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multi-fandom-imagine · 9 days

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Hey I’ve been having a rough few days and was wondering if you could do a vox reader with a breeding kink and he’s really protective. Anything else is up to you :) if not thank you anyway! Love your stuff

A/n:I AM SO SORRY I MISSED THIS AND I REALLY HOPE YOU'RE FEELING BETTER!

He wasn't quite sure what was wrong with him, the moment he caught your eye Vox knew that he had to have you, he didn't care what the other Vee's thought and once your where his the Overlord was determined to make you his permanently and what better way than to make you pregnant with his kid.

He knew he didn't have to do this but he wanted it, he needed to do it.

A nail hooking under your chin forcing you to look at him, he could feel the warmth radiating off your skin, your shy little smile was doing something to him.

The way you pressed yourself against him left his breath ragged with barely contained desire. Your small gesture of grasping his tie, the look in your eyes...you wanted this too. His princess, so beautiful, so perfect. Leaning in, Vox wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you flush against his body as his other hand roamed up to caress your cheek tenderly as he kept his gaze focused on you. "You're nothing but trouble." His thumb brushed your plump lip teasingly. "I'm going to ravish you to the point where you forget your own name."

"Vox! Please!" Your lips placed a small kiss to the nape of his neck.

That single plea along with your kiss on his neck was all it took to fray the last threads of his restraint. With a low growl, he spun you around unceremoniously and pinned you against the wall in one smooth motion, caging you with his arms on either side of your head. Your surprised gasp tickled your sense of possession as he ravaged your mouth in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss.

His tongue delved deeper, tasting every inch of your sweet cavern while grinding himself against your core to let you feel how much he ached for you. You mewled and clung to the overlord, arching into his hard length seeking friction. He tore away from the kiss to lavish attention on your neck, biting and sucking marks onto your skin. "You will be the death of me, woman."

Without breaking contact, Vox lifted you up effortlessly and pinned your form between himself and the wall. His hands roamed to squeeze your breasts, swallowing your moans. "I'm going to take you right here, right now. Let everyone hear how much you love it when I fuck you senseless." With that, he tore away your skirts and panties in one go before sinking into your drenched heat with a possessive thrust.

He sheathed himself to the hilt with one final thrust, swallowing your cry of pleasures. You felt exquisitely tight and wet clenching around him, and he had to restrain myself from spilling on the spot. No, this joining was meant to last, to fully worship each and every reaction from you.

Sliding my his under your thighs, he kept you pinned against the wall for better leverage as he pulled out almost completely before slamming back in. The lewd, wet slapping of your joining echoed obscenely but he was past the point of caring, only focused on the ecstasy twisting your expression.

"You like it when I take you like this, don't you, dove? Filling you over and over until your sweet cunt milk me dry." He punctuated each word with deep, punishing thrusts meant to reach the deepest part of your core. Your nails drew blood from his back but the biting pain only spurred him further into a maddened rhythm.

He tilted your hips to change the angle of penetration, targeting that sweet spot inside relentlessly. "Come for me, beloved. Drain this cock inside you and drink every drop as is your due." The chords of your climax snapped shut around him and he followed with a guttural groan, flooding your womb with my seed in thick ropes.

As you went lax yet still clinging desperately in his arms after reaching blissful completion together, he felt his possessiveness growing even more. Nothing makes him happier than pleasuring his star and have you sated. Stilling your harsh breathing, he held you tenderly against the wall, unwilling to part from your warm embrace even for a moment.

His princess felt so impossibly tiny and fragile cradled in his arms like this yet your passion and fire knew no bounds. He worshipped every inch of your flushed face, kissing your brows, nose, cheeks and finally your lips in adoring touches. "I love you, my Star. So much that it consumes me whole."

He meant every word from the deepest pits of his being. You were is his whole world and reason for living. Carefully lowering you until your feet touched the ground but not letting go, Vox brushed aside your mussed hair lovingly. "Come, let get the fuck back to our room for the rest of the night."

Lifting you easily in his arms, you sighed as your eyes closed falling asleep. Vox keeping his head high as he carried you off. He'll keep his word, but for now he's going to let you rest.

You'll need it.

#drabbles #drabble #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin smut #hazbin hotel vox #vox #hazbin vox #vox x reader #vox x you #vox x y/n #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #vox hazbin hotel #vox hazbin x reader #vox smut

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roseghoul26 · 1 month

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Chapter 1: In A Faith-Forgotten Land

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny Author's Note: welcome to my first ever non-oneshot fic! hope you enjoy! Chapter List

The first time you met Arthur Morgan, you had quite literally crashed into the man.

It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal; you would’ve just said your apologies and went on your way, never to see each other again. And that’s what would’ve happened, if it wasn't for the fact that it was in your house, during the middle of the night, while he was trying to rob you.

You were no stranger to robberies, your house being a prime target for thieves; it was secluded, sitting in the rural area between Rhodes and Saint Denis; it was rich-looking, with three visible floors and a basement; and it had low security. The last issue you had tried many times to get resolved, but to no avail. Maybe this time you’d get your husband to spend the extra money for guards.

Normally, would-be thieves would be too loud as they entered, alerting either you or your husband of their presence, and he was able to scare them off before they could get their hands on anything.

This time, though, you hadn’t heard a single thing. The only reason you were downstairs in the kitchen was because you needed a glass of water. In the darkness, the only source of light being the candle in your hand and a few oil lamps outside, you hadn’t seen the form of the man, bumping straight into him as you rubbed sleep from your eyes.

The two of you stood deathly still, watching each other with bated breath. You hadn’t made a noise, even though the smart thing to do would be to start screaming your head off. Something about this felt… different, for some reason. You slowly brought up the light, making sure to not startle the intruder, just in case he had an eager trigger finger.

You weren’t able to gleam many details of the man, mainly because of the low light, but also because a bandana covered the lower half of his face. He had medium length hair, the color indiscernible, and he wore a simple blue button up and a pair of jeans. The most interesting thing you saw on him, though, was his hat. It was visibly well-loved, the leather ripped and worn from years of use, and you were able to make out a clear bullet-hole on the rim of it. A piece of rope wrapped around it, the material frayed and barely hanging on.

It was when you opened your mouth to speak that he moved, bringing a finger up to his covered lips in a hush gesture. “Don’t scream,” you heard him mutter. Whatever voice you were expecting the stranger to have, it certainly wasn’t that. It was low, gravely, with a pleasant drawl that had you shivering. Or maybe it was the cold. You were only in a nightgown, after all.

You shook your head fervently, creating wind that threatened to blow out the fragile flame of your candle, trying to express to the man without opening your mouth that you were in fact not about to cry for help. He seemed to relax at that, but it was difficult to tell what he was feeling, the only gauge being his eyes and hard to read body language.

“So,” you began, holding your free hand up reassuringly when he tensed up again, expecting you to go back on your word, like any sane person would do. “So,” you tried again, “what do you need?” You made sure to keep your voice as quiet as possible, not wanting to alert the other person in the house.

The stranger cocked his head, rightfully confused by your question. You confused yourself with your own question, but it was the only way you could think to proceed the conversation. “I ain’t quite sure what you mean, miss.”

“You're in here for a reason, so what is it? What do you need?” When you were met with silence, you were starting to get impatient. Hell, all you wanted was a glass of water and to go back to your warm bed, but now you had to deal with a stranger in your house. You half-debated just leaving him to his devices and dealing with the consequences in the morning. It’s not like you cared about the expensive items in your house; they didn’t even belong to you. “Money? Food? Shelter? Or are you here to extort Mr. Kerrigan?” You added with a chuckle, but only you seemed to find it amusing.

When he continued to stare at you like you’d grown a second head, you sighed. “Look, if you aren’t gonna say anything, then you should leave. He could wake up at any minute, and he isn’t going to be so nice about this.”

That seemed to do the trick, pulling him out of whatever deep thought he was in. You watched his eyes dance around, before he slowly started to back away. You saw that he was wearing spurs, which made his silent entry that much more bewildering. “You don’t gotta-”

Your name being called had you both freezing, and you saw him bring his finger up again. Turning your head to look up the staircase behind you, you were able to see the silhouette of your husband at the top, glancing down at you with hands on his hips. You heard him call out your name again, annoyance evident in his voice. Even without the attitude, it was much less pleasant sounding than the strangers, but now it was downright irritating. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you responded with a soft hm?

“Everything alright down there?”

Glancing back over at the intruder, your mouth gaped uselessly as you tried to come up with an excuse that would keep him upstairs. The man stood ready to bolt, not quite sure what you were about to say. “Yeah,” you stuttered out before he got even more annoyed. Your husband, Hans Kerrigan, was someone who did not wait for an answer. “I, uh, stubbed my toe,” you offered lamely, not sounding confident even to your ears.

Turning your head back to the staircase, you half-expected to see him descending, but were pleasantly relieved when you saw him still standing at the top. “You sure?” He questioned, and you nodded, even though you knew that he wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll be back up in a minute.”

After a moment of tense silence, you heard him sigh. “Alright. Just be quiet.” With that, his figure disappeared, and you let out a breath of relief. Turning your head back around, you were surprisingly disappointed to find empty air. For a moment, you stood there, fully convinced that you had just imagined the whole scenario.

The fading scent of gunpowder and tobacco told you that it was real.

Bewildered, you went to the front door, testing it with a few quick turns. It moved easily, no longer locked like it was hours prior, and you were sure to fix it. The next rational thing to do would be to plant something behind the door, because the intruder clearly would be able to lockpick it right back open, just as he had done the first time.

Instead, you turned back toward the kitchen, continuing out on the task you had originally set out to do. You were definitely not as thirsty as you were minutes ago, but you still poured a small glass just for the sake of it, and you set down the candle on the counter. Sipping slowly, you couldn’t get the man out of your head, for multiple reasons. The most obvious reason was that he had broken into your house, so of course you were going to be thinking about it. But you would be a liar if you said that there wasn’t something… alluring about him. His voice was already plaguing your mind, and there was an almost kindness about him that you weren’t expecting that had you replaying the events in your head.

There were so many things that he could’ve done to hurt you, but he didn’t. Not once did he reach for a weapon, remembering now the gun belt hanging loosely from his hips. Not once did he seriously threaten you, only telling you to not scream for help. Not once did he make any move to restrain or hurt you, keeping his space. You knew that it was crazy that something like that would be the epitome of kindness for you, but it wasn't like you were seeing it anywhere else. He was probably the nicest interaction you’d had in the last year, maybe even longer. God, did you enjoy the company of the man who broke into your house?

Having long since finished the small cup, you set in gently on the countertop, the glass ringing out with a soft noise. Not quite ready to go back to bed, you made your way to one of the windows that lined the front of the house, glancing out into the night-filled yard. Trees swayed in the wind as you gazed over the yard, and it looked undisturbed, the only sign of life being a small skunk that skittered across the grass. After closer examination, however, you were able to see a light trail of footprints in the dirt path leading to the front door, one set heading toward it and another moving away. You hoped that the wind would carry them away by the morning.

A couple minutes of watching out the window turned into several, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of the man. It was only when a cold draft from the window hit your body, causing you to shiver. Right, you were only in your nightgown. Running your hands up and down your body, you tore yourself away, quickly making your way back up the stairs after grabbing the candle.

Skipping the first room that greeted you when you reached the top, you opened the second room’s door slowly, extinguishing the candle's flame with a puff of air. Your bed greeted you, and you were able to see the shape of Hans under the covers, back facing your side of the bed. Stepping softly across the wooden floors, you slipped under the silk sheets without making any noise. The bed shifted under your weight, and you froze, waiting to see if you woke the man beside you. When he didn’t stir, you settled in fully, still warm from when you were laying in it earlier.

You really did try to fall asleep, trying to think of anything besides the stranger, but you found yourself going back to him in your mind. You really shouldn’t be thinking about him this much, but you found yourself not caring. This was the most interesting thing to happen in a while, so you were going to enjoy it while you could.

As you tossed and turned in your bed, you were eventually able to fall asleep, your dreams luckily free of the stranger. Yet one thought rang through your mind the entire time.

You needed to see him again.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Rhodes was a quaint town, red dust painting every surface available, and contained a few businesses that provided a livable amount of money for the town.

You hated it.

It was definitely a quaint town, old-fashioned in every sense of the world, stuck in pre-war ideas and mindsets. The dust was irritating, staining anything remotely light a deep russet red, which took hours to get out. And the businesses there would be fine if they weren’t blindly loyal to the Gray family, and showed nothing but contempt for outsiders.

You would’ve liked to stay home today, as it was far enough away from the godawful town that you didn’t have to deal with it, but here you were, stuffed into a tight carriage with your husband across from you. He needed to run into the town today, needing to talk with the bank there about something you weren’t quite sure about. He purposely kept you out of his business affairs, claiming that it was no talk for a lady.

You knew very little about your husband’s job, besides for the fact that he was very wealthy and very powerful. You also knew that he ran some kind of distillery of sorts, but that’s about it. Whenever you asked, he shrugged you off.

So you had kept your mouth shut when he woke you this morning, bringing you to accompany him during his short trip. Like normal, you had gotten ready on your own, Hans disappearing into his office. You had felt a strange calling to wear a blue dress today, and you kept your hair free of any pins and ribbons, not quite wanting to put the effort into your appearance today. You were tired, but you hadn't been able to remember why.

It was when you had headed downstairs, past the locked door of his office, that you remembered. A large, dusty footprint dirtied the kitchen floor, which you normally kept pristine. It had all come back to you then like a wave, the strange man in your house. His voice, his demeanor, the clothes he wore, everything. With a gasp, you had quickly swept away the mark with your stocking-covered foot, most likely dirtying the garment, but you didn’t care. You just had to get it out of sight before Hans came downstairs.

You had barely managed to make it disappear before you heard the creak of the stairs as he descended them, an indiscernible look on his face as he regarded you. After exchanging your usual morning pleasantries, and after you had made him a cup of coffee, the two of you had set out , boarding the carriage that he had hired for the house. Even after two years of marriage, you still hadn’t wrapped your head around the sheer amount of money Hans had.

Tucked into Ringneck Creek, your house was surrounded completely by thick forest and shallow water, with ample amounts of wildlife that were enjoyable to watch. The natural formation of the ground had been altered, though, when the house was built, having created a path that connected it to the main road, but it was still quite a ways from it. It made the ride to towns that much longer, though.

So now here you sat, fiddling with your bag as you watched the passing greenery.You had about a ten minute ride to Rhodes, and about twenty to the bigger city of Saint Denis, so you settled back into your seat, your husband staring out the window in a similar manner, as there was never much to talk about between the two of you.

It was crazy to you, that you’d been married for only two years, because it sure as hell felt longer than that. And it wasn’t like you had a choice when it came to marrying the man across from you. Your parents needed the money, at risk of losing their entire tobacco industry that they created, so they had married you off to Hans Kerrigan, the rich businessman who’d been a bachelor longer than you’d been alive. He needed a wife, and they needed money, so it was an easy decision, one that you had no say in. Archaic, yes, but necessary.

Hans Kierrigan was at least twenty years your senior, with silver hair to account for his age. He wasn’t completely unattractive, no, but he certainly wasn’t your type, one big reason being how much older he was to you. A thick beard covered his lower face, and you had yet to see him without it. He had dull, steel-colored eyes, and his brow was always furrowed, like he was constantly deep in thought.

He wasn’t a terrible husband, but wet paper had more personality than him. He only cared about one thing, that being money, and trying to talk to him was like talking to a wall. You think you’ve only heard him crack one joke during the entire time you’ve known him, and it was when he was absolutely hammered. He provided for you, keeping your necessities fulfilled, and sent monthly allotments of money to your family to keep them afloat. In return, you remained loyal to him over the past years, you looked after the house, took care of him when need be, and were expected to bear him a child, which proved to be a more difficult task than imagined. You were also expected to keep up public appearances, Mr. And Mrs. Kerrigan the talk of towns, the American Dream couple.

He wasn’t mean, having never raised a hand to you or screamed at you, so for that you were grateful. He never touched you, quite frankly, and when the two of you were intimate, he would limit contact as much as possible.You knew that other girls in similar situations couldn’t say the same, so you counted your blessings, no matter how small they were.

However, just like any man, he had his flaws. He wasn’t a person to wait for things, expecting to receive them on a golden platter, and he never took ‘no’ for an answer. He was also extremely controlling, some days worse than others, and you always needed his permission before doing something. You wanted to go into the city? He was accompanying you, limiting you to certain areas. You wanted to send a letter? He was reading them, making you re-write them if he didn’t like the content. You wanted to learn how to garden? That time he had laughed in your face, and you never asked again.

Needless to say, you weren’t happy. You felt trapped, lonely, and like your life was coming to a complete standstill. You had dreams and aspirations before this marriage. You wanted to inherit the family’s business, you wanted to go to school, you wanted to travel the world. Hell, you had wanted a true relationship with someone, never having one before Hans. And now those dreams were buried in the dirt, rotting. You almost envied them.

The only moments you found yourself feeling some semblance of joy was when Hans went away, which happened quite frequently, and for long periods of time. During those days and weeks by your lonesome, you felt like you were able to move more freely, and you did things that he normally wouldn’t allow. You snuck into the city under the cover of the night. You had a little garden hidden behind some trees, where he was never going to find it, because he never explored the woods surrounding the house. If you had people to write to, you would’ve sent them countless letters. But even all that couldn’t combat the loneliness that you felt. It’s teeth sunk into your heart, poisoning everything you did with a melancholic venom.

But if your family was thriving, then you would force a smile on your face every morning. The eldest of ten siblings, it was your responsibility to make sure your family would have a successful future. If halting your own life meant everyone else got to continue with theirs, then you’d stay. But you missed them, not having seen them since the day your father had approached you with the marriage certificate in his hands and Hans trailing behind him. You knew they had moved houses soon after you got married, so if your husband would even let you send a letter to them, you had no idea where to send it to.

But you knew that they were well, which was all you needed to know. Sighing lightly, you felt Hans cold eyes on you, forcing you out of your thoughts. “What’s wrong?” He asked, the question coming from a place of habit rather than care, and instinctively you felt a smile force its way onto your lips.

“Nothing’s the matter,” you lied, and it sounded more confident than your lie last night. “Sorry.”

Either satisfied with your answer, or he simply didn’t care that much, he nodded, before returning to glance out the window. Every conversation with Hans felt scripted like that, and it was exhausting. Refraining from sighing again, you joined in looking out the window, you were startled to find the familiar shapes of Rhodes outside, the journey being pretty much over.

It only took another half-a-minute before the carriage was coming to a halt outside the bank, which was on your right. On your left you saw a prison wagon drive past, with two men on horses accompanying it. It wasn’t unusual for there to be a prison wagon in town, a lot of bounty hunters picking up work from the Scarlett Meadows Sheriff’s Office. What nearly caused you to stumble in surprise as Hans helped you out of the carriage was a familiar hat adorning the driver of the wagon. Yet again, you weren’t able to get a good glimpse of him, and Hans’ voice halted you from following the stranger with your eyes.

“I’ll be in there for a bit,” Hans explained, gesturing to the bank. “Go ahead and wait for me right out here.”

“Could I run to the store? I need some things for dinner tonight,” you felt the lie tumble from you before you could stop it.

Well, it wasn’t a complete lie, you did need to buy some supplies, but it definitely wasn’t what you were expecting to do today. He seemed to buy it, relenting after some thought. “Alright,” he started backing away toward the bank, “meet me over here when you’re done. Don’t take too long.” He paused for a moment. “You got enough money?” He asked, nodding to your bag which you held in one of your hands. It was kind of a ridiculous question, but you nodded anyway. Without another word, he walked into the bank, finally leaving you to your lonesome.

As quickly as you could without drawing attention to yourself, you crossed over to the store before avoiding it completely. The men had all dismounted their rides, their horses hitched up on to the post outside of the office. A group of four men stood at the base of the stairs, deep in conversation. The only person you were able to recognize was Sheriff Leigh Gray, who was partially facing you as he talked with the three unrecognizable men.

At least, two of them were unrecognizable.

That familiar hat became even more clear as you approached. It looked even more worn in the sunlight, the brown leather turning a sandy tan in certain spots. The owner of said hat had his back to you, but you were still able to hear his voice clearly. It was just as you remembered, gravely and low and you could listen to it for ages. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your lips as you approached, and you forgot how nice it was to have a genuine one. Your wish of seeing him again was happening faster than you thought it would.

You realized you had no idea what you were going to say to the men, causing you to second guess what you were doing. It’s not like you could go up and say Hey, weren’t you in my house last night? Luckily Leigh saved you from having to come up with anything, his concerned expression turning to a welcoming one as he finally saw you.

He clapped one of the men he was talking with on the shoulder, who had longer black hair that fell to his shoulders, slicked back with pomade. “You remember me tellin’ you ‘bout the Kerrigans?” The men gave partially-interested noises in response. “Well,” he gestured to you with his free hand, and the black haired man followed where he was pointing, turning around to face you completely. He was richly dressed, wearing something you’d see your husband wear, not a bounty hunter. Weird.

The other man also turned. He also had brown hair, with a thick beard similar to Hans’. He was chewing on a piece of straw, and you watched him play with the repeater in his hands, antsy. The only one who didn’t turn to you was the man with the hat, but you heard him hum inquisitively to Leigh as you halted a few feet behind the group.

“Let me introduce y’all to Mrs. Kerrigan.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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puripurin · 3 months

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Idea from @littlekohai77. You are the real G for this. It was altered so that it could fit this story, BUT there will be one where cute yan monster's darling meets his mom. Reader is female.

— Sometimes, you wish you had the balls to say no to your friends. This was seriously not cool of them... along with the other times. This time, though, you finally had the realization that your friends are shitty people because you are tied up to a tree. In the middle of the forest. For like, 4 hours now.

Darkness was starting to set in, and you were hungry because before this, you only ate granola bars and drank water. You were also in pain from when you decided to escape and tried to break free, but all you got were rope burns that were painful.

You sighed as you knocked your feet with one another out of sheer boredom. There was no way you were going to make it out alive. Even if you tried screaming (which you'd have done and your throat is extremely hoarse), you were deep into the forest, and you haven't seen a single soul pass by you.

Well, that was until you heard the crunch of leaves, and it seemed it was heading towards you! How lucky you were! You made sure to move around a lot and tried to use your weak voice to bring the person over to you. You were happy until you realized the person you were luring to you wasn't exactly a person.

A horned monser stood in the corner of your eyes. If you could scream, you would've, but you looked away and closed your eyes. It was like it instantly burned into your eyes, with its deep red eyes and short black fur.

As you waited for death, it never came with only a wet nose being pressed on your cheek, and it went lower and lower until it reached your crotch which you closed your legs and twisted your lower half away from it. The monster growled lightly before slasch at your bindings and carried you in his arms. You momentarily celebrated before realizing you were going to probably get eaten to death by this monster. You sighed and thought about your family and not your ex-friends, which made you fall asleep in the monster's arms.

"WOAHHHHH!" The 7 year old boy said in amazement. He was bouncing around in excitement and made you giggle.

"Daddy is super cool! He saved mommy from danger!" This was your son, Aimilios, the child you had with Kaiser, the monster that had saved you. It was a bit too early to put this out there, but Aimilios was too excited and interrupted.

"Okay, okay. Calm down, don't you want to know what happens next?" You reasoned with your child, which made him stop before sitting down close to you in silence and staring like a puppy. You pulled him closer and rubbed his head.

"Now, what happened after...? Oh right!" You chuckled as you reminiscence on the past.

When you woken up, you were covered in a fur sheet, and there was a fire to the side of you, warming you up. It seemed you were now in an abandoned building. Looking around, everything was worn down, but it was clean.

"You. Awake." A low gruff voice made you jump in fear. The monster appeared with a fraying picnic basket in its teeth. You scrambled behind you, only to hit your head on a broken table leg.

"Fuck... that hurts..." You rubbed the area and brought down your hand only to see blood. Looking back, there was blood on the area that your head it, and it was slightly sharp.

"Human. Hurt. Self?" It spoke once more before dropping the basket near you and going back into the darkness for something.

When the monster came back, there was a scratched up med kit with a dried blood splatter in its mouth. It sat right in front of you and placed down the kit to take out the bandages.

You carefully watched the monster as it slowly wrapped your head in bandages and then used medical grade tape to make sure it wasn't going to come off...

"And the rest is history. It took a while for me to warm up to your daddy, but when I fell in love, it hit me hard." You kissed his head, but your child had something on his mind.

"But... what about mommy's bad friends?" He looked up at you with his cute little doe eyes.

"Well, it was a couple of months later when you were still in mommy's belly."

You yawned as you walked through the hallways of the abandoned building you were living in with Kaiser. At this point, your pregnant belly was obvious even with the loose clothes you wore. It was 1 pm, and you had just woken up. Kaiser was out hunting food, and you stayed here cleaning up and making the abandoned building more like home.

What you weren't expecting was a bright flashlight being shined in your face. There were a lot of shocked gasps as you covered your eyes.

"Heh, is that really you, [Y/n]?" Now that was one of your ex-friend's voices. He lowered his flashlight and saw your pissed off face.

"Hooo! You're massive now! Huh, look, guys, the skeleton has turned into a whale now. Who's the bum that impregnated you? Hahahaha!" One of the girls joked and mocked you.

"You guys sure have a lot of balls coming back to the forest where one of your ex-friends could have possibly died, and the first thing you do is mock my body and its father?" You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

"Hahaha, you're just a waste of space. Why should we care?" It was almost comical with the way they acted. Were these people humans or cartoon characters?

"Okay, since I don't want to be the one to get blamed when you die, please get the fuck out of this place. Now." You crossed your arms and made your voice firm. Even if they were acting like bitches, you still wanted them to live on with their mistakes.

"Oh? Is this cunt speaking back to us? Guys, should we teach this pregnant cow a lesson." To which all 4 persons agree in unison. The tallest punched you in the face before grabbing you and taking you outside and tied you to a tree. You sighed and shook your head.

"Back to where you were, huh? Not so fiesty now, eh?" One said, and you were contemplating things. Too bad you didn't need to think that far as one of them got thrown to the ground and got badly injured.

"I won't go into detail of what happened, but the aftermath was bad for me. I wasn't able to leave my room until I gave birth to you, only to find out that I couldn't interact with other people and leave the house to get supplies. Ridiculous, right??" You huffed and puffed out your cheeks to make your son feel angry as well.

"But you never step foot outside because you wanted to! They forced you outside!" He pouted and crossed his arms, making him look extremely cute.

"But, if he wasn't there, I would have never gotten to see your cute face. Now it's time to go to sleep. Mommy will make your favorite food in the morning if you do." Instantly, he hopped into bed and snuggled into the sheets with his eyes closed shut.

"Goodnight, Amy." You kissed his forehead before turning off the light and leaving the room.

As you walked down the hallways, you heard footsteps. You smiled and turned around behind you to run towards Kaiser, only to get hit in the head by a hanging piece of metal. Tears pricked your eyes as you bent down in pain.

"Ah... my clumsy wife hurts herself again. How foolish of her..." You slapped Kaiser's leg as he made fun of you again. "You're such a bully!" You sniffled.

"Oh? But don't you like taking this so-called "bully's" cock?" You face flushed in embarrassment, and as if the pain disappeared, stood up and started hitting him in his chest. "Now you're really making me regret teaching you english!!" You turned away from him and pouted.

"Oh, you regret it now? Let's see if you'll regret when I stuff this thick—"

"AHHHH--- LALALA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!" You said as you ran away from him.

Anyways 🐀,,, for the introduction for his papa, it is tame because this (y/n) was obscuring most of what happened because be realistic here, are you going to tell a child how you saw one of your friends get mauled in front of your eyes. So, there will be the actual intro post for Kaiser without Aimilios being told the story of how they met.

I thought it would be a fun exercise to do because,,, why not? Belehhhh.

Nir proofread.

#yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader

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ceruleancattail · 5 months

Note

Haven't asked a request in a while. Can I get Ace, Deuce, and MC (can do Ace + MC or Deuce + MC if easier) and scenario involves "shenanigans". Any theme or genre is fine.

Sunrise

Ace x reader x Deuce (+ Grim!)

Things always seem easier when you’re just watching through a screen. Wow, these trained professionals clamber up those sky-high rock walls so quickly! Wow! It looks so fun to dangle from precarious heights just like those athletes!

Athletes with years of training. Trained athletes armed with years of experience, safety harnesses and ropes. Also an ambulance and medical officers on stand-by.

Licensed. Medical. Professionals.

Not two Heartsabyul first years armed with fraying rope that has seen better years, and a pair of shiny pens. You lot must make an odd sight, stationed around Ramshackle dorm’s walls, arms akimbo.

It was Deuce’s idea to catch the first sunrise of the year, and Ace had the brilliant suggestion of scaling the Ramshackle roof for it. In hindsight, that would have been an horrible idea, but drunk with the merriment of the approaching new year, you all agreed.

Now you were stuck on this fool’s errand. Heaving a sigh, you tugged at the rope. It scrapped against the flesh of your palm, stinging your skin ever so slightly. Casting a wary eye to Ramshackle’s crumbling walls, you pursed your lips silently. Quietly reconsidering your life decisions, with Deuce and Grim right next to you.

Deuce had a hand pressed against the wall, tapping on the bricks. Perhaps testing their strength? It’ll be horrible if one of you kicked a hole into Ramshackle’s walls.

Grim was blinking the weariness out of his eyes, nuzzling against your neck. Trying to preserve the last fragments of warmth clinging onto his fur. Out of habit, you lean into him, breathing in that familiar, smoky smell.

Ace however, sat perched on the roof’s edge, leaning over as far as he dared. He scaled up that wall remarkably quickly, nimble limbs tossing themselves over the tiles agilely.

Without a single offer of help. Jackass.

A dastardly smirk flickering across his lips, Ace stares down at the rest of you guys with a certain cockiness twinkling within his eyes. Raising his hand, he waves in a sickeningly condensing manner at the peasants wallowing below.

Azure blue flame bursts out from Grim’s ears as he hisses at Ace’s flippant wave.

“I’ll show ya! I’m gonna get all the way up and beat that stupid grin right off that mug of yours!”

Not wasting a single moment, he claws at the rope, clutching on it like his life depended on it. Wiggling a few inches upwards like a little worm, before sliding all the way back down again. Despite yourselves, Deuce and you had the curtesy to stifle your laughs.

Ace did not share the same sentiment. He burst out in pearls of laughter, clutching at his gut. Tears in his eyes, he choked out:

“He….Grim….he… he just slid all the way down! Just like that!”

Before exploding into pearls of laughter once more, his entire body trembling from sheer amusement. Ace howled from laughter, until the tiles holding up his weight slipped from right under him.

In that split second, you could only think of one phrase:

Oh, how the mighty fall.

At once, Deuce and you rush forward, arms outstretched. It’s almost as if you guys rehearsed this, palms slamming against each other, fingers interlocking. Grim rushed in the centre of both you and Deuce, paws thrusted upwards. Deuce and you had your arms opened wide, ready to break Ace’s tumble.

Sure enough, he landed right onto both of you, the force of his impact going straight into both of your knees. You went down first, rear slamming against the grassy lawn. Deuce got dragged along, tumbling forward. Blades of emerald grass clung onto your thighs, the fresh scent of crushed leaves soaking into your clothes.

All four of you sat there in silence for a split second. Before all your eyes met. Immediately, all of you burst into laughter, reaching for each other almost instinctively. Clutching at each others arms, doubling over with pure laughter.

“That was insane!” Ace chuckled, arms reaching out to ruffle your hair. His other hand snaked over to Deuce’s hair, messing up those indigo locks.

Deuce broke out into a toothy grin, the kind of unabashed smile a young boy might give. Raising his hand, he jabbed Ace playfully in the arm.

“Ain’t that right? You’re lucky we were all there to catch your fall!”

Grim leapt up from the ground, planting himself firmly onto Ace’s lap. He preened himself , fur fluffing up proudly.

“You’re lucky the Great Grim decided to help ya out! If not, you’ll be flattened like a sheet of paper!”

Ace grinned, before rubbing Grim’s head.

“Yeah, you helped me out ‘so much’, big guy.”

In response, Grim lowers his head, butting Ace in the gut.

“EVEN I CAN HEAR THE SARCASM IN THAT, ACE!”

In the midst of all the bickering, a gentle golden glow had slowly crept up your arm, encasing it in a lovely ember hue. Raising your head, you could feel a smile slowly creeping across your lips.

You elbow the duo, before plucking up Grim, setting him down on your lap. Gesturing towards the sky, you let the view do the rest.

Ah, the first sunrise of the year.

A sudden warmth surged through your palm. Both of them, actually. Glancing down, you notice two hands. The hands of Ace and Deuce, snuggling right up against yours. Fingers folding over yours, interlocking your hands together. Fitting perfectly, like the pieces to a puzzle.

Odd.

The warmth from their hands were much more warmer then the morning sun’s.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola x reader #twst ace #ace x reader #ace trappola #deuce #deuce x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce spade #grim #lucky potion 🔷#I love Ramshackle’s roof guys can you tell

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sculptorofcrimson · 2 months

Text

Thread/Soulmate Warhammer AU

Not really a soulmate AU, but more of "threads of fate" au.

~~~~

Ra’s thread is a thin, fragile thing. The Emperor had been loath to break it, had hesitated, His claws hovering over the delicate braid. He had held it, as delicate as the umbilical cord of a newborn, and grieved as He felt what He had to do. In the end He had wrapped it in gossamer like the finest of silk, and woven it, with infinite care, into His own.

When Drach'nyen thrust itself in, it had severed both threads.

Valdor’s thread is crimson. The Emperor had cut off at his wrist, with the only remnants wrapped around his forearm like a chain. The ends still twitch and tangle, as if waiting for a man he had lost before they even met. The Emperor took the frayed threads of the severed rope, and bound it to Him.

Now it wraps around Valdor’s throat like a leash. (Or a noose.)

Valdor does not mind.

(Once, only once, in mere moments before Constantin lowered the blade, he had seen the flash of recognition. The sudden unknotting of a thread of fate both had assumed severed so long ago.

And then the mercy blow. A horrible moment of terrible pity etched across his victim’s pain-stricken face, and the sadness in those tormented eyes not for himself but for Valdor.

And, finally, oblivion. )

Sanguinius’ thread is black. He can see it, twisting there, stretching onwards, inked across the sands of time. When he had met Horus, the Angel had stalled, a smile still stretched across his face, noting down the way his thread had wrapped itself lazily around Horus’ arms. Their threads had tumbled and tangled over one another, so deeply intertwined it was impossible to remove without severing one.

Horus did not seem to see a thing amiss.

Lorgar, his thread brilliant red, wrapped around the Emperor’s chest. The way he had screamed at the fury in His eyes when He had reached up and tore the thread out of His breast, snapping the thin thing in half beneath His claws. The way he had cursed Him, the remnants of the thread pooling around him like shed snakeskin, the scent of Monarchia’s ashes curdling upon his tongue.

Alpharius and Omegon’s threads, a single, thick cord that split in half, bobbing and weaving until neither could tell who was whose. It just seems to love knots, looping around itself, around others, dragging others together without abandon.

Vulkan’s thread, thick and dark and braided, glowing softly with a gentle warmth. It trails itself around his chest, wrapping itself around all near and wide, spreading like a kind coat of flame. It is tender, such a lovely thing. It has chipped, and knotted, and frayed over the eons, but it braids on, thick and resolute. Ashes are embedded in its strings now, but their warmth is still there, just buried under the charcoal.

Fulgrim’s thread was made of silk. A beautiful, perfect, fragile thing. It had bound itself around his hands, around Ferrus’ silver hands and his neck. The delicate silk, so pale against the silver. And how pitifully it had shattered, without a cry, without a song, only with the slithering of sick silk as he had snapped it when the Laerblade took Ferrus’ head.

Ferrus’ thread was a chain. It wrapped around his neck and hands. It had pooled itself slowly around Fulgrim, like a lazy snake, braiding itself together into intricate knots with his silk. When Fulgrim took his head from his shoulders, the links had shattered.

Horus’ thread, white and black. It tied itself so languishly over one of his forearms. If only he had known. If only he had seen. If only he had felt the thread tightening, tugging, unraveling as he had sped his way down a path, and never glanced back upon the road he had trodden. When it finally spun itself out of silk, it tied together in one, final blasphemy of angel feathers. Both tips of their threads had been charred together, one longer than the other.

It was Horus that undid the knot.

He did not even see it unravel when he cut the life out of his brother.

Malcador’s thread. Grey, seemingly thin, but with an impossible, resolute strength. There it was, underpinning the Emperor's thread like a shadow, together even in death. How brightly it had burned, like candlewick, as he sat upon the Throne, eyes bulging, nerves burning, feeling the cells in his body die one by one. It had charred itself to cinders, and then to ash, and finally dust, before his lord made it back home.

And finally, the Emperor's thread. It wrapped around Himself, and only Himself, but it branched off like the leaves of Yggdrasil. It curled itself into the veins of His Custodes, it dragged together the binds of His Primarchs, it curled together like one with Malcador. Some branches were frayed, their ends charred, some had curled up into a solitary knot that no longer held another, some burnt like living, writhing sunlight caught in flesh, but some were warm. Some still dreamt, lazily winding through the fog, one out of thousands. They would bind themselves not to men, or to women, but to entire worlds, to every last beating heart upon the land. It was not a leash, or a noose, or a chain this time, it was merely a bridge, the last heart of a dead god who had once gazed upon His people. And smiled.

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tw1l1te · 2 months

Text

The Final Promise₊˚✩⊹

Chapter 11

Linked Universe x reader

Warnings: Angst, some gore and violence, unrequited love??

₊˚✩⊹

“Skyloft is gorgeous at night, Sky. I can see why it’s hard to leave.”

He hummed, fiddling with the fraying hem of his shirt. You frowned. He usually loves staying up to look at the night sky, he dragged you out tonight, even.

“What’s on your mind, Sky?”

He finally looks at you, for the first time since you both sat down on the wooden platform. His eyes reflect the night sky, as if his eyes were mirrors.

“You… know how the whole prophecy work’s? Hero’s purpose?” you nod, curious to see where this was going.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot. My role, Zel-Sun’s role. I’m questioning the fact of whether or not I want it. Not the journey itself, as I finished it and didn’t have a choice, no, more so the aftermath.”

You frown again, “What do you mean? If this is about the thing I said about Hylia having questionable morals-”

He shakes his head, looking out onto the expanse of the clouds.

“I’m talking about the fact of me and Zelda being destined to be together, essentially.”

Oh.

This topic stung a bit, you weren’t going to lie. You’ve started feeling attraction towards the older members of the group the past few months, a couple months after your initial arrival. You didn’t think the topic would come up or that you would even gain such feelings of your companions, but the universe never works that way.

“I mean… I guess it’s kind of implied you two get together, experiencing the journey together and all. It would make sense if you two ended up together, usually traumatic events or life-changing ones can bring you closer to the person you experienced it with.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? I’m supposed to be in love with her, Sun. And trust me, for several years, I thought I did. Then you came along.” He fixates on you, eyes searching yours.

“You opened up a whole new perspective for me, about myself and the role I play in this lifetime, this era, and beyond. That I’m more than a hero and the Chosen One. That I am my own person.”

You smile, “Of course you are, every single one of you is.”

He gives you a small smile, inching his hand towards yours.

“Y/n, I… I want yo-”

You quickly press your fingers to his lips.

“No. Sky, don’t do this. Don’t do this for me. Don’t do this because I’ve been through the journey with you.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, “I’m doing this for me. For us. I’m choosing my own fate for once, and I want you.”

You shake your head “Sky, no. Anyone but me. I don’t want you to say you want me or love me because you feel obligated to challenge your destiny. I want you to say it from a place where you want me for me, not to prove someone or something wrong.”

You go up to leave, but Sky grabs your hand, “I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll prove to you that you're more than an anomaly to my destiny.”

You groan, your head pounding. You were laying on a cold, rocky surface, but that’s all you could sense for now. Your ears were ringing, your eyes blurry and fogged up.

What happened?

“Finally! Our guest has woken up.”

Before you could open your eyes, you felt someone pick you up, tossing you over their shoulder. You were carried for what felt like eons before you were tossed onto a chair, feeling your limbs get tied up with rough, thick rope. You could already feel your wrists and ankles getting their blood circulation cut off.

“Now, why don’t you start by telling us why you’re here, guide?” A voice asked.

You scoffed, “Why I’m here?? You’’re the fuckers that knocked me out and brought me-” A loud slap reverbrated through the room, your face stinging with aftershock.

“There’s no need for such… language. I’ll ask you again: Why are you here?”

You shift in the chair, its old, splintered wood echoing off the walls.

“Why is that any of your business? I’m not bothering any of you nor causing any trouble, so why are you so interested all of a sudden, huh?” you demanded, trying to mask your fear.

The clan member crouches in front of you, their broad shoulders and tall stature blocking your view of the room.

“Because you’re the one who has somehow involved us in your escapade. Something related with those friends of yours and the fabled hero.”

“What could they possibly have that you would want?”

“That’s where your understanding is misconstrued, little one. It has little to do with your companions, more so to do with the friends that they brought here… and I think you know just exactly who I’m talking about.”

You avoid eye contact. The clan member hums.

“See, a few days prior to your arrival, a little group invaded our hideout. Quite… gruesomely, if I may put it that way. They were looking for you, of course. They wore their measly robes, quite unoriginal if I may say so myself. But I suppose it did the job of concealing their identities, as I didn’t even come close to uncovering their faces.”

Where was he going with this??

“So I made a deal, a bargain. A life for a life. They spare me, I give them you.”

“So you waited for the perfect opportunity to kidnap me to give me to a group of people that you’ve never seen, much less know their motives?”

He seems to halt his thought at your comment.

“I’m smarter than I look, Y/n. I knew exactly what their motives were.”

“So do they or do they not want to kill me? You’re not making any damn sense.”

“Kill you? Why, I never said that. No…. they’re more fascinated by you, to put it lightly, though their reasons are of no ‘light’ manner. Regardless of what they want with you, my duty is done. You are right where I want you to be, and they should be here to collect you whenever they please. It was a pleasure meeting my sacrifice.”

He leaves, footsteps echoing throughout the corridors. Now that you got a proper look around, the hideout seemed… bigger, darker.

Did it expand?

Why is everything seemingly different to when you last played? Surely there wasn’t something you were too blind to see.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts with footsteps, the footfalls slow but determined. Looking up, you see the main subject of your recent conversation.

Based on their stature, they seemed average height, an inch or two taller. Their face was still concealed in shadow, so not much was given away in features. Their breathing seemed haggard, as if they ran for miles.

“....”

“...What do you want from me?”

The figure doesn’t move for a second. You could feel their eyes piercing your very soul, it made the hairs on your neck stand up. Whatever or whoever this was, it was freaking you out more on the inside than you outwardly showed. Fear was a motivator for a lot of people, and you weren’t going to let them get that satisfaction.

They sat down in front of you, on their knees, hands on their knees, head still tilted at you. Their hands were dirty, rough from the terrain and lack of hygiene. They had gloves on, the fingers free from leather binds.

They released another haggard breath.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” the figure spoke, voice cracking mid-sentence. They sounded like they were on the brink of tears.

“Who are you? Why are you sorry?” you asked, needing answers.

Instead of answering your questions, they cautiously brought on of their hands toward your face, as if they were touching the most expensive artifact. They grasped onto a stray lock of your hair, twisting and curling it around the tip of their finger, examining it. They tucked the lock behind your ear, brushing the shell of it before placing that hand on your cheek.

In a different situation you would’ve been disgusted by the dirty contact, but you were fearing for your life at the moment.

“It’s been so long.”

You squint your eyes, trying to take in the context of the statement.

“I promised I’d be there for you… and I broke that promise, your trust. The others… aren’t the same. We-”

A shout echoes through the chamber, a familiar voice ringing in your ear. Without a second’s hesitation, you yell “LINK!”

The hooded figure seems startled, jumping away from your grasp. They scramble to get up, taking one last look before running off into the shadows.

Within seconds, Wars runs in, looking extremely shaken up. He slides up to you on his knees, giving out almost as soon as he sees the state you were in. Bruised and bloodied, a sight that will haunt him until the end of his days.

“Y/n, hey hey. You’re ok, we’re here. Everyone’s here, you’re alright.” he mumbles into your hair, the same palace that figure was touching you moments ago. He kisses you on the forehead, too caught up in anxiety to process the physical affection towards you.

“Link… I… fuck, get me out of these.”

Without a word, he starts undoing the thick knots of rope, wondering who in the world managed to tie you up so efficiently. If this was under other circumstances, he would’ve been impressed. He winced when he untied your wrists and ankles, the rope burns rubbing your skin dry and bloody. A reminder of how careless they all were.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Y/n. If I had gone with you, or someone else was with you and didn’t leave you alone-”

You placed a hand on his shoulder, “It’s not your fault, Link. No one foresaw this coming. I don’t blame you, Wild, or any of the others.”

He nods, but his mind is elsewhere. He picks you up, just like he did a few weeks ago, being mindful of your ankle and wrist burns. He’ll make sure Hyrule tends to those as soon as everyone leaves the hideout.

He quickly walks out of the room, your head spinning. You close your eyes and lean against him, suddenly feeling the nausea wash over you like a wave.

“Almost there, Sunshine. Almost there.”

You start to hear the yelling of the rest of the group, metal clanging against metal, arrows flying past you. You could hear Four yelling to Twilight about a potion, Hyrule yelling about needing more arrows, Time shouting orders.

You don’t know how Wars managed to sneak you out amidst all the commotion, him setting you outside the hideout, resting you against the rocky entrance. He unwrapped his infamous scarf, placing it around you for some sense of comfort.

“I’m gonna go get Hyrule, ok? I don’t have any potions on me that’ll be of use to you. Can you stay awake for me, Sunshine? Just till Rulie fixes you, ok?” you somehow manage a nod, already slipping into unconsciousness.

You feel tapping on your face, causing your eyes to open again, “Hey, hey. Need your eyes open for me ok? Need you awake, baby. I’ll be right back, ok? Stay awake.” Wars sprints off, leaving you. You really try to stay awake, but you can feel the pull of sleep tantalizing you, taking over your senses.

You slip away into unconsciousness as you hear Hyrule and Wars run up to you, shouting your name.

₊˚✩⊹

#yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe x reader #link x reader #linked universe au

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adore-laur · 6 months

Text

GOLD RUSH: PART THREE

— part one | part two

——

Harry likes to think he knows you well. He wants to believe that no matter how much time has passed, he still understands you to your core. He knows your voice raises an octave when you try to hide exhilaration. He knows you shyly shrug one shoulder up to your cheek whenever you receive a compliment. He notices everything you do or don't do. It's evocative, but he holds onto it with his final frayed string of hope.

What he doesn't know is how you would react to his unforeseen kiss.

He's standing completely still in the doorway of his empty dressing room, seeing no signs of you or his daughter. There's no scribbled note left on the table. No conversation was passed off to him from a crew member about where you went. No stray belongings of yours were accidentally left behind.

You're gone, having left without a trace, and the last thing he did was kiss you like an idiot. He ruined everything like he always does, never thinking rationally when he's around you. Your presence consumes him until it suffocates his lungs like the sweetest smoke. You've been clouding his judgment since the day he met you.

Harry had told everyone not to follow him after he finished the show so he could talk with you about what happened, yet now it's just him and his regret casting long shadows into the room. His skin becomes prickly and uncomfortable as he cautiously steps forward and blindly closes the door behind him. Once the outside noise is drowned out, his chest starts heaving, but it's not from the exhaustion of performing.

It's from sheer panic.

He can't breathe. The room spins around him, and his throat begins to tighten like a poisonous rope is being tied around his neck. A shaky hand reaches up to rub at his aching heart. His legs feel numb, and there's no way he'll be able to make it back to the tour bus without collapsing.

Harry fumbles with the lock on the door and then stumbles into the bathroom, holding onto the walls as they cave in on him. He flicks the light switch, causing white fluorescence to brighten his surroundings. He grips the edge of the sink to steady himself. A dreadful anxiety rolls around in his stomach, making him nauseous. He turns the faucet handle and splashes his face with ice-cold water. While scrubbing his overheated skin, he has to do a double take when he sees a glimmering object in his peripheral vision.

It's... his wedding ring.

A wretched sob escapes his mouth as he crouches into a vulnerable position, pressing his forehead onto the sink's edge and letting out sounds of pure agony. He ruined the chance of becoming a family again. He scared you off and set back any progress he made with you by miles. He's going to fall down a dark hole again after he spent ages trying to crawl out of it. He lost you again.

That's when his knuckles start pounding the counter's surface repeatedly until he can't feel his right hand anymore. He inflicts self-torture until his skin is bruised and bloody, maybe even broken, his pain staining the marble and the white silk of his trousers a crimson red. His cries as he does so sound like those of a child trying to catch a single breath, wheezy and helpless.

There's no remedy for this type of heartbreak. It feels almost worse than the divorce. The love was clearly fading at the time, and he was expecting the demise to come knocking on his door eventually. It still hit him like a ton of bricks, but his petty anger toward you softened the blow, even though his anger was simply a mask for his hurt.

Now, his current anger is nothing but desperation of just wanting to be loved by you.

Once his cries have subsided to occasional hiccups, he clumsily removes his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. He finds your contact, presses the call button, and then sets his phone on the floor. A long beep sounds before it goes straight to voicemail.

"No," Harry chokes out. "No, no, no. Please don't do this to me."

A robotic voice tells him to leave a message after the tone. He weakly inhales and picks up his phone, holding it against his ruptured heart.

"Baby." His voice thickly trembles and he's too shattered to notice the slip. "Please listen to me. I'm s-sorry for kissing you, okay? I didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking properly." He sniffles and palms his teary eyes like a kid. "Fuck, don't leave me. Why did you leave me? Just tell me where you are, and I'll f-fix this, I swear. Tell me you're safe and with our daughter. I love you."

He manages to press the button to end his message. His throat is raw, and he can barely breathe through his nose, the tears still falling down his neck. He's surprised no one has gone to check on him, but he supposes the seriousness with which he told everyone to leave him alone is the reasoning behind it.

Shakily standing, Harry regards his reflection in the mirror and feels another wave of nausea pass through him. He's seeing himself in double vision, the blotchy complexion of his cheeks and the swollen puffiness of his eyes staring straight back at him. There used to be a time when he looked this unrecognizable every day. When the divorce had been finalized, he vividly remembers being skin and bones with pale skin and lifeless eyes. The deep depression he succumbed to was one he thought he'd never come out of, but somehow, he did.

He did it for you. He did it for his daughter.

His phone suddenly dings and vibrates twice, making his heart leap out of his chest. He hastily checks the screen as it lights up with your text message.

I'm at home. I called the babysitter because I needed some time to myself.

He exhales a relieved breath and attempts to call you again. This time, you answer on the fourth ring.

"Harry, please stop."

He ignores you because he's not letting you go without putting up a fight. "Let me come over. Please. I have to fix this."

He's ashamed that he didn't have this mindset a year ago, but he hopes you can give him the benefit of the doubt. This is him trying.

"I want to be alone right now. Can you respect that?"

Harry feels dizzy. "My hand... I think I broke my hand."

"What?!" you exclaim.

"My hand hurts." He's clawing for any emotional reaction from you. "Is there gauze at the house?"

"Harry, what did you do? You broke your hand? How in the world did you do that?"

"Dunno," he mumbles. "I need help."

"Aren't there medics at the venue? Go get them."

He gulps and tilts his head back. "But I need you. Need you to fix it for me."

"No, I'm not... I- I can't just be around you after what happened."

"Okay," he says quietly, licking his chapped lips. He won't push someone he could lose again in an instant. "Okay, that's fine."

The silence that ensues is so loud. Harry can hear the blood rushing in his ears and every subtle movement he makes. He hates to make you worry, but if it's the only way he'll be able to see you, then he doesn't care that he broke his hand.

"Are you bleeding?" you ask timidly.

Harry weakly smiles for some reason. "Yeah. It's getting all over my outfit."

You sigh and say, "Don't make me do this."

"Do what, love?"

He hears a noise get caught in your throat. "Let you come over. Just tell me to hang up and go to sleep."

"I can't." He won't.

The clock ticks on the opposite wall. The faucet still runs. A trail of blood drips down his wrist.

"I'll send you the address."

Harry's face screws up as he tries not to cry from your solace. He nods even though you can't see him, every tense muscle in his body alleviating. The blood stains are worth it after knowing you didn't run away from him for good.

"Thank you," he whispers in one breath.

He knows your address by heart but doesn't need to tell you that.

——

The knock on your front door could have been easily prevented. If you had just said no and possessed a single ounce of dignity, you wouldn't have let Harry break down your walls so effortlessly.

Yet the voicemail he left broke those walls into a million little pieces. The torment in every syllable he spoke, the way he called you baby after so long, and hearing his pained voice tell you he loved you are all what made you pick up the phone when he rang for the second time. To leave him in a state of panic is the last thing you'd want. You've done it before, and it would kill you to see it happen again.

You hesitantly unlock the deadbolt and open the door, coming face-to-face with Harry's tall figure. The first thing you focus on is his apparent broken hand, which is lazily wrapped in an ice pack. Then, it's the cable knit sweater he wears under his long black coat, seemingly dressed for winter despite humidity lingering in the air. He looks exhausted with his slouched posture and raw-bitten lips.

You want to hold him. Kiss his sadness away. Bring the gleaming light back to his beautiful eyes.

"I forgot how chilly it gets here at night," Harry greets with a scratchy voice that you know is from crying. "I, uh, also brought some leftover macaroni and cheese from the catering room. Didn't know if you'd be hungry."

You peer at the aluminum pan in his uninjured hand. "I have food here."

"I know, but... it's macaroni." He clears his throat and holds the dish up. "It's really good."

His endearing personality has always been dangerous. You can't let it soften your heart.

"I'm not hungry right now, but thank you." You take the dish from him, feeling the quick brush of his hand. "Come in. I already have the gauze and rubbing alcohol set out."

It's always strange whenever he's in the house you once shared with him. He's never gotten far past the kitchen since the divorce. You lead him to the couch, where the supplies are spread out on the coffee table. You set the dish down and sit next to him, your thighs nearly touching his as you pick up the rubbing alcohol and washcloth.

"How did this happen?" you ask worriedly, pouring a splash of the potent liquid onto the fabric.

Harry takes his coat off with a shrug. "I got a bit overwhelmed. It's not broken, by the way. Only sprained."

Guilt swells in your chest. Is it because of you? Your unannounced departure?

You take your time disinfecting and bandaging his scrapes and cuts, his bruised hand in yours. He doesn't say anything except for the occasional murmured swear from pain. After his hand is wrapped nicely, you watch him shift on the couch and pull something from his pocket.

"I know you probably want me gone as soon as possible, so I'll just get straight to the point." He holds up his gold wedding band. "Do you know what this ring means?"

Staring at what was once a symbol of commitment, you defeatedly whisper, "Obviously, Harry."

"But do you know why I kept mine?" he questions further.

"All I know is that you shouldn't have," you reply, squeezing your eyes shut. It's an unfair jab, considering you shouldn't have kept yours either.

"I wasn't going to just throw it away like it's worthless junk."

"Good. It was expensive."

"Stop." Harry turns his body toward yours and crosses his legs on the couch. "Just hear me out, okay?"

You slowly nod and bring your knees to your chest.

"I kept it because I still love you. And I don't expect you to sit here and accept that, but it's the truth. It's been the truth since we separated."

You let out a sob and cover your face with your hands. How could he say that? How could he look at you and say that? Shaking your head, you reply, "You don't mean that. Don't say things you don't mean."

He gently grabs your wrists and pulls your hands away. "You have no idea how many times I've wanted to say it to you. No fuckin' idea."

You blearily gaze at him and see that his eyes hold unwavering seriousness. "You love me?"

He nods as he wipes away your tears. "Always have. It never, ever went away."

"Are- did you ever see someone else? Since our divorce?" The thought makes you sick, but you need to know if he opened his heart to another — if he really has loved you all this time.

"God, no," he says, tugging his sleeve over his hand to dry his waterline. "Even if I had, I'd only be looking for you in them."

You scoot closer to him. "I haven't seen anyone either. No one really interests me except you."

Harry tilts his head to the side and scrunches his nose. "What do you mean by that?"

Taking a deep breath, you decide to admit your buried revelation. "It means that I still love you."

All you hear is his staggered inhale. It's like the air ran out of his lungs, and circulation ceased as he closed his fist around his most important ring.

It's painfully beautiful the way his body falls into yours, his hands clutching your shirt and his forehead pressed against your collarbone as he begins to cry. Sobs of relief dampen your skin, and you can't help but tightly wrap your arms around him and sway him like he did with you earlier.

Harry sniffles and lets out a vulnerable whimper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You're not quite sure if he's apologizing for loving you or for the things he said that made you feel like he didn't.

You run your fingers through his hair and say, "It's not your fault. It's neither of our faults. We needed to be apart. Otherwise, it would've been hell if we stayed together."

"It was hell either way." You just hold him, soaking up his tears the best you can. "I want" — he hiccups a cry — "I want to try again. I need to be with you. I love you so much. And I can't make it go away. I- I don't want it to go away. Please, baby—"

"I love you, Harry," you interrupt. You pick his head up and cradle his cheeks. "Do you hear me?"

He melts into your touch. "But you don't need me."

"I never said that."

"It's true, though. You can't even look at me sometimes."

You furrow your eyebrows. "Have you ever thought that maybe it's because I still love you? That you still make me so nervous, and I can't look into your eyes for too long before I lose my composure?"

His watery eyes dance around your face. "You mean that?"

"Anyone would be lucky to love you in the way that I do," you say, choking up from your own words. "I could never throw something like that away."

"Then what do we do?"

You know he's changed for the better in the past year. There's no need to worry about whether or not he'll be a good dad or partner. He has always been those things, but the stress of his job made the ugly side unfold. His priorities have clearly shifted if his showing up at your door at midnight with a sprained hand and macaroni and cheese is any indication.

"We take things slow," you say after contemplating. "Really, really slow. We have a daughter who goes through enough, and I don't want things to get worse before they get better. She's our top priority if we're going to do this."

Harry nuzzles his nose into your hair. "Are we doing this? I need you to be all in."

"I'm all in if you are."

"Of course. I sprained my hand for you, didn't I?"

You softly laugh and feel his chest rumble with laughter too. "When's your next show, by the way?"

He grabs a tissue from the box on the coffee table and quickly blows his nose. "Day after tomorrow. I planned to spend another day with you guys before my flight."

"We can have a family day together," you think aloud. "Maybe walk along the river or something."

He smiles hopefully and nods, his curls rustling against your shirt. "Yes, please."

The settlement sinks in. You'll try again with Harry, this time with a clearer outlook and abiding love. You're sure you'll tell him about the ring you kept someday. You'll tell him about all the times you wanted to call and ask him to come over just because you missed being around him. You'll tell him how proud you are of him for becoming a better man for you and your daughter, even while he was hurting.

For now, you let his love cover your crumbled stone walls, a tender shield that never stopped growing.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #gold rush series

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deepouterspacecandy · 5 months

Text

Dancing Shadows

It’s not that you were smitten with her.

It’s just that when she accidentally brushed her leg against yours under the table, it set your body on fire. Warmth spilled from your head to your toes with an innocent touch and it was almost adolescent. The way her very presence caused you to avert your eyes the moment it happened, an instinctual reach for the nearest plastic straw or frayed string of your hoodie.

Anything to fiddle with to distract from the jackhammer between your ribs.

“Abby!” a familiar voice rang out.

You winced and immediately regretted it. You were never good at hiding your emotions.

Maybe nobody at this godforsaken table noticed your distaste for Owen. It wasn’t reasonable—your hatred for him, and you knew as much. Your reaction to his presence was based solely on boiling, unadulterated jealousy and so what? You were only human.

“What’s up?” Abby cooed, letting herself become smothered by the man behind her.

Okay, so smothered is a tad dramatic, but come on. Get a room.

“Just thought I’d check in with my favourite girl before shipping out,” Owen said. “This might be the longest we’ve been apart since we met.”

“Good riddance,” you mumbled.

Nora snorted at your near silent outburst, giving you a gentle kick. That tender brush of ankles beneath the table set nothing on fire but your attitude. You’d have to give it to her, though. She was always looking out for your best interest.

Owen Moore was the luckiest man in the entire compound, and you envied the way his dopey demeanor always seemed to put a smile on her face. Did he know how fortunate he was?

“I’m full,” you blurted, pushing away your half-eaten burrito. “Catch you later.”

You couldn’t bear to stop and analyze the shocked expression painted on Abby’s face.

She had saved you a spot at the table, the way she did every day. Her grey jacket bunched up on the bench across from her, awaiting your arrival. Her pretty face breaking into a smirk as you fumbled with your tray and her favourite coat.

She hadn’t muttered a single complaint when you opted for laying the fabric across your lap, even after dropping a stray piece of lettuce and mayo onto the collar.

She simply grinned and continued ranting about the current book she was reading. Well, that was before Owen turned up.

Abby called out to you, but your cheeks burned, and your stomach twisted in that uncomfortable way it often seemed to do in these situations. You hurried out of the chow hall without a second glance or destination in mind.

Your feet, one in front of the other, took you away from the source of the agony, and that’s all you could stand to process.

When you collapsed onto the couch in the library, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

This was your safe place. Your sanctuary.

Within minutes, the tight ball of rope in the pit of your stomach relaxed. Dim lighting and the weathered scent of old literature, the quiet hum of passersby in the hallway. The glide of battered paper between your fingers. The comfort of knowing that a temporary slice of peace was only a chapter away.

This little nook developed into a haven to have yourself a serious nervous system override, which your body desperately needed after a hectic week on patrol, coupled with far too many sleepless nights.

Fear wove its way through the stadium as the conflict between the WLF and the Scars mounted. In a matter of weeks, the ceasefire between the two factions disappeared.

When the Seraphites crossed boundaries they ought not cross, both in land and principle, Isaac retaliated without hesitation. And when Isaac sent his soldiers into their territory intending to cause abject harm, the Scars gathered their resources and fired back in short order. A vicious cycle perpetuated by ruthless leaders at the expense of loyal, dependent lives.

To say the conflict had transformed into a bloodbath was putting it lightly. You spent many hours in your bunk over the recent weeks, staring into the abyss in sheer disbelief.

How could human beings treat each other with such careless disregard? You didn’t agree with the way they lived, but at your core, it didn’t spark a desire for violence. You understood the importance of protecting your community, and you would do so without protest. It just seemed rather counterintuitive.

Could the war between your groups meet an end before your life wound up on the front lines as the next sacrifice?

It wasn’t until you started curling up in Abby’s jacket that you realized you’d taken it hostage in your frenetic escape. Heat trickled across the bridge of your nose, pooling in your cheeks.

“It looks better on you, anyway.”

“God, you scared me,” you huffed, clutching your chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Abby’s calm tone filled your chest up with wild flutters as she slid in next to you on the couch.

Was this piece of furniture always so small?

Suddenly, there was only the hard edge of it at your heels and the overwhelming strength of the girl nestled beside you.

“It’s that brain of yours, always fretting about something. It’s bad for your health, you know,” Abby said. Her fresh breath, so close to your own, caused your insides to capsize. You tried not to fixate on her blonde braid spilling onto your shoulder. How she reminded you of an autumn forest, her skin softened by a bar of her beloved pine soap.

“I knew you were hoarding packs of chewing gum,” you said. “Show off.”

She smirked, giving you a playful nudge with a wad of minty green pressed between her teeth. “Want some?”

“Hard pass,” you said, desperate to control the giggles building in your throat. “Keep all those Owen cooties to yourself, please and thank you.”

She nibbled at the dry skin on her bottom lip before giving you a sidelong glance. “You don’t like him much, do you?”

A pang of guilt struck at your core. There was a tinge of melancholy in her voice. The last thing in the world you wanted to do was make her sad.

“He’s alright,” you said with a lazy shrug.

She grinned. “Just alright?”

“I’m indifferent to his existence.”

“That’s so much worse,” she chortled, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them back up, bright blue and glossy, it felt like she was staring into your soul.

Your heart thundered, turning your mouth bone-dry. Perhaps you should’ve accepted her gum after-all.

“What?” you rasped. If she recognized the panic in your voice, she was kind enough not to draw attention to it.

“Just you,” she whispered.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You.”

“What about me?”

She shifted her body, and you all but froze as she moved onto her side, bracing herself to better look at you. It took all your might to muster the courage to meet her gaze. Her eyes flitted to your mouth for the briefest moment, and you swallowed hard.

“I think you’re really sweet,” she said. “Not very discreet, though.”

“Excuse you? And what exactly does that mean?” You graciously took offense, challenging her assessment. Her smile only radiated.

“It means I can read you like a book,” Abby said.

“Fat chance,” you teased. “It’s a miracle you can read at all!”

Her brow quirked, and her high spirit slipped into a tantalizing grin. “Can I take a crack at your disdain for Owen?”

Part of you wanted her to hit the nail on the head to tear your feelings for her wide open. Another part of you prayed for her to change the subject to save you from the heartache of the inevitable.

She was in a relationship. Taken. Beyond that, you were certain she was straight as an arrow, and it was nicer to exist in sheer denial of that fact for the time being.

“Well?” she pressed. “Can I?”

“Go nuts,” you said, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

She shifted again, this time to make room for her hands to fidget. Was she nervous?

“He’s terrible at tracking,” Abby offered, as the corner of her mouth hitched. “Right?”

“I mean, yes,” you groaned. “He sucks at tracking, but that’s—that’s not why.”

She blew out a ragged breath, a sudden wash of pink highlighting her freckles. She hummed to herself and then clicked her tongue, pretending to ponder. “Gotcha. Okay. Only two more guesses. I better make them good.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you asked, covering your face with your forearm.

“I know what it is!” she exclaimed, pausing for theatrical effect. “It’s because he interrupts everyone just before the punchline of a story, isn’t it?”

“Abby.”

“That drives me mental, too.”

“Abigail,” you grumbled. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

You hid yourself behind her crumpled jacket and the scent of this beautiful girl all around you turned your already racing thoughts into a dishevelled mess.

“Hold up,” Abby said. She reached for her jacket with such gentle intention, pulling it away from your face. “I get one more guess.”

Electricity threatened the mellow ambiance of the library, despite the adjacent hallway falling into silence. Everyone must be heading back to their duty assignments.

Everyone outside of you and Abby, of course. Surely, someone would come searching.

“A deal’s a deal,” you said.

The heat from her body prickled your skin with a million tiny beads of sweat. You wanted to swipe your sleeve across your upper lip, too conscious of drawing focus to your nerves.

Her gaze transformed into something deep and ethereal the more you squirmed. She seemed entertained by your anxious energy, and you swear you could melt into the couch with each expectant glance she sent your way.

“If I get this right, what will you give me?”

“Give you?” you scoffed. “You mean like, a prize or something? Do I look like a carnival to you, Anderson?”

“All you really need is a big red nose,” she smirked.

This is precisely why you adored her. She knew when to apply pressure and when to ease the load. It’s what made her an excellent leader.

Abby was so much more than a disciplined soldier.

“You calling me a clown?”

She wiggled closer, laying her head on your shoulder. She let out a long exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Maybe.”

You struggled to piece two coherent thoughts together. This conversation had already played out in your mind a dozen times, through many daydreams. You ached for Abby. Hopelessly charmed by her wit and her magnetism. But you couldn’t fathom being a secret of hers. A sneaky affair in the shadows.

Sure, you weren’t fond of Owen, but hurting him wasn’t at the top of your priority list, either.

You wanted Abby in the daylight.

Arms wrapped around her before a patrol, as her squad loaded the Humvee and Manny called over his shoulder about how utterly corny you two were. You wanted her to pull you onto her lap in public, a bashful smile on her face.

You wanted to be hers, and you wanted it to be okay.

“You make me feel things I’ve never felt before,” Abby said.

Her confession sent you over the edge, your heart beating impossibly fast. Could she feel it?

As you scrambled to find your words, she continued.

“I think about you all the time. Probably more than I should,” she said. “It’s making me crazy.”

You heard the echo of another hard swallow. This time you weren’t sure who it belonged to.

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked.

She lifted her head from your shoulder, and let it fall to the back of the couch, her sturdy features enveloped by the amber light of a nearby lamp. She was breathtaking. Sweat caused the short hairs around her face and neck to curl, bits of frizz peeking out from her loosening braid. You’d seen nothing more gorgeous in your lifetime.

“If I do what my body is begging me to do right now, it would be a very bad thing,” Abby said. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

You nodded with a mixture of disappointment and relief. “I understand.”

Abby rubbed her vascular hands along her thighs, seemingly absorbed in thought. “I still have one more guess.”

“That you do.”

She sucked in a breath, controlling her exhale. A gym method she no doubt applied to most stressful situations during her daily grind.

“You hate Owen because you want me to be your girl instead,” Abby said. Her eyelids became heavier as she tried to catch hold of your unfocused gaze. “You want me.”

You nodded again, unable to look her in the eye, terrified that the two of you might lose control.

“Tell me then,” she said. “Tell me how you feel. I need to hear you say it.”

You noticed her legs spreading further apart, her natural confidence rivalling the alarm bells going off inside you. She anchored herself to the couch and the sudden thought of straddling her showered you with an intense surge of heat.

“When you kiss him, I wish it was me instead,” you said. “I wish it was me you reached for whenever you crave comfort. I want to be the one you run to when you’re happy or afraid. I want to keep you safe and make you feel alive. All of it.”

“Are you sure?” she murmured.

“Beyond,” you said. “I have wanted you for so long, Abby.”

Her knuckles skimmed the outside of your thigh. Inconspicuous and so, so gentle. “Give me some time, okay?”

“Of course.”

“God, you’re so pretty,” she said, igniting you both in a bout of shy giggles. “I finally get to say it. That’s allowed for now, right? I don’t even care. You are so fucking pretty, it’s killing me.”

Before you could fall into another dangerous pull, the doors to the library cracked open. Manny poked his head inside to remind Abby of the duties she needed to tend to. There was a slew of small missions Isaac demanded she organize, some requiring her to leave the compound for the afternoon. You were grateful to be off his radar for the day.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

“I’ll be around,” you said, linking your pinky finger with hers in unison, your hands tucked between her thigh and your own.

“Good. I’ll find you,” Abby whispered.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #tlou part 2 #tlou abby #abby x reader #abby x you #abby x fem!reader

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bullet-prooflove · 11 months

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Punishment: Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Reader

GIF IS NOT MINE

Tagging: @corruptedcoffin @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @kishie8 @nu1freakshow @@oureternalbond @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @jtelford @the-wandering-lunatic @darqchilddaydreamz @yourwinchesterbros @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard

It’s been less than a day when Chibs finds you. He knows what can happen in the space of a few hours, the damage that can caused. It drives him, it makes him relentless, ruthless, merciless. The blood he’s shed in your name should frighten him, but it doesn’t because he would do anything to have you back in his arms and away from this part of his life. You were never meant to see the violence; you were never meant to endure it.

He sees similar inclinations from his brothers. The men whose affairs you have take care of, the ones whose secrets you have kept, the ones that you have fought for.

Out of them all it’s Tig that understands the recklessness of his actions. He tells him as much when he uses pliers to tear the teeth out of that IRA bastard’s mouth, it takes three before they get the information they need. Chibs would raze this town to the fucking ground if it meant keeping you safe and Tig would help salt the earth afterwards.

It’s bad. Worse than he could have imagined. He tries to keep his shit together but when he sees the mess they’ve made of your back, it feels like he’s been eviscerated. He can’t fucking breath past the taste of copper on his tongue. His gaze strays to the bullwhip, neatly bundled up on the empty crates that used to contain their AK 47s, your blood still encrusted on the thongs of the device.

It’s Tig that cuts you down, the rope fraying away from the wooden beam of the barn as Chibs cups your face in his hands, his thumbs ghosting over the mascara that’s trailed down your cheeks. You hiss through your teeth as the rope breaks and you fall into the shelter of his chest, the remnants of your silk blouse barely preserving your dignity.

It’s the cruelty of the punishment that jars Filip, and he knows it could have only have come from Galen. He thinks the other man who would have known exactly what he was doing when he inflicted each and every lash upon your fragile skin. He’s been witness to something like this before, back in Ireland when one of the Sons over there had been caught with one of the King’s underage daughters. He knows there’s an apprehension in the agony and sometimes that’s worse than the actual affliction.

He knows that this is a personalised message, and he knows it’s meant for him. This lashing it wasn’t meant to kill you. It’s like the scars on his face, you’re meant to bare the marks for the rest of your life, to look in the mirror and know that you’re only crime was loving a man who lived on the wrong side of the law.

He wants the cunt dead; he wants everyone who participated in your torture fucking dead. He wants to burn every single one of those fuckers alive and hear their screams echo into the night. You whimper and he cradles you to his chest, his cheek pressed against the top of your head as he whispers the tenderest words into your hair. Your fist grips the leather of his kutte, the strength of your grasp surprises him as he bows his head so that he can hear the words you whisper in his ear.

“Make him fucking bleed.”

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#chibs telford x reader #chibs telford #chibs imagine #chibs x reader #filip chibs telford x reader #filip chibs telford #filip telford

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sebsxphia · 4 months

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ptolemaea. | spirit in the basement.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: all you can feel and see is darkness, but someone else is there with you. you pray for your preacher in these desolate times.

￫ word count: 2K.

￫ c/w: heavy religious themes, preacher!rhett abbott, death, love and cannibalism.

￫ a/n: this is it, the last chapter! i’d highly recommend listening to spirit in the sky by norman greenbaum and strangers by ethel cain when reading! i also want to say to every single one of you who have loved and supported this series, thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. i’m genuinely so proud of this series and please know, that this is never the end either! my inbox is always open for these two! this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

| previous chapter |

What was this?

What was this feeling?

Your muscles in your calves tensed first on instinct to familiarize yourself with this feeling. They squeezed against something and you tensed them again, in an attempt to push against this something and feel it out.

Your forearms and biceps together repeated the same action and once again, you felt them squeeze against something.

No matter how hard and tight you flexed, or squeezed your muscles, they would not move against this something.

Something was binding you together and as you moved against this feeling, it felt as though invisible ties of fraying rope were twisting and turning over your body. You could feel them contort over your ribs, and tug at your ankles and wrists. Your limbs were glued tightly shut to your body in a position that you couldn’t even fathom to picture. And you were cold. You were so fucking cold.

Throughout all of your winters back in your home town, you don’t ever think you’d felt a chill this cold. It was prickling at your skin and covering you from head to toe. But, although you felt this piercing cold, your body wasn’t shaking like it would back home. You wondered if you were moving at all.

You thought you felt your eyelids blinking against each other in an attempt to try and see this something, but no matter how hard you blinked, your eyes remained open and there was nothing to be seen. It was just black. A black, deep, dark void that consumed your vision and everything you knew to be true.

And then you heard it.

There was a faint hum of music above your head. It was muffled considerably, but you couldn’t mistake that tune for anything else. Spirit In the Sky by Norman Greenbaum entered your hearing and swarmed your head with its familiar lullaby. It was a familiar favorite with yourself and soon after, with Rhett.

Rhett.

The song was still severely muffled, but further muffled creaks and groans contorted above your head. They paced around in an un-predictable pattern, and slowly they started to grow louder and closer to you. The sound cleared up and you recognized them to now be rhythmic patterns of footsteps. They were descending lower and growing louder, but something else came with it.

The low hum of the tune playing above you was turning into a whistle as something, came closer to you.

This was someone whistling the tune.

“R— Rhett?”

Your voice was broken and it croaked out from your throat.

“Rhett!”

You screamed louder with desperation, but your throat felt coarse and torn up.

As you desperately pleaded for Rhett to find you, over and over, you could feel the flesh on your neck tearing with your muscles. Your vocal cords were severed as you screamed.

You came to the deafening conclusion that he couldn’t hear you, as you heard his low drawl draw closer to you and hum out the words, “Never been a sinner, I never sinned. I got a friend in Jesus…”

His voice was so close to you now and he was practically on top of you. A crack of light dawned to your left and widened quickly. The darkness was now cut open above you and, you thought, you blinked furiously as your eyes adapted to the light. It was a dim and flickering light, yet it felt as though you had seen this darkness for your entire life. Your eyes adjusted and they went wide as you finally saw him.

Rhett had heard your pleading prayer.

He had always spoken to you about how you would find yourself in the Garden of Eden with him, therefore this wasn’t right. This wasn’t God’s plan for you, nor it wasn’t Rhett’s plan for you either. Your Preacher had come to save you from whatever horrid Hell this was. You would be safe in his arms again. He would hold you tightly against you, so tight his flesh would mould to yours and you would be tethered for eternity. You needed him, you craved him.

You made another futile attempt at screaming his name, but they fell on deaf ears. Your words never came. And Rhett simply continued to hum out Spirit In the Sky as he looked down at your neatly tied together body, which was frozen solid in your freezer, at the bottom of your basement.

You saw his hunting knife twirl in his slender fingers. You felt a blunt thud! whacked against your body and you were thrown back into the darkness.

You had no idea how long you’d been surrounded by this pitch-black, aching, darkness. The concept of time had all but disappeared with the light you saw your Preacher with. You thought it funny how the dim lightbulb that flickered above his head, silhouetted him like an Angel.

Concepts and things were starting to merge. You got confused and you felt yourself forgetting what time was all together, what your Daddy looked like, where your home was, how to breathe… But, Rhett was what you thought of most.

As you thought of him you could feel your heartbeat quicken in your throat and trail down to your heart itself. His initials of ‘R.A.’ thrummed on your hip bone with it. When you thought of him in this darkness, your body would vibrate and the blood in your veins would fizz.

He always made you feel as though you were coming alive. Every kiss, touch and bruise from his hand during sex, made your flesh come alive. Your hearts were tethered together, with his arteries suffocating yours.

You missed him.

And then you saw him again.

The darkness around you knocked down like bricks, before coming back together and forming a kitchen, specifically your kitchen, that you lived in together.

You were home and Rhett was with you there.

It was a sickly sweet, warmth inside your kitchen and it was just as you had left it. Left it where exactly, you weren’t sure of, but the heat made it feel as though wind was blowing gently along your arms.

Still, Spirit In the Sky played on the antique radio and you remembered how it would play in Rhett’s truck during blistering hot drives to the West, with the wind blowing through his rolled-down windows and onto your arms. You would mumble the lyrics to the tune with your knee bouncing in time. Soon you began to notice how Rhett would hum the tune with you, quietly making it known to you that he loved the song just as much as you did. His slender fingers would tap against the wheel of his truck, or his truck door as his hand stuck outside.

You suddenly felt his fingers tapping against you and you jolted with a spark. You watched him in the kitchen as he seared something with his hands in a sizzling hot pan. That sickly sweet, warmth was all you could feel as it clung to your flesh and stuck you to this particular place.

The song died out faintly on the radio and it followed with the town's local news.

“The missing persons case that has been wracking and worrying the people of Wyoming is causing another wave of paranoia as it’s suspected links to the missing persons cases that recently happened in the state of Florida. At this point, it is only suspected and local authorities are questioning…”

The monotone voice on the radio wasn’t interesting to you. It was drowned out from your ears as you gazed fondly, with an emptiness still behind your eyes, at Rhett. Your heartbeat picked up its pace and thrummed heavily against your rib cage as you watched him still. He was so handsome as he walked over to you, and then by you, reaching out to the cupboard that held your tableware.

His forearms now had small freckles splattered over his skin. You adored how they came up darker in the hotter weather. The fuzz of his arm hair, trailing up to his calloused fingers, had got lighter in the sunlight and you felt it softly brush against your cheek like he would when he’d lean in to tenderly press his lips to yours.

You’d only ever just wanted to be his. When you would kneel by your bed each night in nothing but your thin cotton nightdress, you’d pray to be his. You would beg him through prayer to tell you that you’re his. With your hands clasped so tightly together that your palms became damp, you’d mumble against your flesh, “Can I be yours? I tried to be good, Preacher Abbott. Am I no good? Can I be yours? I tried—”

When he told you that you were finally his, his forehead was pressed to yours through your screen door at the back of your house. His lips fumbled over the mesh material as he spoke and you laughed with pure, undeniable happiness that you were his. Through the small holes in the screen door, his familiar scent mixed with Marlboro Reds blanketed over you and wrapped you up with comfort. His tiny glass bottle of aftershave would always be splashed on his pulse point, just under his jaw, which was now tensing tightly as he chewed.

You watched as he devoured his smoked meal sat in front of him, and suddenly you felt an overwhelming and all-consuming love. You felt loved and protected by him, and you came to understand, like it was the most simple thing on this bountiful Earth, that this was his plan to keep his little lamb safe with him.

As he swallowed you thickly, you could feel his heart beating rapidly. You thought it funny because you never considered yourself tough before.

You felt whole as his heart was beating and intertwined itself with yours again. You were turning in his stomach and making him feel lovesick off of you and your tender flesh.

Tender pieces were still bleeding red and you thought, that Rhett had never looked so handsome when you were all over his mouth. His dog teeth that bit the meat off of your bones, were stained red. He groaned quietly, as he occasionally let his tongue wrap around his calloused fingertips. Doing so, he would smear your blood across your chin. His face was the portrait of a lover's rage.

This feeling was euphoric, in some strange and delightful way. You could never blame him for loving you the way that he did, because you were happiest here and because he would always be tethered to you. You’d never be without your Preacher again. Never alone, or fearful. He could protect you now from any hurt, or pain. This was meant to be and you would always forgive him, because he would always come back to you.

This sensation crept up your body, and you recognized the feeling of Rhett’s large hands running along your fingertips, down your forearm, and then up your biceps and to your shoulders.

You watched as the kitchen fell around you again like bricks, before building themselves back up and Rhett’s board arms were incasing you against his bare chest. You felt warm again, but it wasn’t the sickly, sweet type of warmth you’d experienced in the kitchen. This was instead the comforting warmth of Rhett’s flesh, pressed and moulded against yours.

The bricks came back together, stacking atop one another to form your bedroom in your home, where you lay together. Your hearts pounded against one another and you could finally feel his breathing. You could feel how his lungs expanded steadily below your own. The steady thrum of his pulse that you could feel under his jawline. As you scratched over it, his stubble pricked at your fingertips.

But you knew this was different.

In his basement, you would grow cold. The memory of you to everyone who knew you would simply be restricted to the Polaroids Rhett had of you. And whilst you were torn apart by the dog teeth of Preacher Abbott, you would still wait for him in your bed, in Death.

You felt safe, loved and protected with Rhett as you turned in his stomach, and you were held in his comforting arms. You just prayed that he knew how much you loved him.

But, it’ll be okay.

You can tell him when he gets here.

to my muse, jenna, thank you.

taglist: @sunblchdfly @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @kmc1989 @randomfandomgirl97 @peachystenbrough

tagging those who may be interested: @attapullman @lewmagoo @floydsmuse @auroralightsthesky @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbitch @sugarcoated-lame @becks-things @roosterbruiser

#rhett abbott #preacher!rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott angst #rhett abbott drabble #rhett abbott imagine #outer range #lewis pullman #ptolemaea

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celestialspecial · 7 months

Text

In Cold Blood (Pt. 2)

Warnings: Dub con, knife play, blood, smut/p in v-do i even need to say its 18+ (also dont do it with serial killers irl....you know this)

The pounding relentless beat of the club echoed out onto the pavement. The sidewalk under your feet seemed to shake with each new bass drop, lights from the floor to ceiling windows washed along the crowd waiting in line.

You stood single file, all asses and elbows waiting to get to the front velvet ropes. Your nerves were frayed, the last few weeks had been leading you up to this moment.

Once you had a photo of the killer with his mask it was easier than before to find snippets of him on local cctv camera footage. His steps were more traceable but you still didn’t know his motive.

The more you learned the less it made sense.

You'd tracked his wanderings for over a month now, the trail had gone cold but you had it on good authority he'd be here tonight. The Killer, looking for his next victim.

With some intense persuasion your team had allowed you to go under cover and act as bait to draw out the madman. Your skimpy dress and overall look blended you into the background of the crowd waiting in line.

You looked like you deserved to be there. Were meant to be there.

After god knows how long of waiting in line you finally were able to escape the chilly outdoors and feel the intense heat of the ravenous club before you.

Bright lights pooled the dance floor and if you had thought the outside was crowded this was even worse. How anyone managed to dance was beyond you but that wasn't why you were here.

Making your way to the bar in hopes of escaping the intense smells and rhythmic dancing to clear your head. A buzz from your phone got your attention.

One of your colleagues.

"He's there." Your heart beat increased its pace. Eyes darting around the mass of gyrating people but you couldn't see shit. Everyone was moving so erratically, it would be impossible to find him.

After a moments pause you wondered if maybe this was a wash and to call for backup and corner the bastard wherever he was here instead of coercing him to follow you somewhere private where an arrest could be made.

At that your phone buzzed again. What the fuck did they want?

Only this time it was a call. From an unknown number. He was here.

"Hello?"

"Detective. You look mouthwatering tonight." You gulped in response suddenly realizing this might be a bad idea but taking a shot from the bartender strengthened your resolve.

"Do I?"

"Oh yes. Have you come here to arrest me, Detective? Looking like that?"

"Maybe I came here for other things."

A long pause on the other end had you believing he had hung up until you heard a brief inhale on the end of the line.

"Is that so?"

"Will you turn me down?"

This was very dangerous. You were being reckless with your safety but if it drew him out and you had a chance to throw this sucker away for life you'd take it.

"Never."

"Then come get me."

"No... I think you need to find me first. Hasn't that always been your goal? To find me."

You cursed under your breath. Of course he wasn't going to make this easy for you. Why had you been so stupid.

"I don't know if you know this but you picked the most crowded club in the city tonight."

"Don't worry. I'll give you hints. But I can tell you right now you're very cold."

You stepped away from the bar and turned left.

"Warmer."

You considered that when you caught him you'd just kill him and say it had been an accident. And yet a sick and twisted part of you felt a thrill you couldn't explain.

And honestly were afraid to examine further.

Another few twists and turns to the tune of, "Warmer" and "you're getting colder." Lead you to a bustling staircase that took you up to the balcony overlooking the entire club.

Masses of people swarmed around you and at some points it was hard to even hear the phone if he had said anything at all.

You reached a hallway that was suspiciously empty. Lines of velvet padded doors with brass buttons on their exterior beckoned you forward.

“You’re getting warmer, Detective.”

Your hand twitched, trying not to rest on your concealed weapon.

“Warmer.

You'd made it halfway down the hall when you decided this was enough and it was time for backup. Your left heel stuck in place before you were about to turn tail and run.

“You’re burning up.”

A large hand snaked around your waist pulling you away from the door you had been looking at wearily. Then it all went black.

You came to, eyes blearily blinking in the low light. A deep red hue filled the room, curtains of lush fabric draped the ceiling, hanging askew and clinging to matching red sofas.

A black crystal chandelier hung above your head. The pounding of the music from the club could still be heard, the bass vibrating the surface you were on.

Stuck on. No, strapped to.

You wiggled your wrists realizing they were handcuffed to the table beneath your body. Your senses started to come to you faster as your breathing increased with each panicked heartbeat.

Your ankles were tied down as well, a chain clanging against the surface. The sound blunted by the space.

“Help!” You shouted, screaming as loud as you could. “Somebody?! Anybody!”

“They can’t hear you.” That voice. You’d heard it before. So many times before, but this time it wasn’t distorted by a device. No scrambling or altered sound. Deep, even more attractive than you’d thought.

If you didn’t know better you’d say it was almost warm, inviting. Like a lamb to slaughter, that’s how you felt. A wolf in sheep’s clothing and you were falling for it.

It was nearly impossible to lift your head fully to look upon your captor. Out of the shadows in the corner stood a man, tall, lean, leather jacket scuffed and torn and the mask. You recognized that.

He toyed with a large silver knife, pressing the point into the pad of his thumb, mask downturned as he examined the large weapon before you.

Turning back to look at you he traced the knife along the padded velvet walls. Cocking his head towards them as he approached where you lay.

“These walls are solid thick. The padding also helps block out the noise.” You couldn’t see his face but his eyes…they were black and they caught the red light just right and they almost-glimmered.

When he spoke next you could hear the smirk on his lips.

“Perfect place for screaming…of all kinds.” Your eyes closed, brows drawn together, a shaky rasp escaping your lips.

“You’re going to kill me.”

His head tilted to the side, taking you in, probably in more ways than you realized. Moving closer to you, the glimmering buck knife scraping against the wood of the table. You could feel your pulse racing in your neck, knees wobbling.

Once he’d approached your side, cracked white mask looking over you he lifted the glinting blade. You watched with wide eyes as the edge came down as he drew lines over your exposed flesh.

“Now why would I do that?” Cool metal bit into the side of your thigh, not enough to draw blood but enough to have you gasp at the pressure. His bottomless eyes darted to your face at the sound.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling. Captivated by you writhing on the table before him. Setting the knife down to rest on the center of your torso the man before you removed one of his gloves.

Flesh met flesh as he placed his large hand on your inner thigh, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your heated skin. His skin felt warm against your leg, you’d waited for it to feel cold, clammy but it was neither of those things.

“I’ve watched you for so long, Detective. Been wanting to feel how soft your skin is for far too long.”

You wanted to fight it but you couldn’t help your poor body giving in to his caresses. Each stroke against your knee, shin, then moving back up to rest so close to your center.

You tasted blood from how hard you’d bit your lower lip. Dying to not moan, to not let him know you were enjoying this. But he knew. Dammit he knew.

“You knew I’d take the bait. And I did. Because you KNOW me. And I know you.”

“You don’t know me.” You spit out, you tugged against your constraints to drive home your point.

“I know you’re enjoying this.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“Because I am.” Fuck him. That’s all you could think. All you wanted but didn’t dare admit. He was a psycho…and maybe you were too for wanting him this badly.

He retrieved his knife, this time letting it settle between your thighs, the tip catching on the string of your underwear. You could feel the blade against your skin and you did your best to breathe in shallow gulps.

His wrist flicked and what little pathetic swatch of fabric you’d had on under your dress was done for. An elastic snapping noise, a sting as it smacked against your skin and then he moved back a foot.

Pulling with him the knife and your underwear torn and tattered stuck to the tip of the blade. He held up the weapon and its new bundle of fabric to examine it, fingering the underwear with his free hand.

“Detective. These appear to be wet.”

If you’d had your gun you would’ve shot him. Or you’d like to think you would in this moment. Anything to get out of this situation. Scorching heat seared across your face, you could feel it beading up on the back of your neck as well.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the table, fingers brushing against your sides in the process.

“Care to explain?” His head gestured to the sad excuse for underwear left.

“Fuck you!”

“Soon, but not yet.” His gloveless hand resumed its place on your inner thigh but this time his fingers dared higher. You could feel him part you and drag a long finger up your center, dipping in before pulling his hand back to inspect.

You wanted to cross your legs, anything to prevent you from wanting more. The noises that had scratched at the back of your throat as you felt him briefly inside you, were scrambling to escape.

His fingers were coated in your wetness, masked face exploring your own, gauging your reaction. Then he slipped those same fingers under his mask, a sucking noise could be heard and his eyes rolled back.

“You taste just as I imagined.” Your eyes met his, instead of looking away you kept your focus. Challenging him. He wanted to play games, so could you.

Maybe he was right, maybe you two did have some connection because as your eyes remained locked with his you could feel the static energy in the room shift around you.

“What else have you imagined?”

The hand of his that held the knife lifted again, the lip of the blade coaxing under the hem of your dress. The tip poking through the satin fabric, slicing as it moved upwards.

Cool air rushed over your heated skin, the fabric falling away. You carefully watched the knife as it made its way across your stomach, towards your chest and finally reaching your neckline.

The stitches popping as the dress shredded away, two useless swath's of fabric toppling to the floor. Exposing your remaining lingerie that you had carefully selected for the night, something that would fit nicely under your dress.

He let out a low whistle from under his mask. Taking the knife and quirking it underneath a loose bow on your black lace bustier. Untying the ribbon as he twisted the knife expertly.

“Detective. Is this all for me?”

“Untie me and find out.” At that he chuckled, plucking another seam with the blades tip.

“You’re very clever, but not that clever.”

He tapped your cheek with the flat side of his knife, wiggling his finger in a childlike admonishment as he moved to the end of the table. Standing between your legs that were still strapped down.

You watched as he slipped the knife into his back pocket, removing his other glove somewhere in the process.

The way he watched you as he moved. Those depthless eyes examining every inch of your body. How they shone a little brighter as his gaze landed on your exposed lower half.

He lowered himself onto his elbows but not before clutching your hips and tugging you further down the table towards him. You grunted at the tightness overwhelming your bound wrists, scraping against the metal handcuffs.

Then you felt his mouth against you. Crying out at the feel of his lips sucking against you. Lapping up your juices and teasing the sensitive flesh there.

Your eyes squeezed shut, panting, then moaning. His evil mouth coaxing every new noise from your body. Trying to look down and see him but the mask sat on top of his head still blocking your view.

That tightness and aching sensation started to gather in your center, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. Your moans grew louder, sparks flared behind your eyes and then with an extra savory sucking sensation you were tumbling over the edge.

You screamed, pulling against your handcuffs, hips lifting off the table to meet his mouth more readily and from the way the floor and walls pulsed and pounded around you, you knew he was right.

No one could hear you.

The ecstasy washed through you, draining your remaining fight down to nothing. You didn’t even notice that he had stood up and knelt by where your head rested.

“Next time scream my name.”

“That’s a little hard since I don’t know it.” You managed through gasps of air.

You could feel him moving beside you before you turned to come face to face with that taunting white mask. You instead focused on his eyes beneath the plastic exterior.

Every nerve ending came alive as you watched his large hands coming up and unclasping the fasten behind his mask. The cold façade fell away and you felt pin pricks of both dread and wonder overtake you.

The masked killer-unmasked.

And remarkably, if not tragically, handsome beyond your comprehension.

Those same dark eyes that gobbled up any light in the room, curtained by long strands of dark hair. Mussed from the mask, and his previous explorations of your body.

A small mole rested under one eye, well shaped nose and perfectly carved smile adorned by pink lips. His jaw was severe but softened by the rest of his features when he smiled.

It set your whole being on edge. Looking at him, the man you'd been talking to for months. Who'd been taunting you at every turn.

Who'd killed people.

"Do you prefer the mask, Detective?"

You swallowed thickly at the insinuated repercussions of having seen his face. Knowing you could pick him out of a lineup easily. You'd never be able to forget that face.

Terminally Handsome.

He smirked at you, as if reading your thoughts. Grip tightening on the knife and drawing it in lazy circles and arcs over your skin once more.

Pressing deeply just under your ribcage, a rivulet of blood being drawn to the surface as you sucked in a ragged gasp.

The pain mixed with excitement as you felt yourself dampen again just watching him.

"Let's remove this, shall we?" He nodded to your bustier that was beginning to feel very tight and hot against your body.

You felt the blade slip under the center point where it laced up corset style and watched as each ribbon gave way to the sharpened metal slicing its way upwards.

You felt like your chest could finally expand and take in oxygen once he reached forward tearing the offending fabric away from you. It even took your hazy brain to register that now you lay completely exposed to the monster before you.

Monster...or man. You couldn't decide at the moment.

The blade tip circled one nipple then the other, your body betrayed you in every sense of the word as you groaned at the cool sensation. The tight bud responding eagerly to his ministrations.

There was no mask hiding his expressions now. Amusement and darkening shadows of lust.

"I can tell you're enjoying this as much as me." He leaned in close and whispered, licking the shell of your ear. Then placing a heated kiss to your neck before working his way downard.

Taking your nipple into his hot mouth and sucking enough for your eyes to roll back and hips rise up in need. He then turned his attention to the other breast. Tongue stroking you as you felt the knife pressed to the other side keeping you in place.

"Please." You wanted to cringe away from how helpless you felt as the word escaped your lips. Not helpless asking to be let go, but helpless-begging for more.

At that the gorgeous man above you's eyes rose to catch your powerless gaze. You knew this entire time, for months, you'd never been the one in charge. It had always been him. And you fell for it- hook, line and sinker.

"Billy."

"How do I know that's not a fake name?" You ventured, crying out when his mouth tortured you again.

"Does it matter?" No. Nothing mattered at this moment. Your world had shrunk and it was just you and him. You and Billy.

"No. It doesn't." He seemed to like that. Continuing his assault on your body until you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began.

Dizzy from pleasure and wanting, no, needing more. You could feel his arousal pressed into your thigh as he hovered over you kissing and marking up your shoulder.

"Billy I-"

"Shhhhh." The cool press of the blade against your lips. "I know."

And damn him, he did. You couldn't control how your body reacted as you watched him slowly unbuckle his belt, black pants dropping to the floor around his ankles.

His pupils blown wide, moving towards you, no longer a man. A killer stalking his prey. He moved in near silence until he was hovering over you.

His lips were on yours again, demanding, controlling, guiding every movement and you followed him like a lost puppy. Biting his bottom lip before he could pull away, drawing a drop of blood to fall between you two.

He pulled back, fingers tentatively touching the small wound. The look he gave you next was feral. No humanity left in it. Only terrible delight and amusement.

You felt him pressing at your entrance, hot and hard. Your knees fell apart further and you heard him chuckle into your chest as he drove home.

It was truly criminal how good it felt, how right it felt. You were turned on and disgusted by yourself all at once, but soon that little voice telling you to hold back was drowned out by each push of his hips against yours.

You wanted to hold onto him, to run your fingers through his hair to claw at his back but all your wrists could do was press against the metal holding you back. Bruises rubbing into your skin.

He struck something deep inside you and you muffled a cry into his shoulder. Building higher and higher, soaring above you body with each movement.

You could feel him getting closer too, a shift of his hips catching just the right angle and your toes curled.

"Scream for me, Detective. Like you've been wanting to all these months."

His pace picked up, Billy groaning and the sounds of your bodies coming together again and again and again.

Your body couldn't take it anymore, fucked into oblivion. Your body clenched then released, fireworks filling your vision and spikes of pleasure drove through ever cell of your body.

"Billy!" You screamed as loud as you could, the clanging of your wrists and feet fighting their confines as your back arched into him.

At the sound of you coming again he drove in deeper than he had before and followed you over the precipice. Groaning loud as his fingers dug into your hips.

He whispered your name into your ear as he came, punctuating it with a final crush of hip hips against yours. The sound of your full name on his lips made your head hazy.

You felt a sharp prick on your side and the room around you began to swim. You could feel his fingers caressing the side of your face.

"This has been very nice Detective. I look forward to doing it again sometime." He placed a passionate kiss to your lips before giving you a soft almost tender kiss to your forehead. "Sweet Dreams." Then the room went dark.

You didn't know how long it'd been but you blinked eyes squinting at the bright light overhead. You were in a hospital, sounds of people milling about made you turn your head to the side.

"Detective!" On of your colleagues exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. " You're awake!"

"What happened?"

"We found you in the club...Tied to a table. But wearing different clothing than you'd been wearing before going inside." she gulped. "We saw the torn fragments of dress though."

So he'd been a gentleman and dressed you before leaving.

"Have you found him?" Her eyes fell to her clasped hands before shaking her head.

"No not yet but we will." Her phone beeped and she gave a baleful smile before pausing to walk out and take the call.

When you turned over onto your other side on the side table you noticed a large bouquet of flowers. A note placed in the center with a heart drawn on it.

You scrambled to open the card.

"Thank you for the amazing night, Detective. Until next time."

#billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher fanfiction #ben barnes character #the punisher au #frank castle #billy russo x y/n #serialkiller!billyrusso #detective!reader #billy russo the punisher #billy russo edit #billy russo halloween #halloween fanfic

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simple-seranade · 1 year

Text

What’s a god to a nonbeliever?

Jimmy is done with the jokes, the lack of respect.

Joel wants to see a toy? Oh, Jimmy will show him a toy.

TW: body horror, non-consenual body transformation, hurt/no comfort, blood, swords

(credit goes to this post by @theminecraftbee , sorry if the tag is unwanted lol)

______________________

“Jimmy, this is ridiculous! Let me GO!” Joel strains against the ropes pulled taught against his skin, wincing as the skin chafes.

That damned smile doesn’t leave Jimmy’s face. It looks so wrong, all sharp and so cold it burns. “Now why would I do that? I need you to play a game with me, after all.”

The words send a slimy kind of fear racing up Joel’s spine, and he fights back a wince at the feeling. “What in my name are you on about?”

He can’t move as Jimmy turns away from him, dragging the steel of his blade across a nearby anvil with a wicked screech. “Well, you see, Joel, you’ve been under the delusion that I’m a toy! Such a silly thought, coming from such a big, powerful god, right? Clearly, toys are just so far below you that you never cared to see what they actually were!”

The god barely restrains a screech as the sheriff spins, holding the horrifically sharp blade to his throat with practiced ease. “But not to worry,” Jimmy continues, tone as sweet and acrid as cyanide. “I’m here to help you!”

The metal is poking his throat now, burning hot from the desert sun. “T-Tim-”

“That’s the Sheriff to you.” With a jerk of a hand, the blade leaves Joel’s throat, leaving a thin line of gold as ichor drips from the newly opened wound. “And as your Sheriff, I’m going to show you something.” Jimmy leans in close, and for a split second Joel swears his brown eyes gleam red.

“I’m going to show you what a real toy looks like.”

Joel can only choke back a scream as Jimmy shoves a vial of potion down his throat, the taste thick and ashen and sickeningly sweet. It slides slowly down his throat, coating it and making him cough. His lungs seem to tighten, something tickling in the back of his throat as he coughs again. Golden ichor splatters against Jimmy’s white shirt as blood enters the fray, Joel near heaving in an attempt to clear whatever the hell is in his chest-

Until suddenly, he can’t cough.

His eyes widen as the air fizzles out of his lungs with nothing but a quiet wheeze. He tries to breathe in, get more air, only for nothing to happen. His mouth is open, he knows what he’s doing should be resulting in filling his lungs with air, but instead there’s just… nothing. A hand comes up and presses his chest, only for it to cave slightly under the pressure. The god fights back the urge to vomit at the sensation, feeling things shift inside him.

“Rule one: Toys don’t breathe.”

He turns his panicked gaze to Jimmy, who looks at him with nothing but ice-cold apathy. His heart pounds in his chest as he feels his strength seep away bit by bit. Even holding his arm up feels like an impossible task, and he can only watch as it falls limply to his side.

“Rule two: Toys don’t move on their own.”

He’s frozen in place as he feels the steady thump in his chest begin to slow. His gaze is simply stuck looking up at the Sheriff.

“Rule three.”

Joel feels the irrepressible urge to scream with lungs and vocal cords that are there no more. The Sheriff leans down close, his face inches from the god’s as a divine heart takes it’s final beats.

“Toys have no heart.”

Joel screams and sobs from the glass prison of his mind as all connection with his body is severed. He doesn’t know how long he’s stuck there as his world becomes overwhelmed by pain in every single nerve, all while being unable to move a muscle. He’s even shrinking, getting smaller and smaller and Jimmy’s shadow looms over him. He doesn’t even notice when the pain stops, internally shouting from a conscious no one can hear.

He’s vaguely aware of rough hands picking him up carelessly, squeezing what should be his stomach and is instead stuffing.

“This is really your own fault.” Jimmy says, almost conversationally, like Joel could even respond. “You gods are all the same. So caught up in the sound of your own voices, you forget where your power really comes from.”

The Sheriff leans in close, holding the now-doll up by a single arm.

“A god is only as strong as their worshippers think them to be. And call me a heretic all you like, but even a ‘god’ such as yourself holds no candle to someone who never believed in the first place.”

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dullahandyke · 1 year

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Thinking about chika fujiwara again. How she tried to get information out of kaguya and miko about who they have crushes on, so she pretended to have a crush on a guy. And she did this by talking extensively about kaguya's virtues while switching the pronouns so it sounded like she was talking about a guy. Resulting in this scene

[ID: a page from Kaguya-sama: Love is War. Nervous, Chika begins envisioning and narrating a scenario. She says, "For example, if the two of us got into some accident and we were hanging for our lives on a single piece of rope..." We see Kaguya and Chika, hanging off of a rope on a cliff's edge. The rope is fraying, about to snap. She continues, "And it couldn't handle both our weight." We see Kaguya struggling to climb as Chika watches from her position lower on the rope, the narration continuing, "I would be really worried about him, and because of that..." Chika looks upwards, face obscured and shadowed. We see her falling from the cliff as she says, "I would probably let go of the rope."]

And then they dont address This Shit again and then 200 chapters later she comes out as bisexual

#she makes me insane sometimes #chika fujiwara

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neptune-scythe · 5 months

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Thinking about while Inej is at sea, gone for months at a time, how Kaz would feel her absence. How he'd come to rely on her, to be used to her presence. And now it's gone. She was like an anchor to him, the only thing that kept him sane those first moments in the Ice Court was the memory of her voice. And just knowing where she was would ease his mind I think, whether or not he was aware of it.

But when she's gone?

He has no idea where she is, if she's okay. They probably send letters, but that takes time, and anything could happen. She could send a letter saying all the wonderful things she's accomplished and be dead moments later. And he might never know; if the ocean swallowed the Wraith without a single trace ... He would never know how it happened, or if she's still alive and captured somewhere, if she needs him.

And maybe she spends so much time at sea that they drift apart, maybe the letters become less and less, her visits to Ketterdam for shorter times. Maybe years pass and they've missed too much of each other's lives ... Maybe their love isn't enough anymore. It's still there, it always will be, but their lives no longer fit together. Like two islands once so close they almost touched, but as the water and the earth shifted around them they drift farther and farther apart; though still they'd have a piece of each other, the sand from one island washed over to the other and stayed, a seed carried by a bird, an imprint of their time together even as they have moved so far they are beyond sight of each other.

But still Kaz would worry, I think. He would spend those quiet moments in his office wondering where she was, desperately trying to feel the safety of her presence again, grasping for even a glimpse of it like a lifeline. I think he would hate himself for it, for getting attached, for needing her. For spending every spare moment thinking of her, fumbling in the dark of his soul for the tether of hers. I think he'd feel like the frayed ends of a rope, like everything inside him was out of place, like he'd fallen apart without her and been pieced together incorrectly, everything out of place. I think he would go to the harbor to look for her, for even a glimpse of her ship in the distance. Even if they never spoke, even if she never knew he was there, that he saw her, just to know she was there would be enough. To have that tether again.

It would have been mutual I think, they'd have split on as good of terms as two could. They both had the same reasons, not wanting the other to be strung along, the two of them holding two ends of a rope as their lives pulled them farther and farther apart. And rather than waiting for that rope to snap, to fray and split until it was broken, their hands bleeding as the rope burned across their skin ... They let go. Because neither wanted the other to bleed for them, not when both could see that was the only outcome.

And Kaz would want Inej to be happy, to have her life ... To be free. He'd helped her find it, and that was enough. She could never truly be free as long as she was tethered to him, not while her life was at sea, at least. Not while he was still living his same life, the life of the Barrel. She deserved more than that, she deserved to be untethered to a place, or a person, to have her ship and her mission. And I think he would be satisfied as long as she was happy, even if that happiness meant he would never see her again.

#grishaverse #six of crows #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kanej #kaz x inej #dirtyhands #the bastard of the barrel #the wraith #captain ghafa #kanej thoughts #kanej headcanon #kaz x Inej thoughts #kaz x inej headcanon

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stardustandash · 3 months

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Next on the Febuwhump docket: Too weak to move - Jedi Fallen Order for @pennflinn

I've always wanted to write a little Ilum whump, and you picking this prompt got that particular plot bunny going again! I hope you enjoy!!!

Words: 1,525

Tags: whump, hypothermia, no Jedi Survivor spoilers, exhaustion

ao3 link

Can't Go On

Everything is too much. The Force, the endless cold, the cries of the kyber as the Empire drills down into the heart of Ilum. Cal can feel it all dragging at him like the cold that has sunk into his joints and stiffened his movement. Maybe swimming his way through a frozen planet’s cave system wasn’t the smartest idea, but he needed his crystal. And now he has it and all he wants to do is lie down and sleep but instead he’s fighting his way through an Imperial mob.

Then he finds the room full of KX droids. Sure, Cal has a functioning lightsaber now, and he’s hastily modified it to split into two with the help of his new crystal, but he’s still just one rusty padawan against a room full of droids. Droids that have two feet and about two hundred pounds on him. He separates the blades, blocking the first one’s attempt to grab him while fending off a second with a slash towards its middle. The movement is slow, his joints hurt as he tries to get them to move with his usual amount of speed.

It's not big a problem though. At least, it isn’t a problem until the other droids in the room make their way over as well. Cal can usually dance circles around KX droids and their slow swings and stomping steps but this is different. Every move Cal makes is slower than the last, every swing of his ‘sabers falling later than they should. When one of the droids comes up behind him he can’t quite get his feet to move him out of the way before the KX droid has him by the throat. Cal scrabbles at its metal fingers as it lifts him from the ground. There’s a pause, then the droid is slamming him so hard against the ground whatever air is left in his lungs leaves in a strained wheeze. He has a moment of panic as he realizes he just landed on his back. His back where BD-1 usually sits. Then he hears angry beeping and a mechanical whirring noise.

BD-1, the hero that he is, has sliced the KX droid. Cal tries his best to scrabble out of the way as BD-1 pilots his new ride towards the other droids. The carnage that follows mostly comes to Cal as loud, metallic crunching noises. He’s only half paying attention as his highest priority is convincing his lungs that they do, in fact, know how to breathe properly.

Cal’s only halfway back to breathing when BD-1 screeches out a warning. He gets his blade up just in time, and slides between the legs of the KX droid standing over him and uses it to climb to his feet. Then he cuts its arms off for good measure. He spins, trying not to trip over his heavy, clumsy feet and throws himself back into the fray. T

Thankfully, BD has managed to get rid of most of the KX droids with the one he’s puppeteering. It doesn’t take much more effort for Cal to cut through what’s left until he and BD-1 are the only things moving in the room. BD-1 immediately scuttles over to Cal’s side and tosses him a stim. It feels a bit like cheating that he uses the Force to bring the stim to his hand, but Cal knows he isn’t going to catch it without its help. The adrenaline in the stim clears some of the fog from his mind, but it also makes the shrill cry of the kyber around him louder.

BD-1 trills at his side to ask if he’s okay.

“Not really, Buddy,” says Cal. “The Empire, what they’re doing here is awful.”

BD reiterates the question, this time specifying that he meant Cal’s personal wellbeing, not whatever-the-kriff Force nonsense was clearly upsetting him.

“I can get us back to the Mantis,” says Cal. I think, he doesn’t add. “I’m fine.”

His knees and ankles protest something fierce as they set off again. Of course, the door BD-1 manages to slice leads to nowhere but a single rope hanging over a dark chasm. Of course, Cal has to swing across it to keep moving forward. He pauses before swinging across. He tells himself its so that he can inform Cere that the Empire is on Ilum, that he’s been spotted and there could be trouble, but he knows it’s so that he can put off attempting a death-defying stunt while feeling at about half capacity at best for his usual tricks for just a minute longer.

He can’t feel the rope in his hands.

BD-1 whoops with his usual amount of glee as Cal may or may not use the Force to cling to the rope and get them both across with all his joints protesting doing anything other than lying face down on the ground and waiting for either the Empire or Cere to find him. He lands ungracefully and immediately stumbles into an endless fight to get out of the caverns. The galaxy seems to be laughing at him as every time he feels himself slowing down and fading there’s a new, stronger enemy in his path from purge troopers with their electrified weapons to stormtroopers with flamethrowers.

By the time Cal and Bd-1 stumble their way through the frozen over entrance they’ve gone for yet another swim and this time Cal can feel the ice forming in his elbows and knees. He’s exhausted too. The day has been full of heavy emotions and fighting and through it all he can feel the planet crying out through the Force in pain. And yet, there’s still more the empire has to throw at him.

Cal can hear the AT-STs before he can see them. The familiar whirr-thunk of their steps echoes across the snow and ice now that the storm is gone. The sun is almost blinding where it reflects off the snow and Cal has to squint to get the barest detail of the landscape around him. He knows that he can’t face the walkers head on, he can’t even feel his fingers where they are wrapped around the hilt of his lightsaber, nor can he manage anything more than a slow, awkward shuffle. So before the AT-STs spot him he makes for one of the narrower channels formed by the ice and settles in to wait until they decide to go patrol another sector. He leans back against the ice and slides slowly down into the snow. BD-1 jumps down beside him and beeps that they should comm Cere and Greez.

“You’re right,” says Cal.

He fumbles in his pouches for his comm device. It takes longer than it should, but eventually he gets it into his shaking hands and manages to press the right buttons with numb fingers.

“Cal,” Cere’s voice is steady through the comm channel, but her relief is evident. “Where are you?”

“I’m close to the ship, but hiding. There’s walkers out there and I can’t get past them without a fight.

“What if you don’t fight. Can you sneak past them? You could scale a wall and walk over the top back to the ship.”

Cal goes to stand up, just to have a peek and see, but his legs don’t get the memo. He can’t feel them. He can’t even feel the wall of ice he’s leaning against.

“No,” says Cal in a tight voice. “I can’t climb.”

“Cal, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know. I can’t move anymore, it’s so cold and I’m so tired, Cere. I’m so tired.”

“Do not fall asleep. BD, do not let him fall asleep,” Cere orders.

BD-1 chirps an affirmative and fixes Cal with a strange stare. Cal doesn’t know if Cere hears the response or not. It doesn’t matter, she knows BD-1 will look after him, he always does.

Cal slumps even further against the ice. At least he’s starting not to feel so cold anymore. In fact, his fingers and toes are starting to burn a little, and if he could muster up the energy he’d be tempted to rip off his poncho. Cere’s still talking through the comm, and Cal can think of responding, but it’s too much effort to actually form the words.

It’s kind of funny, in a way. Earlier in the caves Cal had been ready to lay down and die after the crystal broke in his hand. But then BD-1, with the help of Master Cordova, reminded him that he has to keep going. Now he wants nothing more than to get back to the ship, to Cere and Greez, and a bunk that’s starting to feel like home and a purpose that is uniquely his, and yet he can’t get up and get himself there. The bright sky and BD-1 are receding away from him down a long, dark tunnel. He wants to claw his way back to the light, but he’s far too weak to move. All he can do is hope that somehow Cere will find him before he becomes another screaming ghost on Ilum.

#febuwhump #j:fo #jedi fallen order #cal kestis #fanfic #fanfiction #bd-1

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