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inkblot22 · 2 years

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Charmer

Jamil x Gn!Reader, All characters are 18+, tw for manipulation, degradation, spousal/partner abuse, mention of broken bones, mention of kidnapping and captivity, mention of forced marriage, reader is suffering from stockholm syndrome, but not really? they're not well, mentally, slight suffocation due to sand, shared bathing and therefore mention of nudity, suggestive themes

The tower’s bell created a haunting echo in the distance. They were far enough into the desert that they didn’t need to worry about any bystanders being harmed if they were caught, but the very fact that they were worried about being caught spoke volumes. There was no true way to escape, and they knew it. Their captor would come after them, and he would find them. He was smarter and more cunning than them. They tripped on the loose sand and fell, standing and struggling through the rest of it.

They could only wonder what would become of the servants they crept past. The night had started with their captor forcing them to eat rich foods and touch him as though he was their lover and not some crazed man who had dragged them from their friends. Their stomach hurt. They hated him for stealing them away, but they also hated him for being as charming as he was. They couldn’t close their eyes without thinking about his. They couldn’t keep their mind away from him. Perhaps he had truly stolen all of them.

They hadn’t planned very far. As it was, they wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, and they had no home to return to since they weren’t from this world. They supposed that the plan was just to go into the desert and die, at its core. The only way out was death, but that was assuming he didn't know anything about necromancy.

As the sand kicked up into a storm, they shielded their eyes and struggled against the winds, determined to keep walking until they couldn’t any longer. There was sand keeping their feet in place, having blown to cover their legs up to their thighs. It cut their cheeks and arms, eyelashes caked with it as it stuck to their tears.

They couldn’t tell if the storm had stopped or if they simply couldn’t see because it was still raging. Perhaps they had died and they just didn’t notice it. The sand that wrapped around their waist was cool and soft, though, so they supposed that was good enough. They were beginning to have trouble breathing.

They heard nothing, then a soft swishing noise punctuated by a thunk. That happened a few times until something hard and cool hit their shoulder. They guessed they weren’t dead as someone wearing a veil and tunic pulled them from where they were buried, the storm dying down except for around where they were standing. The stranger tossed a shovel to the side and stared at them.

They gasped for air, no longer interested in the stranger. They noticed a camel with a flask of water strapped to it, but they weren’t interested in that either. The stranger grabbed them around the waist and hoisted them upon the camel, climbing behind them. He smelled just like their captor, which meant it probably was him. That fragrant mixture of burst anise pods, overturned dirt, and molasses couldn’t be fabricated. They settled back against him, saying nothing.

He led the camel back to the section of the palace that had become their home for however long they had been here. They had never had a good grasp on time or the passage thereof. They allowed him to drag them into their little apartment, into the hammam and then just watched, hands clasped under their chin.

They were nervous. He hadn't said a word, which was honestly never a good thing. They thought back to the time he wordlessly broke their kneecap. It was a premeditated action, a clean break straight down the center of the bone. They didn't have time to keep thinking about this as he walked around the room, barely noticeable agitation in his movements.

He drew the water and then turned to glance at them. They flinched. The look wasn’t long, nor was it clear, but they could tell from the tense line in his shoulders and furrowing of his brow under his veil that he was pissed. Their husband was livid and it was a murderous rage as well.

They couldn’t pacify him. They’d learned early on that he’d simply play along, and then deal out their punishment tenfold, and they had the scars and disfigurements to prove it. He relished breaking them down. He enjoyed the game of abuse, all too willing to crush their spirits in order to keep them in line.

He hadn’t said it aloud, but it was clear enough.

They watched him as he turned off the water, as he ripped off his veil and revealed unkempt dark hair, the braids and beads mussed and tangled as though he had been sleeping for months or awake for years with no rest. His lip was curled in a snarl, distaste all over his expression. He threw his tunic off and untied his plaits and allowed his hair to slide loose over his naked shoulder. He pulled off his sandals and underclothes, then approached them and struck them across the cheek.

“Do you know how worried I was?”

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What were you even planning?”

“I… I didn’t have one.” That was sort of a lie. They just wanted to get away from him, it didn’t matter where they went.

“Of course not.” He sucked his teeth and tore open the top they’d stolen from one of the sleeping servants, then pulled their pants and underclothes away.

“Jamil…” Their voice was very soft. Barely audible.

“Shut your mouth. I need to make sure you aren’t injured anywhere else.”

They didn’t know how they’d even gotten to this point with him. Maybe it was because they couldn’t make eye contact with him unless he held them still due to their sudden shaking. Perhaps it was their initial crush on him, which he labeled “creepy,” when he found out about it. It could have been the events of their wedding night, but as long as they were together, it had always been like this. He was caustic and mean, hurtful. It was irrelevant as it were, the present being far more clear than the past as he pushed them into the water.

The sand dissolved away. He didn’t grab them and scrub them clean as he usually would, much too interested in the minuscule cuts along their face and forearms.

He looked so angry. His entire body was tense with rage and they didn’t notice when they began to cry. He did, lip curling in even more irritation.

“Stop it.” He hissed.

“Sorry.”

He wiped their face roughly and then began to scrub the rest of their body. They hated bathing with him. Regardless of how stoic he seemed, he’d get flustered quickly, and then they’d be bent across the edge of it, or splayed out on the tile. He loved to touch them. Even now, his hand was splayed across their back to keep them in place as he wiped the sand and blood from their face.

They let him do what he wanted. Nothing would change how angry he was, how harsh he’d be. He was so good at keeping a grudge. If they could list his talents, that would be one of the first.

He touched a cut along their shoulder and they mewled, jerking away from him. His hand on their back grabbed the nape of their neck and pulled them back towards him.

He hummed as he looked at it, dabbing it with the cloth before letting out a little sigh.

“You’re tense. Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t speak for a second, then he said, “Of what I’ll do?”

“Yes, Jamil.” They winced as he pulled them closer.

“I can’t say I’m upset with that. Perhaps the fear of what I’m going to do to you will keep you from pulling a stunt like that again.” His voice, haughty as ever, was quiet, soft, as though he was speaking a declaration of love instead of threatening them.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” They didn’t know why they had said that. He wouldn’t be any nicer for it.

“Exactly that. You weren’t thinking, and you almost suffocated because of it.” He dabbed at their ears again, “I thought someone had helped you at first. I know you don’t like being holed up here all the time, but tell me when you want to leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

He ignored them, “You were so nice about everything last night, so I thought that perhaps you’d accepted your place by my side, as my spouse. I’m upset that I was wrong.” He ran a comb through their hair and more sand went into the water, coating the bottom of the pool, “You nearly died out there.”

“I think maybe that was the point.” They breathed it, not even a whisper.

Jamil must not have heard them as he rubbed oil into their skin, pressing a kiss here or there as he moved, “If I had lost you…”

They didn’t want to think of that. His overblot was terrifying enough, he himself was terrifying enough. They didn’t want to think of him being on the warpath.

As he sighed into their neck, long hair clinging to their damp skin, they leaned slightly into his touch. They didn’t know why they did that, but they had failed. He seemed slightly shocked at first, until he pulled them even closer and opened his mouth to elevate the amount of harm he could cause their skin. They had failed, and now they were crying a little again, silent tears slipping down scabbed cheeks and stinging in the open wounds as he covered them with his body. He caged them in with that characteristic strength and wrapped his arms around their back, bringing them chest to chest. They had failed to keep their emotions in check.

They still liked him so much. Their arms looped around his back and tangled into his hair, fingers combing through it as he nipped their jaw. They maybe even loved him.

They had failed, and they allowed their creepiness to rule, because Jamil was the man they wanted to spend the rest of their pitiful life with, even if he had stolen them away and kept them in a box like a doll. They kissed him back just as fiercely as they cried, even if he took pleasure in harming them, even if they were scared of his every movement and sore from his constant attentions.

And somewhere, deep down, they hoped that this was normal.

Part one: Snake

#tw: stockholm syndrome #tw: broken bones #tw: bone breaking #tw: yandere #twisted wonderland #twst jamil #tw: suffocation #disney twst #jamil viper #tw: dark themes #tw: dark content #tw: nudity #bathing #suggestive #not sfw #suggestive cw #tw suggestive #minors dni #mdni

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diejager · 2 years

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May I please ask for headcanons for yan Diluc reacting to Donna claiming that his darling is nothing but a mistress and whore

Yandere Diluc

Headcanon

Tw: kidnapping, blood and gore, Stockholm syndrome, death, torturing, yandere tendencies.

Warnings: not proofread.

He never minded Donna. Sure, she was annoying at times and her delusions of them being together certainly irritated him, but she was nothing more than a citizen of the city he protects, a bystander in his life of passion and lust.

She was nothing more than an unimportant citizen to him. Donna had no use, no looks and was too shallow in his mind. Not that he had anything against her, to begin with, just simple annoyance.

Though he had you, his lover and sweetheart. You were like a young and beautiful caged bird - a swan if he dared say: as much graceful as you were majestic. You were practically made for each other! How fortunate he was to have you, his little, caged swan, for people to view but never approach.

"(Name)'s with him again. She's always with Diluc! It's not fair! I love Diluc too! Oh- but the Darknight Hero is also hot..."

His annoyances started to outweigh his sense of duty at this point. He didn't care what people said about him, but you were a sensitive subject. Donna looked a lot more pitiful to him now, knowing that she envied you- not that you weren't someone not to be envied of, you were perfect. It just annoyed him how people were taking notice of you, useless people like visionless Donna or those Knights of Favonius.

It was fine, really, he had you by his side so he could ignore whatever rumours others had to say about both of you. It's fine, everything is fine. He kept telling himself, he had you after all. You were his to sleep with, cuddle with, share meals and work together. He did everything with you, well, almost everything.

"She's a whore!! A whore! She's always with Diluc!! It's not fair! No fair! Who does she even think she is?! Always hogging Diluc! He's going to get bored of her and throw her away like a one-time mistress!! I'm sure of it! She doesn't even have anything good to her!!"

That was the last straw. He saw searing with rage, blood bubbling and veins bulging. He only saw red, the darkest and most wicked red he's ever felt.

That night, Diluc slipped through the windows of your shared room with one thing in mind - other than you, of course. Shrouded in the darkness of his black cloak and mask, he wormed his way into the city alleys and into the house of his victim: Donna.

He planned to make her suffer, but it would create too much of a racket in her house. So the second, most pleasing idea was to kidnap her in the dead of night, leaving no evidence of who took her. How fortunate he was to own a mansion, where the walls were soundproof and servants bound to him by secrecy - almost to a fault. And in the basement, Donna went, down in the dark, somewhat humid and dirty prison, a dungeon caked with the dried blood of those he... disposed of in the past.

"Your verdict is death."

Pained screams and wails bounced around the room, red sparks and flames danced in the pitch-black room. The night was filled with terror and torture, while Diluc rejoiced in the screeches Donna let out, almost satisfied with his infliction. Almost. He left her to suffer the rest alone, making sure she'd still be alive by the second night.

Whatever happened to happy-go-lucky Donna from the flower shop? No soul knew where she went or who took her. The knights asked around, most didn't know what happened, others had mentioned Donna's hateful words towards you and said that you might be involved.

Luckily, you had an iron-clad alibi, as tight as Jean's corset, plus the fact that your lover was Mondstadt's richest man. And now one, no one, wants to get on his bad side. So the knights let it slide for these two reasons. How fortunate was he to be filthy rich.

Diluc could care less if they never found Donna's rotting corpse in the deepest part of his dungeon. He had you, his unknowing swan that he kept high and happy in his arms. It was fine and it still is.

"It's fine, everything is fine."

#yandere male #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere diluc #yandere diluc x reader #diluc x reader #donna #yandere genshin impact x reader #childe genshin impact #tw: torture #tw: stockholm syndrome #blood and gore

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sneezypeasy · 2 years

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Dissecting the Discourse: Part 3?

Welp, looks like there will be a third installment in my “Writing up a Zutara Drama Timeline” series.

Full disclaimer upfront: The past two times I attempted to break down a Zutara fandom controversy, I was a neutral bystander who was mostly blindsided by what happened. I had to piece together the timeline of events as an outsider, someone who didn’t witness most of the infighting in real time.

This time, I was there almost from the start, and I was later directly named as someone who had a role to play in the controversy, which dragged me much closer to the conflict than I was comfortable with. This is partly why I’ve found it difficult to write up this post, because this time, my connection to the drama is significantly more personal and direct. In writing these posts, my goal was always to offer a deconstruction of events that was emotionally distanced, fair and objective as I could possibly make it, and being “close” to the action as I was (and the accusations) made that nearly impossible last week.

I have now reached a point where I believe I am able to report on the situation without letting my ego or my emotions muddy my thoughts too heavily on the subject. However, I think it’s important that people read this post being fully informed of the fact that this time, I am not a neutral third-party, and to take that into account as they read. However, I hope that my timeline can still help, for some.

So, with that being said, here is my breakdown of what happened:

TWs: non-explicit references to BDSM, kink, kink communities, darkfic (including rapefic/nonconfic).

1) On January 23rd, a user (who has consented to be identified here by their tumblr handle @ironpines) received an ask on tumblr expressing fondness towards “old” Zutara fics that depicted “Stockholm syndrome” and “abusive capture” dynamics. Ironpines responded positively to the ask, agreeing that writers and readers who enjoy darkfic should not be shamed for it and expressed support for a “don’t like don’t read” position towards fiction containing “problematic” tropes.

2) Soon afterwards, another user, who will be identified here as User X, responded to an ask that stated “someone is literally in the Zutara tag whining about how there isn’t enough r*pe porn anymore”. User X expressed agreement with their anon ask, and suggested that “problematic” fiction was previously an oversaturated medium in the Zutara fandom, and that they “died for a reason and we’re so much better for it now.”

3) Later that same day, on a Zutara discord server that I am part of, ironpines and User X initiated a heated debate on the topic of BDSM kink. It is my understanding that the argument initially stemmed from the anon asks mentioned above, and thus was limited to the context of BDSM kink in fiction, but this was soon abandoned in favour of discussing the practices of BDSM and kink communities as a whole.

User X expressed various opinions critical of BDSM kink, those who participate in it and BDSM communities in general, comparing BDSM to self-harm, sexual exploitation, abuse and predatory behaviour, and accused kink communities and participants of enabling or glorifying abuse or abusive structures. Ironpines took a heated stance against these arguments, asserting that BDSM is more comparable to activities like martial arts, paintball, tattoos etc - (in other words, activities that generally do not garner social condemnation due to the element of willing and informed consent despite the inherent element of risk). User X argued that the gender disparity she has observed in dom/sub dynamics are a natural extension of misogynistic power structures in society, and that most women (particularly submissive women) who claim to enjoy kink are victims of cult-like pressure/brainwashing that are enabled by these societal structures, at one point comparing kink in kink communities to abuse and rape within the Catholic church. Ironpines took offense to User X’s beliefs, arguing that her claims were ignorant, and that the rhetorical framework for these views were infantilising and rooted in sexism stemming from an adherence to radical feminist ideology, that seeks to pathologise female sexual agency/liberation.

As previously mentioned, the debate spiralled into passive-aggressive and unproductive territory fairly quickly. Examples include User X telling ironpines at one point to “get well soon <3” (implying that their perspective is that of a mentally unwell person), and ironpines declaring that “zuko is going to have so much fun cnc’ing [Katara], bye” (declaring their intention to continue writing fanfics of Zuko and Katara in a BDSM dynamic despite, or perhaps even because of, the discord argument.)

Two other users acted mostly as bystanders throughout the fight: one who has consented to be named here as firelxdykatara, and another who I will call User A. At the very beginning of the argument, User A objected to the comparison between BDSM and self-harm, arguing that this was not a fair analogy to make, though she did not elaborate further on this assertion. Towards the end of the debate User A told User X that her arguments were “alienating a lot of people in the server”, before ultimately shutting down the debate as it “[wasn’t] going anywhere and just talking in circles”. Firelxdykatara’s involvement in the debate was to assert, similarly, that “kink is not self-harm” and that User X’s perspective was “inherently invalidating & infantilizing to adults who are capable of making their own sexual decisions''. To my knowledge, that was the extent of these users’ participation/involvement in the discussion.

About two hours after the argument ended, I entered the channel and skimmed over the debate. Having studied sexual sadism/masochism in both a formal (university) context, and in an anecdotal context (from friends who profess to enjoy kink to some degree, whether in real life, or in their writing/fanfictions, or both), my understanding of kink and kink communities differed greatly from the opinions I saw User X express. I also saw that while several of her assertions had been categorically rebuffed, the rebuttals provided little elaboration or explanation.

I have a strong personal dislike towards dogmatic approaches to discourse, and skimming over the chat, I felt like there were questions raised in the discord argument that deserved a more comprehensive answer (not necessarily even for User X’s sake but also for the benefit of any lurkers who might be curious, yet hesitant to participate directly given the intensity of the debate). In an attempt to not stoke the flames any further than had already been stoked, but also to try to provide some answers, I posted a link to an essay that explained, in depth, the harms of many anti-kink arguments (including but not limited to, “kink is equivalent to self-harm”, “kink should be kept only to yourself, never written and shared to a wider community”, “kink is only valid for abuse/rape survivors and even then, what they really need is therapy”, etc etc). I also attempted to give my take on why kink and self-harm are not analogous behaviours, speaking as a Psych major who’d formally studied Abnormal Psychology. To the best of my recollection, that was the extent of my involvement in the Discord Argument.

4) Shortly afterwards, User X was banned from the discord server. There were various reasons for this; the main reason that I’m aware of is that heightened suspicion developed before, during and after the discord argument, that User X was the user who leaked the previous screenshot(s) during the Zutara Smut Week drama, and that her continued access to the server was thus a lingering threat to user privacy and safety.

5) Around the same time, ironpines began receiving anon asks on their tumblr, ranging from mocking to vilifying, for the arguments they expressed and/or experiences they shared in the aforementioned discord argument. Ironpines responded relatively aggressively to these asks, and on multiple occasions both directly and indirectly accused the anon(s) of being User X. This appeared to fuel a vicious cycle, where ironpines’ reactions to the anon asks (including one response which included ironpines telling User X to “choke on the radfem dick you’re eating rn”) resulted in more anon backlash and accusations of misogyny/harassment/bad-faith conduct, which resulted in more hostile responses from ironpines, which resulted in more anon asks condemning their hostility, and so on and so on.

6) On January 25th, a user presenting themselves as a third-party to the discord debate, approached an A:TLA “confessions” blog claiming to have “receipts” (screenshots from the aforementioned discord argument), proving that ironpines was the primary aggressor towards User X from the beginning. They alleged that ironpines’ behaviour, both in the discord chat and thereafter, was simultaneously unwarranted and unconscionable, summing up that User X had “questioned certain violent fetishes over discord” and that ironpines had responded to this with vindictive anger and harassment.

This user additionally claimed that the screenshots implicated three other individuals who had “sided with ironpines”, a position they could not tolerate and urged others not to tolerate also. They identified these three users by their tumblr handles: [User A], @firelxdykatara, and sneezypeasy (myself).

7) In an attempt to protect user privacy, the nsfw discord channel was quickly deleted as soon as this post was made public.

8) Following this, User A, firelxdykatara and ironpines received a large volume of anon asks questioning or accusing them of behaviour ranging from bad-faith conduct, to harassment, to espousing “pro-rape” ideology. Multiple asks also contained rape and/or death threats. Again, responses to these asks appeared to have resulted in something of a positive feedback loop, where hostile responses prompted increasingly hostile asks, and vice versa.

On the flipside, several anon asks submitted to the “confessions” blog (and responses from the blog itself) misgendered ironpines, who uses they/them pronouns. Accusations of transphobia quickly followed, buttressing the argument that sympathy for User X’s perspective was rooted in radical feminist ideology, a connection both ironpines and firelxdykatara explicitly highlighted in their own posts on the situation.

It is my opinion that by this point, the well had been quite well and truly poisoned, and productive discourse was past attainable.

(I should add here, as I believe it is likely relevant context, that both ironpines and firelxdykatara claim to have been on “mutual block” with User X for some time. Both ironpines and firelxdykatara contend that by blocking User X, they have fulfilled their obligations of shielding User X from any potentially hurtful or triggering content they may post on their blogs, including posts that are directly referring to or addressing User X in a hostile manner.)

Edit #2: I have been told that at some point during all of this, prior to the “confessions” blog leaking a series of screenshots of the discord chat, see point (9) - ironpines posted several screenshots of the same chat to tumblr in an attempt to combat the narrative that they had harassed User X or had acted as the primary aggressor. I have searched ironpines’ blog and cannot find any evidence of these screenshots, so if any screenshots were indeed posted between January 23rd and January 27th, they must have since been deleted.

Edit #3: I have now seen the screenshots in a reblog of one of ironpines’ posts; so the screenshots were indeed posted, and then deleted or removed some time later. The screenshots were posted on January 27th, the same day the confessions blog released their screenshots, and show User X summarising the discord argument “for the lurkers” and accusing her opponents of bad-faith conduct and “glorify[ing] something triggering to punish [her] for daring to speak up”. A second screenshot depicts User X sharing an inflammatory anon ask to the channel to ask “which one of you sent me this”.

9) On January 27th, the confessions blog released a series of screenshots they had received from the user in point (6), and presented the screenshots as satisfactory evidence that User X’s position/role in the drama was largely sympathetic, summarising that User X’s "reasonable questions” about “systems & structures” within kink communities was met with immediate hostility in the form of “personal attacks and strawman arguments”, and that ironpines’ subsequent tumblr posts (and the conduct of their supporters) were highly disproportionate and malicious in response.

Publicly and privately, ironpines (and their supporters) have responded to the “receipts” by arguing that the evidence instead shows User X applying radical feminist rhetoric to demean and invalidate consensual kink, even using derogatory and ableist language to support her position against iropnines. In supporting User X, the “confessions” blog has been similarly accused of blindly accepting radical feminist ideology (at best), to platforming and advocating for it (at worst).

10) Meanwhile, behind the scenes, several users on the discord server identified multiple pieces of circumstantial evidence which suggested User X was a primary suspect for the “leaker” of the discord screenshots, both in Zutara smut week, and in the current drama. User X’s history of having written BDSM dynamics herself (including female-on-male rape, dubcon, sadism and masochism, bondage and submission etc) prevented many users from being able to sympathise with her firm stance against Maledom/femsub kink. Edit #1: User X has reached out to me personally, to clarify that her intention of exploring these dynamics in her fics were to “portray abuse and a victim’s response to it”, and opposes the comparison of her fic(s) to “a genre of stories in which victims fall in love with their aggressors, thus justifying the abuse.” Multiple users have, both publicly and privately, accused User X of engaging in double standards, hypocrisy, sexism, and lack of integrity. This, combined with the increasing suspicion that User X was the “leaker” as well as the user who had approached the “confessions” blog in point (6), resulted in many users rapidly withdrawing support for User X and her “side” of the drama.

In summary, users who have “taken sides” on the conflict at present seem to fall under two camps:

The “pro-user X” side believes the screenshots vindicate User X. Either they agree that User X’s perspective on kink are valid, that ironpines acted as the primary aggressor, or that ironpines engaged in disproportionate and malicious retaliation towards User X for her stated views, or some combination of the above.

The “anti-user X” side believes the screenshots vindicate ironpines. They typically argue that User X’s perspective is unacceptable due to its basis in radical feminist ideology, that User X and her supporters acted as the primary aggressor (and continue to do so by weaponising User X’s “false victimhood”), or that ironpines’ responses did not reach the level of what could be labelled harassment or unwarranted/disproportionate aggression, or some combination of the above.

And… I believe that is where things are right now. I will be amending/editing this post, correcting details or adding more information as needed. I am apprehensive towards including direct links as the drama is still relatively “fresh” and I am nervous about escalating it any further or inciting harassment/more harassment to the individuals involved. If anyone wishes to see “citations” of anything I’ve claimed in here, dm me and I will provide (names-censored) screenshots (unless it’s of the individuals who have consented to be named in this post).

This has been an admittedly stressful couple of weeks for me, much of it for personal reasons, and I’m aware that I am in a somewhat awkward position to give a balanced report, but I hope that some people might still find this helpful.

#atla fandom salt #zutara fandom salt #the discourse #hope I was able to help

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maybe-your-left · 3 years

Text

Broken Pieces - Rebirth

We are a product of our own sin...

TW/CW: NSFW, degrading, not sexy talk degrading, explicit references to previous assault, flashbacks, triggering talk of child abuse (there is none, not once will there be in this fic), betrayal, infidelity, Dateline w Lester Holt, mentions of previous pregnancy, miscarriage mentioned from Window Panes, childbirth, breastfeeding, very apparent Stockholm syndrome still in place, therapy talk, Planned Parenthood, very talkative conscience, the narrator is losing her mind, Tom is Draco from Harry Potter, you’re welcome.

Part Two of the Unsalvageable Collection, please be sure to read Window Panes first. Here is the link to my Mega Masterlist, and my Random Ren Masterlist for more.

Summary: Guilty-that was it, there was supposed to be nothing else. The sins he committed the confines on his prison, until one day time ran out and the cell door slammed shut. And suddenly,

You're the one behind bars.

How do you explain to someone that you wish you were dead?

When they’ve never done what you’ve done, felt what you’ve felt. Seen the look in a man’s eyes moments before snapping an innocent bystander’s neck. The crunch of their vertebrae being separated from the spinal cord, having guttural screams ringing in your ears. So loud, that even in the busiest of rooms all you can hear is their pleads.

How do you tell someone that, when they have no idea of the evil that lies in this world? A sleeping giant, lying dormant under the earth’s crust. Waiting for someone foolish enough to come by and crackdown with their shovel, hoping to find fame and fortune. New life, a new beginning, but every pile of dirt brings you closer to death.

You find out you’ve been digging your own grave.

How does it feel?

To know that you’re drowning, in a sea of people.

It took four hours for you to flee the state, carrying only a backpack of clothes. Tears streaming down your cheeks, unable to stop until you were out of there. Until his goons couldn’t find you, they were everywhere and nowhere.

It took four weeks for you to understand the sickness inside wasn’t something to rid overnight. No, it was growing stronger every day. Sucking away every nutrient you ate or drank, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. The person looking back in the mirror was a stranger now, molded in his image. What he wanted, that’s all you were now.

It took four years for you to see the resemblance. To really acknowledge it after lying for so long, and know that you’d never be free from his shackles. At any moment he would be there to drag you back down the concrete stairs. Soaking them in your blood, to bolt you to the plank of wood that was now rotted from years of neglect. To tear your flesh apart, and sew it together again.

A child, not your child.

But his.

How do you tell someone innocent that they are cut from the same cloth that beat you? That one day he could show up, and rip him from your safety. Just because he wanted to see you cry, those perfectly salty tears he craved to taste while ruining you. Purring into your sweat-slicked hair, caked in dried blood from his bludgeoning, how delicious you were. When he could taste the fear on your skin, like a frightened animal caught in the predator’s web.

Could you do it?

Could you move on?

------

It was the fourth week in a row that a package came to your door. Unmarked, aside from postage stamping, with no return label. The only thing on it was scrawled in black marker over the top, your name. Full name, there was no doubt who it was intended for, but that frightened you even more.

The town you lived in was large, large enough for you to disappear in. Across the country from anyone who would recognize you, but you had help with blending in. Finn and Poe wouldn’t let you run off so easily, finding you a week after you fled the courthouse. Knocking on your front door with gifts and meals. Hugging you tight, like they were your family, which they were.

They had protected you better than your real family, your parents didn’t bother to find you after the case. And your other family screamed in front of the entire courtroom that he would hunt you down, tear you limb from limb and kill every inch of your soul once he was freed. Only to be dragged down by guards, dropping the charade that he was an upstanding citizen. Showing how much of an animal he could be when things don’t go his way.

Since then, you've been alone. An entire month with no contact with the outside world, aside from the work you’d done on the computer. Finn had helped you with jobs, but you refused any financial help. Not wanting Ren to target them if he found out where you were, there couldn’t be any more blood on your hands.

They were already stained so much, no matter how many times you washed them.

You stared down at the package, the neighborhood quiet all around you. You could call the police, you should call the police. Whoever was sending these knew too much about you, and they were taunting you. Never had you looked inside, just threw them into the outdoor garbage can.

Praying that they weren’t bombs, to tick throughout the night until they detonated.

You sighed, lifting it with a grunt, heavy. Dropping it carefully on your coffee table, you shut the door. Flipping the locks open and closed four times each, just to be sure. A tick you developed because you kept waking up in the middle of the night convinced someone had gotten in. So you settled on being extra sure the locks were indeed locked.

You carefully cut the taped edges, the blade sliding quickly through the clear plastic. Sighing with relief when nothing exploded, you peeled back the edges. Brow furrowed when you were met with another box, same writing on the lid. The same process, revealing another one.

And another.

“How many fucking boxes?”

You stopped, the final one was about the size of a jewelry box. Now the name on top was different, scrawled in loopy lettering only one person has. Your old name, Mrs. Ren. Scribbled in black ink on the white parchment lining the container.

Dumping it out on the rug, you shook it vigorously. Hopeful to learn what was inside the dangerous gift, what would he send you? If it was an animal it would be long dead. There were no air holes in the box, nothing hissing inside. Just the dull sound of something shaking around.

You bit the bullet, it was now or never, and you didn’t want to lay awake at night trying to figure out what it was. Peeling it apart was satisfying, every new layer revealed another message.

Like it was wrapped in letters, all written to you.

My love, I miss you.

I hope you’re doing well.

There’s so much I wish I could say to you.

Life is meaningless without you by my side.

I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done.

I know I am.

I hope this brings you solace, for the long years I will be gone. Know that every moment we are apart, I will think of you. I trust you’ll keep these safe for us so that when I return we can be together until the end of time.

Rings.

You were holding your wedding ring.

The same one he had slid over to you days before you fled. After spending all that time locked up in the basement, listening to him betray you over and over. Welded to another ring, you didn’t have to be smart to know it was his. The two wedding bands melted into one, the diamonds of your once beautiful ring singed from the flames. Spreading the disturbed trail to the black onyx that lined his, almost like they were sinking into a pit of tar.

You burned the boxes.

Watching from your fireplace as the flames licked at the pieces. Starved for more, begging to be fed the final pieces of his poison. You rolled the abomination around in your palm, fingering the edges of where the two became one. Trying to swallow back the ache in your chest as you remembered that day. And the ones following it…

Running away from him with fear in your eyes.

Real fear.

Because he no longer cared if he killed you.

Chasing you around the house once you refused to wear the ring he had so lovingly given back to you. Expecting that you would be okay with it, even offering to let you walk free. But no, instead he was given the worst outcome of both. You wanted to stay, but you didn’t want to play housewife anymore.

Didn’t want to be fake anymore, you wanted his love again.

Ren had cornered you in the upstairs guest room, letting you scream and kick at his hunched form. Gripping a butcher’s knife so hard his knuckles were turning white, hissing through his teeth that you were to wear the ring. Even if he had to superglue it to your hand, or else he would cut off each finger.

One by one.

And then your toes.

You shuddered, dropping the metal to your feet. Clutching your hands to your chest, counting down from ten.

One, two, three, four, five…

Now the other.

Six, seven, eight, nine…

You hesitated.

Skimming the scar that sat at the base of your right pinkie. A ring of skin that was puckered and white, trembling as you counted, ten.

Ren had torn off your pinkie.

Thrown it across the room while you screamed, his laugh ringing in your ears. Loud enough to burst an eardrum, watching as the blood squirted from the stump. Ren tried to take the hand from you, determined to tear off another finger.

Pinning you to the carpet now soaked in your blood, ‘Stop fucking moving! You did this! You wanted to be here and now you will do what I fucking say!’

Doctor Cardo told you that if Ren hadn’t called him soon enough, you would’ve lost the finger permanently. But here you were, ten fingers and toes, staring into the fire. You chuckled for a moment, where was that anger when he told you he loved you?

In the prison when he told you you’d never be apart.

Or in the sanitarium when he fucked your catatonic form, repeating his apologies. And you mirrored them, you shouldn’t have run, ‘but I wasn’t sweet to you, my dear wife. My sweet love, I should’ve been sweet to you.’

------

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You glared to the right, exhaling a long plume of smoke, “What?”

“Um,” the man fidgeted, “Are you alright?”

He looked scared, frightened even, of you. How ironic? Someone so terrified of you when you knew what true monsters were like. But he didn’t know that all he saw was a sad girl. Sitting on the sidewalk in front of a Planned Parenthood. Avoiding the gaze of right-wing protestors, damning you to hell.

Like you didn’t already have a one-way ticket.

You took another drag of your cigarette, turning green at the taste. You didn’t smoke, well that’s what you told yourself. But after the news you just had, you wanted to smoke and drink until you died. You cleared your throat, “I’m fine, I’m leaving so you don’t have to preach to me or whatever your friends over there already screamed.”

He smiled at that, glancing over at the group of middle-aged people. Yelling in the ears of some poor soul who just wanted help, telling them how corrupted they were. Against God’s grand plan, you were going to hell for what you’ve done.

“Um-no,” he scratched his cheek, “I was just across the parking lot and I saw you sitting here. You looked upset, and I would be too if I was yelled at by those crazy people.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just um-exhausted.”

He nodded, “Could I bum one of those off you?”

You smiled, gladly accepting the company. He looked sweet, with kind bright eyes and platinum blond hair. Falling on his forehead when he stooped down to your level, smiling at you when you handed him a cancer stick. Both of you stayed quiet, just listening to the yelling of the crowds and the wind as the clouds passed above. It was an unusually cold day in Las Vegas, but that was to be expected.

Given that you were pregnant with the spawn of Satan, implying that Hell hath indeed frozen over.

“My name is Tom.”

He held out a hand, smiling at you as you took it timidly. You let him squeeze yours, a non-threatening gesture. His hands weren’t gigantic, didn’t engulf yours in their treacherous grasp. Weren’t pulling you close enough for him to bite your face, taste the blood that flowed underneath your delicate skin. Instead, he lit the cigarette, smoking slowly as you did the same.

Sitting in silence, you both watched the cars.

Giggling when he made jokes about certain ones, speculating about the owners. Imitating their voices, chuckling when you laughed with him, even calling your smile beautiful. He didn’t know who you were, how damaged you were under the surface.

Tom gave you his phone number, you didn’t have the nerve to tell him you were too afraid to buy a cell phone. Petrified that he would find the number, call you in the early hours of the morning to command you to come back to New York and release him. Admit that it was all a misunderstanding, you were his loving wife.

That Ren never hurt a hair on your head, he just was scary.

You were overreacting.

It took you about a week before you caved and bought a phone.

Spending every night since meeting Tom dreaming about him. How soft his hands were, how nice his voice was. How non-threatening he was to you, not commanding you to be near him. But giving you the option if you so chose, to talk to him.

You did.

Tom invited you to dinner, you had to make up some excuse why you didn’t drink. Not wanting to alarm him with your drunken confessions, that had happened before. Scaring off the first friend you made when you moved to Nevada. Mistakenly identifying someone as Ren, and she had no clue what to do with that information.

So you didn’t drink.

It wouldn’t be good for you anyway, with being two months pregnant.

Just like with Opal, it wasn’t obvious.

If it weren’t for your paranoid behavior, you would’ve never known it as the first round. But you paid close attention to your body now, desperate to control something that he had taken from you for so many years.

Tom spent the night and the night after. Laying with you in bed, protecting you from the monsters that were closing in with the darkness. The nights were the worst, you told Tom that you had night terrors. But those terrors had a name, and you know Tom knew whose name you screamed in the dead of night.

Please, Kylo!

Don’t kill me!

I’ll be good!

Please, Kylo, I love you!

------

“Hey babe,” Tom called from the kitchen, “We got a weird letter in the mail.”

You sighed from the laundry room, you made sure your new house had no basement. Not wanting to tempt yourself with those dark thoughts, avoiding anything that resembled Ren. You plopped the laundry bin on the kitchen table, walking up to Tom with a confused look.

He was confused too, squinting at the paper, even holding it to the light to see inside it. You walked to his left, leaning your head against his shoulder, attempting to mirror him. Nothing, you couldn’t see shit, it just looked like a white envelope.

A stamp in the corner, nothing weird.

Handwriting on it wasn’t familiar, no loopy lettering that you watched out for. Just had your name and a little plus sign with Toms. No return address, “Maybe we should open it?”

Tom shrugged, “Do you think it’s safe?”

“Why would you say that,” you handed him the letter opener.

“Because they put your name first,” he smirked, “Don’t they know that the man always comes first?”

You smirked, moving away from him. Placing a hand on your lower belly, conscious of the life that dwelled inside you. At some point you’d have to tell him, tell him you were with child. Maybe he wouldn’t ask for details, just assume it was his. You both had been intimate, no matter how nauseating it was. How many times you had to push through the feelings of betrayal because the face that looked back at you wasn’t Ren.

Soon your body auto-piloted past those feelings, giving in to the pleasure. Blockading anything that resembled Ren, even during sex, so you could enjoy the numb sensations that it brought you. You could live without it, but from years of captivity, you learned that men cannot.

And Tom was a normal man, so you pushed past it. Because he loved you, unconditionally, when you two laid together he would hold you tight. Tracing his nimble fingers over your skin, breath catching in his throat when he found scar tissue.

He didn’t buy your story of being in a car accident, no one gets injuries like yours in a rollover. Whiplash doesn’t give you real whippings, neck surgery doesn’t leave a curved smile on your shoulder. A small bundle of muscle that couldn’t be kneaded out; just left to rot inside you. Hoping the signal was broken, no accident on Earth had these side effects.

“What is it?”

Tom held the paper carefully, a frown across his face. His brow furrowed while he read, you grabbed the envelope from the table. Looking over the contents to see if there was any other clue inside it.

“Who are the Solos?”

“Who?”

He tilted the note towards you, it was a small greeting card. It looked like one you buy at a hospital, completely white save for a watercolor beach on the front. It was oddly calming, but the feeling didn’t last.

(Y/N),

I hope this finds you well, It’s been too long. I would’ve rather done this over the phone, but you’re a hard person to find. I guess it’s true what they say, it’s impossible to find someone who doesn’t wish to be found.

I’m contacting you because you are one of the only living relatives I have now, with Ben gone. I am in poor health, and my time is coming, which leaves you and Kylo the beneficiaries of my will.

You can defer of course, but that would leave everything to the other.

The paperwork of acceptance will arrive soon, I implore you to accept given the circumstances of your health. It wouldn’t be prudent to leave such a fortune to the less fortunate.

Warmest regards,

Leia Organa-Solo.

P.S. Kylo received a letter as well, if the two of you wish to claim it jointly that would be acceptable. But it is first come first serve.

You reread the letter four times.

Leia, you barely knew Leia. She had met you once, coming to your home, his home, during the trial to do something. You still weren’t sure, but this was big. She was a very wealthy woman, the whole reason Ren got away with everything for so long. Even had a career in politics, he was her trophied son, despite him being a monster that she knowingly raised.

Next to you, Tom shuffled on his feet. Reading over your shoulder, he knew you didn’t like being spied on, your privacy was important. But he made no move to stop, just exhaling deeply once he finished.

“Who is that?”

You crumpled the paper quickly, storming off to the living room. Shouting over your shoulder as you tried to light the fire, “It’s nothing! Just some old lady I helped.”

“And old lady,” he followed, crouching down next to you on the floor. Tom looked less than convinced, brow furrowed in...oh no.

Anger, he was angry at you.

“Yup.”

“Hm,” Tom glanced down to your fist, white-knuckled around the card, “Because random old ladies offer to give you their life fortune often?”

“Tom…”

“Just tell me,” he sighed, “I know you have like a lot of shit going on, but we live together. We’ve been dating for almost three months, you don’t get to just smile and hope I’ll blow past something like this.”

You chewed your cheek, staring at the small flame that you produced. Looking back down at the crumpled paper, you could tell him something. Just not the whole truth, you didn’t want him knowing your entire past. It would be too much, no one wants damaged goods, especially when they are still at risk of being hunted down.

It was like you were in witness protection, just protecting him from Ren and vice versa.

“Leia is the mother of a guy I dated,” your eyes met for a moment, you tried to keep your voice casual. Even throwing in some hand gestures to sell it, “Like a long time ago.”

Four months ago, you stupid bitch.

And you were married.

“Oh,” he nodded, “That makes more sense, is that who Ben is?”

It was your turn now to shake your head, “Nope-Ben was her other son… he died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry baby.”

Tom wrapped his arms around you, comforting you through the rest of the lies. Spewing venom into the poor man's ears, it was true in a way. Ben Solo was dead, he would never be able to go back to that personality unless he was exonerated. And he never was into the politics, only the power it brought. He didn’t do anything for the cities, just used it to gain influence over things that helped his personal agenda. Made people turn the other cheek towards his discrepancies.

“Were you close?”

You swallowed back a laugh, yes Tom, we were very close. He kidnapped me and let me rot in his house for five years, and dragged me around braindead half the time.

“Nope.”

“Then you dated the other one? Kyle?”

You moved to correct him, and then stopped yourself.

If you fixed the mistake, Tom could google that name and it would lead him straight to a picture of Kylo in prison. Or his mugshot. Or the videotapes of you being fucked by him, which were released to the public after the trial. Or during the taped trial itself, with the two of you fighting like it was a divorce case instead of a murder trial.

So, you nodded, that's right… Kyle was your ex.

------

“Yeah, the shower starts at one. Some people are already here,” Tom leaned into the archway from the kitchen, smiling a goofy smile at you. You blew him a small kiss, relieved that he took the pregnancy happily.

Not once did he question the parentage.

He spoke to your bump every night, letting it know how much Daddy loved it. Was so happy they were coming, rubbing the skin well into the late evening. Until it was just you awake, barely able to breathe from the weight on your chest.

Threatening to crush your lungs.

You felt guilty.

But you weren’t sure who you felt it for.

Yourself?

Tom?

What about Ren?

Ren wanted a family, a complete family. Even though your first child was a surprise, it was devastating to know she was there for a moment, and then she wasn’t. It broke you and Ren for months, unable to sleep without clutching to one another. Sharing long sessions of lovemaking apologizing in each other’s mouths, like there was something that you could’ve done to fix it.

You sobbed at the first ultrasound, and then again when they said it was a boy.

Tom was thrilled, already talking about the sports he wanted his son in. What movies he wanted him to see, games to play, books to read, anything he could be excited about, he was. You melted at it, excited in your way.

Curious to see if this pregnancy was viable, your OBGYN in Las Vegas wasn’t aware of the complete medical history you’d had. They just noted that since this was your second pregnancy, and the first was stillborn, the stress of another could trigger something similar.

Best for you to lay low and let the father take care of things.

So, you did. Sitting lazily on the couch, surrounded by Tom’s family and your work friends. Not a lot of people but enough for you to feel comfortable. One of your closest friends, Lily, was pregnant too.

A boy, same time frame.

Made you feel a little less alone.

Tom came back from the kitchen, nuzzling into your side, between the blankets and presents for your shower. Pressing a dramatic kiss to your neck, making everyone smile and laugh about how in love you both were. But you couldn’t see it, yes, Tom loved you. With all his heart, and he showed you every day.

You’d only said it a handful of times, chalking it up to your ‘love language’ being different from his. But the real cause was that you were petrified of what Ren would do if he found out, a fear that should be waning, but every day apart felt like a day closer to the end of your life.

You sighed softly as Tom rubbed your tummy, humming as the baby began to kick. He was getting more aggressive by the day, punching and kneeing you in the lungs and bladder. The doctors were astounded by how active he was, clearly, he was ready to leave.

“Fuck,” you winced, that was a rough kick, “Get him out of me.”

Tom chuckled, shaking his head, “No-no-no, he’s still growing. Needs more time to be a big sports star, right?”

Everyone laughed and nodded, obsessed with the idea of the baby being born to run. He probably will be, given his father ran from the law for god knows how many years.

It was fine, maybe one day he would run away from you, then he would be safe from everything.

-------

“Congratulations Miss (Y/N),” the nurses shouted over the sounds of your son wailing. You couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing in your ears, panting from the intense contractions. Fighting to not have a c-section, you pushed through the pain as well as you could but right now all you wanted to do was pass out.

“He’s a healthy baby boy!”

“Fuck,” you rasped, “I need-oh my god…”

Another nurse came by your side, wiping your face down with a rag and offering you small sips of water. Your heart rate was skyrocketing, causing everyone to panic just like your baby was. Telling you they would clean him up and give him to you, that would calm you both down.

And they were right, the moment his cheek touched your chest. You felt it, the waves of relief crashing over you. No longer were you crying in agony but in awe of this little being. Swaddled in a black blanket, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. You laughed, unsure how someone so evil could’ve made this absolutely perfect thing.

You were struck with a wave of sadness, remembering Opal briefly. How she looked when you both held her for the first and last time, it was so different. For obvious reasons, but you mourned the loss of your son’s older sister. Wishing for a moment that she was here to meet him, but you quickly shook the memory when Tom approached you both.

Looking in awe of him just as you were, whispering how well you did. How scared he was for you, but you said nothing. He didn’t even hold your hand, so overwhelmed with the blood and fluids surrounding the birth that he sat in a chair with an oxygen mask to keep from passing out.

Ren was once there for you, supporting you.

Allowing you to crush his knuckles until they cracked.

Sobbed with you, held one of your legs even.

“What will you name him?”

You glanced over at the nurse, bursting with tears of joy as she took in the sight of you.

“Luke,” you brushed a finger to swipe through his dark hair, “His name is Luke.”

The nurses were astounded when they told you his birth weight, some of them had never seen a newborn baby so large. Practically splitting you into pieces from the contrast in size, you were lucky to make it alive.

Luke was 12 pounds, just the thought of it made you want to throw up from the pain he caused you. Definitely filing it away to mock him when he was older, and warn his significant others if they had babies themselves. No one should have to go through what you did.

But he was happy and healthy, you, Luke, and Tom were home two days later. To an onslaught of visitors, family members (surprise-surprise just Toms), cards, presents, you name it. Your friends even worked out a dinner rotation where they would stop by with food while you got used to being a mother. Breastfeeding was the worst, you talked on the phone with Lily during sometimes because you both were drained from it.

Luke was a monster with it, eating way too much, throwing it up, crying, crying even harder if you forced him off you when his stomach was full. It was a vicious cycle, but you loved him, every day more and more.

And when he opened his eyes, you were hooked.

Complete heterochromia, that's what the doctors said he had.

Two different colored eyes, that became more noticeable in the first few weeks. One of them was shiny, mirroring your own shade, while the other was dark. Almost black in some lights, but in others it sparkled with flecks of gold. It was mesmerizing to look at, and made you feel warm when he looked at you.

That's how you felt now, laying on the floor of the living room. Surrounded by pillows and blankets, Luke was sleeping peacefully in some black footie pajamas. Sucking on his little fist after devouring a helping of milk, hair wafting across his serious face while he slept. You ran your finger across his cheek, admiring how soft he was.

New baby smell should be considered a drug, you couldn’t get enough of it.

Tom didn’t get it, which was understandable.

Considering Luke wasn’t his.

Their bond was weak, Luke instantly disliked Tom when he was held by him at the hospital. Breaking into a fit of tears before you took him back, convinced he wasn’t ready to leave his mother’s embrace. But the hostility didn’t end there, Luke would wiggle his way out of Tom’s grasp whenever he could. Becoming a force to be reckoned with as his motor skills developed, but Tom was fine, he said Luke was a mama’s boy.

You sighed, thinking of just this morning when Luke had a meltdown with Tom. Wailing when he woke up to him instead of you, because Tom was letting you get some much-needed sleep. But Luke wasn’t on board with that, Tom left for work in a huff, irritated that his baby hated him so much. You really hoped he would grow out of it, not wanting it to be a staple in your lives together.

You turned on the TV, making sure captions were on so Luke wouldn’t wake too soon. Scratching his back when he began to huff at your movement. You browsed through channels, stopping at channel seven.

“Ooo,” you smiled, “Dateline, love that show.”

Lester Holt was talking about an upcoming episode, “One of the most public trials we’ve seen in the past decade was the murder trial of Kylo Ren. Former governor of New York.”

You froze, seeing his face slapping on the television. This followed by a plethora of your photos, some from the hospital when you walked from his house the day you escaped. Evidence from the police’s investigations of the bruises and scabs that littered your body.

And then his voice came on.

Startling you to the point of tears.

Speaking straight from the prison, sitting down with the Lester Holt.

“My name is Kylo Ren, and this is the truth about my wrongful conviction.”

Luke perked up immediately, struggling to get off his tummy as Ren droned on. It was like white noise to you, shaking as he regaled the story of your passionate affair, and how he totally didn’t kidnap you. You snatched Luke off the floor, trying to spin him in your chest so he wouldn’t look at the TV but he fought you.

Oh, he fucking fought you.

Wiggling his body until you were forced to hold his back to your chest. Standing in your arms while he cooed at Ren’s voice. Even reaching his arms out and grabbing at him, little feet dancing in your lap like he was watching one of the Disney Junior cartoons he loves so much.

He wouldn’t let you change the channel, screaming bloody murder when you tried. Only calming down when Ren was back on. Laughing and reaching out over and over while you felt sick to your stomach. Covering his ears and eyes when certain images were shown, he was too young to understand it, but the trauma would stay forever.

Luke didn’t need to see the disgusting things that were done to you, to his mother. All at the hands of the only man whose voice sounded like sweet music on his infant ears. This was him, Kylo Ren’s son, seeing him for the first time on national television.

-------

The ride back to your house was silent, the driver who took you from the airport gave you nothing but a curt nod and dragged your luggage from you.

Staring blankly at the text message you received, of your darling baby. Wrapped in Ren’s arms, waiting for you to come home and be reunited.

All your friends and family were worried sick about you, since you caused so much commotion before your flight about Luke being in danger. You threw in a couple of white lies, if you went to the police, Luke would be killed. You knew it, felt it in your gut. If you tried to tell your friends, they would suffer along with him.

Keeping it quiet was the only option, maybe the police were already looking for Ren. He was an escaped convict for crying out loud?! He had been caught during his years in New York trying to escape, con, and bribe his way out, one time he tried to dig like in Shawshank. You chuckled remembering that news story, seeing his new mugshot covered in cement and dirt. Hands bloody and bruised from clawing at the unforgiving floors.

You told Tom he was staying at Lily’s, where he was safe.

Lily was told that he was picked up by your cousin from New York since she was at the pickup-dropoff zone with her son when Ren wrangled Luke away without a bystander checking in.

This was it, your last six years of relative peace were over.

It was time for you to be reborn.

--------

Taglist (Same as Window Panes): @finn-ray-nal-beads @millenialcatlady @ohdamnadamm @daydreamsofren @candycanes19 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @millenialcatlady @safarigirlsp @caillea @roanniom @mrs-zimmerman @insufferablelust @emeritusemeritus @eagerforhoney @mareeeah @richbrittstein @direnightshade

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

#adamdriver #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x female reader #kidnapper kylo ren #kidnapper kylo #modern au #modern kylo ren #broken pieces #tw: allusions to suicidal thought #tw: mention of child birth #my writings #adam driver

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

BSD Fyodor or Dazai letting his captive darling outside after being stuck isolated and indoors? This request is in no way related to the month and counting I've been stuck at home due to covid19, not at all.

It’s been weeks since I’ve seen the sun and the last human contact I had was when my gloved hand brushed against that of an absent-minded cashier. Dazai might be preferable, at this point. Just for the sake of a change of scenery.

TW: Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, and Mentions of Mental/Physical Abuse.

Dazai wasn’t a generous man.

You’d been with him long enough to know that. He wasn’t kind, and as far as you could tell, he didn’t try to be. Throughout your captivity, he’d proven himself to be cruel, apathetic, sociopathic, uncaring for everything and anything you had to say unless it had to do with how grateful you were for him or what a loving kidnapper he was. The punishments were constant, the rewards were nonexistent, and you’d been forced to shove the idea of escaping out of your mind. Surviving was enough, when Dazai didn’t seem to care whether you lived or died.

With this in mind, your apprehension was understandable, when he dropped a pile of street-clothes on your bed and told you to get dressed. You’d refused, at first, crossed your arms and reaffirmed that he’d break your ankles the moment you started towards the door, but Dazai promised something much worse if you didn’t cooperate. That’d been enough to convince you.

Even now, you couldn’t really bring yourself to trust it. You were already outside, the sky just beginning to darken and Dazai’s flat half a block away, but you didn’t feel like you’d ever left at all. Sure, you could feel the sea-breeze and see other people - real, tangible people - but… you couldn’t, at the same time. Dazai had an iron-clad hold on your wrist, but you doubted he needed to be so cautious, especially when you were pressed to his side, never daring to stray more than a step away. Yokohama wasn’t a big city, but it was a crowded one. If you talked to someone, would they help you? If you screamed, would they intervene? Or, was this a test? Could this be a test? You didn’t know how far Dazai’s connections stretched, honestly. He couldn’t pay off a street’s worth of people… well, not unless he--

“You’re thinking too much,” He said, pulling you out of your thoughts. He hadn’t said a word since you left his apartment, and while you weren’t opposed to the silence, his mocking tone came as a relief. It meant this was normal, that he was normal. You could deal with this, as long as he was going to act as superior as he always did. “It’s not a good look you, honestly. Not when you have better things to pay attention to.” He paused, taking a moment to pout. “Am I not entertaining to you anymore, love?”

You didn’t waste time. Unlike him, you didn’t have the luxury of being on the blunt-side of his carving knife. “I don’t trust you,” You mumbled, eyeing the pavement wearily. “I know you’re planning something. You’re always planning something. I’m not going to fall for it, this time.”

He held a hand to his heart, mocking offense with an over-exaggerated sigh. Playful and patronizing in just the right balance as to best get on your nerves. It was an art Dazai had perfected, with more time and practice than he deserved. “I’m just trying to do something nice, and what do you do? Accuse me, attack me. I was starting to think you liked me, too.” He shook his head, his grip loosening, fingers instead intertwining themselves with yours. You weren’t sure if you should be relieved he was no longer cutting off your circulation, or sickened by the display of unearned affection. “Just walk with me, (Y/n). If you’re good, I’ll be able to let you out all the time. You would like to get out of that cramped room of yours more often, wouldn’t you?”

“Not if it means I have to spend more time with you.” The venom in your voice was half-hearted, diluted by time and use, but Dazai smiled regardless, determined to find amusement in whatever meager responses you gave. You glanced to your sides once more, taking in the many brightly-lit shops and assorted bystanders for the first time. You never realized how narrow the streets were, or how small your body actually was. No one was looking at you, but it seemed like they were all glancing in your direction, glaring every now and then. You tugged at Dazai’s hand nervously, eager to do something. He only laughed. “Osamu, where are we--”

“Dazai.”

He stopped, and so did you, your lips parting slightly as you saw him go tense. Something heavy and knotted settled inside of your throat, keeping you quiet as you scanned over the redhead that’d come to a stop in front of him. You recognized the man vaguely, his suit bringing back dim, fuzzy memories from before your ankle was permanently chained to a wall, but failed to put a name to his face. You didn’t have to wonder for long, though. Dazai was quick to clear it up. “Chuuya,” He greeted, his voice suddenly monotone. Unfriendly, but not unwelcoming. “Shouldn’t you be on your way home? I thought preteens still had curfews, these days.”

‘Chuuya’ grimaced, but his response came quickly. “And I thought perverts were supposed to keep their hands to themselves.” With that, his attention shifted to you, dark eyes falling until they met yours. You stiffened, reflexively, shifting so you were half-hidden behind Dazai, but that did little to protect you from his prying gaze. It was like he was looking for something, searching for it. Suddenly, you were glad Dazai chose such a conservative outfit, despite the stifling heat, one that covered the bruises. You didn’t want to give him anything else to look at. “He’s not holding you hostage, is he? I wouldn’t be surprised, the bastard’s hit his head a few too many times for everything to still be working up there.”

You hesitated, expecting Dazai to answer before you had the chance to. But, he only grinned, letting you go completely and resting a hand on your shoulder, pushing you forward gently, encouraging you to speak. That’s all you had to do, really, speak. A simple, flat ‘he is’ would’ve gotten your point across, and even if Chuuya couldn’t do anything, there were other people around, dozens of them. Dazai wouldn’t be able to get away, not if a large group took notice. Certainly not if you put up a fight.

But, as soon as you opened your mouth, it was like something in your chest cracked. It was an overwhelming, paralyzing fear, one that flooded through veins and made it impossible to do so much as breathe when you knew Chuuya was watching. You might as well’ve been in your bedroom again, curled into a ball and shoved in a corner, crying and bleeding as Dazai yelled about something possessive and jealous and crazy. You were vulnerable, and you were weak, and you were so, so scared.

So, you didn’t say anything. You let out a pitiful, broken sob, shut your eyes as tightly as you could, and buried your head in Dazai’s coat, only relaxing when you felt his fingers entangle themselves in your hair. You didn’t feel safe, you couldn’t feel safe with someone like him, but…

Fuck, it felt better than the alternative.

If Dazai shared in your dependence, you couldn’t tell. He chuckled as you clung to his waist, determined to dig your nails into him and never let go. “It’s been a long day,” Dazai explained, Chuuya grumbling something incoherent. It didn’t matter, not really.

You had a feeling Dazai’s words were more for his pride than anything.

“It’s really a miracle my sweetheart could ever manage without me.”

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