#I have to be honest with ya'll that I was starting to lose my mind after working on this one. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xxavengingangelxx · 9 months

Text

Long Way From Home 3/?

YA'LL, trigger warning again:

For the love of God, please read the triggers and tags. I'm gonna go ahead and add: Dead Dove. Minors DNI. Smut starts!

TRIIGGERS: Implied/attempted suicide, self-harm, torture, brainwashing, physical abuse, mind fuckery, threatened rape, EXTREMELY dubious consent. If I miss, any let me know, please! DARK FIC

This fic is taking away from my COD MW playing time, ya'll ;)

Probably not important but this fic was born and continues to be created with the Inception soundtrack blasting through my headphones.

Phillip Graves's track? Dream is Collapsing. That track is so evil sounding and fits him well!

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

You found yourself back on that concrete floor and against that same cold concrete wall. Lying in a bed for however long you did made the floor feel almost painful. Days passed. Or you guessed days passed.

And of course, there was Graves again. It was like the man never left you alone.

“What’d you want?” you whispered.

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” you replied. “You’re using all kinds of sensory deprivation.”

“10 days,”

When you heard Graves say you’d been there 10 days you almost had a complete mental breakdown. 10 days?! You sat up.

“No way,” you met his gaze. He was kneeling in front of you again.

He pointed to the wounds on your chest and signaled at your left wrist. The bastard had the audacity to say that you must’ve blacked out when they stitched up all the cuts on your body because it was done with no pain control whatsoever. Your left wrist was still bandaged so that couldn’t have happened too long ago.

You heard him say that you screamed when they stitched you up.

He added that they’d had to put you on an IV line 2 days ago because you refused all liquid and food intake. That’s not something you remembered.

“You don’t remember ripping the IV out of your arm and saying you wanted to die?”

You did not.

You then realized that you weren’t even wearing your uniform anymore. Just a long-sleeved hooded shirt and simple black sweatpants. At least they’d let you keep your boots.

You were obviously losing it. You had huge periods of time missing and it was freaking you the hell out. Who knows what the fuck else they’d done to you that you couldn’t remember. And what had you told them, if anything?

“You’re lying,” you glanced up at him as he smirked in front of you, still kneeling to meet your gaze. You couldn’t even hold his gaze anymore. That’s how broken you were.

You pulled up the sleeves of your shirt and sure enough…along your right arm were IV track marks. On your left arm there was a bruise that ran from the crook of your elbow and followed a vein until the bruise disappeared under the bandage on your left wrist. It was obvious that the action of ripping an IV out had bruised you horribly and lacerated your skin. It was sure to scar. That laceration? 3 inches of sutures.

You were really starting to feel hopeless, helpless…where the hell was 141?

Your impulsive and intrusive thoughts won and you lunged at him. He shot to his feet as did you.

“You’re lying!” You yelled.

“Getting violent with me isn’t gonna do you any favors, darlin’,” Graves warned. “That’s a guarantee.” He stepped closer and you shoved him. Or tried to. You were nowhere near big enough or strong enough to even make him budge.

“Next time you put your hands on me I’m gonna break your arm,” he warned. He sounded serious and you believed him.

He again stepped towards you. And fearfully you said, “Don’t get any closer.” You were on edge and if you were completely honest you were on the edge of losing your sanity.

“When did you get here?”

You did the math in your head. 10 days would make it…

“I’ll prove it,” Graves said. He was trying to hide a smirk and that just reminded you of how sadistic he was. He unlatched the military watch from his left wrist and tossed it to you. You caught it.

10 days. It had been 10 days. He hadn’t been wanting to play mind games with you. He was telling you the truth. 10 days, about to be 11. You’d spent almost two weeks being tortured and tormented all for information you prayed you wouldn’t reveal.

“Havin’ a rough night?” There was that smirk again. He easily plucked the heavy watch from your trembling hands and put it back on his left wrist.

“Tell you what,” Graves started, “Come hang out with me tonight,”

Your horrified gaze must have told him everything he needed to know. You were terrified of him. And he knew it.

“On my life,” Graves stated. “I won’t hurt you.” He paused before adding, “Unless you try somthin’ or get violent.”

You were desperate to get away from the freezing cold room you had associated with pain and torture and pure misery. He really hadn’t lied when he said that if you didn’t cooperate you’d suffer. You couldn’t keep this up.

“You won’t let them hurt me, either?”

“Who?” he started walking towards the door but still didn’t dare follow him.

Your exhausted, terrified look must have told him everything he needed to know.

“My boys?” he scoffed. “Nah,” he shook his head. “They don’t do anything unless I tell ‘em to.”

You still weren’t convinced.

“And I’ve told them hands off when it comes to you.”

That was all you needed.

So you walked next to him.

You had no clue what the hell he wanted with you or what the hell mind game he was trying to play here but if you could get away from this room and the horrible isolation for a few hours and get away from physical pain, you’d take it.

You followed him like a puppy. “You got 141’s puppy? That cute little thing?” Shepherd’s voice echoed in your head. So did that mean you were now Graves’s puppy? Graves’s cute little thing?

You assumed the room he led you back to was his. It was neat, clean. It smelled like a combination of gun oil, fresh laundry, and cologne. It was a much nicer smell than the smell or that tiny room they were keeping you in. That room smelled like a hospital: so cold and sterile.

You glanced in his direction, almost flinching when you heard him close and lock the door.

“Relax,” he chuckled. “We’re not doing anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Why the sudden nice guy routine? Did he know how desperate you were to feel anything but pain? How desperate you were to escape the isolation from that tiny room? Had you revealed information and didn’t remember?

And in your completely unstable mind, you did the last thing you ever thought you would do. It was the last thing on your mind since you were taken. When you were first taken, you had the mental power to plot a plan to try and get Graves into bed and then escape. But the almost two weeks of sleeplessness, torture, pain, and suffering had totally ruined your decision making ability. You obviously weren’t getting out of here any time soon.

You walked forward to where Graves was, placed your hands on his vest, and used it as leverage when you got on your toes to kiss him. You hadn’t had any pleasure, any real rest, since before Las Almas.

He wasn’t completely caught off guard which made you think maybe he had planned this. But you didn’t care. You’d do anything for a gentle touch, for pleasure, for the ability to sleep in a bed instead of a hard concrete floor.

He placed his hands on your hips at first before tracing his fingers up your arms, and into your soft hair. He kissed you back and you moaned. Because you were frantic for a gentle touch.

Graves clearly didn’t need to be told twice. He moved one of his hands to his mouth, where he used his teeth to pull his glove off. He repeated the action with his other hand. He then easily broke off the kiss, reached for your shirt and pulled it over your head before tossing it aside somewhere. His calloused, rough hands ghosted over your ribs. You glanced down and saw you still had blue and yellowing bruises from the beatings you’d taken, from the bullet your vest had stopped almost two weeks ago.

Again desperate, even more so, you leaned forward again, got on your toes again, and kissed him. He tasted the same as the last time you’d kissed him. It was his turn to moan into your mouth and his hands worked quickly to untie the waistband of your sweats. You kicked your boots off. He hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Just like old times. He trailed kisses and teeth down your throat and you gasped, your breaths coming hot and heavy.

You were dropped onto a bed and it was so damn comfortable. You felt him climb over you, and he was quick to slide your pants off followed by your underwear. He straddled you, his knees on either side of your hips.

Graves’s lips fell on yours, hot and heavy and his tongue swept your mouth possessively. His rough hands were kneading your breasts and it was one of the most pleasurable things you’d felt in your life as far as you were concerned. So much better than pain and torture.

You heard the sound of Velcro ripping and saw as he lowered his vest to the floor next to the bed. Velcro ripping from a Kevlar vest had to be an aphrodisiac for you. His hands left your body for a second and he quickly unbuttoned his shirt before getting rid of that, too. You heard him unbuckling his belt hastily and it wasn’t long before you felt him at your entrance.

His cock was replaced by his fingers and when you felt him penetrate you with those coarse fingers you gasped and moaned. He worked you open, his fingers curling inside of you like he’d never forgotten you. He knew exactly how to touch you.

Graves’s sharp blue eyes met yours. You could barely see the blue as his pupils were blown wide with lust. He withdrew his fingers and despite yourself you almost whimpered at the loss. His eyes were almost asking for permission.

While you weren’t entirely sure this was entirely consensual. You were clearly mentally unstable after having learned how long you’d been held with Shadow Company. But you’d decided you needed this. You needed pleasure to balance out all the pain and suffering you’d suffered for almost the past two weeks. Besides, you’d been using sex as a coping mechanism and escape mechanism since you were a teenager.

Apparently your eyes communicated everything he needed because that was when he started pushing himself inside of you. And fuck if you didn’t almost moan his name because hell that was so much better than torture and sleep deprivation and pain. So you did moan his name. And you remembered that he preferred hearing his last name when he fucked the common sense out of you.

His hair fell on his forehead as he eased himself into you. It was his turn to moan and he did as he bottomed out inside of you. As he leaned forward to catch your neck and breasts in his hot mouth you felt his dirty blonde hair further stimulate you as it brushed your skin. It was sending tiny electric shocks through your body.

Those hot lips finally brushed yours and you felt his short gasps before you met his lips and kissed him. He, of course, took control and possessively swept your mouth with his tongue. You fought for dominance but it was no use. Just like all those nights before this one, he loved being in control. He got off on it.

You wanted more. You wanted these sensations to make you forget about all the suffering you’d endured in the last two weeks. So you placed your small hands on his broad shoulders and met his thrusts. He was going too slow and it was making you desperate.

He chuckled, the bastard. You were almost certain this had been planned.

You saw him about to reach up and pin your wrists down like he loved doing before but he stopped himself and you wondered if he stopped himself because it might feel too much like rape, like he was using force given the current situation that you were his hostage and he was your captor.

So he placed his arms on either side of you and continued his deliberately slow movements.

So you then wrapped your hands around his shoulders and scratched him. You full on scratched his shoulders, hearing him groan and making his thrusts stutter. He’d always liked women scratching his shoulders enough to make him bleed, or so he claimed.

He picked up his pace and you met him thrust for thrust. He was hitting that spot inside of you and his thrusts were picking up pace. You squeezed his cock with your muscles, prompting him to whisper, “Fuck.”

He then abruptly stilled his movements. You groaned in annoyance because damn it you’d been building up a momentum and you had just started to feel that heat, that heaviness deep inside of you that signaled you were close to climax.

Graves ground himself against you, rubbing against you clit in a way that made you see stars. And then he reached towards your chest and he dragged light fingers over the cuts he himself had inflicted almost 2 weeks ago. It was almost creepy but then again your hypersexualized, unstable mind thought of it as hot seeing as he had marked you as his.

The blue in his eyes were barely visible due to his dilated pupils, and as a result the only blue visible was a thin circle. And then he seemed to catch a second wind. His hands grasped your hips as he pulled you forward and before you knew it your face was inches from him and you were in his lap, straddling him as he and you both sat up with you on top.

Graves’s bruising grip in your hips continued and that was all it took for you to grasp his shoulders and ride him. It wasn’t long before you were both breathing heavy and sweating. Your breasts rasped his chest and it only added to the cacophony of pleasurable sensations. You ground against him, getting stimulation from your clit and from deep inside you as you felt him meet your thrusts.

His breath came in short, hurried gasps and his grip on your hips was almost painful, almost tight enough to where his fingernails cut into your skin. And it was with all those sensations combined that you let yourself go, giving in to him completely. You moaned your release but he was quick to cover your mouth with his.

In pursuit of his own orgasm, he shoved you back down on the bed, climbing over you once more. He lasted half a dozen sloppy, desperate thrusts before he spilled inside of you, riding out his own climax with shuddering gasps.

“Fuck,” he repeated. “You’re as good as I remember you.”

You tried catching your own breath and that was when the pain came back. You felt it in your arm, in your wrist, your ribs, and around your knees, elbows, and palms, which were scratched raw and bleeding from all the time you’d spent on concrete.

And that was when Graves did something surprising. He led you to lie down, told you to relax.

It wasn’t something you were expecting and it only confused you further.

You had your first hot shower. All the other showers before had been freezing cold and after you got dressed, from what you could remember, they’d toss you back into that tiny cement room that only seemed to get colder and colder. You wanted to relax and enjoy, to let the warmth ease your body it but something was nagging at you. Why the sudden change in treatment? Had you finally broken under all the torture and given them something? What if you betrayed your team…your ex-team? You couldn’t help it if you thought of them as your ex team, right? You’d been here almost two weeks and you were starting to feel abandoned.

Plus almost every time you moved somewhere deep inside your body you’d be reminded of what you’d done only an hour before. Sleeping with the enemy, Valdez, really? What would 141 think? They’d probably label you a traitor and a whore. A small voice in your mind told you that no they wouldn’t, that they would understand you adapted and had to do what you had to in order to survive. But that small voice was getting quieter and quieter.

And another, louder voice was taking hold. Graves was only following orders, right? Orders were orders in the military. If Shepherd have given orders, Graves had no choice but to follow them, right? Was he really that bad a guy?

You look at yourself in the mirror for the first time in almost 2 weeks and you almost didn’t recognize yourself. Stitched cuts on your chest from that first night they took you. A laceration on the left side of your face from where Graves had struck you with his firearm when trying to find out that rendezvous point that you refused to give up, also that first night. Your knees? Scraped raw. Your elbows? Also scraped to the point of bleeding. The palms of your hands were also raw and red.

You ran a gentle hand over the cut on the side of your face and you wondered if it would scar. That tiny voice was trying to scream to blame Graves, that he was the one who’d mercilessly struck you across the face with a fucking firearm, his sidearm, when you refused to break that first night. You face had other injuries but those looked mild. You looked exhausted.

You torso was laden with bruises. Some were yellowing while others were fresh and blue and purple. You had marks on your body from where they’d forcefully held a Taser to you again trying to draw out information. You had no idea how long ago that was but the marks were evident. Some memories, unfortunately, were coming back in pieces.

You were still putting up a fight despite being exhausted and sleep deprived and in pain. They had come into your tiny room right as you were dozing off. Graves stepped through the door first of course. Three Shadows, one commander made 4 men and one of you. Your small stature and build had been useful in the past, for reconnaissance and intel gathering but you hated it now. There was no way you could fight them off.

As a woman you feared the worst. That Graves was going to make good on his threat to rape you and then let the other three pass you around.

You started crying as you tried to push them back, all to no avail. One of them damn near broke your arm restraining you.

Graves was asking you what the code was to get into 141’s homing beacons so they could track where 141 was. You said no.

The next few minutes, hours, or days were all the same. Electric shocks from a Taser being buried in your ribs and in your chest. They would let you doze off at times only to wake you up and do it all over again.

You startled easily one time and so swung at a Shadow from a sitting position on the floor. He easily dodged it and laughed at you.

Graves then reached out and smacked you so hard you woke up curled up on the concrete floor, bleeding. You were sure how long you’d been out but Graves’s voice brought you back to lucidity, back to the living hell that you were now convinced was going to last forever.

“You don’t swing at my boys, you understand me?” Graves snapped. He knelt next to you as you tried to catch your breath. He grasped your hair so hard you cried out, raising your hands to where his was tangled in your hair, desperate to get him to release you. “They might not have directives to put hands on ya yet but they can certainly defend themselves.”

And that was when that tiny voice faded away and that louder voice took over in your head. All the pain you’d gone through. It was your fault. You’d refused to give them what they wanted…what they needed. So you’d brought that torture on yourself. Besides, even if you had given up the rendezvous point, Graves said he wasn’t going to kill anyone, right? He wanted to recruit them.

And for all the torture you’d suffered Graves had never really hurt you badly, did he? He’d just hit you. Not once had he inflicted pain himself since you were brought there. And for all the times Graves had hit you, he’d never once punched you. You’d seen him in close combat and knew he could almost break someone’s neck from the punches he delivered.

He’d never really hurt you, right? And he sure as hell hadn’t killed you. He’d spared your life. So didn’t you owe him?

It still bothered you later. You assumed it was night but you were back to not knowing what day or what time it was. Graves’s bed smelled like him and you found it somewhat intoxicating. You’d missed him. You really had.

As always, open to feedback! Let me know what ya'll think of this dark fic :)

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #mw2 141 #task force 141 #cod 141

69 notes · View notes

greatlyblessed · 1 year

Text

Crossover Poll Propaganda

@tmnt-crossover-polls

So me and @ilovebeingaturtle got to joking around and then the jokes went to 'hey what if--?' to 'YEAH LETS DO IT' so. YET ANOTHER propaganda that got way out of hand. This thing is a 15 page google doc and we haven't even finished ya'll--

So anyway more propaganda!! This one featuring the '87 crew from For Future Reference, and Team 4 from A Mixed Bag. Also a lot of Leonardo POV. It's all Leonardo POV--

Leonardo kept his head down, focusing on the sweeping he’d been ordered to do. By Mikey. Because he’d declared himself leader and everyone else agreed he’d be better it than Leonardo--

“Hey Raph! Find more trash bags?” Mikey asked, as the Raph of their team returned.

“Yeah,” he said. “Told you we should have double-bagged them, those pieces are sharp.”

“There’s also a lot! We had like, two bags! I didn’t think they’d all fit!” Mikey defended.

Leonardo’s team never argued with him like this. Raphael would question things, sometimes, but they didn’t argue.

He swept a little too viciously, scattering glass shards instead of collecting them.

“Hey!” Mikey called. “Pay attention over there, Leonardo! And don’t step on any glass!”

“I won’t,” Leonardo called bitterly, not looking up. Saying things like that was supposed to be his job.

“-can you believe the pizza toppings they had to offer over there? Not even a trace of chocolate fudge!”

“No kidding! I was hoping to bring back a coconut and sweet pickles slice for Leonardo, you know as an apology for ditching? No dice. Honestly it’s unbelievable…”

“Eh. I just nabbed some of the popcorn to scatter on mine. At times like this, improvisation is the solution.”

Leonardo’s head snapped up. He knew those voices. He dropped the broom, running towards the sounds. And there they were.

“Michelangelo! Donatello! Raphael!” he cried, grinning widely. “I found you!”

The three turtles look surprised, albeit happy to see him, but Michelangelo recovers first, “like, sure did! Uh, when did you lose us again?”

Donatello meanwhile recoils, “Uh oh, you don’t think Leonardo changed his mind about covering for us, did he?”

“Uh oh-“

“Ah, ah-hold on,” Raphael quickly holds up his hands, “fellas, please. We’ve already done the case of mistaken identity gimmick last time, remember?”

“Oh, right. My mistake,” Leonardo said. “So, what are you guys doing in this part of the theater?”

“Getting pizza!”

“Tourism.”

“Hiding from our teammates.”

The other two glare at Donatello.

Leonardo planted his hands on his hips, giving the three a disapproving look. “Now fellas, you really shouldn’t be wandering off like that. I’m sure your Leonardo is missing you a lot right now.”

All three duck into their shells, chastised.

“Aw, gee Leonardo we were planning on going back after, honest!” Raphael defends, and the other two hurriedly nod their heads.

“We just needed a break, it’s these other new turtles, they’re…gosh how do I put this delicately-“

“About as pitch aware as a hoard of screaming cats fighting over tuna pizza dude,” Michelangelo finishes, “it’s just unbearable.”

“Leonardo’s completely fine with it, he’s still with them now! Got it completely under control. We were just holding him back honestly-“

Raphael shudders, clearly reminiscing on sour musical notes, “I sure know I nearly needed to be held back.”

Even if they weren’t really his brothers, the familiarity was soothing. “Well, since you’re here then, you can come help me finish cleaning up,” he said, gesturing for the others to follow him as he walked back towards where his current team were.

Raphael bristles, “hey-well hold on a minute, you’re not our Leonardo! Who says you can…”

He trails off, noticing the other two have already shrugged and started following.

There’s a sigh.

“Don’t know why I even bothered there,” he mumbles and joins.

Mikey and Donnie were bickering as Leonardo rounded the corner, something about how they didn’t need an entirely new wiring system, they just needed what they had to work. As he noticed Leonardo, Mikey abruptly cut off that argument and planted his hands on his hips. “And where did you run off to in such a hurry,” he scolded.

“I found some friends,” Leonardo said, a bit of a bite edging into his tone. He gestured at the other three turtles. “They’re not my team but, they’ve got a minute to help.”

Raphael slings his arm around Leonardo in content agreement, laying on his accent, “Mutant turtle repairman at your service, you break it, we fix it!”

Leonardo grins. “C’mon, let’s get all this swept up,” he said, gesturing at the pile of shattered glass and mirrors. “There’s more brooms over here in this closet-- be careful, and don’t step on any glass.”

Michelangelo salutes, while the other two roll their eyes at the concern but move to comply, “on it, oh fearless leader!”

“Hey, Donatello, why don’t you help Donnie with the lights?” Mikey said. “Spotlights still aren’t working quite right.”

Leonardo crossed his arms, giving Mikey a flat look. “Donnie can handle that on his own,” he said flatly.

“I would never turn down an opportunity to work with myself! Eager chuckle.” Donnie said, a light in his eyes that made Leonardo want to keep the alternate Donatello far away from him.

“Oh god it’s a variant of them,” Raphael utters like a man being told he needs to go back to war, meanwhile Donatello looks helplessly between the two ‘leaders’.

“Uh, Leonardo…?”

Leonardo put his hand on Donatello’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You can help with the sweeping,” he said. While he was speaking to Donatello, he never took his eyes off Mikey.

“…sensing a kinda weird vibe here,” Michelangelo starts, but Raphael pushes his teammate forward towards the brooms, ducking his head almost like he’s trying to dodge the tension in the air.

“Just get to sweeping buddy, just get to sweeping-“

“C’mon Leonardo! Why do you gotta be like this?!” Mikey whined. “Look just. Donatello can help with the wires okay? He’s a Donatello! He’s good at that!”

Donatello is starting to look mildly miffed, “heyyy, is that all I am to you?”

“Wh-- no?!” Mikey protested.

“Of course not!” Leonardo added.

“Aw, shucks, thanks Leonardo. It sure is nice to feel valued.”

Mikey groaned, briefly burying his face in his hands. “Look can we just. Please cut all this out,” he said, gesturing at Leonardo and Donatello. “See look, he’s not even working on the spotlights right now!”

Donnie, standing by the fusebox and not working, like Mikey had said, looked completely unrepentant. “Well excuse me, I haven’t had a chance to actually talk to a version of myself yet. Unlike other people in this room!”

“It’s not all that great,” Leonardo muttered, remembering the ways the other versions had talked down to them in their previous team-ups.

Donatello meanwhile squints at Mikey, “sorry, who are you supposed to be again?”

“Wh-- I’m Mikey!?” he said. “Michelangelo? Haven’t you met us before? Also,” he pointed at the mask across his face, “Orange?”

“Nope. No recollection.”

Raphael’s quiet singing drifts over as he sweeps, “Chim chiminey, Chim chiminey, Chim chim cher-ee,”

“Also I think I’d know if I was talking to a version of Michelangelo. You don’t seem the type.”

Raph let out a snicker. Mikey whipped around and glared at him. He smirked, “Yeah he’s got you there.”

“Well maybe if I didn’t have to keep you idiots from getting yourselves killed I would be able to be more of the wise guy!” Mikey yelled, flailing his arms around.

Michelangelo glances up from where he’s using the broom as a fake guitar instead of working, “Wiseguy? What are you talking about? That’s Raphael’s role!”

Raphael winks, “Present and accounted for!”

“Raph’s your funny one?!” Mikey cried. “Raph?!”

Said turtle cocks one hip and raises an eye bridge, “heyyy, careful with the pitch there buddy, they might hear you in other universes!”

Mikey stared for a long moment. Then he turned back to Leonardo and flung his hand out towards Raphael. “That’s your funny guy?”

Raphael shrugs helplessly at the fourth wall, “everyone’s a critic.”

“Not my funny guy,” Leonardo said quietly. As ill-timed as some of Raphael’s quips could be, hearing them from this version made Leonardo miss his even more keenly.

“Right,” Mikey said. The mood turned heavy for a moment-- everyone thinking about the teammates they were currently missing. Then Mikey clapped his hands together. “All right well, we’re supposed to be working. Hey! Mini-me! Radical moves lil dude but we’re really supposed to be working right now.”

Michelangelo blinks in surprise mid headbang, then pouts, “Aw man, but all work no play makes one totally unhappy turtle! Gee, you really aren’t a version of me…”

“Wh-- hey!” Mikey protests. “I am totally a Michelangelo! I am just a Michelangelo who has to be responsible because everyone else around here is an idiot who will get somebody killed-- and yes you are one of those idiots Leonardo. You’re the one who got us stuck in that gas trap!”

Leonardo’s jaw snaps shut and he glares at the ground. He’d made an error in judgment. And… yeah it was a bad one.

…Maybe he really didn’t deserve to be leader.

Raphael’s broom falls to the ground with a deafening clatter.

“Hey! Don’t talk to him like that!”

“Yeah! Who got kidnapped and made you king!”

“Ah, Michelangelo, I think there’s a fanfic about that,” Donatello quips, but it’s cut off by Raphael getting up into Mikey’s space.

“You got a problem with Leonardo, you go through me! So leave him alone!”

“...Fellas,” Leonardo starts to say, but he can’t bring himself to say anything else. He… should do something. But he isn’t these guys Leonardo-- he’s not their leader. Their Leonardo probably would never do something like blindly running off and getting himself and an alternate Mikey stuck in a trap that nearly kills them.

“Hey hey whoa,” Raph said, dropping the trash bag of glass bits and making his way over to put himself between Raphael and Mikey. “Cool it, alright?” he said to Raphael.

“Yeah, after all what Mikey said is very much accurate,” Donnie chipped in.

Michelangelo shoots Donnie a filthy look.

Raphael meanwhile adopts a false pleasant tone, stepping back with his hands raised, “Heyyyy well I just think Mr Personality here should put his money where his mouth is! You take charge often back home? You make it a habit of insulting your team members? How’s things been working out for you?”

“Leonardo?” Donatello hesitantly steps into the other turtles vision, “you with us?”

Leonardo glanced up, trying to give Donatello a reassuring smile. “I’m fine,” he said.

“No I don’t take charge often back home!” Mikey said shrilly. “My Leo’s actually good at the leader thing!”

Leonardo’s smile dropped.

There’s a sharp intake from all three of the guest turtles, and Raphael reels back. The other two are more than willing to pick up the slack.

“Why you-you no good big BULLY!” Michelangelo shouts with his fists clenched, while Donatello twirls his bo staff in gear, stepping in front of Leonardo.

“Where do you get off huh?! Jerk!”

“Look I’m sorry,” Mikey said, waving his hands. “It’s just been really stressful. I mean c’mon,” he turned a pleading look to Michelangelo. “What if you had to be the leader over a bunch of turtles that were more interested in fighting each other than the bad guys huh? You’d be stressed out too!”

“...not trying to fight with you guys,” Leonardo muttered. Not loud enough to carry through the room to where the others were. But, Donatello was right there.

Donatello glances back, eyes flashing with concern, but it seems to only empower him to clench his grip tighter around his staff, getting into more of a fighting stance. Michelangelo meanwhile glowers at Mikey.

“Dunno. I’d probably just be trying to get along with my team members instead.”

“I have been!” Mikey shrieked. Raphael flinched, moving away from Mikey slightly. “Do you know how insane these two are?!” Mikey continued, gesturing at Raph and Donnie.

“HEY!” they both protested.

“Just because I’m standing up to Mr. ‘Tranqs his teammates’ over there--” Raph started to say, jerking his thumb at Donnie.

“He was gonna run off again!” Donnie protested, flinging a hand towards Leonardo. “Last time it almost got him and Mikey killed, remember?”

Donatello’s voice is murderous enough it’d make his Shredder and Krang bolt.

“What.”

Leonardo starts to reach out, but hesitates. Donnie’s right. He did almost get himself and Mikey killed. He really shouldn’t be leader.

“See, brainiac? Even these guys know that was out of line,” Raph said smugly.

Michelangelo at this stage has pulled out his nunchucks with a low growl, “these guys? Like, what’s that supposed to mean dude?”

Raph drew his sai in response, shooting a wary look between Donatello and Michelangelo.

Raphael’s hands are also on his sais, but it’s a movement seemingly done out of natural mimicry of the others than his own instinct. He swallows thickly, and is directing his gaze on Leonardo while the other two continue to bristle.

Leonardo meets his gaze for a moment. His teammate was looking to him-- looking to him for help and guidance.

Help that Leonardo couldn’t give. He looked down.

There’s a quiet choked noise from Raphael in response.

“Hey! Nope, nope, we’re not doing this,” Mikey yelled, marching over and smacking at Michelangelo’s hands. “Put those away before you hurt somebody!”

“Nuh uh compadre! You’re not censoring me on my watch!”

“I-- what?!” Mikey cried. “Censor-- dude just put the chucks away! Please!?” he was practically pleading now.

“No way! Not unless you take back those nasty things you said about our bud Leonardo!!”

“Okay, okay,” Mikey said, holding up his hands placatingly. “Hey, Leonardo?” he said, turning to face him. “I’m sorry, okay? I know you're the leader back in your dimension, and I’m sure your… thing works over there just fine.”

But not here, Leonardo heard the unspoken loud and clear. “Sure,” he said flatly. “Apology accepted.”

It didn’t make any of it better. But he was tired, and he didn’t want to see his two teams fight.

Donatello seems to have other ideas.

“Like heck it is! What’s so special about your dimension then huh, that means you get to talk to us like that?!”

“Okay look,” Donnie stepped forwards, spinning his staff up and over his shoulders. “I’m sure we’d all like to continue this conversation but we’ve got some work to finish so--” Glowing purple weapons sprung up into existence above Donnie’s head. “Let’s all calm down and get back to work, because we know who’d lose this fight.”

Raphael lets out a pathetic little whimper as he stares up at the mystic barrage, meanwhile Michelangelo squawks and immediately scrambles back.

Donatello, of course, scoffs.

“Oh please. I could take your wimpy little magic tricks any day.”

Donnie’s eyes narrow. Leonardo feels like he’s swallowed a rock. All Leonardo wanted to do was keep them from fighting-- and it looks like he couldn’t even do that. He really is a failure-- as a leader, and even as a teammate.

“I-- I have to--” he stutters, edging a few steps backwards.

Raphael’s focus snaps back over to him in an instant, and a very panicked understanding floods his eyes when he sees Leonardo’s backing off. His breath hitches as he moves on hand to reach out over the chaos, giving the tiniest desperate head-shake. Don’t.

Leonardo swallows thickly. “Sorry,” he says, and bolts.

Behind him, he can hear Mikey yelling at Donnie to put the mystic weapons away or so help him--

And then a familiar voice, one that Leonardo often heard out of his own throat. “S-shucks, did I miss anything important?”

-----------------------------------------------------------

So, a quick recap.

After Leonardo’s wonderful teammates decided to leave him at the mercy of their…enthusiastic new acquaintances, the leader in blue had been spending his time listening to the new turtles ‘renditions’ of popular musical theater songs.

At least, he thinks that was what they were doing? Admittedly, he thinks he went a little deaf midway through. …That was, probably for the better.

They were sweet kids! Really, they seemed to all…latch onto him? A little? He’s always believed in giving people praise when they give it their best! So, he gave them compliments and warm smiles, andddddd-in return they are now acting like they’ll never let him leave their side again!

Again, it was very sweet, but. Even a turtle like Leonardo falls victim to the pain of headaches eventually.

…especially when he’s been managing four enthusiastic neon turtles on his own because his teammates were meant to be back. By. Now.

So! He went looking for his teammates (after distracting the other turtles by putting on a cartoon of a cute little blue dog on their Donatello’s screen) and, well.

…he’s certainly found them, alright.

The state of them he’s not too sure about.

“S-shucks, did I miss anything important?”

“Hey Leonardo!” the big turtle with the orange headband said with forced cheer. With one final yank he pulled the staff away from a turtle who looked just like the neon Donatello. “We’re just, uh, hangin’ out!”

Leonardo’s eyes are huge as he surveys the scene, where the three participants he knows have all frozen like turtles flipped on their backs, “…I, hope I didn’t arrive at a bad time…”

“Oh, you’re completely fine,” Donatello twirls his staff to jab on the ground, leaning against it and not even hiding the threatening side eye he gives the others, “we were just about done here anyways.”

The neon Donatello lookalike makes grabby hands at his staff. The other turtle shoves him back, hissing, “No, you are grounded! You get it back when you can behave!”

“...Hey guys?” the other Raphael said. “Where’d our Leonardo go?”

“Like, not that you’d care but he took off dude,” Michelangelo answers stiffly, but there’s relief and guilt in his eyes when he looks at the bewildered Leonardo.

Said turtle frowns, and makes his way over to his only remaining team member to have not spoken yet, “Raphael?”

Raphael immediately averts his stormy eyes away, expression tight.

…oh boy.

The big turtle groans-- still fending off the other Donatello. “Should we go get him?” he asked. “He’s probably not gonna be too happy to see us-- DONATELLO I swear I will hit you with this thing!”

At the threat, Other Donatello finally retreats, glaring sulkily. And then he picks up a broom, that with a flash of purple, turns into a bo staff.

The big turtle’s jaw drops. “How… hey! That’s cheating!”

“...Cool though,” Other Raphael said.

…deep breath Leonardo. You can fix this. Things are just a little messy, but it’s okay! It’s nothing worse than what you’ve handled before.

Maybe.

Leonardo straightens himself up and grins, “don’t worry about other me! I’m sure he just needs a moment, and I can go talk to him. In the meantime, you were tidying things up around here, right?”

“I mean there was an attempt, for sure,” Michelangelo grumbles, gazing at the discarded non-magic-staff brooms.

“Why don’t you get back into that then while I sort things out! Other Donatello, that’s some really impressive machinery you’ve got there. I don’t…suppose it has a function to play music?”

Other Donatello lit up, “I do have some speakers built into my staff, however,” he tapped at his gauntlet, speakers popping up out of the artificial shell on his back, “the audio quality is much better from these.”

He gave one final tap. And the most excessively loud, ear-bleeding music began to pound out of the speakers.

Leonardo winces a second, but keeps up his smile, “perfect! Although, maybe it could use a littleeeee volume adjustment? We still want to be able to hear each other after all!”

“WHAT? I DIDN’T HEAR YOU,” Other Donatello yells over the music.

“HE SAID TURN IT DOWN,” Other Raphael yells, hands clamped over his ears. “I SAY TURN IT OFF BEFORE I TEAR THOSE THINGS OFF YOUR SHELL.”

“WILL YOU TWO CUT IT OUT!?” the big turtle yells. “STOP FIGHTING! STOP IT!”

Leonardo gives a hurried look to his Donatello, who quickly rushes into action to turn the music down with a swift Donatello touch, “lets-try that again. The reason I asked is, someone once told me that the best way to turn mundane tasks around is to do them to a funky beat! Right Michelangelo?”

Michelangelo takes a moment, then beams, “like, I’ve always seconded that supreme notion! Disco grooves scare away the cleaning blues after all.”

Leonardo nods at his teammate, then smiles curiously at his purple alternate one, “Would you happen to have anything to match that description?”

Other Donatello crosses his arms, looking very unimpressed. “Scoff! And what was wrong with the music I was just playing?”

“It wasn’t music, is the problem,” Other Raphael scoffs.

“Just because you don’t have taste--” Other Donatello starts to say.

“Can you two can it for two seconds?!” the big turtle yells. “All you two do is argue, argue, argue! You’re worse than my Raph and Leo! Or even me and Raph! Combined!”

Leonardo shudders, and takes another deep breath. One turtle at a time.

He approaches Donnie, and lowers his voice so he can’t be heard, “look, your music is great! It’s just, I didn’t want to draw attention to this, but, the reason I ask you to pick a,,,gentler, music choice is…”

He glances over so Donnie can follow his line of vision. Raphael still hasn’t said a word-and ever since the music started blaring the turtle has clamped his hands firmly over his ears-nails digging into his mask and skin and breathing uneven. Donatello likewise has moved from casually using his Bo staff for support, to actually using it as support, fidgeting with the wood with eyes now slightly glazed over.

“…it would really mean a lot to me. …Please?”

“...Ah,” Other Donatello said. “Right. I might have… something a bit calmer.” He tapped at the gauntlet a moment, and this time the music that played was a smooth, disco type.

Michelangelo’s eyes sparkle, “alright! Fantabuloso choice amigo!”

Donatello hums softly, and Raphael hesitantly lowers his hands. Leonardo breathes a sigh of relief. Okay…

“That’s perfect,” Leonardo makes sure to show every bit of genuine gratitude he can in his grin, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Other Donatello said, waving his hand dismissively. His eyes darted over Raphael and Donatello, a small amount of tension easing out of his shoulders as he watched them gradually settle. “Well, I better get back to work, those spotlights aren’t going to fix themselves. And I need the proper lighting when it’s my turn on stage.”

“Sounds good to me!” Leonardo beams, and from behind him, Donatello clears his throat.

“Um…perhaps I could…be of assistance? I brought with me some of my notes on dimensional portals actually, that I was hoping to discuss with an intellectual ear about. If you’re capable of-“

Leonardo squints.

“-interested, in…multitasking?”

Other Donatello’s eyes light up. “Yessssss,” he hisses excitedly. “So far my contacts with other dimensions have been entirely non consensual, but I am eager to develop technology to allow a more free contact between my own dimension and-- ah-- friendly dimensions.”

Donatello begins to eagerly ramble about his previous successful contact with other dimensions and drag his counterpart off, so Leonardo watches them go with a fond expression.

The big turtle heaved a sigh of relief, clunking his head against the mechanical staff. A buzzsaw popped out of it and started whirring. He dropped it with a scream, staring at it with wide eyes. “Is it supposed to do that?! I don’t think it should be supposed to do that!”

Leonardo quickly slashes his sword and cuts it in two, shutting it down almost cartoonishly. Hey, he might not be supposed to be able to do that, but it’ll do!

“...Thanks,” the big turtle says. “It kinda. Scared me,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly.

Leonardo gives him a reassuring grin back, hiding his own racing heart behind it.

“It’s quite alright! In fact, I don’t mean to overstep here, you really seem like you’re doing the best you can! But you also seem,,,you know,,,,,frazzled, so maybe…”

He starts subconsciously tapping his index fingers together. Think Leonardo, think-what’s two birds with one stone?

Raphael shifts to hug himself in his peripheral vision. That could do it?

“You know…Raphael was hoping to do a standup routine on that stage later, but none of us have been available to help him rehearse. Would you be willing to take a break from organizing this side of things? To lend him an ear? …Offer suggestions? That is if you’d be interested.”

The big turtle huffs and crosses his arms. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re talking us all down and distracting us from the fight we almost had.”

Leonardo can’t help but rock back and forth, gaze slightly playful, “perhaps. But do you want my plan to stop working?”

“...Nah,” the turtle admitted. “I think this is the first time we haven’t been arguing since the whole mess started.” He glanced at Raphael, and hesitated. “...Look I’ll be the first to admit we… didn’t make that great of an impression,” he said lowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not sure he’d want my help.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Leonardo smirks, “if I’ve learnt anything over the years, it’s that the best way to win Raphael over, it’s giving him the chance to tell his cheesy one-liners.”

Raphael’s eye twitches, easily hearing the whole thing. He swallows roughly, then walks over so he can jab a finger into Leonardo’s nose.

“Hey, if I’m cheesy you’re the whole block mister.”

“Oh, hi Raphael! Didn’t see you there.”

“Hey,” the turtle says tentatively. “So um. Sorry, about… all of that. I didn’t mean… well no I kinda did but, I shouldn’t have like, said our version of your Leo--”

“AH-AH-“ Raphael hurriedly clamps his hand over the other turtle's mouth, and Leonardo tilts his head in befuddlement, “hey don’t even worry about it! Live and let live man, who am I to hold a grudge!”

“…um,” Leonardo blinks, then beams “that’s good to hear Raphael!”

The other turtle’s eyes crinkle with mischief. There’s an immediate reaction.

“YeeUCK! DID-DID YOU JUST-OH BLEHBLEHARGH! DUDE!”

“Told you I was a Mikey!” the other turtle said smugly. Raphael simply whines in outrage and starts wiping his hand aggressively on the other turtles arm. Okay then!

“What-- ew! Gross!” he protests, pushing Raphael back.

“Thaaaaat, might be my cue to leave,” Leonardo chuckles, pointing behind him, “I’ve got a rogue turtle to look for after all.”

“Yeah yeah sure-I cannot believe you just licked me!!!” Yeah they’re be fine.

The big turtle pauses in his spat with Raphael. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for the lil guy. I don’t think he’s gonna be too happy to see any of us right now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not even a problem! I’m just looking out for my fellow turtles!” Leonardo beams and squeezes the big turtle's arm, “I’m sure you’d do the same.”

A strange look flickers in the other turtle’s eyes for a minute. “...Yeah, sure,” he said. “Just uh. Look it’s been really stressful and none of us have been at our best. Keep that in mind?”

Raphael, for whatever reason, shows the other turtle a smile with a bit too many teeth, “save the disclaimers, lets just leave them to it. Catch you later, oh fearless leader!”

“…will do,” Leonardo replies, although his enthusiasm is a tad more unsure, “I’ll-yeah. I’ll be back. Don’t get into any more fights, okay?”

“Oh we’ll be little angels.”

“Please,” the big turtle said, grinning, “if you’re anything like my Raph you’re gonna be more like the other side.” He held his fingers up to his head like horns. “Whooo I’m Raphie and I like busting heads, especially Mikey’s,” he drawled in an extremely low and gravelly voice. Raphael recoils.

“A! Leonardo!! Defend my honor here man, this guy is making me out to be some kind of Casey Jones wannabe!”

“Already walking away Raphael!”

“Wait, Casey’s not your best friend?!”

“In what universe is-“

“Mine!” The big turtle said.

“Mine too,” Other Raphael adds in.

“Okay, well that’s why your universes are stupid-“

Leonardo drowns the rest out, on a mission. After all, talking to them was the easy part.

Now he needs to talk to himself.

…

He pauses.

“Wait, that guy was a Michelangelo?”

#poll propaganda #my stuff #other people's stuff #a mixed bag fic #for future reference au #fanfic #I had so much fun with this I was up till 4 am writing with max--#propaganda is SO FUN #max is also SO FUN to work with #I'm really glad I signed up for the poll :D

14 notes · View notes

sinsiriuslyemo · 7 months

Text

Splinter by Jasper Hyde

Book Review 4/5 ☆s

I recently had the distinct pleasure of receiving an ARC copy of Splinter, a spooky, sexy Sleepy Hollow retelling by indie author, Gigi aka Jasper Hyde in exchange for an honest review. Let's talk about it.

So picture this, ya'll: I had just finished writing a little over 2500 words on my WIP, and wanted to give myself a little reward for doing so, as it's been my best word count this week. I knew I would be going to the library for a bit because my husband had an interview this afternoon. So I figured, What a perfect time to read a couple of chapters of Splinter! That "couple of chapters" was a lie, my friends. Instead, I was thrust into the world of Sleepy Hollow, a small town in Upstate New York and I did not want to leave until I had read every last page.

Our heroine is Doctor Drusilla Van Tassel, she's the Medical Examiner who finds herself investigating the gruesome deaths of her twin sister's friends.

You guessed it, ya'll - these cats have been losing their heads.

Meanwhile, Drusilla's former best friend/lover, the one and only and also hot as hell Ichabod Crane - monster hunter - just came back to town, and it turns out that he is on a mission too. Capture the Headless Horseman before any more people die. Seems simple enough, right?

Nope. Guess again!

Drusilla is not happy that Ichabod is back in town, but all of that changes when she comes face-to-face with the Headless Horseman, which leads her to discover that she has mysterious magic powers that she didn't know she had. Forced to turn to Ichabod for help after her sister goes missing, the two work together to uncover Drusilla's family secrets and find a way to banish the Headless Horseman for good.

Sounds awesome right?!

It was! I legit could not put this down. I started reading around 1:30 pm and finished at around 11 pm. The characters are so well thought out, relatable and their history so rich. The settings are vivid and really give you a feel for this quaint little town and literally makes you wanna visit to grab some coffee at The Grindhouse Cafe and settle in the vast wooded area with an awesome book, though maybe not do that while the Headless Horseman is there.

The magic was so fun to read about, and just the mystery of it all was compelling and made me want to keep reading. (I mean, duh, I literally kept reading until there was nothing left to read)

Lastly, we must, but we must talk about the romance/sexy tension surrounding Drusilla and Ichabod. First, Drusilla is written as a bisexual introvert, who has trouble connecting to people. She's great at her job, and passionate about it, which is very apparent. She has a strained relationship with her twin sister and has trouble speaking up for herself sometimes (mainly because as one of very few Black people in town and even fewer Black woman, she has to hold herself back from speaking her mind the majority of the time). It was interesting to watch her grapple with her need to solve this case, which is incredibly personal for her, especially after her sister goes missing, while learning how to put herself first for once.

Now, Ichabod, my man, aka: my dream-boat. Ichabod is demisexual, and as I read, I tried to remember another book I've read that had a demisexual character. For the uninitiated, demisexual simply means a person who must have an emotional connection with someone before they can sleep with them. I couldn't think of one. To be perfectly clear, I mean to say that I couldn't think of any other book I have read in which a character is explicitly stated to be demi sexual. I've read plenty where a character can be interpreted as such. But Ichabod states more than once that he is demisexual, which was incredibly refreshing. As someone who resonates with that label, it was cool to see a character, especially a male lead, proudly claim this label unapologetically. Ichabod has his own issues, though. He's doesn't work that well with others, at least from what I gathered, and tends to keep people at a distance, mostly because his job is so top secret.

Also, sidenote, but when I tell you I could not stop picturing Dante Brasco as Ichabod, ya'll...I could not. Just saying.

The pacing of the romance between Drusilla and Ichabod was realistic, it was interesting, there was tension, there was history! Every time they interacted, I was swooning, like what is my life right now?!

Bro, I was shipping them so hard that by the time we got to the love scene, I was literally like this:

I don't wanna give any spoilers because you just have got to read this book. If you like retellings with a diverse cast of characters, magic, sexy times, romance and general bad-assery both in the morgue and out in the woods, this book is absolutely a great choice for a cozy, exciting read.

You can find Splinter on Amazon, Kobo, Apple Books and Barnes and Nobles, and be sure to leave Gigi a review, it helps push their book out to more readers and I'm just betting that it'll put a smile on their face.

Sinceriously,

Hero

#indie books #book review #book recommendations #poc author

0 notes

tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

I Hate Mondays-- (An Abel Plenkov/Reader OS)

Ya'll I just saw "My Soul To Take" last night and Raul as 'The Ripper' aka Abel Plenkov.....FUCCKKKK!!!

You already know I had a million ideas running through my mind. This was the first. It's dark, it's smutty, it's super angsty and...dark. Be warned.

I fucking love it.

ALL under the cut. Because...yes.

IDK if my tag list wants to read this, but just in case...

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

@thatesqcrush

@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

-----------------------

“Ah, oh yes...fuck fuck fuck fuccccckkk baby yes--”

You were just about to orgasm when you felt the fist around your neck go limp and release you. You looked down to see the sad sack alter ego of your lover staring up at you in fear, his body now trembling.

“Aw for FUCK’S sake Abel,” You growled as you hopped of him. “You really know when to ruin a good time, don’t you?”

“W-W-Where am I?” His voice shook as he realized he was laying in a pool of blood. And not his own.

“You know where the fuck you are, Abel,” You groaned, losing your lady wood quickly. “Now where the fuck did you stash my Ripper?”

“Rip--I don’t know, Y/N!” He suddenly started getting his bearings. He’d woken up here too many times, and every time was even more horrifying.

“Really? Because we were just in the middle of having some god damn fun, and here you come out to piss all over it!” You nodded at his now wet crotch, he’d pissed himself as soon as he had come to.

“Y/N please, I didn’t mean to--” He begged you as he saw you going for your bat.

“Y’know you are SO lucky that you have Ripp’s body, or else I would gut you right here and now,” You hissed, revving up the bat in your hand.

“Okay first of all, ‘Ripper’ doesn’t have a body. His body was my body first!” Abel yelled in a semi forceful tone.

“Oooh, got some lip on you tonight, do ya Honest Abe?” You licked your lips with a smirk.

“A-All I’m saying is-- why, why don’t you just kill me? Put me out of my misery, please. It’d be better than cheating on my wife all the time, hurting my kids…” He began to blubber.

“A-And then his soul could go into another body, one who wouldn’t mind all of---this,” He gestured around the two bodies lying around the room. A guy and a girl, one for each of you. You and Ripper would like to have…’dinner’ first, as you’d call it before your hard core fucking. It was absolute heaven rolling around in other people’s blood.

“Yeah right, and risk his soul going into some rando?” You cackled. “What if it went into a chick? I ain’t carpet licking nothin!” You gagged.

“Or worse….” You made a horrified face. “What if it went into a fattie?!”

“P-P-Please, Y/N….” He pleaded with you.

“Unfortunately, for you Abel baby,” You pointed the bat into his chest, leading him backwards to the bed once more. “I enjoy your body. I know it, and it knows me,”

“B-But….” He tried to stop crying, but you scared the shit out of him. “Y-You don’t want to have sex with me, I’m just--”

“A fucking pussy?” You smirked.

“Yeah, I know baby, you ain’t gotta remind me. Your flaccid dick proves that real good,” You grabbed his limp penis, making him cry out in pain.

“Which is why...” You backed into him until he was laying on the bed and you were looming over him, the bat right under his chin. “....You’re gonna gimme back my baby boy right now, or I’mma beat him outta you,”

“No! Please!” He begged you, snot dripping down his pathetic sobbing mess of a face. It disgusted you to no end having to see Ripper’s face so fucking pitiful.

“It’s n-not like a magic trick, Y/N! I can’t---can’t control it,” He was heaving now with sobs.

“Fine, just know you brought this on yourself, Abel,” You raised the bat high above your head, ready to knock his nuts off, but when your swing came down towards his body, one of his arms stopped the bat dead in its tracks.

“...Now I know, you weren’t going to hit me with that, my little slut,” Ripper’s voice came from Abel’s body with an evil grin.

“Ripp,” You gulped. “N-No, baby I was trying to get you back from that bitch’s little mind prison,”

“Ah, I see,” He ripped the bat from your hands and tossed it across the room. “But see, you always seem to forget-- you damage this body, I damage YOU,”

His blood soaked hands were instantly around your throat as he roughly jammed his now rock hard erection into your throbbing pussy. He flipped you around so he was pounding on top of you, his grasp still tight around your neck.

His eyes filled with lustful glee as he saw your face turn purple, listening to your gagging made him come faster every time. He let out a mighty demonic roar as he ejaculated into you, choking you to the point of passing out. He let go right before you lost consciousness, and the wave of an orgasm washed over you like a ice cold shower, bringing you back from the brink. You screamed in absolute ecstasy, Ripp knew how to give you the best orgasms of your life.

After you were both done, Ripp grabbed your bloody face in his bloody hands, licking all of the girl corpse’s blood off your face and neck.

“Fuck you taste so good, my little whore…” He panted while he lapped up the blood like a hungry dog.

“Mmmm yes daddy, lick me clean,” You moaned in pleasure while sucking the blood off his chest and nipples.

“Wait-- Fuck, he’s...he’s winning again, Y/N,” Ripp stopped licking you and looked at you in anger. “FUCK!”

“No! Fuck him! Stay with me, baby…” You practically whined.

“....Until next time, my love,” He growled softly, in his own romantic way.

“Dammit,” You muttered, as you saw Abel’s face wash back over into his body.

“Oh my...Oh my GOD…” He realized he was now covered in blood from head to toe, and had recently ejaculated. His penis was sore from the rough fucking Ripp liked to do, it damaged his body more and more every time he came to in this God forsaken hell hole you called a house.

“Mmmm…” You flipped his quivering body over and licked his salty tears from his bloody face while he continued to sob.

“Y’know I don’t know what tastes better Abel, your cum or your tears,” You gave him a wicked smile.

“You’re the devil, you know that?” He glared at you.

“Nahhh, I just fuck him,” You winked as you tossed him a towel.

“Now, go take a shower and run home to the missus, wouldn’t want her finding out your dirty little secret…” You mocked him by putting a finger to his mouth with an evil cackle.

Abel did as you said and bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door, ready to take as many hot showers as he needed to to wash the sin off of him.

As you heard him crying in the shower, you began your usual clean up. You grabbed a bone saw and a horse trough of bleach, ready to dissolve the corpses. One day you’d make Abel help you with the clean up, when he could do it without vomiting.

While you were humming to yourself getting the tarps picked up, you felt a wet sensation on your face. Left over blood? You put a finger to your eye and pulled it back. You were...leaking.

“Fuck…” You growled, throwing down the tarp and going for a beer bottle in the corner.

You broke it on the floor and took a long shard, dragging it down your arm until you saw blood pooling out. The physical pain was good, it centered you. It distracted you from stupid things like emotions. You couldn’t sit around pining for your demon boyfriend, you had shit to do.

You must have stared at the blood for a little too long, as you started to feel dizzy from a lot of it now dripping across the floor. Before you knew what was happening, you felt Abel running over and wrapping a towel around your arm, rubbing your face.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” His voice sounded miles away.

“Wha--” You suddenly came to, realizing the dickhole was coddling you. “Get the fuck off of me, white bread!”

What would Ripp do if he could see you from in there? What if he saw you being weak like some fucking school girl?

“I was just trying to help--” He said softly.

“You can help me by getting the FUCK out of here,”

“...R-Right, sorry,” He quickly pulled on his shirt and pants, holding his shoes as he dashed down the stairs and out the front door.

“Fucking Christ…” You sighed, going to get some gauze to wrap your mutilated arm in before you started to clean up again.

“I hate Mondays.”

#one shot #raul esparza #abel plenkov #my soul to take #raul esparza fanfiction #abel plenkov x reader #abel plenkov x you #the ripper x you #the ripper x reader #riverton ripper x you #riverton ripper x reader #smut #tw violence #tw cutting #tw blood

16 notes · View notes