, he locks himself in the bathroom - a small wooden room with a tub full of hot water. But instead of putting off the dirty clothes, he submerges himself fully clothed.

The fabric clings to the body, and Astarion hugs his knees. The blood mixes with water.

His back hurts as if his scars are bleeding.

He doesn't know how long he spends there. An hour? A day? A week? The water is cold. but he can't care less still hearing your cries.

The door creaks, and he notices familiar soft steps.

"Astarion? Are you alright?"

He can't look at you. Can't make himself. Can't witness the damage he caused.

"I almost killed you, and you ask how I am doing?" his voice breaks.

"The necromancer almost killed me," you say firmly. "Not you. Hey, look at me!"

Your head is heavily bandaged. There are bruises all over your face, and he knows there is much more evidence of his violence below your shirt and trousers.

"It wasn’t you. It was them. You would never do this to me."

"I did."

"You didn't. Come on, take off your clothes. They’re all wet."

He wants to make you go, make you leave. He will be happy knowing you are somewhere safe and far from him.

You touch his neck, and he can't resist. Astarion allows you to pull off his shirt and then manages to take off the trousers as well.

"I am sorry," he whispers.

"Don't." You start rubbing his back, and he flinches when your gentle fingers touch the edges of the scars.

"Tav... You need to rest..."

"Don't be selfish. I need this, too."

"What? Why?"

You take his chin and make him look up at you. "Because my body remembers you killing me. Because my subconscious tells me to run away. Because I remember these gentle hands of yours driving blades into my chest. I need to forget it before it's engraved forever. So please, don’t push me away. Not now..."

You keep rubbing his back, hands, and chest. You plant kisses on the clean skin. You wash his hair, stained blood, and gore, and make sure your touches are light and tender.

"If you want to talk about it, I am here. I know what exactly it reminded you of," you whisper in his ear.

And at that moment it's too much.

His body shudders as he starts crying, hiding his face from you in his palms. You drop the rags and wrap your hands around his neck.

You sit like that for an eternity, lulling each other until the healer starts banging into the door, demanding you to return to bed. You reluctantly let Astarion go.

You kiss him goodbye and leave, hoping the darkness won't hold his mind again, and he won't run away from you and his guilt.

The bed is comfortable as you lie motionless on a blanket. The healer did a great job patching you together. But you will need to fully recover. And gallons of healing potion.

Astarion enters the room. He wears fresh clothes, and if it wasn't for his facial expression, you could think nothing bad has happened.

"Come," you ask him. "I am sorry, but the night of passion isn't an offer today."

"Don't be ridiculous. How are you feeling?"

"Beaten. Wounded. Tired. And you?"

"Violated"

You both are silent. Finally, Astarion lies beside you and wraps his hands around you.

Your body stiffens against your will. Astarion feels it and tries to let you go.

"No. Hold me like that!"

He obliges and gently places your head on his chest. His cool skin feels nice.

Astarion loves me. He won't hurt me.

You repeat it like a prayer before finally being able to fully relax.

"I love you," he mutters. "I won't hurt you. You hear me?"

You nod.

"I love you, too," You smile, and your heart rejoices when he smiles back.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx@astarion-beloved@tallymonster@caitlincat-95@tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars

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lookingformoondrop · 6 months

Note

ok but Can you image the total shit show it’d be if reader somehow rizzed up BOTH Andrew and Ashley?? 😨 literally preying. Like imagine reader is not necessarily popular, but they definetly are one of the most attractive people in the class if not the most

Andrew Graves x Reader x Ashley Graves

TW: Some nasty cat fights between the Graves siblings, everyone has a potty mouth, mentions of unaliving eachother, not proofread, reader just wanted a cookie.

♥︎Notes: This was actually so fun to write. I always love writing arguments between my two favorite assholes and watching it burn from there. Enjoy this messy headcannon and sorry it took so long<3.♥︎

Someone call the police, ain't no one coming out of this alive.

First, we gotta start with how you rizzed up the siblings. Starting with Andrew,

I can already see that to get through Andrew's heart, you gotta be funny.

Yes I know that this brooding son of a bitch is dressed in only dark colors, but he values some humor and I feel like the way through his heart is that.

You were in class chatting with a classmate near Andrew's desk when the classmate brought up your history teacher. Uptight, strict, and a prick, you said, "If he berates me anymore for my red pen, his head will go so far up his ass he'll find his own bullshit."

Unexpectedly, both of you heard a snort. Searching for the source, you saw Andrew covering his mouth with his hand, horrified by the sound he had just made.

You smiled at him and brushed off the snort to the classmate, "I think we're hearing things."

That truly made his heart flutter.

He had started sitting closer to you after that. Whenever he got ready in the mornings for school, an extra step in his routine was to hope that you were coming too.

"Hey Andrew," you walked by Andrew's desk.

"Y -Y/N! Hi..." Andrew mentally cussed himself our for the stutter.

It was dumb...really dumb.

But it made Andrew smile and feel giddy when he walked home.

I feel like Andrew would be very tame when it came to his feelings for the reader.

He'd blush when you're around and check in with you to make sure you're okay. He'd be too embarrassed to actually ask you out, but he would definitely try to find excuses to hang around you.

Now, the only natural explanation for Ashley's involvement with you would be that she saw her brother with a dumbass grin one day and HAD to investigate.

So, how did you rizz up Ashley?

Well, it's simple, really,

She went to your house to get a clear look at you and saw you dancing through the window,

You were fun and disgustingly too kind.

("Idiot")

But somehow, that fun energy intrigued Ashley. You would smile at her randomly when she corssed the street. You had no idea who she was, and yet that smile irked Ashley (in a somehow pleasant way).

"Hey guys!" She cheerfully entered the classroom doorway, a spring in her step.

Andrew turned to look at the voice and immediately felt a muscle in his forehead twitch. "Great," he thought, "another one of Ashley's ploys so that she can harass any woman out of my life."

You, of course, were baffled at seeing this girl suddenly love up on you, but judging by Andrew's murderous smile towards her, you figured they were related somehow.

But instead of Ashley being an ass towards the reader, she began to cling to their arm.

This began a looooong sequence of events where it would go one of the following ways,

You'd go to a spot around town, invite one of the Graves siblings, and no matter how secluded, isolated, unknown, or illegal said spot was, the other Graves sibling would find and join you.

This definitely opens the possibility of more intense sibling fights.

I say intense, but it's more like,

"SAY HER NAME ONE MORE TIME ASHLEY AND I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

"DO IT ANDY, DO IT, I DARE YOU. WHAT WOULD MY Y/N THINK ABOUT A MURDERER, YOU FUCKFACE!"

The fights would get so loud that the neighbors would call the police

By the time the police came to knock at the door, Ashley was pulling Andrew's hair and trying to put him in the washing machine, while Andrew was clawing at Ashley's face and trying to smack her head against said machine.

When Andrew (and for some reason) Ashley came to school, you were startled by how banged up both of them became. Still, when you asked about it, all they did was brush you off (and stomp on each other's toes when you weren't looking).

While they did loath each other for trying to steal Y/N from one another, they never doubted the protection they felt they owed to Y/N.

Some random classmate decided to hit on you and make you verryyyy uncomfy. When you recounted the tale to Andrew, he refused to leave you alone for weeks, constantly fantasizing about bashing the guys face in.

ASHLEY ON THE OTHER HAND would absolutely demolish any shithead who tried hitting on you. "They needed to be punished!" Is the last thing she said, and the last time you ever saw that classmate.

Was it risky? Yes. Did Andrew scold her for it? Yes. Did either one of them regret it? Hell no.

Overall, the entire relationship is a complete shit show. And even if you begged them to play nice, they'd still fight over you.

"Ashley, can you help me? I can't reach that cookie jar."

Ashley sprung up from her seat. "Sure thing, N/M~" But just as Ashley was going to reach for the jar, Andrew pushed her into a pile of trash bags in the kitchen and proceeded to grab the jar for you.

"Here you go, Y/N," Andrew smiled at you while you panicked on who to check in with first.

Suddenly, from the pile of trashbags came, "Andrew, you ass!"

Fight or flight kicked in, and you immediately bolted out of their kitchen. Having remembered plenty of their fights, you decided that for today, you were perfect content with just going home. That was enough Graves for today...

"ASS-KISSER!"

"BROWN-NOSER!"

Yeah, that was plenty of Graves for today.

Thank you for the ask!<3

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thatfreshi · 7 months

Text

"He Can't Have You" (Astarion x Reader)

Seems as though Auntie Ethel doesn't go down without a fight, and that fight involves bringing out the worst in people's minds. (Also we get to see where the nickname Aster came from)

tw - mentions of abuse, panic attack

The Sunny Wetlands, later revealed to be a putrid swamp, have proven particularly difficult for Astarion. The last thing any of you expected was to find a Gur hunting him, especially this far from the city. It made your heart skip a beat, hearing the monster hunter utter his name, and you could feel the tension in the vampire. Thankfully, you did away with him quickly. By now, he's told you plenty about his past, at least as much as he could bear to tell. That haunting feeling though, knowing that Cazador was hunting him, it was paralyzing. As you searched for Mayrina, you and Astarion fell behind the rest of the group.

"Are you alright my love? I could tell them we should just set up camp for the night, rest up for dealing with the hag."

"Nonsense. What would I look like, asking everyone to stop for me? The Gur has been dealt with, let's just leave it at that darling."

"I cannot imagine dealing with the hag will be easy though."

"I'll simply run my blade through her like I do everything else. I'll be fine."

It hasn't been long enough with him to truly know if he's lying, but you certainly have a hunch. On the way back to the hag's house, Gale casts detect magic.

"She's definitely in here. We should be prepared."

Sure, she looked like a sad old woman, but those adventurers told you the truth, how she took their sister. When Karlach leads the charge, opening the door, she tries to look shocked.

"Oh dear! It's quite rude to storm into someone's house like that. Where are your manners?"

Without responding, Karlach throws her axe into the hag's shoulder, breaking the illusion, showing the monster for who she is. Covered in grime, like a witch born straight from the mud.

"It looks like I'll just have to teach you all how to be polite!"

Karlach tries to go for a second hit, but the hag teleports. Gale soon tracks her down, casting a ray of frost. Astarion follows her up the stairs while she tries to counterspell Gale. You and Lae'zel try to attack from a distance, missing because of just how quick she can move from place to place. Wyll has focused on assisting Gale, and Shadowheart is keeping track of all your party members, making sure to be there as soon as one of you takes a hit. In the meantime, she casts guidance on Astarion, who is fighting much more intensely than usual. Perhaps killing the Gur wasn't enough, and the anger was still boiling inside.

"Alright little mosquito, you want to be a thorn in my side? Poor decision."

The hag disappears from sight, and Astarion stops in his tracks. At first you think nothing of it. It almost looks like he's searching the room for where your enemy landed. For him though, the hag has cast a strong illusion, preying on his worst fear: being back in Cazador's grasp. The teahouse has transformed into the kennels, cold stone on bare feet, blood spattered across the walls.

Well, well, well. Seems as though the boy never learns! Perhaps, this time, will set you straight.

He hears the voice of Godey taunting him, threatening to pull him apart again.

"No! No, I left- I left, I was free!"

It's at this moment you realize he's not here, not in the mental sense.

"Focus on the hag, I'll try to snap him out of it."

You order the rest of the group, and they nod without a word, searching the teahouse for where she's gone now. You run up the stairs, finding a trembling pale man who has dropped his daggers.

Deep down, you like bein' leashed, don't ya?

The words bounce around in his head, a vision of Cazador appearing. You try to shake him, to mentally connect him back to his body, but it only plays into the illusion more, your actions becoming Cazador's.

"Astarion! Astarion it's just a spell, it's not real. It's not real my love, please."

Soon enough, your group finds the hag again, disrupting her concentration, releasing her grip on the elf. His breathing is terrifyingly fast, and he takes a moment to come out of the vision, grabbing a dagger from the floor and very quickly brandishing it towards you.

"DON'T."

You're trying desperately not to cry, because you know he doesn't need your shared sadness right now.

"Hey, it's okay. It's just me, Tav."

You lightly touch the hand holding the dagger, and he loosens his grip. Your hands move to take the blade from his grasp, setting his weapons to the side.

"I... I was there. I was back there."

"I know. Seems as though Ethel knows more than she should."

Astarion is still trying to root himself back in reality, you blood still racing in his dead veins.

"I can't go back Tav. Please, I can't go back."

"I know. I won't let you end up back there, ever."

He's still weary of physical touch, so you simply rub across his knuckles, trying to ground him in the moment. Your deepest urge is to wrap yourself around him and never let go, keep him in a protective case where no one can ever hurt him again, but that's not real. Being entirely safe isn't real. But damn, do you wish it was, for his sake.

As you're sitting there with him, the group makes their way back.

"We lost her. Have a feeling she went deeper into a cave somewhere."

You eye Karlach, and the two of you come to a silent understanding as you hold onto Astarion's shakey hands.

"We'll go set up camp where we entered the swamp. Take your time."

And with that, the tiefling takes the rest of your companions out of the teahouse, leaving the two of you alone.

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, cocking your head slightly.

"Why what?"

"Why would you say you won't let me end up there again? Cazador isn't some being you can simply keep me from, he's... different."

"I don't care."

"What do you mean you don't care?"

"I just, don't care. I don't care how powerful he is or whatever abilities he has, he can't have you. He just can't."

You finally do tear up now, not sure how else to explain it to the vampire.

"He most definitely cou-"

"No."

You try to blink the tears away, feeling the little callouses on his palm from over the decades.

"I want you to know what it's like to belong to someone in a pure way, not for personal gain, but just because they need you. And now that I have you... I just need you. I need you Astarion, so he can't have you. I'd die before he could take you from me."

He's silent for a moment. All forms of ownership he's known have been terrifying. Whatever could you mean by belonging to someone in a pure way? How can you belong to someone innocently? Your tadpole senses his concern, connecting without much effort at all.

"I don't need anything from you. I don't need you to do anything for me, I just need you Aster."

He smiles a little.

"Aster?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I had just been thinking about it. If you don't like it-"

"No I- I love it. Aster. Like the flower?"

"Yeah."

Somehow, the teahouse is peaceful in this moment. You feel young all over again, like you've never been in love before, like Astarion is the only being you've ever known. He interrupts your thoughts.

"Thank you, for saying all that. Maybe I wouldn't mind belonging to someone without expectations. It sounds, nice."

His voice cracks on the last word.

"Well, Aster, then you can belong to me as long as you'd like."

You swipe a piece of hair behind his ear, looking for a reason to get close to his face. As if the fates knew it to be true, you lock lips, despite the horrific smell outside and the creaking wood of the floorboards, you're somewhere else. Some place where the asters bloom in peace.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst #comfort #fluff #x reader

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confiscatedpeaches · 7 months

Text

William Afton Finds the Reader's Dirty Diary, and it's full of fantasies about him.

Minors DNI, Reader is assumed to be 18+. I tried to keep the reader gender neutral, but honestly I assumed them to be afab.

TW: Use of word "daddy" in a sexual context, breeding, smut, power imbalance, humiliation.

Life can be stressful sometimes. We all need some kind of escape, whether it be videogames, tv, or even knitting. Your escape just so happens to be a filthy little diary you keep in your bag at all times. And lately, that little guy has been full of dirty, nasty, no good fantasies about your latest crush (and boss) William Afton.

Honestly, you've always had a thing for older men. Once you stepped into his office for an interview you were hooked. You couldn't help but stare as his hands fiddled and played with his pens while he talked. You made a joke about the rainy weather you were having, and he actually laughed. God, what a laugh this man had. Infectious and giggly for someone his age. When he spoke you about melted on the spot. His accent wrapping itself around your name like a comfy sweater or delicate lingerie, taunting you with it's flourishes.

Poor thing, you were so nervous and flushed. You actually looked shocked when he offered you the job. Mouth hanging open (an invitation, really), eyes wide; you looked like a frightened little prey animal. A rabbit, even.

It started out small, just little urges and thoughts hastily written down. What it'd be like to kiss him, hold his hands, touch his hair, etc. Eventually these thoughts became much more... intimate.

--------

Monday: God, every time I step into his office for a chat I imagine him bending me over that desk of his and breeding me. I want to feel his cock balls deep inside of me. I want him to hold me down and break my back. Like, fuck me already Daddy please! Ugghhh! --------

Tuesday: Fuck, he's so hot. I heard him swear in frustration under his breath while fixing foxy. The thought of milking him dry with my tongue is intoxicating. I touched myself in the bathroom while thinking of him. Damn it, I'm so wet now. I want to swallow his cum so bad. He's so. fucking. hot. --------

Wednesday: Mr. Afton, if only you knew how bad I want you. Touching myself to you late at night, cumming while crying out your name. I want you to devour me. Let me be your little slut. I'd be so good for you Daddy if only you'd let me. Please like me back. I want him. I want him so bad.

--------

On and on, filling pages upon pages full of smut. Mentally letting him cuddle, kiss, fuck, and squeeze you endlessly. Of course, you knew he would never feel the same way about you. You were just a young little wage worker. You were nothing more than a typical employee. He was polite and kind to you, but never overly so. Sometimes it seemed like he was flirting, but honestly you chalked that up to you projecting your feelings onto him.

Earlier this morning for example, he called you into his office. He assured you that you weren't in any trouble, he just wanted to check up on you. You seemed a little of out it lately and he wanted to make sure you were okay. He even poured you a cup of coffee. He was such a nice older man, acting almost like a caring father figure. (So what, you have daddy issues, don't we all.) You wished he could be more than that, but you accepted this would have to do for now.

Before letting you return to work, he placed his hand on your shoulder and looked down into your eyes.

"I really like you, y/n. You're a good, loyal worker, and I deeply respect that."

You beamed up at him with a stupid smile on your face. Mr. Afton? Liking and respecting you? Dear god, you must have died and gone to heaven. The heat from his hand sunk down into your core. You imagined his fingers digging deep into your skin, holding you down. You imagined his tongue caressing your neck, lips sucking hungrily at your flesh, his chest pressed against you. Hot blood rushed to your cheeks engulfing your face. He hummed slightly at this before lifting his hand. The spot on your shoulder feeling empty and void at his absence.

"I should really be getting back to work." You stammer, before quickly grabbing your things and fleeing the suddenly humid and intimate office.

-----

About twenty minutes pass before you regain composure. The morning crowd passes by and things begin to slow into their regular routine. Still wet and horny from the crumb of attention he fed you, you rummaged through your bag for your diary, desperate to write down your latest fantasy. Strangely, it's not in it's usual pocket. It's not in the bigger pocket either. In fact, it doesn't appear to be in your bag at all.

No. No, no, no. There is no way you lost that diary. The filthy, disgusting, and embarrassing diary has managed to escape the confines of your bag and is now roaming about the pizzeria.

Panicked, you check the floor behind the counter. Nothing. You check the backrooms. Also, nothing. The kitchen: nothing. The bathrooms: nothing. After systematically checking every room in the entire god damn building you realize you left one room unchecked: Mr. Afton's office.

This cannot be happening.

Even if it is in his office, you made sure to put in bold letters "PROPERTY OF Y/N. PLEASE DO NOT READ" on the front. Everything is going to be okay, it's probably just sitting on his desk waiting for you to come looking for it.

With your heart in your throat, you knock on his office door.

"Who is it?" He asks from inside.

"Y/N." You respond.

"Oh, come in then."

Ah good, so he hasn't read it yet. You open the door.

Sitting with his feet up and crossed on his desk, with one hand rubbing at his croch, he sat. With his other hand, he held up your dirty little diary; holding it wide open. His face was obscured by the book, but he appeared to be deep into it's pages.

"Nice little diary you have here doll."

He tilts his head, revealing a wide and wicked grin.

"Aren't you curious about the real thing?"

You freeze. Unsure if you should respond, or run away and never come back. The room suddenly becomes hot and oppressive. Your chest tightens.

"Mr. Afton! It's not what you think! Please, give it back!"

He laughs.

"I think it is exactly what I think it is love. Got the hots for your boss, have you?"

"I... please... Please don't be angry."

"Oh I'm the opposite of angry love. Be a dear and shut the door behind you. We need to have a little 'chat'."

Swallowing hard, you click the door shut behind you. You find yourself alone with your boss and your filthy diary. He beckons you over. You obey without hesitation, mentally preparing yourself for the worst firing you'll ever experience. He pulls his legs from his desk before standing up from his chair. He completely towers over you. You realize you've never been this close to him before.

"Explain yourself. How exactly, is this not what I think it is?" He teases.

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. Looking down at the floor, you speak in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

"I... I... it's not... it's fiction... I didn't mean anything by it. I... don't mean what is written in there... it's not-"

"Well, it says here" He lifts up the journal and flips back a couple pages.

With absolute glee, he continues: "Ah yes, 'He is so attractive. Mr. Afton, please rail me and pound my tight little hole until I beg to cum. Fill me up and make me yours. Please Daddy, I need this. Let me be your little whore.'"

Shame fills your veins. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. He actually read it. Every thought, every fantasy you've ever had about him was written in that diary. Now he knew them all.

"...please... let me go..."

He leans in close, his hot breath and lips grazing against your ear.

"No, I think it's too late for that dear."

One of his hands trails up your side and around your waist. The other teases your collar and travels down to your stomach.

"You know... I would love to fulfil each and every one of those filthy little fantasies." He says as his hand tugs the button free from your jeans.

"You just have to let me... you will let me, won't you?"

He kisses at your neck.

"Yes... please.." You coo into his ear.

In a flash, he lifts you up and sets you on his desk. His hand guiding you to lay back on the dark oak wood. Papers, pens, and trinkets fall to the floor. You look up at him and watch as he strips off your bottoms. He carelessly tosses them aside, his hands returning to part your legs. He looks down at your wet sex and bites his bottom lip. His eyes are full of desire, he looks like a starving man who has just found his next meal. A meal that has been perfectly dressed and prepared for him and him alone.

He pulls down his pants to reveal his fully erect cock. The tip red and glistening with precum. His veiny hands wrap around his shaft. He teases your opening with his tip, before giving it a good few pumps.

"Already so wet for me, but not wet enough."

His masculine hand reaches down as he slides in a finger. Curling up inside of you, he begins pumping your sweet spot. You moan and writhe under him. Just when you though it couldn't get anymore intense, he slips in another finger. He greedily tugs and pulls inside of you. Realizing how loud you're becoming, you cover your mouth. His free hand pulls your arm away.

"No, no no bunny. Let me hear you. Say my name"

"Will.. William Afton.. mmmphhhh..."

"Good bunny. Keep crying for me, begging for me."

Your body begins to shake. Your moans becoming louder and harder to understand as a mounting pressure builds within you.

"Williammm... Aft..ahhh..."

Hot sticky fluids gush out of you, covering his hand and dripping down your thighs. His hand pulls away, only to be replaced by the head of his cock. Slowly, he pushes himself into you. A guttural sound escapes him. He fills you up all the way until you feel his sack pressing against your hips hard.

Rhythmically, he thrusts into you. Soon his office is full of the wet sound of him slapping against you. His hands grab and dig into the fleshy sides of your hips. Leaning over you, he finds an angle to reach even further inside. His lips find yours, tongue welcoming itself into your mouth.

He moves faster and faster, like an animal desperate to reproduce. Desperate to breed you. You gasp for air.

"Mmm... cum inside of me please.... Daddy... ah..." You beg.

"Mgh... oh... don't worry angel.. I will..."

Your insides twist and coil, becoming hotter and tighter with each thrust. You arch your back, cumming on his cock. Unable to contain himself any longer, he shoots thick ropes deep into your guts.

You both lay there, panting and exhausted. Wrapped up in each other's embrace.

"Bloody hell... if only you knew how long I wanted this... bet you're glad I found that journal eh?" He laughs.

This was so much better than those fantasies. Much better.

#william afton x reader #william afton smut

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bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

ahhhkk i'm so in love with yan priest! part 3 maybe? 🫣

TW: Threats, Manipulation, mentions kidnapping, power imbalance, erroneous use of religion, minors DNI

—

Walking down the dilapidated steps to the basement, he held his breath to avoid inhaling the dust caking the walls from years of neglect and unuse. He’d made a mental note to assign some of the new initiates to scrub it clean when they were safe to work in silence.

A judging gaze swept from wall to wall, repressing a sigh as he promised to do better. No one was perfect, something he knew instinctively. Hours of praying and offering fealty to the goddess let him know there were many areas he was lacking.

Before, he seemed content to simply accept it as truth, but his recent discovery set alight a dangerous desire to be more than the cap containing the mediocrity of human existence. He wanted to appear perfect, unblemished by the world’s greed and untouched internally by hate.

He chanted softly, light gathering around his hands before he set the full tray he was carrying on a wooden table. Bringing the light to the torch he watched as his hands glowed from the soft flame that began to spread light throughout the room.

The priest knew he was long way from his goal when he turned and glowing eyes met his.

It would happen in due time. Until then, he wasn’t completely against indulging in simple pleasures of the flesh. The goddess would understand.

“How are you?” his voice strong and carrying through the wide enclosure though he spoke softly. Picking up the tray, he walked closer to the bars that held one of the few treasures that life had to offer. “I seem to recall you weren’t feeling too well so I brought some things for your throat and that headache of yours.”

Walking closer to the bars, he couldn’t help but feel like a predator from the way your eyes watched him warily.

He stooped to set down the tray and push it through the little opening carved in the bars to allow meals for their guests, eyes widening when he stood and was face to face with his rebellious captive.

Faster than his eyes could follow, your arm snaked through the bars and grabbed a fistful of his priest’s robes before yanking him to meet your face against the bars. Was he the prey?

“Let. Me. Out.” you growled hoarsely.

He looked between your eyes, his own softening at the sight of anger and hurt bleeding through your gaze.

“Did you spend all night yelling again?” he asked, cocking his head to the side with a concerned expression. “I’ve already told you that holy power can only heal the damage to a certain extent. You have to give yourself time to heal.”

“Shut up.” you told him, shaking him forcefully as you shook your head. “Shut up. Stop pretending like you care about me. I wouldn’t be in this cage if it wasn’t for you.”

“You’re right.” he said, catching you off guard.

You stood frozen as his hand slowly reached through the bar before cupping the side of your face with a gentleness you didn’t know he was capable of. Sliding his hand down your face you felt something ominous from the light brush against your lips before his fingers were gently wrapping themselves around your neck.

You felt the familiar warmth of power flow into you, relieving the scratching tension in your throat as his cold voice said, “If it weren’t for me you’d be dead somewhere, a used up pawn in someone else’s game.”

You jerked away from his touch, hand touching your throat as you glared at him. He returned your look with a simple smile, bringing his hands together and beginning to chant.

You watched, as you had the last days you spent awake, as the bars slowly disintegrated before disappearing in a burst of brilliant light that emanated from the priest. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed in concentration as he finished the remainder of the chant.

You knew from experience that there was no point running to the stairs. The bars of your cage had replaced the open doorway that led to your enclosure. You could bang on the bars, pull at them until your fingers bled, but they were just as strong if not stronger than the bars that initially held you captive in half of the room. You could attack him, hoping to interrupt his incantation, but an unknown force would throw you back and the bars would be up before you could recover the stolen breath in your lungs. It didn’t help that he would take it all in stride. Looking at you with pity in his gaze before offering to heal your new wounds and bruises.

The furniture reconfigured itself to a bedroom’s design, the priest walking to pull out a chair in front of the wooden table to sit down as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You were once again, frozen, mesmerized as you finally allowed yourself to watch the transformation instead of making an escape.

“I could’ve taught you how to do something like this if you would’ve taken me up on my offer.”

Your gaping surprise turned into stony silence as you pierced him with a glare.

“I already explained to you that I have my family to take care of.”

“You are taking care of them.” he said, sweeping a hand out. “They’re being sent ten times the salary you made as a cadet in your name. Your family will want for nothing.”

You felt a rising desperation as you sensed that the argument wasn’t going to be in your favor.

“But that’s-”

“Your mother won’t have to work another day in her life. She can hire others to replace your younger siblings on the farm. They can go to school if they desire or laze in luxury for the rest of their natural born lives. What is so unsatisfying about this deal?”

“I don’t want to be here!”

Silence.

It spread between the two of you, tension thickening in the air. You felt uneasy from his unchanging expression, unsure if you preferred the naturally cold gaze to the soft concern that often adorned his features when it was concerning you. Each felt equally dangerous.

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether you should say something by way of explanation, but you didn’t owe it to him. You didn’t owe him anything. The priest you’d once admired had completely disappeared into this possessive stranger when you’d finally made up your mind to reject the offer to work under him.

The deal was nice, but you didn’t think temple work suited you. Hours spent cleaning and praying, offering obeisance to the goddess day after day before being cooped up in a room to memorize scriptures. It was a stuffy life.

A life that lacked adventure, change, freedom.

You wanted to scoff at where that line of thinking had gotten you.

Your reward after fighting for years that bled together like a singular memory was a cell, cold and dark, deep underground where no one would ever hear you scream.

You’d become paranoid.

Hearing things that weren’t there, seeing figures lurk in the shadows. You continuously had to remind yourself that it wasn’t real. That you were alone down here. It only made you spiral further.

Would he forget you down here? He came every day with that light you had begun to unconsciously crave, brightening the dreary room to offer you food and water.

It didn’t seem likely from the way his eyes never left your body, watching you so carefully as if he’d miss a simple flutter of your eyelashes if he looked away for even a moment.

It was disgusting how relieved you felt. You knew there was no chance of you starving, having been forgotten in your prison but a part of you resented him for it. Resented his bleeding concern, his presence, his kind memory that was constantly being overwritten by the worshiping hunger in his eyes. A hunger that he seemed to derive pleasure from the longer he left it to rot and spread. An unsettling feeling, being left to wonder when his eyes would resemble a starved animal’s, unthinking and vicious.

“You should eat before your food gets cold.” he said.

Your eyes left his to trail to the tray of food.

A part of you wanted to ignore him, but a gnawing hunger moved your body before you could deny yourself the pleasure of his vexation.

Picking up the tray filled with things you liked, you reluctantly sat across from him.

The priest reached into his robes to offer you utensils to eat your meal with and it only sparked further irritation in you.

What was with this needy reliance?

You were stuck underground, presumably unknown to the other priests since he was your only visitor, one that you received twice a day every day. You’d ask him to come more often before being hit with a knowing yet longing gaze, the combination making the hairs on your arm stand on end. You wanted to see if there was a way out, knowing you could only search when he was here, but your hope died when he rejected you. Didn’t want the others becoming suspicious of his frequent trips to the basement.

He brought your meals, offering small incentives like books to pass the time with when you showed rare compliance. You could only read in his presence since he refused to leave the light burning despite your repetitive ignored pleas not to be left in the dark.

You were left wondering what his angle was, leaving you to fumble around in the dark which became increasingly exasperating when you had to relieve yourself. You supposed it went back to him slowly forcing you to rely on him for things as intimate as your vision.

It almost became natural, feeling that uncomfortable gaze dissecting you as you brought a spoon to your mouth, relishing the taste that permeated your mouth.

You often wondered where your meals came from considering the priest’s were resigned to eating bread and water unless it was a special occasion. For some reason you couldn’t picture him cooking in a kitchen, preparing your food in a methodical manner as he followed detailed instructions to make the dishes, but you didn’t ask. You weren’t back to having carefree conversations with the priest you’d once regarded as a friend. You didn’t know the person sitting in front of you.

He cleared his throat and you looked up to meet his disapproving gaze. You looked on with a sour expression, but allowed the spoon to clank against the bowl as you reluctantly took his outstretched hand.

“Goddess, we come to you today to offer thanks.”

He continued his prayer, offering thanks for the food you were eating and praying that you received her blessings as your body was nourished. You’d considered telling him where he could go shove his prayers, but after witnessing that cold, hard stare as he walked away with your tray, you were sure you didn��t want to see it again. Fasting would be your penance and there was no arguing with someone who’d grown up knowing a body would be just fine without food for a couple of days.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t ever experienced going without food for a day or two. With a big family and an uncertain crop yield, you made sacrifices as the oldest to make sure your younger siblings were well cared for. But farm work among other responsibilities kept your mind off of the emptiness in your stomach. You had to go days without food out in the field. Exhausted and constantly weary, it was hell but you could rely on your bestfriend to take your mind off of the pit growing inside of you. In your prison, darkness was your only comfort and it didn’t offer much. It was all you could think about as you tried to sleep off the gnawing sensation.

You wanted to be angry at the priest, but he’d relinquished his own meals for the duration of your punishment—penance—making it difficult to complain when you saw how unaffected he was by your “whining.”

Losing another meal was the last thing you wanted.

“And let us thank you for continual guidance and love as we learn to appreciate where fate takes us. You know all and with open hearts and minds we bring ourselves underneath your infinite wisdom to gain a speck of understanding of your great plan.”

His thumb brushed over the top of your hand and you made eye contact with him as he said, “Even as we resist your design for truth and lack understanding for the things you will.”

Eyes widening at his implication, you wrenched your hands out of his grip, but his fingers slapped around your wrists like shackles before you managed to pull away. You struggled, but he continued his prayer as if you were listening faithfully.

When he let go of your hands you rubbed the raw area glaring at him as you stared at the food in front of you.

A part of you was nauseous, unwilling to take even a bite after that self serving prayer of his.

“You should take more time to understand that your sacrifice is a blessing.”

And he continued to disgust you further.

“Can you stop?”

“I don’t expect you to get it right away, but eventually you’ll learn that this was for the best.”

“Stop!” you yelled, the word emphasized by the fist that slammed down on the wooden table that creaked under the force of your blow.

“Prayer will help with impatience and anger. We can begin after you finish your meal.”

You hated his unbothered tone. It was as if he didn’t hear a word you said.

You couldn’t deny that prayer was often something you turned to whenever someone you loved got sick, or if someone you cared about was going through a rough time. It even offered you solace on the difficulties you faced, but you doubted the goddess would be willing to listen to your prayers when it was her faithful servant who’d trapped you 40 feet below ground in the first place.

It was hypocritical and hearing those words come out of his mouth made you want to scream. You didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. You didn’t want to listen to his excuses disguised as wisdom and concern.

Shoving a warm spoon of soup in your mouth, you tried to bite down the anger and restlessness because any emotion other than obedience wouldn’t bode well for you. It was against your better nature. Against all of the training you’d received. You’d learned the proper way to act if you ever became a prisoner of war, but your training didn’t cover the behavior a soldier should take, should your imprisoner be one of the priests meant to aide you. He kept saying that this was for your benefit and it wasn’t like he was wrong when he claimed that you would probably be just another body, used until the senseless fighting ceased, but this was wrong. Forcing you to remain in this damp cell while others, while your best friend, risked their life. If this had something to do with his personal belief, that war was wrong, where were his other victims? The other soldiers he’d whisked away from the battlefield? It’d make sense to separate you, but he couldn’t imagine the church having so many neglected rooms. Cleanliness was next to godliness, as the saying went. And there was more than enough space down here for at least one other person.

You hated to admit it, but if he did have another person trapped, you wished they were here with you. A companion against the silent darkness was a guilty craving you couldn’t tame and those disgusting feelings of relief that came when he showed his face were only growing the longer you were forced to sit in isolation.

But there was the other possibility. That he’d taken you alone.

The thought erected goosebumps on your arms. It was insane, but as little as he visited you, it didn’t make sense for him to come twice a day and care for multiple captives while remaining undetected. But if this was true, it begged the question, why you?

You didn’t want to be crass, but you weren’t really special. Reasonably attractive by your own standards, fit because of the training you had to keep up with, and not an awful person. It described most of the others you spent most of your time with. You weren’t this great conversationalist that was able to enrapture everyone in the room, or possessed the beauty that could do the same. There were others with better bodies, minds and understanding that dwarfed your capabilities in every way, so why did he take you? You’d only interacted on a handful of occasions, none of which were spectacularly worthy of note. In fact, your initial interaction was pretty embarrassing since you were unable to remain conscious.

“Are you finished?” he asked, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You knew it was no use thinking about questions he would never answer.

Nodding your head, you watched as he picked them up before placing them off the side. He’d take them with him when he left and wash them. Wouldn’t leave you with anything you could possibly make a weapon out of. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He came back to the table, extending his hands for you to place your own in. It wasn’t a question. If you refused to pray with him, your obeisance would be a fast that would last until your stomach threatened to cave in on itself.

Placing your hands in his, you noted the way he took a deep breath before closing his eyes. It was more of a calming gesture than one meant to prepare him for prayer.

“Dear Goddess, we come to you today to offer obeisance.”

He started all of his prayers the same.

Giving thanks, proferring gifts to be offered at a later time, out of sight, and pleading for forgiveness as he repented for his mortal sins. He always seemed to linger in repentance.

His hands would crush yours in his grip, holding you as if he’d never let you go, worrying you when you would begin to feel pain. The first couple of times he looked guilty when you protested, seeing the bruises form underneath your knuckles, but these days he remained indignant. Uncaring about your temporary pain as he struggled with something you couldn’t begin to understand.

It always lasted too long.

You were grateful that he didn’t force you to kneel as he had the first couple of days. It was rough on your knees and the friction rubbed them raw the longer you stayed in that position. It was a show of piety, he would say when you complained, but when he caught you glaring at him angrily, he decided that sitting across from each other would be better.

For you or for him, he wouldn’t say.

You were silent, thinking about what your mother was doing, whether she was happy, whether she ever wondered where you were, and why you never wrote.

If your siblings missed you. If they enjoyed school, assuming the priest kept his word and they were being paid for your imprisonment.

Enough to never want for anything.

You wondered if your best friend was okay. If she was still alive and if she was still serving.

It made you feel incredibly empty.

Having no one to talk to other than your kidnapper. Wondering how others lived as your own life came to a grinding halt. How you could expect another year of this, wondering if you could even handle another day.

You felt tears well up in your eyes.

For the first time, you felt it was all hopeless.

You couldn’t keep the emotion welling up inside of you to yourself as you choked on your tears. The priest looked shock, his grip loosening on your limp hands as he looked at you, unsure how to respond. He was used to putting up with your anger, your hatred, but something warm filled him at the sight of your tears.

“It’s okay.” he said simply, releasing a hand to brush the tears flooding from your eyes.

He got up, coming around the table despite you shaking your head, lazily attempting to pull your hand away to refuse him, but you couldn’t help the desperate need for closeness as he wrapped his arms around you. He comforted you gently and despite your better judgement, you wrapped your arms around him. Burying your face in his robes as he cried.

Head tilted towards the goddess, he sighed as he gripped the shirt around your back.

“Thank you,” he offered, solemnly ending his prayer.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yandere priest

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yourlocaltreesimp · 5 months

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Tears: My cold, dark, rotten heart feels no affection for anyone.

Y/N: *sneezes*

Tears: Are you sick? Where's your tunic?

۵♡۵

Yan!Tears headcannons

tw: yandarism, he goes a bit feral, obsession, spoilers for totk, kidnapping

My belief is that Tears joined the chain about midway through his journey. He was freshly abandoned by the princess and now has to defend an entirely new hyrule against entirely new threats. And he began to crack. Not readily noticeable, but certainly enough to wear down his sanity. He was already a little more in the untamed side at the end of his last journey, but he can only spiral further from there. He’s gotten horribly good at keeping up that public mask now people know who he is, good enough to fool those not willing to see the cracks.

This slow decline of his mental health is what made him crack the second he saw you. And that’s not an exaggeration either. He held no regard for the useless fools that surrounded you and cared little for their blades, you’d been returned to him. He could feel your skin against his, breathe you in wholly, sense your heart fluttering, He had you. Finally. He did not care if he needed to claw, kick, bite, rip or tear every single thing and person to keep you.

Once he’s able to barter his way into traveling alongside the chain, i’m sorry. Your fate is sealed. No god nor force of nature could stop him.

As a small side note, the gloom definitely affected him to further along his decent. It ate away at his inherently good qualities until all he’s left with is his base instincts and his desire. Any kind action has its alterier motive, every sweet word laced with his own type of venom. It’s left him so primal and yet so intelligent. He can reason without empathy for those that will be hurt getting in the way. He can swing the sword without caring for the repercussions. He’s the ‘Hero’. Not like anyone’s going to stop him.

Initially, his affection borders on innocent enough. Unhealthily attached? Yeah. Obsessive? Most definitely. But reaching its limit? No, not nearly. It begins slow enough, constantly vying to be by your side. He always has an arm around your waist or an hand entangled in your own, but he’s always near. Always.

It develops quick enough. Threats to those who get a little too close to you, at first as genuine protection, but it becomes his claim. Word spreads quick through the tiny villages that you are not to be preyed on. Not by them at least. He’s allowed to eye your neck, especially considering his endless gifts adorn it. You have everything short of a ring on your finger, he’s saving that until the others can’t interrupt.

He’d scare you into loving him. This world is a very dangerous place, but how convenient his arms are wide open to you. What a coincidence that the horrid world leaves you be when his arm is wrapped around your waist.

But don’t be a fool. Leave and this protection drops immediately. You’ll learn. You’ll learn when the yiga find you or when you stumble into some constructs or a mysterious patch of gloom hands appears.

The more he succumbs to the influence of the malice, the more the gloom eases to its will. The more cooperative he is to loosing himself, the more control he has.

Don’t leave him.

So many have already.

He can’t let you slip away too.

He’d kidnap you. There’s a basement just for you in that custom house of his. Or maybe down a well somewhere… or maybe the gerudo prison if you’re less accommodating to his demands. You’ll stay his. And you’ll learn to like it weather you want to or not.

#submission #linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #yandere linked universe #linked universe x reader #link x reader #link x you #yandere linked universe x reader #x reader #yandere link x reader #fir’s library #lu tears #lu tears x reader #totk link

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yandereunsolved · 2 months

Text

tw: yandere themes, murder, gore, & a bit of spice

yandere James Patrick March who saw you walking through his hotel halls and had to have you all for himself.

yandere James Patrick March who threatens every entity in his hotel. If anyone so much as touches a hair on your head, they'll end up with a second death at the hands of a suave psychotic mass murderer.

yandere James Patrick March who leaves parts of dead bodies at your door as a present— like how a cat gives their owner a mouse as a sign of affection.

yandere James Patrick March who writes the most intimate and goery love letters to you. He signs off his initials 'JPM' with the blood of his victims. The longer he does it, the more likely it is that he's signed it with his own blood.

yandere James Patrick March who doesn't let you leave, even if you don't realize why. Oh, you are in the city for only a night? Suddenly, everyone you love and care about is sending you text messages about how they don't need how— how you should stay there. You can't pay? The mysterious owner of the hotel has waved all the fees. Your stay is free as long as you are here. Need a job?The hotel has a position has a maid. It's so easy. You barely have any rooms to clean. Are you scared of the hotel? Every ghost (and the handful of living people) are incredibly nice to you. They treat you like a god(dess).

yandere James Patrick March who watches you from the shadows. Whether you be searching for the ice machine or just exploring. He's always there. His eyes analyzing you like a predator who found their favorite prey. He's memorized every curve of your body and every preference of yours.

yandere James Patrick March who protects you while you explore. He's possessive. He's gotta make sure the Countess doesn't get her hands on you. He's gotta make sure that no ghost touches you. He's gotta make sure. Just incase.

yandere James Patrick March who refuses to reveal himself to you as of yet. He adores watching those cogs in your mind turn.

yandere James Patrick March who is obsessed with watching your complex range of emotions. Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Fear. Love. Lust. Adoration. Obsession. Need. Carnal need. All those precious, precious feelings. He needs to see all of those emotions on your delectable little features.

yandere James Patrick March who buys his darling the most expensive delicacies the world can offer. He places them right in front of you when you aren't looking. They always have bloody utensils with them. Just to remind you who it is that you belong to. What he is able to do to anyone that crosses the either of you.

yandere James Patrick March who always kills his victims in your vicinity. When you are sleeping he kills one of them in the next room. It makes his blood pump— thinking about that fearful expression you must be making. That small quiver on your addictive lips that he has not yet had the pleasure to taste. How tempting you must look in your night clothes. Of course, he's a gentleman. He makes sure that you get enough sleep beforehand. He doesn't want his precious jewel having sleep deprivation.

yandere James Patrick March who reveals himself to you right after a fresh kill. Blood is dripping down his bare chest, his pants are slightly unbuttoned, and his boxers are hugging his v-line. He flashes you his award winning smile. He gets down on one knee and presents you with the heart of his latest victim.

yandere James Patrick March who allows himself to indulge in your horrified shrieks. Who wants nothing more than to take you right then and there. Who wants to see the blood all over both of your bodies. Who wants to leaves long lasting marks that will scar you physically and mentally.

yandere James Patrick March who confesses this undying love to you in that very moment. He wants nothing more than to have you in his grasp— hugging, kissing, cuddling, choking, cutting, killing... and everything else in-between.

yandere James Patrick March who will never force himself upon you. He will preach his undying love and manipulate you, but never soil you with unwanted touches. Perhaps a few cuts, though. He sees those things as vastly different.

yandere James Patrick March who left you quickly as he came. He placed the heart on your bed and was gone in the blink of an eye.

yandere James Patrick March who periodically visits you from then on. Sometimes he gifts you things and others he does his best to spark up conversations.

yandere James Patrick March who will gladly threaten you with a weapon to get you to talk to him. He would actually be over the moon. Your fear is intoxicating to him. It makes him all giddy inside. He feels alive.

yandere James Patrick March who always gets that high from you. That special feeling he so zealously covets. That thing that trumps that special high he gets when killing. He's addicted. Addicted to you and your very presence.

yandere James Patrick March who will invite you to private dinners. Who will wear his finest clothing. Then he addresses your concerns and fully tells you everything. He tells you of how he has courted you and of how he confessed his love. He speaks with hearts in his eyes. If you disagree or break his trance... your inevitable death will come much sooner than expected.

yandere James Patrick March who then demands you cut off contact with anyone who presents as male. He doesn't want anyone having a chance with you. He's almost like a toddler in that way. A murderous toddler with a mustache.

yandere James Patrick March who is a dangerous man who lusts after power. A man that has only one weakness— you being able to step out of the hotel. This is only a momentary weakness. Another step in his plan. Do not play the 'I can leave and you can't' card too many times. Lest it fall from your hand and James picks it up.

yandere James Patrick March who immediately moves you into his, now your..., private suite.

yandere James Patrick March who leaves different pieces of clothing he'd like to see you in on your shared bed.

yandere James Patrick March who asks you how he should kill his next victim.

yandere James Patrick March who is ready to make you his eternal bride/groom/partner.

yandere James Patrick March who always makes sure not to scare you too much. His version of too much, mind you. At least until he's trapped you in here for all eternity with him. There's no need for him to rush things. He has all the time in the world.

#american horror story #james patrick march #yandere james patrick march #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #ahs hotel #jpm x reader #jpm #horror romance #james patrick march x reader #yandere james patrick march x reader #headcanon #yandere themes

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bouncybongfairy · 2 months

Note

Hello I have an idea. I don’t know if I already sent you something but I don’t think I did so anyways here is my idea

So void gets into stiles body and he’s walking around thinking about his plans until his friend y/n and asks what’s wrong with him they figure out that stiles is actually void and they start talking back in forth until void says something that’s makes y/n’s werwolf suddenly come out and I mean like eyes glowing and fangs come out and then they start talking about y/n’s werewolf power and that she is a hybrid werewolf and then void asks what y/n does with there “prey” and they say I like to play with my food. He says do to me what you do to your “prey” and she does just that and she pins him to the ground and starts to claw at his back and bits his shoulder but he likes it and it just goes down from there.

If you do it then thank you but if you don’t it’s okay, you probably have better things to worry about :) :)

Cat and Mouse Games

Void Stiles x Werewolf Reader

Summary: Thinking Stiles asked you to hang out excited you. After going on a late night hike, he reveals himself to be Void. He teases and gaslights you into letting him fuck the shit out of you.

Word Count: 2.0k+

TW: Rough Smut, Blood Kink, CNC kink.

Account Ref: @kaionyx

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It was Friday and you could barely keep your eyes open on the bus. Sleep deprived, also mentally exhausted from the academic and social aspects of school. Regardless of your exhaustion, Stiles invited you to hang out tonight, lately he’s been his own little world. Isolating himself and acting quite withdrawn when he did converse with you. That being said, you didn’t want to brush him off. After getting home you jumped in the shower. Welcoming the hot water burning your shoulders and back. Hoping it would loosen the tightness in your muscles. You cut the water off and stepped out of the tub. After wrapping your hair in a towel, you sit down at your vanity. Drawing a deep breath in and letting it out with a sigh, you start doing your make-up. Of course you wanted to impress, up until a couple weeks ago you thought there was something between the two of you. So now that he was showing interest in you again, it was important that you made your feelings clear. Not to mention Stiles was already so familiar with the supernatural. Once you were ready you texted him to come pick you up. Scrambling to gather your things together while waiting. He texted you a simple: here. Normally he would have called but you brushed that off and made your way outside.

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, climbing into the passenger seat of his beat up Jeep.

“How are you?” he asked without looking over.

“I’m pretty good, tired but good. What about you? I feel like we haven’t hung out in forever,” you chuckled, clicking your seatbelt into place.

“Yeah sorry, I just been discovered new things about myself,” he said.

“Oooo, so mysterious,” you laugh before continuing, “are you okay though, like mentally? Sorry I don’t mean to pry and you don’t have to answer, I just noticed you’ve been kinda withdrawn lately. Even from Scott,” you said, treading very lightly.

“I appreciated the concern but like I said, I’ve just been in my own head lately. Realizing things about myself that I needed to deal with, you know?” he asked.

“Well, I’m just glad that you’re doing better than I thought. I totally understand what you mean, when I get in my head a lot, I usually go on a hike and it really helps. You know, like the fresh air and everything,” you said.

“That’s crazy because I’ve been doing the same lately. Like nightly walks and stuff to clear my head, can I show you a cool trail I found? It’s one of my favorites,” he suggested and you agreed.

The ride was pretty chill, just making small talk while the radio played quietly in the background. Even though there was nothing that really stuck out, something was off. Stiles was normally very bubbly and bright. Tonight he was anything but that. Extremely still and calm, never looking over at you when speaking. Keeping his eyes steadily on the road. All his laughs and chuckles seemed forced and dry. Not only that but it was just a feeling in your gut. Finally getting to the hiking trail, your suspicions only grew from there. The conversation was just so surface level, commenting on different plants and random shit. Another thing you noticed, was how unaffected he seemed to be by the cold weather. Eventually you stop entertaining the conversation, just walking in slightly uncomfortable silence.

“It’s a really nice trail right?” he asks.

“Yeah there are a lot of little critters running around, it’s nice to see how lively it is tonight,” you said.

“Yeah it’s real unfortunate,” he sighed which made your brows furrow.

“Unfortunate?” you asked.

“Well of course, all this prey, just going to waste,” he said, your heart began to race.

“I’m confused, what do you mean by that,” you asked, slowing your pace down.

“Oh it’s no secret that you’ve been confused this whole time. Do you think you were good at hiding it? It’s obvious that you think something is off about me, have you come to a conclusion as to why?” he asked, voiced laced with condescension.

Immediately the realization hits you like a truck; he was Void. Your brain starts flooding with worse case scenarios and questions. Involuntarily your eyes begin to glow and claws come out. Unsure of what to do you just stand and watch him. Nothing in his body language indicated to you that he would try to hurt you. At the same time, you knew what Void was capable of.

“You know Stiles is still in here and I can’t deny the sexual fantasies he has about you are truly a sight to behold. He is a nasty little guy. He likes the fact that you’re stronger than him. He’s never told you this but watching you hunt gives him a rush like no other. Can’t say I don’t agree-” he tried to continue but was interrupted.

“What’s your point? Honestly, like… seriously are you just gonna ramble till we both drop dead?” you asked

“Egar are we? Well, like I said I would be lying if I didn’t indulge myself in his fantasies. I mean, look how powerful you are, quite literally an apex predator. Teeth sharper than daggers, claws that can shred flesh like it’s paper. Don’t you wanna give in to your natural instincts?” he asked, making such strong eye contact that you were getting uncomfortable. Shifting back and forth, the fight or flight reflex tethering on the edge of uncontrollable. When you didn’t respond, he continued,

“When you first got turned, it took you a couple months until you could control your impulses right? I just wanna see those instincts in person, how do you normally kill your prey?” he asks.

“I like to play with it before going for the kill, like hobbling it before finishing the job,” you say quietly, fearing the silence would make you appear weak.

“Say it with your chest, why are you so ashamed of your biological instincts?” he asks, tilting his head to the side a bit, “Show me how you hunt, like i’m your prey,” he half demands half asks.

“You want me to attack you?” your heart was beating out of your chest, “that’s- I’m not doing that, why would you even want that?” you ask, taking a few steps back.

“I want to feel your internal conflict, the shift from the good girl persona you sell to well and pull out what’s underneath. A whore that gets off on the most shameful activities. You may fool yourself, however I’m not so easily persuaded,” he said approaching you, he was trying to taunt you and it was working.

Scott had warned you about how dangerous Void was, that he was the definition of toxicity. Now that he was standing here, inviting you to tear him up the way you would a deer. You felt disgusted that you were actually tempted to attack him. It was true, when you hunted you felt powerful. Like there was nothing that could stop your reign of terror on your chosen prey or target. He was now only a foot away from you, eyes were completely black. Jaw was clenched, indicating that he was getting impatient. Your eyes were locked on him, pushing him back which only hummored him. Becoming irritated with the anxiety building up inside, you turn and walk away. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of having a second more of your attention. This infuriated him, an all powerful Nogitsune such as himself was never to be ignored. To be denied a request; seeing you walk away from him only made him watch you unravel you more.

“You think you can ignore me? The same way you’ve ignored all the urges and needs swarming in your brain on a full moon? I will get what I want out of you, making you act on every sinful desire you have. Even if I have to reach down your throat and rip it out myself!” he roared, stomping towards you while shaking in anger.

Something in you snapped, the taunting was enough to make you go crazy. All you wanted was for him to shut the fuck up. Jumping on top of him, you use your claws and swipe at his chest. Blood starts seeping through his cotton shirt, taking a look at his face to catch the reaction. To your dismay, he chuckles letting his head fall back. It wasn’t until then that you realized what he meant when saying he wanted to see your internal conflict. This was conflicting; expecting to look up to see him damaged. Normally giving you a satisfied feeling but this was different, normally content in a platonic way. The way his head fell back and the smirk on his face. You couldn’t deny being turned on by how twisted he was. How unaffected he seemed to be by your attacks. Adding another slash across his chest, it felt so good being vicious. For so long you’d bent your instincts to Scott’s mission of keeping the peace in Beacon Hills. Letting your mind be wrapped in a foggy daze while letting your urges run wild was an intoxicating feeling. He pulled his shirt off, hands becoming soaked in blood. He reaches up and takes your face into his hands. Leaving bloody hand prints on your cheeks. Pulling you down so your lips were hovering over one another. You could feel the blood from his chest seep into your shirt. Starting to fall deeper into the kiss, you let your full body weight press onto him. He suddenly flips the two of you over swiftly, now keeping a tight hold on your hair. His hands were sticky with blood, only making for a better grip.

“Did you really think I'd let you use me to satisfy yourself without a fight?” he asked, holding you down with his body weight.

Feeling a little too vulnerable, you bite down on his shoulder. Feeling his skin pop as your canines break through. He lets out a loud groan, leaning into the bite which makes your lower stomach burn with pleasure. He pulls your head up slightly by the hair and pulls it back down, indicating he wanted you to let go after a while. You refuse; after realizing he was caught in your jaw, he moves his hands from your hair to your throat. Hair still stuck to his hands, which covered your face as he changed hand placement. At first it seemed like you’d be able to keep this up. Until his grip became tighter and your breathing became strained. Towering over you and focusing most of his weight on your throat. Your vision was becoming blurry and cloudy, you scratched at his shoulders. When this doesn't phase him, you rake your claws down his back. Trying to put in the last of your strength into shredding his back before passing out.

Void watched as your eyes become glossy, the feeling of your nails in his back making him rock hard. Chuckling as your arms went limp, falling off his back and to the ground. He let go of your throat and turned his attention to your body. He lifted your skirt and pulled your panties to the side. Muttering a couple curses as he uses his fingers to feel how wet you were. Even your thighs were wet and sticky from you leaking desperately for his cock. He uses one hand to rub himself against your entrance and the other hand to start slapping your chest. Watching you bounce as he tried waking you up. Once you started coming to, he began fucking himself into you. Moaning as you started becoming more aware of what was happening. Blood drips from his back and shoulder onto your body. The only thing you were focused on was chasing your orgasm. Rocking your hips into him, trying to get him as deep as possible. Noticing this, his thrusts become rough and fast. His hip bones piercing into your ass painfully. Gripping your hips hard enough to embed his nails into your skin.

“What kind of whore gets off on this? Are you that desperate for attention?” he taunted as he destroyed your pussy.

You let your body go limp, enjoying and accepting anything he had to offer. He moved his hands back to your throat. Seeing your face turn red and gasping for air was what sent him over the edge. His climax racking through his body, you came slightly before him. Seeing how your helplessness and pain was enough to make him cum was what made you climax. By the time both of you rode out the highs, you felt completely worn out. Like your body was carrying the weight of a ton, forcing you to stay on the ground. His shoes walking away were the last thing you saw before losing consciousness.

#void stiles x reader #void stiles request #fanfic request #void stiles smut #void stiles imagines #void stiles x werwolf reader #teen wolf smut #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf fanfiction #void stiles #cnc k!nk #blood k!nk #rough smut #void stiles x reader smut

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 7 months

Text

That's What Family is For (Part 2)

Fandom: DC, Batman, Batfam, Damian Wayne, Batsis!reader, f!reader Summary: After being kidnapped and offering to take Damian's place to be tortured, you miraculously find yourself waking up back home. Damian has a new outlook on your relationship, but will a secret from your past ruin everything? Word Count: 5231 TW: Hospital, Aftermath of Torture, Mentions of Past Torture, Mentions of Death, Forced to Watch, Crying, Coma, Past Trauma Note: Today is the 2 year anniversary of posting Part 1 of this fic. Thank you so incredibly much for your patience and support as I worked on this and I hope it lives up to Part 1 💖 Part of @ailesswhumptober

Part 1

You have no idea how long you were asleep for, but when you finally managed to drag yourself into consciousness, you couldn’t remember why every inch of your body was in a strange state of concurrent numbness and agony, or why you couldn’t seem to see out of your left eye. It was only when you caught sight of the two casts stretching from the soles of your feet up to the top of your thighs that it all came flooding back to you.

You and Damian had been kidnapped in an attempt to get a ransom from Bruce. To prove they meant business, the kidnappers were going to torture Damian but you had offered to take his place. What happened next was just a blur of blood and pain: The glint of a large knife. The blunt impact of a bat. But mercifully, you couldn’t remember much else. Just that it had been bad. Really bad.

You tried to take a mental inventory of what hurt and what sort of injuries you had sustained, but there was too much damage. All the individual pain bled into each other until it just felt like one massive wound. Every breath you took made your chest, ribs, and throat ache, your head was pounding, and you couldn’t move either leg or your left arm. All you could manage was a slight turn of your head as you looked towards the door but even that small motion sent new waves of pain through you, causing a low moan to slip from your lips.

Almost instantly, Jason came rushing into the room, panic etched onto his face. Yet the second he saw you looking at him, his face split into a massive grin. The kind you couldn’t remember seeing on him since he returned from the dead. And despite everything, that sight warmed your heart.

Licking your cracked lips, you tried to speak but nothing happened. Swallowing a few times, you finally managed a barely audible, “Hey, Jaybird.”

The words sounded funny, thick and slightly lispy but Jay’s smile only widened. He hurried to your bedside and dropped into the chair that had been left there. “Damn, sis. You look terrible.”

You knew he was trying to keep the mood light, but you could hear the tears hiding just behind his words. Giving your best attempt at a smile, you croaked, “Even like this, I bet I still look better than you.”

“Yeah, probably,” he chuckled. “That voice though…. They said it would probably be hard to speak for a few days because of the tube and–” He cut himself off, but you knew what he was going to say. Because all your screams of pain had damaged it.

Swallowing again, you tried to make your voice sound as normal as possible. “Yeah, well, you better be careful. You keep smoking all those cigarettes, this is what you’ll sound like in a few years.”

“Even now you gotta hassle me about those?”

“If you would just quit, I wouldn’t have to get on you about the–”

Your words were cut off as your body fell prey to a fit of coughing. It tore at your throat like daggers and your chest felt like it was shattering into pieces. It only lasted for a few seconds but when it passed, you were left panting and moaning in pain.

When you finally managed to pull yourself together once more and looked back at Jason, his smile had completely vanished, replaced with a thin-lipped grimace. His eyes drifted over your broken body before returning to your face. “So… Honestly. How do you feel?”

“How do you think?” you wheezed. “Like someone ran over me with.. with a… wit– oh forget it. I’m in too much pain to think of something clever. I feel shitty.”

“What hurts?”

“The easier question is ‘what doesn’t hurt?’. And why can’t I open my left eye?”

“Alfred taped it closed for now. It looked pretty messed up.”

You nod slightly. “Permanent?”

“Not sure,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “They had to wait until you woke up to fully assess the damage.”

You nodded again, the dread growing in the pit of your stomach. But you have to know the answer to your next question, no matter how terrifying the answer might be. In a small voice, you ask, “How bad overall?”

Jason hesitated. “Maybe you should wait for Bruce or Alfred to–”

“How bad, Jay?”

Still avoiding your eye, he shifted in his chair before answering. “Bad. The worst of the damage is on your left side. Your arm was dislocated, your cheekbone was destroyed, you’re missing several teeth, and your eye is… well, I already mentioned that. Also, most of your ribs were pretty much shattered and the ones that weren’t are cracked. The pieces punctured your lungs in multiple places. Your legs…The knives thankfully missed all the major arteries, but Alfred said there still might be some nerve damage.”

“Is that all?” You had meant for the question to be sarcastic, but the quiver in your voice made it sound more like a desperate plea.

Jason took a long, deep breath. “It also took eight surgeries, four blood transfusions, and three resuscitations to get you stable.”

“Yeah, that feels about right.” You clenched your jaw tightly as you struggled to hold back your tears, but that just sent a fresh jolt of pain through your mouth. Using your tongue, you gently prod the three new gaps where teeth used to be. No wonder your words sounded funny.

In a soft whisper, you asked, “I’m done, aren’t I? There’s no coming back from this, not really. Even if I can get back to a halfway normal state, I’m never going to be able to put the costume back on. No going on patrol, no more protecting the city, no more being a hero.”

A small sob bubbled in your throat. When Bruce had taken you in all those years ago, you were a mess. Every night, you woke up screaming from nightmares—memories—of watching your parents tortured to death in front of you while you were helpless to do anything. You had felt so powerless. But then Bruce told you about his secret life. That he was the man in the mask who had rescued you from that horrible place. And he taught you how to be strong, how to be for others what he had been for you. He had given your life a purpose but now….it had been taken from you just like your parents had been.

As the tears began to slip down your face, Jason carefully took your hand, rubbing the back with his thumb as he leaned in to stare you directly in your good eye. “Hey, don’t think that way. Bruce was able to come back from a broken back, I came back from the dead, and you… you can come back from this. It’s not gonna be easy and it’ll take a lot of hard work, but if anyone can do it, you can.”

The tears began to flow faster as you finally let the sob you had been holding back free. Squeezing Jason’s hand as tightly as you were able, you cried, “Thank you, Jay. Thank you for everything. I can’t even imagine making it through what comes next without my brothers by my side.”

Jason snatched his hand back from your grasp and pushed back in his chair, his expression growing dark as he spat, “Don’t. Don’t thank me. While you were sacrificing everything for Damian, while you were lying there dying, I was here. Too weak to help you when you needed me most.”

“Jay–”

“I wanted to be there, I did, I just…” His sharp tone crumbled into a near sob as he buried his face in his hands. “I was fine until he picked up the bat. Then it all came rushing back. All I could see was the Joker standing over me with that crowbar and…and I….” His hands muffled his cries, but you could still see the way his shoulders shook as he sobbed.

You had forgotten that they had sent a live feed of your torture to all of Wayne Industries which was probably how Bruce had located you and Damian. Jason never talked about what had happened to him all those years ago in that warehouse, but you had been waiting in the Batcave when Bruce had brought Jason’s body home. You still remembered the bruises and blunt force trauma that couldn’t have been made from the explosion. And you also recalled how the sight of your brother’s broken form sent you into a hysterical fit, not only over the loss of the boy you loved like family but also because it brought back all of the scars from your parents’ deaths. You had felt incredibly guilty later once Bruce and Alfred calmed you down that you had made Jason’s death all about you and your past traumas. But Bruce reminded you that your pain and grief was valid, whenever it hit you, and despite the circumstances, you needed to take care of yourself first or you weren’t going to be able to help anyone else.

Just like Jason needed to take care of whatever horrors he had relived before coming to help you.

It took a lot of determination and concentration, but you slowly moved your hand towards Jason. Luckily, he was sitting on your right side since that was the only arm you could move at the moment, but it still took an achingly long time to close the short distance between you.

As you lay your hand on his shoulder, his head jerked up. When he saw what you had done, his eyes—the blue magnified by the tears about to fall—grew wide. Smiling, you brushed your fingertips lightly across his cheek and said, “Jay, I understand why you didn’t come. There was nothing you could have done and you needed a chance to deal with your own pain. And I’m sorry that I was the reason you had to relive that experience.”

Jason shook his head furiously and clutched at your hand. “No! This was not your fault! All you did was protect Damian. The only person to blame is that psychopath Moore.” His face darkened. “Bruce better be glad they threw that son of a bitch in Blackgate because if he had gotten away, nothing and no one would have stopped me from hunting him down and putting a bullet between his eyes.”

“See? You are such a loving, protective brother who would do anything for me.” His expression softened slightly. “Besides, you even just admitted. Moore is the only one to blame here. Not me, and not you. So, please, don’t beat yourself up over this. I’m still here and I need you now more than ever.” You squeezed his hand as tightly as you were able and after a moment, he returned both the squeeze and the smile. You nodded softly then changed the subject. “How is Damian handling all of this?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Jason nodded towards the other side of the room.

It took you a moment and quite a bit of pain to turn your head enough so your right eye could see where he was gesturing, but when you managed it, your smile grew wider.

Curled into a tight ball, Damian was fast asleep on the couch on the far side of the room. He looked so small and it reminded you that despite his upbringing, he was still just a kid, which made you feel better about your condition. If one of you had to be lying in this bed, you would have offered yourself up every time.

Jason chuckled softly to himself as he saw your face. “He’s barely left the room since they brought the two of you home. Bruce tried getting him to go back to school the last two days, but he flat-out refused. Said he wasn’t going anywhere until you woke up.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like Damian.”

“Well, I think his actual words were ‘Tt. Father, I cannot be bothered with those trivial lessons while my sister’s fate is still uncertain. I am needed here. Yes, I have a geography test next week, but I have traveled to more countries than my so-called teacher could even possibly name. This is more important.’”

Despite the mocking—though fairly accurate—impression Jason had made, your eyes welled up with tears once more. Damian had called you ‘sister’. It was the first time you could ever remember him doing so. No. That wasn’t true. He had said it when Bruce and Dick had shown up to save them. In fact, the echoing word was the last thing you remembered before the world had gone dark.

Swallowing hard to clear your throat, you asked, “Um, do you think…Would he be upset if I asked you to wake him up?”

“Yo! Demon Spawn! Wake up!” Before you could stop him, Jason hurled a pillow across the room so it slammed into Damian’s sleeping form.

The kid instantly leaped to his feet in a crouched position, ready to take on any and all attackers. But he straightened up when he saw Jason’s smug grin and your weak smile staring back at him instead. Rushing to your side, he said, “Sister! You are awake!”

You tilted your head slightly to look at him better. “So are you. Sorry for the rude wake-up. That was all Jay.”

“Hey!” Jason huffed indignantly. “You asked me to wake him up and I did! You just never said how.”

Damian glared at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Yes, Todd has been exceedingly insufferable this last week while you have been injured—”

“W-week? I’ve been out of it for a week?” You felt your blood run cold. You knew things were bad, but for some reason the thought of you laying in this bed unconscious for the past 7 days made your condition seem so much worse.

Jason and Damian exchanged a worried look. Then Jason cleared his throat and said, “Yeah…. It's been eight days since you and Damian were kidnapped. They had to keep you in a medically induced coma for the first five days while they operated. Then when they brought you out, they had to dope you up with so many pain meds that you were out of it even when you were awake. They tried to lower your dose but they had to up them again when they removed the breathing tube and you wouldn’t stop moaning…So, yeah. It’s been a week.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow as tears began to sting your eyes. Obviously, it would have taken you time to recover from that level of injury, but a week? No, actually, eight days. And that was just the start of your recovery. The amount of time, therapy, and hard work it would take you just to be able to stand again, let alone walk or fight, was dizzying to think about. Despite the fact Jason had reassured you differently, you didn’t see how you weren’t done after this. How were you supposed to bounce back?

As the tears finally became too much and began slipping down your face, you whispered, “You all should have just let me go.”

“No!” The ferocity in Damian’s voice startled you and you looked over to see his small hands curled into tight fists as his face bore a determined scowl that could rival Bruce’s. “No. You do not get to give up. Not now. Not now that the worst of it is behind you. You never once gave up while we were captured. Despite everything that sadistic fiend did to you, you fought to protect me. We would not have been in that situation if it was not for me and I will repay my debt to you by remaining by your side to ensure you get through this.”

You stared at Damian for a long time, a mix of pride, adoration, and guilt stirring in your chest. Seeing how he wanted to stand by you and help you through what came next meant the world to you. The Damian who climbed into your car eight days ago wouldn’t have done so. However, you couldn’t let him make such a vow without knowing all the facts.

Shifting your eye to look at Jason, you muttered, “Can you give us a minute alone?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and his younger brother, but finally, he nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go let everyone else know you’re not only awake but coherent this time. They’ll want to see you.”

“Thanks, Jay. I’ll have Damian let you know when we’re done.”

He nodded, shot Damian one last look, and left the room.

Now that you were alone, you carefully motioned for Damian to take the chair Jason had been sitting in earlier and he silently did as you wished…for once. He looked so small compared to the memory of Jason’s hulking form sitting there just moments before and tears once more stung your eyes as it hit you all over again how young he was to have experienced what the two of you just went through. You hadn’t planned on having this conversation until you were a little better, but he deserved to know the truth and not continue blaming himself for what happened.

Taking a deep breath, you said, “It’s not your fault, Dami. He was never after you. You were only there because of me.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no proof of that. As you said in that warehouse, I am Father’s blood heir. If anyone was the target, it would have been me.”

You shook your head. “It was my car, Damian. The car I insisted you get in even though you didn’t want to. If I would’ve just let you walk home like you wanted–”

“They could have been monitoring me and adjusted their plans when I joined you in your vehicle. You still cannot be confident–”

“I know Moore.”

Damian blinked in surprise. “Yo–you what?”

You nodded sadly. “I know him. I didn’t realize it at first because it was so long ago and I’ve tried so hard to forget that day, but it was him. After I had passed out from Moore’s torture, they unhooked me from the chains and just let me drop to the floor. The pain of the landing woke me up for just a minute and I tried to beg them to put me back up because I knew otherwise they’d be coming for you, but I was in so much pain I could barely form a sentence. Moore saw I was awake and came to stand over me with that nauseatingly cocky look on his face.”

You shuttered at the memory of it and knew it was an image that would haunt your nightmares for years to come. But you pressed on. “Then he said, ‘For what it’s worth, you should be proud. You died a lot more honorably than your parents did.’ And that’s when I remembered.”

Tears slipped from your eyes as you allowed all the walls and safeguards you had built up over the years to finally come down and you recalled the night your life changed forever. “It’s been so long and he was just a kid, no older than Tim. But then again, I was even younger.” Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Damian. “How much do you know about my life before Bruce took me in?”

Damian shrugged one shoulder. “Just what I said in the car. Your parents were tortured to death by a gang who left you tied up with their bodies until the police found you. Then when he heard what happened and that you had no one left, Father took you in.”

You nodded and wiped a tear from your eye. “My parents owned a little shop near Crime Alley at the time. It was a hole-in-the-wall thrift store that barely made enough to put food on the table but my parents loved that place. It was their pride and joy so when the local gang came by to demand protection money, they refused. They didn’t want their place associated with gangsters. Which of course the gang didn’t like. We lived in a small apartment above it and one night, the gang broke in while we were sleeping. I was only six at the time and I didn’t understand what was happening. I just knew some bad people dragged us out of bed and into the basement where they tied us all up to chairs. I was sitting between my parents as they begged and pleaded for our lives, but even then I still didn’t understand. Not until one of the men pulled out a knife.”

A humorless chuckle fell softly from your lips. “I guess in hindsight, I should have remembered Moore sooner. The way he tortured and hurt me was very similar to what the gang did to my parents. Just small cuts that got deeper and deeper. Small weapons that got more and more damaging until….”

A small hiccupy sob slipped from your lips as everything came flooding back to you. Your father screaming in pain as the gang broke bone after bone and cut off his fingers one by one. Your mother hysterically sobbing as she begged them to let you all go. The way those pleas eventually shifted to just begging them to let you go. And then the eerie silence that fell across the room after your mother had taken her last breath.

Damian took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It is alright, sister. You do not have to continue.”

You shot him an appreciative smile but shook your head. “No. It’s okay.” Taking several deep breaths to compose yourself, you continued. “There was one gang member who stayed huddled in the corner, refusing to watch as the rest of the gang had their fun.”

“Moore.”

You nodded. “I didn’t know it at the time, but yeah. He had started by anxiously pacing around at the back of the room but once things turned really violent….he couldn’t take it. He tried to run back upstairs but the gang forced him to stay and watch. Said he needed to learn how things were done. And after the other day, I’d say he learned his lesson pretty well.”

“And you are certain it was him?”

“Absolutely. I stared at him through most of it, partly because I couldn’t stand to watch what they were doing to my parents, but also partly because I could tell he was just as horrified as I was and yet he did nothing to stop it. I wanted to scream at him to help us, to do something, but I also was too afraid to speak up. And when they were done and the gang members left, he was the last one out of the room. He looked at me as if he wanted to apologize or set me free or…I don’t know. But instead, he just turned and ran up the stairs. The next time I saw him was when he walked into that room we were both chained up in.” You scoffed as you felt a lump growing in your throat. “I guess we picked up right where we left off, huh?”

The physical damage that had been done to you was hard enough to bear, but now realizing the connection your tormentor had to your past made you want to vomit. Moore may not have laid a finger on you back then, but he had been there to witness the worst day of your life. His friends had been the ones who did the same thing to your parents—only your parents hadn’t been lucky enough to survive. You wondered how long Moore had been planning this, how long he had wanted to finish the job that had been started all those years ago. Perhaps it was some sort of decades-long revenge plot since your parents’ deaths had eventually led to the arrest of most of the other gang members and the collapse of his gang. Or it was possible he just wanted to blackmail Bruce as he said and he thought using you to do it was just a bonus. Jason said Moore had been taken to Blackgate so once you were better, you could go try to get some answers. But at the moment, you weren’t sure if you even wanted them.

You had been so deep in thought that you only just realized that Damian had been silently staring down at your interlocked hands for the past few minutes. His expression was nigh-on unreadable and you were once again reminded of Bruce. Given enough time, support, and guidance, you could see him growing into a man worthy to carry on his father’s legacy. You just hoped he would want you to be around to see it.

You wouldn’t blame Damian if his attitude towards you reverted back to how it was before all of this happened. After all, he was put through hell because of you. He had warmed up to you solely because you had offered yourself up to be tortured instead of him—yet he never should have been there in the first place. Maybe this would actually make your relationship worse. Maybe Damian would cut you off completely. Maybe—

“Sister, I cannot imagine how hard this realization must have been for you and I…I am sorry.”

His voice cut through your internal spiraling and you blinked in surprise. “Wh-what?” With all the scenarios you had swirling around in your head, hearing Damian apologize had never even crossed your mind. “But Dami you’re not…mad?”

Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Why would I be mad?”

“I’m the reason you were there. I thought once you knew the whole story and realized that, you would hate me for getting you dragged into everything. Or at least–” you dropped your gaze down to the bed “–at least I thought you’d go back to not really liking me.”

“Oh…” The small boy shifted in his chair. “I can understand why you may have come to that conclusion but knowing your history with Moore does not change how I feel about what you did for me. You saved me long before you remembered who he was or your connection to him. And even that still does not prove you were the one he was after, not me. I am the youngest and, as such, am perceived to be the most vulnerable and incapable of protecting myself—Tt, though in reality, it is Drake who fits that description.”

You smiled as you shook your head. Tim would disagree with that statement, but Damian’s point was still valid. To those who did not know of his past upbringing or training, it would be easy to dismiss him as a young, spoiled, entitled brat who never had to lift a finger his entire life. But they couldn’t be farther from the truth. Despite being a kid, Damian had already experienced more than 90% of people would in their lifetime. Hell, when he was the same age you were when you watched your parents die, he had already been training for years with the League of Assassins. Moore had just gotten lucky when he grabbed the two of you: if Damian hadn’t woken up hurt and already chained up, he probably could have incapacitated every one of your kidnappers.

Damian continued. “Regardless of who the target was, it does not change the fact you volunteered yourself in my place when they wanted to take me. And despite the pain you were in, you tried to hold on as long as possible so I would not be forced to take your place. How could any other detail matter except my sister loves me enough to die for me?”

The lump in your throat got bigger until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You managed to nod your head quickly and repeatedly as you choked out, “I would. Because I do. I do love you, Damian.” He stared down at the floor, shifting once more in his chair as his fist tightened around yours. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. You knew how hard it was for him but you could see he wanted to say it and that was enough. So, squeezing his hand back, you whispered, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back.”

His shoulders dropped with visible relief and he gave you a small, grateful smile. Then, in a tiny voice, he muttered, “But I do though.”

It was the final straw. Tears began flowing down your cheeks as a small cry burst from behind your lips. There was a sharp pain in your chest as you disturbed your injuries, but it seemed unimportant at the moment. You tried to control yourself as much as possible, knowing emotions and displays of affection bothered Damian, but it was all too overwhelming. For so long you had tried to get him to at least tolerate you, but this? This was more than you ever dared to hope for.

Damian sat quietly as you took a moment to compose yourself. Despite the added pain you incurred from your crying, you couldn’t remember feeling this happy in a while…..or this worn out. Now that you had cleared the air with Damian and everything was better than expected, you realized how much you had been struggling to stay awake.

Another wave of exhaustion hit you and it took almost everything you had to murmur, “I know Jay said everyone was waiting to see me but I think….I think I need to rest for a bit. Could you ask them to wait until I take a small nap?”

He nodded. “Of course, sister. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Dami.”

You expected him to leave but instead, he squeezed your hand hard and looked you dead in the eye. “I mean it. Whatever you need. You will heal and things will return to normal. And I will be by your side for all of it.”

You smiled up at him, fighting to keep your eyes open. “Thank you, Dami.”

He laid your hand gently back on the bed before standing from his chair and walking to the door. He glanced over his shoulder at you one last time, nodded, and then disappeared.

With no reason left to hold on, you let yourself collapse back into the bed as you gave into the darkness that was dancing on the edge of your vision.

And as you felt yourself being pulled under to unconsciousness once more, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything that had happened and the long road to recovery that lay before you, you had a father and four brothers who loved you and would be by your side through all of it. Because at the end of the day, that’s what family is for. And you were so thankful to have found this family.

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