#heya camp gifs

[axelsagewrites]

Heya this is kind of Robb Stark but more of a friendship one where y/n is Robbs wife (Robert Baratheons only real child and is very nice a sweet and was in a arranged marriage to Robb but fell In love. She is famous for being beautiful has songs written about her and all that jazz)and it’s when Caytlen comes to camp with Brienne of Tarth and y/n is kind of amazed by her and finds her very beautiful. They end up having a conversation where y/n compliments her but Brienne thinks she’s joking but y/n is quick to correct her. y/n gives her a very encouraging speech about how she admires her . Not that Brienne would show it but she’s very touched by it and grows a soft spot for y/n just a very nice moment. If you don’t do these types of pens that’s fine ❤️

Queen in the North and South

Main Pairing: Platonic Brienne x f!reader

Second Pairing: Romantic Robb x f!reader

Summary: Brienne and the reader discuss to pros and cons of beauty and where to find it

Warnings: Mentions of creepy men

Word count: 2842

Masterlist Here

When you first arrived at Winterfell you were hesitant of your new life being forced upon you but soon grew to love it. In Kingslanding you had felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb. You didn’t share the same Lannister locks with your siblings nor your mother’s affiliation with wine. As your father’s oldest child, he adored you but as you grew, he began to show you off and flaunt you to the lords around.

“Gather round my lords and see the greatest beauty in all of Westeros!” He would cheer drunk on his ale and those around would join in. over time you learned to hide your embarrassment at the attention, and the glares your mother would give you for it and smiled politely. Men would come to court simply to play the songs they wrote for you, or lords would attempt to rhyme off pretty sonnets in your honour. It felt nice to be loved but as you grew you noticed the lust in many eyes and began to feel disgust.

But you smiled politely like you did when you first met Robb. He was of course very handsome himself; a true Tully look about him with all the Stark courage and honour. However, you tried not to obsess over looks like many had done with you and insisted on getting to know him as a person.

As it turned out Robb was more interesting than you first assumed however far too trusting of people. Something you tried to educate him on. Robb was just relieved that his wife was not just a pretty face, not that he complained about your looks since he adored them. Once you were wed you began to talk late into the night, discussing opinions and having debates. even when you told him his opinion was wrong, he couldn’t help but smile at the way you delivered the punch line.

You had learned one thing from your mother and that was that you wanted to be the opposite of her in every way. In Kingslanding you would often venture into the city to teach the small folk how to read or hear their folktales. It was how you first heard the songs they sang about you. The beauty of all the kingdoms. That’s what they called you and it meant so much more from then that it did the lords at court.

In Winterfell you spent time meeting and talking to everyone and anyone you could. Often you played hide and seek with the younger Starks and Sansa flocked to you like a mother hen. You also managed to gain the favour of many lords and ladies in the North as the South had taught you what to say and how.

When Ned Stark died it was not just the Young Wolf they rode out for and died for. It was you. While northerners cheered for Robb to be their king, Kingslanding silently begged for you their true queen to return and take the throne from your monster of a brother. You had even received letters from Dorne backing your claim. The king in the north and queen in the south.

However, you weren’t the only one who had a claim, a claim you had yet to announce you were fighting for to the world. Renly Baratheon also believed himself king. You couldn’t understand your uncles reasoning in the slightest. Stannis’s claim was the only logical one if Joffrey was a bastard and the lords sought a king not a queen. Why not join Stannis as his heir? Then you could never quite understand your uncle.

You hoped Lady Catelyn would however when she left to see his camp. Robb had insisted you did not go meet your uncle personally. While you had not announced your claim many rumours flew around about it and Robb was not prepared to send his wife off to a camp filled with your rivals’ men. Despite your marriage being a political one it had grown into love and admiration for each other. Little did Tywin know that it was not politically wise for him when he suggested it to your father who jumped at the chance to join houses with the Starks.

Every night she was gone you prayed for Catelyn’s return and your men’s safety so when you saw her arrive back at camp you began to thank them profusely. However, she returned with an extra man at her side. Or woman you should say.

Brienne of Tarth stood tall beside Catelyn, her hand always close to her sword. You were tending to the wounded when she arrived and did not have time to meet her just yet but as you gazed at her from across the camp you saw her eyes turn to you. when your eyes met you smiled and gave her a small wave. She was beautiful. Not in the typical sense you knew. But she was.

Robb was the one to tell you more about her. “Wait she was in his Kings guard? Like a knight?” You asked as you walked with your husband to the food area of your camp.

“Not a knight darling,” Robb had his hand linked with yours which kept your other free to wave to the Lords and soldiers who waved at you. even during war, they admired your elegance. “But she was his guard apparently. She beat Loras Tyrell in the tourney,”

“That couldn’t have been hard,” you joked, “that boy was all spindly legs when I saw him last,”

“He’s one of the best knights in the Kingdom,” Robbs laughed made your stomach flutter the same way it had the first night you met, “I don’t even know if I believe that she did,”

“I can believe it,”

“You see the good in everyone love,”

You snorted at his words as you took a bowl of stew from one of the men, “No,” you retorted as Robb got his own, raising an eyebrow at your words, “I just don’t announce my distrust to the world. Have I taught you noting?” you teased.

Robb rolled his eyes with a smile. You glanced over to where Brienne was sat alone and foodless. “You wanna go sit with her, don’t you?” he asked, and you nodded sheepishly, “Go on, make some friends,” Robb chuckled as he handed you another bowl of stew to give to the woman, “I’m gonna go eat with Lord Karstarks to talk battle plans,”

“Okay have fun, if that’s possible,” You grinned. Robb rolled his eyes before pressing a brief kiss to your lips and walking away.

You turned your attention to Brienne who was whitling a piece of wood with a knife. You smiled and nodded to all the men as you walked across the camp to where she sat on a log. “May I join you lady Brienne?” you smiled as you held out the bowl to her.

Brienne looked up quickly, her eyes wide, “It’s just Brienne. I’m no lady. I’m sure you would enjoy someone else’s company more your grace,” she said. You held the bowl out further his she finally took, “Thank you,”

“You’re welcome,” you said before sitting on the log beside her, Brienne looking at you as if she had three heads, “I thought your father was lord tarth?” you mused as you began to eat your stew, handing Brienne a spare spoon for hers.

Her eyes faltered between yours and the food, “Um he is,” she started as she turned her attention to stare into the camp, “I am a lady by birth right your grace but not by actions,”

“Life would be far more interesting if there were more ladies like you,”

“You don’t know me your grace,”

“Then what do I need to know?” you asked as you set your spoon down. “I’m all ears,”

Reluctantly Brienne began to tell you her life so far though not the personal bits of course. She told you how she found herself at Renly’s camp, how she fought for him, swore an oath to him, and became a king’s guard. You laughed at her stories, a genuine laugh that touched Brienne as you actually seemed to care. perhaps it was fake she thought. Perhaps that’s why people sang songs about you.

None the less she decided to enjoy your company at least for dinner, “It was about time someone knocked down Loras a leg or two. When I was eight, he spilled his father’s wine all down my dress because I told him his hair was ugly,”

Brienne couldn’t stop herself from laughing at your antics, “Maybe you shouldn’t have insulted him,”

“Oh, im sure he started it,” you joked as you set the now empty bowl on the ground, “if not him then it was defiantly Margaery. I refuse to accept it was my fault,” Normally Brienne would judge your words but the way you laughed made it clear unlike many you could handle a joke.

Something she appreciated as you laughed at hers. “I must say your grace you’re not what I expected from the songs,”

You groaned at her words, “Oh gods what do they sing about me over there?”

Brienne laughed at your fake agony, “Just the usual. That you’re beautiful and kind,”

“Have I offended you?” you joked turning to face her straight on, “Have I not been kind?”

Brienne flushed at your words, “Forgive me your grace. It’s just most Ladies I know aren’t as kind as you,”

“Or you,” you agreed, “Then again, I’ve never met another lady like you. it’s refreshing honestly. And for the record I hate those songs,” You confessed your longest running lie to a stranger, but Brienne moral code was stronger than the Starks.

“How can you hate being called beautiful?” she asked, and you could feel the resentment from her. the same feeling you got from many other ladies who would push you as a child or gossip about you as an adult.

You sighed as you placed your arms on your knees to lean forward, thinking before you spoke, “When Robb calls me beautiful I feel a warm feeling in me that spreads across me like a love struck plague,” you began, recalling the butterflies you had felt the first time he kissed your hand when you met. “The first time I heard one of those songs yes sure it made me feel good. Then I saw the way the lords would look at me. Then I heard what they sang and said when they thought I wasn’t around. They didn’t view me as a person,” you sighed as you recalled all the pervy comments and creepy stares.

“Im sorry you had to deal with that my lady,” Brienne placed her hand on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You turned your head to look at her and sat back up, “it’s not your fault. Besides everyone’s beautiful in their own way,” you mused.

Brienne barked out a laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong my lady,”

“You can find beauty everywhere. All you need to do is look,” you said as you looked out over the camp. “See him over there? With the dried blood covering his face?” you nodded towards one of the Karstarks boys and Brienne couldn’t help but noted how the battles must have harmed his face, “He has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. Better than all the singers in Kingslanding and him,” you nodded towards another unassuming man by the fire, “Whittles these wooden figures that have so much detail and grace in every carving. Even him,” you nodded at the most closed off, grumpy one of your fighters who constantly looked ready to spit on someone, “has the biggest most beautiful smile when he laughs. Just because you can’t see the beauty at first glance doesn’t mean it’s not there,”

Brienne looked around the camp at all the different men and how they spoke, laughed, and moved. “Do you know all of your men?” she asked.

“I try to,” you answered as you took both your dirty dishes to take to be washed but one of your men stopped you to take them from you, “Thank you lord Umber,” you smiled at him before turning back to Brienne, “People respond far better to kindness than cruelness,”

“It’s a shame that most find it easier to be cruel than kind,” Brienne said as you both continued to walk around the camp. She enjoyed your company more than she’d like to admit.

You glanced to where Catelyn sat alone with her food in deep thought, “Hurt people hurt. While it does dismiss their actions it can help to explain them,”

“I suppose,” Brienne agreed, “But it’s hard not to hate them for it,”

“I know. trust me,” you said as you linked your arm with the woman who flinched initially at your touch. However, Brienne found comfort in the way you held her arm as you guided her around camp. “The sky’s so beautiful tonight,” you broke the comfortable silence.

“It is,” Brienne paused as she thought. She wanted to ask but worried you would think her weird. “Can you truly see the beauty in everything?” she asked. Brienne was mocked constantly growing up for her looks and how she acted. Men flinched when they saw her, but you looked at her with deep admiration.

“Everyone can. If they take the time,” you knew what she was thinking without her saying. You heard your own men mock her in the shadows and how they laughed. Some people were cruel, but you refused to be to those who had done nothing to deserve it. “I used to dream of knights as a child,” Brienne raised an eyebrow as you began your tangent. “Of how they rode their horses with such expertise and how they didn’t even have to look to know where their knife was about to strike. I used to admire their honour and their duty. Of course, I also dreamed about their armour and how imposing it made them look. I wanted to surround myself with them so that the men in their armour and imposing nature would protect me out of honour and morality.

Those dreams died the first time a knight made a pass at me at 14,” Brienne screwed her face up at the idea that anyone, any man, would dream of hurting you, “I remember how his head rolled off his body when my father executed him for it. so, I stopped dreaming of knights,” You stopped walking to turn to Brienne, taking her hands in yours. Your hands were soft and tender while hers were rough and scarred, “You however are the truest knight I have ever met. And that Brienne is far more beautiful than hair of black silk or just another pretty face. You’re the most handsome, beautiful knight I have ever laid my eyes upon so don’t let silly boys ruin what you see in the mirror,”

Tears lined Brienne eyes, but she had taught herself not to let them fall even when you gave her hands a gentle squeeze, “I am no knight my lady,”

“Not yet,” you said as you removed your hands from hers, “But when I am queen, I will make sure you are,”

Brienne had already sworn her loyalty to Renly but her king was dead and now she was stood before someone equally as kind as he had been to her, “You would make a fine queen your grace of the north or the south,” You smiled at her words, “But what of your brother?” she asked.

“That boy is the cruellest person I have ever met,” you said as you stared off into the distance, “He will only be beautiful when he is dead,”

Brienne had assumed by your appearance you knew nothing of politics and war but as she saw your jaw clench and your eyes gaze into the distance, she knew she had been wrong. The sound of her unsheathing her sword brought your attention back to her and you could hear the camp go silent at her actions. Your men’s hands flew to their own sword hilts as they watched her but relaxed slightly when Brienne went on one knee, holding her sword out to you, “It would be my honour to serve you your grace,” Brienne said, “As queen in the north and in the south,”

You smiled at her words, a genuine smile of love and compassion, “You honour me greatly Brienne of Tarth,” your hand came to rest on her shoulder, “When the war is won and Kingslanding has been saved and Ned Stark avenged I will have you knighted before the iron throne before the gods and the realm,”

Brienne looked up at you, her eyes wet with happy tears. You smiled down at her with love and sincerity, something even Renly’s eyes failed to offer at times. “A good day that’ll be your grace,”

#brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth imagine #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #brienne imagine #platonic brienne of tarth #robert baratheon daughter #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark

[cultofdixon]

I Found Yea, Bunny

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Never did he think he’d find anyone to love him, then when someone did. The world ended • ANGST/SFW/NSFW • TW: Canon Violence / PTSD / Anxiety Attacks / Injuries

Note

“You still moping baby brother?” Merle kicked Daryl’s leg to get him to say anything. “What? Ain’t gonna talk when you’ve convinced me to stay at this pig’s camp? Come on Darylina, you’re killing me here”

“Fuck off Merle. Ain’t you going on that run?”

“Yeah, but the second I come back. No survivors” Merle jokes for the most part as he picks up his hunting rifle. “Seriously. If you’re still moping and being a lil bitch because of Y/N you just gotta get over it. She’s gone”

Hearing that last part for probably the millionth time, only started to trigger him. She can���t be gone kept him standing.

________

“See that chick over there? The short one”

“I don’t care about your next catch of the week, Merle.” Daryl scoffs taking another sip of his beer when a waiter walks by setting now another set of beers without either of them asking. “Hey wait I ain’t—“

“Curtesy of the two lovely ladies over there” They state before taking Merle’s empty one and heading back behind the bar.

Merle instantly wraps his arm around his brother staring at the two with him seeing obviously the more confident one wave at them as the other was more shy.

“I’ll take the taller one with the nice rack, and you take the shy one” Merle whispers patting his back making Daryl choke on his beer quickly wiping at his face as the two made their way over. “Heya ladies”

“Hey yourself, mind if we join you?” The one Merle was eyeing inches closer to his person making the smirk grow on his face.

“This is going to be a disaster” Daryl whispers to himself only for the other woman to giggle to his words.

“Wanna bet who’s going to ruin it? She’s not the steadiest drunk” She whispers back smiling when one started to crack out on his face.

“Bet it’s my brother and…?”

“I’ll bet on my friend Rachael. But I will most likely win”

“And why is tha—“ Daryl stops talking when Racheal suddenly jumped Merle’s bones right then and there. Knocking off her glass and his beer resulting in the broken glass. “Shit.”

“Nights still young I guess” the woman laughs watching the two roll on the dirty bar ground making one of the bar keeps come over to smack them with the broom to get up. “Didn’t catch your name by the way…didn’t get his either but he’s busy”

“Daryl…you?”

“Y/N”

________

“Why did you…not give up? Like the others did…yeah me askin’ shouldn’t matter anymore because..” Carol still couldn’t believe the whole barn situation, let alone what happened to her daughter.

“I’ve lost enough.”

And with that Carol knew more about Daryl than anybody else. He didn’t go into the grand details about it, all that before he and Merle met the quarry group…Daryl was looking for his other half. Not giving a damn of what Merle had to say about it. They hunted, stayed alive, and searched. That was it until something secure came along.

But seeing Rick be with his family, after being separated for months…Daryl wanted that same feeling. That same joy of being reconnected with the one you love.

Now the second good thing after the CDC, the farm was up in flames as Daryl got him and Carol out of there on his bike.

________

“Hey stranger” Y/N smiles letting Daryl into her studio as he was already looking around the place.

“You took these?” Daryl points to the still of the wildlife on one of the many tables as Y/N walks up beside him smiling.

“Yeah, cool right?”

“How’d yea manage to get them to stay still?”

“You said you hunt right? With your brother?” Y/N tilts her head waiting for Daryl’s confirmation which was a nod and a grunt. “Imagine without your weapon and bright orange vests…a camera and a bit more camouflage”

“You…being careful right?”

“Oh I don’t do this in hunting grounds, or well. Forests that have been reported to have people hunt in them before.” Y/N reassures hun with her always shining smile, letting him continue to go through the photos. “I have been asked to document hunters for a catalog. Going to get a few new hunting rifles and a couple compound bows, if you and your brother are interested”

Daryl thought about it as he couldn’t help the joy bubbling in him to hang out with her again. That night at the bar lead to coffee in the morning while his brother and her best friend were still occupying Daryl’s shitty apartment, and another night for drinks but just the two of them to get to know one another without taking care of somebody other than themselves, which brought them to Y/N’s studio that she was also living in.

“Yeah, why not”

Y/N squeals happily and hugging on Daryl as he instantly wrapped his arm around her. “You’re going to look great”

“Maybe bring Racheal to occupy Merle”

“Oh totally, or nothing will get done”

________

Daryl lays uncomfortably on the rocks after rolling down it from when the horse bucked him off and from using what little energy he had to try and scale the steep mountain to get back to the farm. He was in and out of consciousness when he perked up hearing her laugh.

“You’ve got yourself in a pickle, baby” Y/N knelt down beside Daryl’s body gently caressing his face. “Did Merle do this?”

“Nah baby….H-Horse…”

“Now you never learn from that one time, and you weren’t even the one bucked off that horse” She laughs and he couldn’t help the painful smile he wore listening to her. He was willing to die just listening. But he couldn’t. “Stay awake D. Once you find that sweet girl, you gotta find me.”

And with that. He did his best. His best got him back to the farm, walker looking and all, next thing you know.

Fire

Thud

Pain. A whole lot of fucking pain.

Once they questioned Daryl about what he found and Hershel having his priorities confirmed, he was finally left alone to recover in the safety of the house. Letting him get some much needed sleep.

________

Daryl watches her sleep peacefully beside him listening to her cute little snores and watching her curl up inching closer to his person. He couldn’t help himself by closing the space and gently wrapping his arm around her sleep form feeling her do the same pulling herself into his chest. He smiles listening her satisfied sigh when she finally got comfortable in his embrace.

“Stop watching me and sleep…” Y/N mumbles in a sleepy daze, smiling feeling him shift to cage her in his embrace. “Goodnight baby”

“Sweet dreams bunny”

________

He couldn’t help the tears that spilled waking up the next morning.

•

The prison became their home after they lost so much and fought for their safety.

Daryl wishes that the bus of Woodbury folk held his other half in it. But as he came to disappointment once again, he went back to it. Taking daily runs just to search for her and would always come back empty handed on that front. At least he doesn’t have to watch his found family starve or freeze to death given he’s been bringing back everything he could find. Feeling a little bit of joy in their happy faces when his runs were never focused on that to begin with. But just as important.

“Hey Daryl, hold up a sec” Glenn calls out to him right as Carl and Rick were about to open the gates for him.

“Need somethin’?”

“Yes and no…” He sighs. “We need to save up on gas for the run to that mega store. Don’t get me wrong, what you’re doing is helpful. But we really need to be more careful with our limited supplies”

Daryl knew he was using the supply they’ve had to do these runs and it was going to be brought up eventually. Guess his spontaneous runs at any hour, every day, have come to an end.

“Hey pookie” Carol smiles, enjoying the fact that that nickname annoys Daryl, watching him sit down beside her at one of the tables outside. “Couldn’t go on the run?”

“Got told not to. It’s whatever”

“Mmm. Is it though?” Carol nudges Daryl for more of what’s on his mind. More of why he does these runs. “You’ve always been looking for something and every time you come back with much needed supplies…but the look of disappointment rest in your eyes. Daryl what are you looking for out there?”

Carol is one of the few that Daryl trusts with his life and part of him didn’t want to talk about it. Or it brings the thought of loss back in his mind. The same thought that has him laying wide awake at night or waking to the anxiety inducing nightmare that his other half was ripped apart from the undead and or tortured by the monsters of men that litter the new world. But he couldn’t keep it a secret for much longer…

“My girl”

________

“Hey! You made it” Y/N smiles removing herself from the small group surrounding one of her photos displayed so that Daryl could happily bring her into his embrace. “Surprised Merle released you from whatever devilish act he had planned”

“A six pack did it”

“Figures” Y/N smiles parting from Daryl just enough to take his hand and walk with him through the whole exhibit. It was more than her art on display but Daryl could care less about the rest. Only hers was the best.

Daryl waited for the showcase to be over and he hung back to help take down what wasn’t sold of Y/N’s work. But also for him to have a more intimate moment with her.

“I’ve got somethin’”

“Yeah?”

“And I don’t wanna scare yea off, or think I’m moving too quick” Daryl sets down the once hanging piece to lean up against the wall before reaching into his pocket to take out a ring. Y/N was about to drop the pieces she was holding if Daryl didn’t explain himself right away. “It ain’t engagement. Even if I’m sure yer it for me, more a promise. Until the real deal”

“D, this isnt like…the blood money from Merle—-“

“Nah I stopped doing his crazy shit a bit ago. Have been doing commission for bikes and got a gig at a garage…you’ve…made me better and just wanted to do somethin’. Showed me love without consequence or pain…I just. Gotta know—-“

“I love you” Y/N cuts him off, setting everything in her hand down so that she could let him put the ring on her finger before taking his face gently in her hands. “You don’t have to say it back immedieatly. Timing is different for everyone…but I love you, and I know I want you in my life for the rest of it. Even after”

Daryl instantly pulled her flush against him feeling her arms find their spot around his neck as his around her waist. Taking in everything about her in that moment.

She was his other half

________

And he was hers

“Aaron, I don’t think these people will take our offering like it’s nothing. It just randomly appears”

“What do you suggest then?”

“We’re talking suggestions now?”

“Yeah, cuz Deanna saw potential with you in recruitment so thought I’d ask” Aaron whispers to Y/N beside him as the two were tracking a group for some time now.

“Our community isn’t the only one. That’s the feeling I get. These people, we don’t know if they got screwed over or not. They will be hostile and we can’t take that like it’s nothing”

“So…give up or what”

“I didn’t say that. Just if we get caught. Or Eric. Stand your ground but not with your weapon.” She frowns not liking the sound of the commotion coming from this group she couldn’t get a clear look of. “We need these people to trust us. And the element of surprise, is awful in this hell” she takes the binoculars from Aaron to get a look but were caught off guard by a walker approaching that he took care of. “Never was much a fan of surprises in the old world…”

“Didn’t you say your husband surprised you with that ring you’re wearing?”

“Yeah but that’s different”

“How so?”

“He was my other half” Y/N stored the binoculars in her back when the rain started. “We should head back to Eric, and discuss our next course of action”

“I agree with that notion” Aaron covered her back as they made their way to the cars they brought out from their community.

________

“One of my buyers, thought I got married because of my ring” Y/N fiddles with one of Daryl’s many wrenches from his work station in her garage as he was working on her car.

“What’d yea say?”

“Played along. I like the thought of you as my husband. My big strong protective sweetheart husband” She smiles watching the tips of Daryl’s ears turn a bright red when he said such as he tried to cover them for a moment.

“Told the guys at the garage yer my wife anyway”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, so they know if they fuck with yea. I’m knocking their teeth in” Daryl held his hand out for her to place the wrench she was messing with in such.

“But they can get the hint just from girlfriend”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the idea”

“Is that you asking me Daryl Dixon?”

“Yea want it to be?” He stops working to look at his girl who became a blushing mess at the thought, especially when he smirked at her knowing damn well she’d like that.

“I’d like some display. Nothing too public. Just us still” Y/N smiles spreading her legs from her seat on his bench for him to slot himself perfectly between them. Leaning into her, resting his hands on the table. “What?”

“I’ve got somethin’ but for now, yer my wife to everybody who asks”

“Unless it’s Merle and Racheal”

“Motherfuckers would be like “took yea long enough” let’s be real”

“Very true Dixon” She smiles pressing her lips against his shortly after as he quickly picks her up holding her up by the thighs. “Baby!”

“Think I need a break with my bunny” He smirks kissing her once more before carrying her inside.

________

“I’m not alone”

“Really now?” Rick glares into Aaron’s soul as he quickly drops everything in his person to avoid getting hurt even further if that was bound to happening. “Who else is with you?”

“My partner and my best friend. Except my friend is closer to this location”

“And y’all didn’t find her?” Rick questions Maggie and Sasha as the two looked at each other confused before watching the retired sheriff take Aaron by the collar. “Where the fuck is she?”

“Her husband was a t-tracker. Hunter—-she knows how to hide. Says it’s what saved her from outbreak day to now” Aaron was close to shaking but what he said perked the attention of the archer who stopped aiming his crossbow at him. “I can call her but you have to let go of me…”

“Rick” Daryl interrupts whatever thought he was having about such as Rick gave him a confused look. “Trust it. Let him. Now.”

The confused look stuck as he lets go of Aaron for him to reach into his bag keeping eye contact with Rick as he took his radio out.

“Dixon, come out.”

The name caused the group to look at Daryl confused but then suddenly ready their weapons to the ceiling of the barn when they heard a loud thud, then a roll, and finally footsteps outside the building. Daryl brought himself past Aaron to the door when they opened to reveal exactly who he’s been looking for.

“I told him he was only going to trigger y’all too—-“ Y/N stops speaking when she locked eyes with Daryl who hesitantly inched closer to her.

Daryl couldn’t help the overwhelming urge to grab her and pull her into his embrace as he brought himself right up to her.

“So, Dixon huh?”

“Like you’d want my last name…” Y/N tried, and failed to keep the tears from falling as she drops everything on her latching onto Daryl feeling his arms tighten firmly around her. “Hey baby”

“I found yea, bunny. I knew I would”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

[leefl00f]

Disassembly Drone concept in the ES (electric shock) AU

By Leefloof

Heya, so a lot has happened this week, but that’s not gonna stop me from still having fun on my blog. So as said before based off this post, I’ll explain the concept art you just saw of the DDs. Let’s get started!

✧˖°.˗ˏˋ Overallˎˊ˗˖°.✧

DDs are more armored and bulky due to war, they can also withstand more hit as and blows without sustaining damage from it 

However, this does not mean they’re slower, many workers lost their lives by getting too close to them 

DDs were helpers for the human soldiers during the war, some generals and higher ups even had their own personal DDs that attended them majority of the time (Tho they weren’t treated any differently than the others)

If a DD is shown to be useless or severely injured, humans would give them a “mercy kill” (Even if the DDs were deemed useless, they could’ve been saved. But human leaders refused to give them the proper treatment because they would “waste materials” by doing so)

Despite the unfair treatment Disassemblers were given, they would still lay their lives to save their allies if that’s what it takes for them to win

✧˖°.˗ˏˋ DDs and how to deal with themˎˊ˗˖°.✧

Despite male DDs being bigger and stronger (6’10) than the females (6’9), the females are more of a threat than the males due to their agility and swift attacks (Boosters located in their legs) 

Unless a WD attack group has a solver drone member, it’s best to flee from a female while they aren’t aware of them yet

Male DDs are also an easier target for a group of WDs, especially when they’re alone 

Although, the humans have caught on and assigned females to guard the males from any WD attack 

Workers can also tell what DD they’re dealing with in new territory by their foot steps (ex. Wide, complex footprints = male; small, deer like footprints = female)

DDs tend to “mark” human territory by using their victim’s corpse and spreading it around or using their nanite acid (usually the acid) 

Human territories are mostly guarded by 2-3 DD squads 

WDs use flash lens (blue light) to rid or scare them away 

WDs also use nanite coated blades to pierce the DDs (Like their nanite acid, but the opposite, which can be deadly but no leathal)

If that fails, WDs will try to rope them to the ground and leave them to burn in the morning 

✧˖°.˗ˏˋ Anatomy (or just me talking abt their acid)ˎˊ˗˖°.✧

A Disassembly drone’s greatest weapon lies within their tails 

The tip of the needle is harpoon like to keep rebels from escaping

The underside of the tail is designed to pump more acid into the container/tip of the tail when it starts to run low (hence why the bottom of the tail glows yellow)

The origin of the nanite acid belongs to the stomach tank (the more minerals = more acid produced) 

DD’s abdomen can and will glow to indicate that the acid is too hot (Proceed with caution!)

The more acid = the hotter it gets

Nanite acid can also be pumped into the DD’s fangs to produce venom, this causes anyone that gets bit to be in a temporary paralysis. This helps the DDs to capture rebels. 

However, too much use of their fangs can lead to the fangs aching, so it is important to let them cool down 

If there is too much acid within a DD, they must use their tails or fangs to dispose of the extra acid 

After the murder trio were turned on the Worker’s side, they used that extra acid for weapons and research purposes (Like snakes)

✧˖°.˗ˏˋ Extra hcs for the murder trioˎˊ˗˖°.✧

⊹ ₊N₊ ⊹ 

He was almost considered useless had it not been for J 

The gentle giant of the three, only fights the rebels unless absolutely necessary 

Since he barely fought, he took up in medical help for the others (majority of the time it was V who needed aid)

Had a journal he would write in about how he felt about the war and V’s safety

snuck in some books to read to pass the time 

He ended up having a scar on his lower stomach due to a Worker drone raid join the camps, but he’s okay now :)

Uzi asks him about it when they have their usual nap times, but N tries to push it off (She’s not ready to learn the horrors) 

⊹ ₊V₊ ⊹ 

The top assassin during the war, and one of the most praised 

V uses her abilities in the most creative and brutal ways possible (there are consequences to doing so sometimes)

Before being recruited to the WD’s side, V was the only DD to have as many scars and exposed, damaged wires on her legs than anyone else in her team

The medical staff had fixed V’s wires, but they weren’t able to fully cover her scars ( which she was glad to since she liked her scars)

During the war, she was quite hostile to her team mates, but it slacked up after 

Loves to play fight and “bully” Uzi, by hanging her upside down 

⊹ ₊J₊ ⊹ 

The one that kept the team together 

majority of the time the one mapping out their next move in Worker zone territories 

Pulls all nighters to come up with a flawless strategy 

J tends to attack with strategy and analyzes her opponents to figure out her next move 

Great with interrogations (like scary good)

During the war, J received a scar on her face during her fights with one of the Solver sisters (Yeva and Nori)

But after the war and during her stay inside the bunker, she feels safe for once 

J also helps Uzi’s with her math and science homework once she was fond of her 

Fun fact for the trio: 

They haven’t properly ate for so long during the war, their acid tanks started to decrease. But now that they don’t have to ration their food out, their tanks/tummies are now healthily filled (with worker food ofc) 

okey thats all for now buh bye :3.   

#floof speaks #:3c #murder drones #serial designation j #serial designation v #serial designation n #n murder drones #n md #v md #murder drones v #j murder drones #murder drones j #j md #murder drones n #v murder drones #murder drones tickles #sfw tk community #sfw tk blog #sfw tickling community #my hcs #murder drones uzi #don’t tag as ship #pls I strongly dislike nuzi/vuzi/ and juzi

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Sooooooo a little birdie told me you hadn't written Freddy having period sex with reader so I think we need to remedy this hehehe, I want it as nasty and wild as you want to go with it, it is Freddy after all and he is a Certified Freak TM. I would also be very partial to any sort of lower back massage or any sort of physical comfort he wants to give the reading before/during/after the sexy times, honestly a bit of massage during the Blood Moon always hits the spot and it would make things all the better hehehehe And Freddys usual dirty mouth during something like this is also appreciated 👁👄��

You requested this a while ago but hey I know we are both on the rag atm and the inspo hit so here it is! I hope you enjoy this fucking filthy as hell period sex piece with our fave bastard. 

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.5K. Freddy Krueger X GN! AFAB! Reader. No Pronouns Specified. Words Like Cunt And Tit’s Used. Reader On Their Period. Warnings: Period Sex. Massage. Panty Snatching. Vaginal Fingering. Blood Play. Nipple Play. Mild Painplay. DUB CON! Restrained Reader. Eating Out. Vaginal Sex. Squirting. Dirty Talk. Praise. Degradation. So Much Fluids. Freddy Is Disgusting. Messy Kink. Just Such Messy Sex.

—

I Just Want To Help.

—

You felt like shit.

It wasn’t always the case when you were on your period but this one has been truly hellish. Cramps, boating, tenderness, a train wreck of emotions and of course, naturally, a veritable river of blood. You finished work for the day, unable to cook. You brought home take out, camped out on the couch with a heating bag and a blanket and some tea and a comforting movie. You downed something to help with the pain but it was barely touching it, you were so fucking tired and you hoped that sleep would be a good remedy. 

You are zombie-like as you go through your night routine, brushing your teeth, doing your skincare and the rest to really wind down and then you are in bed. The sheets felt so fucking comfortable and smooth, you sink deeper into the mattress, fully relaxing and sleep overtakes you in just a few short minutes. 

He had the funniest sense of timing. 

Freddy doesn’t pay a visit every night but he more than makes up for it when he does show up for you. He is on you in short order, he used to draw it out and tease but when there is a more sizable gap, he almost doesn’t have patience for that, if you dared to call him out on being needy however he might get violent. You don’t think you could take much brutality tonight, his hands are on your body before he even greets you, rough scarred hand one arm, butter soft leather, sharp and cold metal on the other. His hands slide up, the sharp tips of the blades of his glove don’t break your bare skin, goosebumps are left in their wake, he leans in closely, you feel the warm breath on the side of your face and hear his voice in your ear, “Heya honey.” 

Oh honey, huh? Sweet name, you wonder why but he cuts in, “You feel awful. What’s going on?” 

Right of course, he is IN your head, he can feel all you do, absurdly keyed into your emotions and the sensations running through you. The monthly curse hasn’t coincided with any of his visits to this point, shockingly, but you know that you can’t hide it, he won’t drop this and he will find it out the same way he does everything. Hell he could do it right now but he likes not knowing every single thing, some things he wants you to tell him, force yourself through uncomfortableness for his pleasure or his amusement, so you spill. “Just not feeling well, my period hit me like a truck.”

He makes a sound of pity, that sweet and sickly, mocking, “Awe.”

His hands move again, arms come around your middle, hugging closer, invading your personal space the way he did easily and without care, “Oh poor thing.”

The contact felt nice, or it did, until he squeezed you much tighter and it makes you groan, “Christ, ease up-”

“That sensitive, huh?”  The question is asked in that very teasing tone that can only come from him. Your hands latch onto his forearms and you try to pry them off as you respond with a nod, “Mmm, very.”

“Sure seems like it, good thing I decided to visit tonight.” He doesn’t let you move his arms, keeping them locked around you and so you give up.

“Why’s that?” You asked and he hummed out, “Cuz I can help you out.” 

A quiet laugh spills out, “How are you gonna do that exactly?”

“I have my ways.” A sharp snap of the fingers on his un-gloved hand and all of a sudden everything was different. You were not in the boiler room any longer, you were instead on your stomach on a bed that you had become very familiar with over the past few months. Before you can look around you feel the mattress shift with him getting onto it, there he was, his hands on your back, the first thing you notice was that his glove suspiciously absent. You then feel something you haven’t from him previously, his hands on you is a familiar feeling, but their current action is not. 

It isn’t like you have never experienced a massage before, you had, but by his hand? Never. It feels so fucking good. Your head tips, forehead leans on your forearms and your eyes closed as you could feel yourself practically melting into the mattress with a moan. You had no idea how much you needed this until he began the process, again the benefits of him being in tune with your mind and body meant he could pick up on what you needed before sometimes you even knew it. He really gets into it, doesn’t wait to properly see your reaction as if he is overly confident and just knows that it is good, no, that he is good. 

Your shirt had been stripped a while ago, it was ten minutes later and you were feeling delightfully boneless. He was capable of bringing you great pain and pleasure. You knew that more than you knew just about anything but still him doing it in this way you had never counted on. He had been relatively quiet, just small verbal check-ins, letting you lose yourself to feeling more than prattling on and on like he was known to do. “How you feeling?”

A shaky moan is your response, breathed out on an exhale, and he taunted, “No words so soon?”

You laugh, a light thing that could be misconstrued as a scoff, you lean your head up slightly and tell him, “M’ good. I’m very, very good.” 

“Pain letting up?” He inquired and you nodded, “Mmhm, not totally but doing better.”

“Oh no, still sore?” He asks, a sympathetic click of his tongue and you tell him, “Unfortunately.” 

His hands hadn’t stopped working this whole time, sweeping down the expanse of your back, knuckles pressed over your spine, more pressure was released and you groaned. He is leaning down, you feel him press closer to your body, the heat of his body providing more comfort as his hands continue. 

He expresses his previous sentiment again, "Poor thing...", his lips touch down on the back of your neck as his thumbs dig harder into your lower back, "Poor, utterly delicious thing." 

Movements do not stop, neither his wandering hands nor his mouth as they press on exploring. More kisses are laid and you hear him again, "You know what else could help ease the ache?"

He moves. One hand stays resting on your lower back and the other slips down between your legs, he cups your cunt through the underwear and shorts you wore to bed, “I hear orgasms are one of the best forms of pain relief.” 

“You’ve only heard?” You ask teasingly and he continues, “You should know by now I deal more in giving pain than relieving it, sweetheart. But for you? I’ll try anything once.”

Isn’t he so generous? 

“An intensely charitable offer but-” He moves again, his other hand locks on your hip, he makes you grind onto his palm and you moan, “But what?”

“Buuut-I, ah, I don’t know I’ve never, not while this is happening-” He cuts in, “All the more reason to try it.” 

No more protesting from you and the part where he tries to craft a convincing verbal argument from him was over. His hand picks up the effort, fingers stroke down with more pressure and you moan, he does the motion again and again, purposefully dragging over your clit and you squirm when you feel it happen. Your underwear is wet, you can feel it stuck to you, plastered and it makes your eyes fly open, “Shit, stop, stop-”

“Awe what’s the matter?” He asks and you tell him, “M’ leaking-”

“And what? You’re worried about bleeding on your sheets?” He asks and you say, “Yes!” 

He laughs with another strong press of his fingers, “C’mon what are you going to do about that? You’re dead asleep right now.”

“Yeahhh, but I don’t have to be, wake me up.” You asked and he laughed much, much harder before he stops rubbing you and his hands lock on your sides and he starts to flip you over, “No fuckin’ way.”

“What? Why not?!” You exclaim and when you are thrown onto your back you yelped, he tells you next, “And pass up this golden opportunity? Fuck no.”

“Freddy, please-” He starts to tear down your shorts and you attempt to stop him but that ineffable force you had gotten used to feeling around him is back, as if bonds as strong as chains but as light as air coil around your wrists and yanks them up, holding them on either side of your head. “There you go, be good for me, no more struggling.”

“Freddy stop it-” You plead but you are helpless, he’s made you helpless. He is removing your shorts and underwear as he says, ”Soooo emotional.” 

Anger flares for a second, “Asshole let me go!” 

He playfully pouts before he says “Now c’mon babe, you can trust me, I just wanna help.” 

You catch a glimpse and Christ you had almost bled through your shorts, your underwear stained and a total mess, you groan, brows pinched together and he looks…Happy? “Oh I’m keeping these.”

“What?” You asked and he held them up, “I said M’ keeping them, you are never getting these back.” A snap of his fingers and they disappeared to God knows where.

You feel extraordinarily exposed, naked and held down on this bed, at his mercy, your mind is racing and his hand is back between your spread thighs, Fingers drag up, catch the mess of blood leaking out before swirling over your clit, using the slick crimson as lube, making you moan anew. “There you go, Freddy’s gonna take away all the hurt, just relax.”

His fingers slip and then ease inside of you and you realise that your preferred method for dealing with this hellish time has been disposed of by him. His fingers shouldn’t be getting to this depth without being obstructed but this is a dream, he is in control and can do anything, including removing a vital tool for personal hygiene without you even noticing. His fingers are moving in and out so easily, it sounds obscene, soaked, he curls them touches that spot that makes your toes curl and you cry out, “Fuck! Freddy please, wa-wait-”

Again, ever the mind reader he says, “I know you’re worried about ruining the sheets.”

A nervous nod, you were, his fingers slid out with a wet squelch, he inspected his fingers, they are coated in blood and he admits, "I'm dying to taste you."

His hand came up and he drew his fingers into his mouth and sucked deeply. You cannot believe he is doing this so shamelessly, it leaves you speechless. He removes his fingers and sighs a small, “Fuck, that is good.” 

He addresses you once again, his hands on your thighs and he says easily as he continues his previous thought, “Well don’t be. Lemme help stop the leak.” 

You wonder what he means until he drops down suddenly, in between your legs, his stomach to the bed and he is pulling your legs over his shoulders. You begin to complain, beg for a moment, for him to slow down because what was he about to do to you but his mouth is on you and instead the word isn’t able to form, replaced with a pitched up gasp. So that is what he meant. His tongue runs up through your folds and he moans against you, the vibration causes your legs to twitch and your fists to clench. He is eating you whole, no hesitation and further still with passionate fervour. Strong tongue flicks up over your clit before his lips wrap around it, another hum, your thighs tighten around his head and he pulls off with a very sloppy smack. It hits how he is so willing to do this for you even during this, accepting of and hungry for you no matter what or when.

You have no clue how he does it, he switches between tasks so seamlessly, from sucking on your clit to his tongue diving deep into your hole, fucking into the sopping passage. Then it doesn’t feel like there is a switching, as if somehow he is able to suck and lick your clit and tongue fuck you at the same time, like he somehow has two mouths. 

You try to look down the length of your body but another thrust of his tongue in combination with a violent suck of your most sensitive flesh is leaving you breathless, “Ho-how the fuuuuck ar-are you able to-? Ah! Ahnn, do that?” 

You hear his voice inexplicably even though his mouth is still clearly busy, “I like keeping some secrets.”  You are moaning incoherently, the pleasure is insane, you can’t stay still, were it not for how he was holding you down you think you’d buck off the bed, you feel it build and then crest and you nearly scream his name as it overtakes. 

He works you through it amazingly well until you are actually struggling to breathe. Your legs drop and he comes up and before you know it he is kissing you, eyes fly open as you are confronted with the taste of it all, salt and iron and slick and spit, you want to rip yourself away, it’s so messy but you have to admit, it makes heat spark inside you. Clit pulses, another rush of arousal as his tongue is smoothing over yours and you think fuck it, you’re into the depravity of it, you know he isn’t going to judge so you lean into it. You steer into the skid, you kiss him back just as nasty as he was kissing you. 

When you pull away and see him you are sure your face is in a similar state, “Filthy fucking slut.” He isn’t wrong. You can feel the red stickiness around your mouth, on your cheeks, your chin. “Fuck, you taste so, so good. I need more.”

“Wait, more? Are you su-OH!” You gasped out and he was back down there, once again working you over. You had no idea it could feel this good, that you would be this sensitive, you knew hormones could elevate but you were never one for masturbating on your period much, seemed too messy to bother and this was VERY messy but you are quickly finding that to be a plus. 

After another two times of reaching your peak he is coming back up for air as you are still shuddering your way through the aftershocks. You are not very verbal at the moment, you feel half here, he is spreading your legs wider, eyes down and looking at you, “Look at that disgusting gash, still spilling blood like a fresh wound-”

He looked manic, he’d lost the sweater sometime after your second orgasm but before your third, there was scarlet down his chin and neck, almost coming to his chest and with another snap his pants were gone. You feel the restraints on your wrists lift and he pulls you down, drags you close and he pushes his hips forward, the head of his dick drags over your over sensitive clit before coming to prod at your sticky hole, “Look at that.” 

You did, eyes glance down and you take in the view, him poised and ready, about to fuck you till you were completely senseless and you couldn’t wait. “Freddy, please, do it.”

“Oh you want it now?” He asks and you nod, “Mmf, right now, please, please, please.”

“Alright but remember. You asked for it doll.” He slams his hips forward, makes you take him in one stroke, forces it and your whole body seizes from the intense and sudden feeling of him stretching you open. No time is wasted before he is pulling out halfway and then driving back in, he sets the pace, and you are meant to take it.

You asked for it, remember?

He is vicious, brutal, inhumane in how he fucks you, totally feral and animalistic. He is normally into it on the best of days but it is as if you unlocked a whole new level in him that you had not previously been privy to. He is being loud, every time he bottoms out there is a curse or a groan, a sharp exhale through gritted teeth. “You feel so fucking good, your hole is so sloppy, just listen to it-” Another harsh series of thrusts in and out and he was right, you sound disgustingly wet. “-could listen to that on repeat forever.”

He has you almost folded in half, hands under your knees, pressing and pushing until he has you rest your ankles on his shoulders. In this position it mostly is able to do two things, one, for him it makes you even tighter and two, for you, it hits that one place inside that makes all thoughts leave and all words tumble from between cracked and bloody lips a jumbled wreck. Your eyes unfocused, drunk on sensation, dragged along for the ride and forced to feel just what he wanted you to, made to ride it out, one hand now that it is free is at your chest, palming one of your tits and you groan, mumbling out, “S-sore, sensitive-” 

“Awe I know hon, you're sooo sensitive right now.” He tweaks your nipple and your body jolts, it makes you clench around him and he curses, he does it again and again, pulling and twisting, it’s making you practically milk him from the inside and only when he notices you tearing up does he stop. You sob out a-”Thank you”

“Don’t mention it.” He responds with a grin and his hand is between your bodies, fingers pressed to your clit and with purpose he hammers home on the place inside you that is making the pleasure radiate through your whole body and you release those hiccuping moans. You can feel another orgasm building up, but more than that, it wasn’t the first time this has happened with him, he loved to make you into as much of a mess as possible but during this time? You wanted to avoid it, you tried to warn, attempted to speak but that wasn’t happening. He mocked you for that, relentlessly, “Can’t even get a single word out, so pathetic.”

You were pathetic. You took too long and so it happened, he forced it out of you, the sting snaps, you tip over and cum but not just that, you squirt. Your thighs are already coated in half dried and tacky residue, blood has been leaking out at a startling rate, he had been fucking it out of you so the sudden and large gush, the position and pace made you paint him. It isn’t easy to get the drop on him or surprise him but his hips falter upon feeling the hot splash of liquid he looks down and it makes him moan. You weren’t over your orgasm before he starts fucking you with renewed vigor, “Holy shit, yes, just like cutting into a warm body-”

Oh my God of course. Everything mixed together so when you squirted it wasn’t just the usual clear liquid, he was already so covered in your blood, sweating from the effort, the extra wetness makes it look and feel like a massive splatter of blood was just delivered onto him. You got his chest, stomach and yes, of course, his cock currently burying balls deep into your cunt. Apparently this proves too much for him, your thighs are trembling, overstimulated, blood covered and frankly exhausted he cums. He unloads in you, a few more shallow thrusts as he wrings out every single ounce of sensation from his climax. You were heaving, totally slack but there wasn’t time to rest. He was up by your head, standing on his knees on the mattress, his fingers in your hair, tugging it up and forcing his softening cock against your lips, “You gotta clean your mess up.”

A soft hum, your eyes half open, you look up at him, his coated shaft resting against your cheek and he says, “C’mon you and I both know that you’ll do it after that make out.” 

He was right. With a sigh and a roll of your eyes you set to work, lips part and you set to it, licking, sucking, tasting the heady mix of your slick, his cum and of course the squirt and blood, all together it hits the palette in a not entirely unpleasant fashion. “There you go. Goood, knew you loved this jus' as much as me.”

He coos softly, his hand pats your cheek condescending, you didn't know about loving it just as much as him but it was fun and it did feel good. He asks, “You feelin’ better? No more pain?”

You think for a second and then slip him out of your mouth, “Damn it you bastard you were right!”

“I’m right all the time! Don’t sound so shocked!” He laughed and you protested, “I dunno, I wouldn’t say that you are right all the time.” 

“Don’t make me fuck you until you literally can’t talk back.” 

A heavy silence, you consider if you should, but then you decide it’s a good idea so you say, “I doubt you could.”

He sighs heavily, “Such a fuckin’ brat.” 

“You love me.” You state simply and your note that he doesn’t correct you.

#Freddy Krueger X reader #slasher x reader #BHF writing #BHF asks #Hoooo #So never wrote period sex before but fuck it #Enjoy

[liz-allyn]

these violet delights - a dark! mob!peter tale [tasm peter vs kilgrave]

summary: The Purple Man comes to visit Mob!Peter at home.

words: 10.5k

a/n: this began as a submission to Wicked's Trick or Treat, but then it turned into a dead dove, sorry 'bout that. my fancast of the purple man/kilgrave in this universe is Jesse Eisenberg, sporting Lex Luthor vibes. But I love David Tennant and you can picture anyone you want! i also did not use "you" or second-person narrative, instead opting for generic "she/her" pronouns and descriptions.

warnings: so many

I repeat. So. Many. Warnings. Including non-con touching/ sa/ forced sex acts (peter is a victim in this), kidnapping, mind-control, oral (m receiving), cheating, angst, mentions of bodily fluids, mentions of self-h4rm, explicit violence, gore, dead doves for you. and one for you. and one for you. everyone gets a dead dove. do not eat it.

This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences above the age of 18. Sensitive topics are explicitly discussed. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

The second Peter Parker touched the doorknob of the multimillion-dollar Colonial overlooking Forest Park, gooseflesh spread across the nape of his neck. His movements went still, jaw clenching. 

Behind him, the shrieking of young children in the distance exacerbated his nerves. He glanced at the residential street around him, peeking through the golden fall curtains of the trees, then down at the modest Jack-O-Lantern underneath the entryway. 

It was Halloween, a couple of hours before sunset. It was a weird time of year. One that always got his blood pumping. Everything usually felt a little off on a night like this. But this was different.

Cautiously, he pushed open the door to his lavish home, stepping inside.

The moment Peter stepped into the darkened foyer of his home, he knew immediately something was amiss. He glanced around cautiously. It was so quiet.

By this time, Eddie should’ve set up the goody table outside. It was his job to keep a friendly face on and keep a look-out while Miles and Penni took shifts handing out candy to the kids. 

Peter wasn’t really comfortable with hosting Trick-or-Treaters, or any other guests on his property. Too many strangers. Too much unwanted attention. Miles reasoned that if they weren’t trying to appear like a bunch of greedy mobsters, then maybe they shouldn’t have the biggest house on the block and not hand out candy on Halloween.

Despite seeing no one loitering nearby, Peter knew something was wrong. 

It was silent. Grave-level silent.

The hairs on his body stood on end. The back of his neck prickled, his senses stirring to alert him to danger. He crept from the foyer and peeked into the expansive sitting area. There, he discovered a brutal scene. 

A massacre. 

Bodies spread out. Draped across the floor and furniture. Arranged, like broken stems and torn petals of a bloody bouquet. 

It could’ve been mistaken for an elaborate, grotesque Halloween display. Hillbilly Chainsaw Massacre. Summer Camp Slaughterfest. Co-ed Killers From Outer Space. Except that Peter could smell real blood. And that these were members of his crew.

He felt queasy and faint, like being in a plummeting elevator. The rapid flutter of a single heart caught his attention, pulling it away from the carnage. 

His eyes darted over to see Felicia Hardy sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase of his home. Her body slumped against the banister. In her lap, she rested the weight of a Chef’s knife almost as long as her forearm. Cold red droplets streaked across her face and neck. The steel blade was coated in crimson.

Felicia’s expression was hollow. Solemn. Tired. Her chest moved shallowly. “Heya, Spider,” she faintly murmured, not making eye contact. 

Peter observed his master-at-arms with concerned dread. Part of him wanted to rush to embrace his longtime friend. The other part kept a considerable distance, eyeing her bloody knife.

“Cat,” was all he could say. Alert. Cautious.

“Killer night, huh.” The sharp exhale she let out sounded like a laugh and a cry. She gazed distantly, making no attempt to move as he inched closer to her. Peter had never seen anyone sleepwalk, but he imagined that it would look like this. It was like she was hypnotized. Possessed.

He swallowed deeply, holding down bile, and crouched down to her eye level. “What happened here?”

A long moment passed. She shuddered, tears building just behind her eyes, “I killed ‘em.” It was a whisper that could barely be heard without his abilities. “He told me to kill them,” she explained, only confusing him further. “Told them all to be still and wait their turn. And they did. So I did.”

He shifted closer to her, heart pounding. “Who told you?”

“They were my friends,” she replied, eyes vacant. “My only friends. And I killed them.”

“Felicia,” Peter said firmly. He reached out his finger slowly, hooking it under her chin. Carefully, he pulled her focus to his gaze. He couldn’t recognize her. The formidable woman, with claws and balls of steel, looked up at him in hopeless shame.

“He told me to sit here and wait for you,” she explained, dread in her voice. “And to tell you he has your girl upstairs.”

He approached the bedroom door with catlike footsteps. Inside the room, he could hear obscene noises—soft breaths, wet lips, eager tongue. His senses shrieked in his skull as his eyes found the wide crevice of the doorway. 

He recognized the color of her hair instantly. Her image burned red hot in his periphery the same way it burned into his thoughts. The back of her head. The delicate wings of her shoulders. The undulating ridges of her vertebrae. He followed the perilous ladder of her spine all the way down to her belted waist, where a soft, cloudlike chiffon skirt draped over her bottom. 

It was a vision he’d only seen in his dreams. But at the present, he was looking at a nightmare.

The petite woman whom he shared the bedroom with was bent over the lap of a stranger. Her hair obscured his view, but the sinful noises spilling out of the room left little to the imagination. The smell of sex, sweat, tears, and saliva hit him like a cannonball. He blinked several times, eyes questioning, as if he stumbled upon a horrific mirage that his eyelashes could sweep away.

The nightmarish image came into clear focus. 

His wife—a newlywed for only six weeks—was on her knees in front of an armchair, head bobbing in the lap of a strange man sitting in front of her. Head thrown back in passion, the man groaned lasciviously over the sound of the young woman’s gurgling throat.

It felt like eons passed with Peter standing in the doorway of his bedroom, just staring in bewildered silence. His mind turned over repeatedly, like he was staring at a puzzle and couldn’t fathom the image it created. 

His new bride. His innocent angel. His shrinking violet. Choking down another man’s cock like it was her last meal.

Buried deep, somewhere in the rational parts of his brain, he briefly noted the backless, chiffon halter babydoll she was wearing. It was almost a blush pink in the yellow light of the bedroom floor lamp. Lilac. It looked expensive. He’d never seen it before. It suited her well. 

He noticed how soft she looked as her hair brushed across her exposed back. That was something he secretly loved about her—her softness. She was a little lamb. He had yet to see this much of her skin. He’d never seen her like this, so exposed. So filthy. 

Incomprehesively, he was almost embarrassed at stumbling upon such an intimate, lewd scene. At the same time, he felt his own cock twitch at the sight.

The confusion in his mind quickly settled. His mind caught up to his vision. His stomach dropped and soured. His heart hammered in his chest. His jaw clenched, bit down so hard he could taste blood. It surged and boiled in his veins.

Another vulgar moan erupted from the man as he reached forward and snatched the back of her head. If there was any uncertainty about what was taking place, the blinders were removed. The stranger gathered her hair in his wide grasp and for the first time, Peter could see his wife’s face. 

She was wearing makeup, more than he’d ever seen her wear. Or she had been, at one point this evening. The remnants of her mascara and kohl cat eyeliner ran down her cheeks in wet streams. Her plum wine lipstick was smeared across her lips and chin, the color staining the stranger’s cock as he harshly fucked her throat. She gripped onto the man’s knees for balance, her painted nails digging into his pants.

“Fuck yes...” he could hear the man breathlessly sigh, but the air escaped Peter’s lungs. His mind was racing. His brain was short-circuiting. It was skipping through a barbaric list of commands, his adrenaline screaming at him to take action.

Scream. Run. Cry. Punch. Bite. Claw. Fall. Hide. Yell. Pummel. Kill. Crush. Kill. Hurt. Rip. Kill.

His feet started moving.

In addition to the bellowing commands of his adrenaline, the shrill sirens of his senses got louder with every step. 

His heart hurt. There was a sharp ache that surprised him. A little less than two months ago, he hadn’t spoken more than five words to her. Regardless, there was a sickness-laced darkness that threatened to pull him under. The pain confused him. Infuriated him.

They hadn’t even bothered to look up yet. He felt like he was leaving the confines of his body. Watching himself move across the room, stalking silently toward the lovers. 

Peter kept his gaze fixed on his lamb—treacherous whore—and the blinding-white-hot rage rising up his throat, threatening to cut off the blood flow to his brain. 

After taking a particularly harsh thrust into her mouth, her eyes flew open. She coughed and gagged, her wet lashes fluttering as the man pulled her mouth back off of his cock.

Peter’s senses felt like an axe to the skull. He barely registered the shadow in her expression. His wife looked up at her husband, and that’s when he saw it: 

Pure terror screaming from her eyes.

Peter’s brain struggled to catch up to speed. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing anymore. Already moving in their direction, his arm shot up quickly. His long fingers outstretched toward the couple as he began to pull his middle fingers back to his palm.

“Freeze.”

Peter froze. The soft word muttered aloud brought everything to a halt. Like he’d reached the end of a leash. He nearly stumbled over his own feet and whiplashed slightly with the momentum of his muscles seizing.

“Don’t move,” the man’s soft voice commanded again. 

Peter didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the last trajectory of his eyesight. He observed his wife, her body frozen and unmoving. She was locked in a straight-backed kneel at the man’s feet, her weight bearing down on her knees in an uncomfortable L shape.

He could observe her carefully in this position. Her chin trembled. She panted, drawing short breaths, as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating. He could hear her heart thrumming twice as fast as his own. That wasn’t the sound of lust. It was fear.

Peter remained as a statue: outstretched arm, muscles tense, chest heaving from an overwhelming mix of rage and panic. 

He couldn’t move. He wanted to. But he couldn’t.

His eyes fell back to the occupant in the chair, still lounging back as if it was his bedroom they were in.

The alabaster-faced man gazed up at Peter with a half-smile. Sharp lines accentuated his brow, cheekbones, and jaw. His dark brown hair hung long in unkempt, ragged curls, framing his hollow cheeks and stopping at his jaw. 

He looked young, with one of those faces that made him look forever in his twenties. Or thirties. Or teens. Maybe it was the smugness he wore on his face suggesting a foolish youth. 

Peter wanted to put his fist through it.

Pale blue eyes stared brightly beneath a jutted brow. The kid’s face widened into a smirk. 

“Hi,” he said, as they were having a pleasant meeting. He pointed his index finger at him, shooting a playful finger-gun. “Don’t tell me—you must be Peter.”

Peter was silent. Transfixed. Stunned by the casual tone and the bizarre situation. The stranger flipped a switch, as if he wasn’t just getting his dick sucked, and suddenly paid no attention to the woman genuflecting in front of him.

He grinned warmly, shameless in his partial nudity. “I heard so many things about you. Good things. Y’know. Mostly.” 

The kid glanced down at the woman on her knees, then turned back to him. “Congratulations… on the wedding by the way!” he apologetically added, as if had forgotten his pleasantries. “Arranged marriages seem so old-fashioned these days, but I get it. Respect for your culture and all that.”

Peter’s mouth felt cotton-dry. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he struggled with all of his might to lower his arm. To flex his fingers. To say anything at all. It was to no avail.

The intruder gestured at the young woman on her knees. “I gotcha a present,” he grinned, reaching down and running a long finger beneath the chiffon strap across her shoulder. Peter could see that it was a halter dress of some kind. He watched intently as the man’s fingers slid down the fabric, resting at the top of her breast. “Call it a ‘something borrowed.’ No need for a thank-you card.”

Peter’s nostrils flared at the action, despite what he’d seen just moments ago. Despite the fact that he had no previous plan to win this woman’s heart, or let her win his own. Despite that he felt connected to this person in name and title only. And when he saw, with his own eyes, his new… partner engaging in a sex act only six weeks after their turbulent agreement had been finalized... it wasn’t jealousy. 

She didn’t owe him faithfulness, if he really thought about it. Even if he planned to be. He planned to be celibate, to be honest. If he could help it. If he focused his energy on business, and not pleasure. 

No, it would make sense that she would’ve taken a lover. Given how cold things were between them. 

It wasn’t jealousy.

This stranger’s touch infuriated him. The idea that this audacious asshat dressed his wife in lingerie, and was roving his hands on her like inspecting the trim on a car. Like... she was a possession. She was his possession. 

The stranger leaned back comfortably in the armchair as Peter tore himself apart. “I was just catching up with... uh...” He glanced at the girl he was facefucking moments before, then gave up. “I didn’t get her name.” He waved his hand with fanfare. “The lovely Mrs. Parker!” he proclaimed, with a shrug. That was good enough by his standards. “She’s been an above-average hostess this evening.”

Peter swallowed, trying to force his tongue to move. It felt like choking on glass. Seeing her mouth on another man felt like choking on glass.

The vile ‘guest’ reached down, cupping his junk idly. He hadn’t bothered to tuck himself away. Peter watched him disgustedly. 

“Oh, that? No, not like that,” the man replied sheepishly, pointing down at his exposed crotch. His eyes darted between Peter and his wife, before elaborating. “Oh! That was nothing. She was just showing me a trick her dad’s friends taught her.” 

Peter took that piece of information like a brick to the head. It jarred him. His eyes found her, eyeing the profile of her shamed face. He looked at her, really. For the first time since they had signed the marriage certificate. Her chin quivered gently. 

He thought about what little he knew about the woman he agreed to marry. Her father was a crook. And not a good one. He ran a sloppy organization, with sloppy amateurs, and sloppy results. He had never thought too hard about her family, regarding them as a nuisance more than anything. 

“They had a nickname for her,” the cruel man continued as if he was telling a hilarious story. “They called her the ‘Black Hole.’” He chuckled, barely able to contain his entertained grin behind thin lips. 

Peter glanced over to see quiet tears rolling down his wife’s cheeks. She kept her gaze fixed forward. Stealing her expression, she made a decent attempt to conceal her horror and shame. Peter’s jaw clenched empathetically. His chest burned. The glass found his heart.

The intruder seemed oblivious, finally tucking himself back into his pants with a good-humored headshake, amused with himself. It was after a few seconds that he finally noticed Peter’s grim expression. 

“Get it?” he asked, beneath a giggle, his smile dimming only slightly. 

Peter glared. 

Eventually, the man let his shoulders drop. He muttered bitterly, his fun spoiled. “Right over your head. Oh well.”

The ‘guest’ came to a stand in front of the chair, side-stepping around the abused woman in front of him, leaving her in his wake. He dug his hands in the pockets of his pants, eyes roving around the room. The intruder looked at home, strolling through Peter’s bedroom. He observed in silence, listless, like wandering through a library. Passing judgment on the pieces of Peter’s life.

Peter finally noticed the man’s attire. It was a bizarre mish-mash of items: a sharply-pressed, eggplant-hued button-up, untucked. The tails of the shirt draped over the stretchy waist of oversized joggers. A plum, silk-lined, single-button, velvet tuxedo jacket fit snugly over his shoulders. A lavender pocket square poked out from the breast pocket. 

Several blinks later, Peter recognized that all of the items were pulled out of his own closet. Some well worn. Some unused. Right down to the brand new, still-in-the-box, memory-foam slippers that May gifted him years ago.

Peter ground his teeth while glaring at the intruder. This was a message. His dark eyes roved over the callous figure, taking in the prevailing hue.

The Purple Man.

Peter’s blood went cold. He’d never met him, but he’d heard stories: nightmarish fairy tales about a devil who could control you with just a few words. A man dressed in purple, leaving grisly scenes drenched in buckets of crimson in his wake.

Peter didn’t believe in fairy tales. He believed in horror stories. 

He believed his friend at the D.A.’s office—the disgraced, former lawyer committed to an institution upstate. The blind madman of Hell’s Kitchen—who claimed that he savagely beat his friends to death with a gavel because The Purple Man told him to do it. 

Peter wasn’t sure if he really believed in the Devil. Until now.

“I wonder how much all this cost,” the man in purple stated curiously, observing the molding of the bedroom. He glanced over at Peter, still standing between the doorway and the bed. The next words left his mouth like a cold threat. “Answer me when I speak to you.”

“What did you do to Felicia?” Peter asked, thinking of the woman unable to move from her spot downstairs.

He snorted, “The anime chick with the silver hair?” Peter glowered at him, arm still outstretched. “I was actually really confused when I arrived,” he stated. “I thought that little... slutty minx... downstairs was your wife. I mean, she’s the one that answered the door. She’s way too hot to be a housekeeper. Too skinny to be a cook. She’s got great tits.” He paused and asked, “You think they’re real?” He pondered thoughtfully. “They feel real...”

Peter grimaced at the comment, his blood boiling. 

“But no,” the uninvited guest continued, “I was surprised to learn that she’s the ‘head of security.’ I mean, come on. Really?” He barked out a laugh. “I don’t wanna say ‘that’s why you never let a woman do a man’s job,’ but that’s what we’re all thinking, amirite?” 

He shrugged, questioning aloud, although the couple rendered silent was his only audience. 

The Purple Man glanced over to his timid captive, eyeing her backside lewdly. “And this little angel was up here all by herself.” 

Peter bristled.

“She told me you don’t let her out much,” he explained. “Bitched a little about freedom and shit, but...” The intruder lowered his voice to a whisper, a secret just between boys, “I see why you keep her under lock and key. A girl like this doesn’t have any business out and about by herself. Just asking for trouble.”

Peter glared in response, nostrils flaring. The pig headed comment made his skin crawl. On the other hand, he didn’t miss the feeling of guilt that sank in his stomach for locking her up like an object.

The intruder carried on, like he was conversing with a friend. “Yeah, if I was you,” he mused, “I’d have a whole fuckin’ slew of women. A harem. I’d keep one in every room.” He peered towards the doorway but made no move to escape. “I mean this house is ridiculous,” he continued. “You’ve got a lot of rooms. So maybe not every room. A man’s gotta have some peace.” 

He shrugged, throwing a sideways glance at Peter. “That’s what I’d do. If I were you.” His voice dropped an octave. “But I’m not you. I’m smarter.”

Peter glowered back, as the two men locked stares. A long moment passed.

“You do know who I am, right?” The Purple Man interrupted suddenly. 

Peter recalled a name that Brock discovered while digging through Murdock’s appointment calendar. A high school dropout with an brilliant IQ. An avid gamer. A nobody.

“I know who you are,” Peter replied, beneath a regretful glare. “Gotta be honest, though. Didn’t give two shits about you ‘til now.”

He responded giddily, “I’m pleased that we were able to change that. I mean, what’s a girl gotta do to get you to notice them?”

He whispered with a deadly calmness, like making a vow, “Believe me, Kevin. You have my attention.”

The Purple Man’s face twisted as he spat, “Ugh! God!” He spun on his heel, hissing and kicking indignantly. “I fuckin’ hate that name!” He bristled with anger, rendering a glower. “My mother gave me that name!” 

The sudden outburst of rage sent a trickle down his wife’s spine. She shivered, and he spotted it out of the corner of his eye. Their captor didn’t seem to notice. 

The intruder shouted with disdain, “How hard is it to show a little fuckin’ respect? I don’t identify with that name. My name is Kilgrave.”

Peter fought to hold in a humorless laugh. “Kilgrave? Isn’t that what your little video game buddies call you?”

“Actually, Kill_Grave_69 is my PSN handle,” he corrected matter-of-factly, his mood shifting dramatically. “I sent Kill_Grave a message, but he hasn’t replied yet.” 

“You like playin’ games with people, Kevin?” Peter taunted, his rage bubbling over. “Is’at what this is to you? A game?”

Kilgrave sighed, annoyed and bored. He gazed at Peter, declaring softly, “If you say ‘Kevin’ again, I’ll make your wife bite off her own tongue.” 

The woman in reference shuddered on her knees. Peter locked his jaw. 

“I’m serious, Peter,” Kilgrave warned. “She likes to swallow.”

Peter’s eyes flicked over to his wife, a pang of sympathy rising in his chest. He was ashamed of himself. Ashamed that the first thought that ran through his mind when he came upon the pornographic scene was betrayal. How daft. How arrogant. How did it not occur to him that she was being forced against her will?

He was a fool to think he could keep her safe. Perhaps it was his pride assuring him that no one would get past the gates of his fortress. It was hubris. His dogmatic belief that he’d prevent tragedy from reaching his loved ones.

At least, not again.

"Spoiler alert, I guess,” Kilgrave added, his lewd commentary interrupting Peter’s self-pity. “That’s another thing we talked about: You guys haven’t fucked.” Kilgrave crossed his arms, glancing back between the couple. “I mean, what’s with that? Talk about trouble in paradise.” 

Despite himself, Peter bristled with embarrassment. A tinge of pink on his cheeks added to the red flush of his rage creeping up his neck. “With the size of that rock on her finger,” Kilgrave added, “you’d think that’d be worth at least a couple of blowjobs.”

Her eyelids slammed shut, jaw clenched. Peter glanced down to see the tremble of her legs, her kneecaps digging into the merciless wooden floor. He couldn’t imagine how painful it was, and how long she’d been in that position.

Kilgrave chuckled, staring at Peter with amusement. “Between your wife’s Jaws of Life and your slutty housekeeper’s Triple D’s... What are you, queer?”

His lip twitched at the slur. He struggled to maintain his composure, aware that at any moment he could cause his wife—the frightened lamb—further harm. Simultaneously, he pictured gouging out the mouthy bastard’s eyes with his thumbs. 

Peter swallowed hard, speaking when spoken to. “What is it you want?”

“I’m here on business,” Kilgrave shrugged nonchalantly. “But first, I want to play a game.” He looked over at the woman. “We were already in the middle of one when you showed up, but we can start all over again. I guess.” He turned to Peter. “You ever play ‘20 Questions?’ It’s my favorite icebreaker.”

He tilted his head, childishly groaning, “Does this mean I have to listen to you talk about yourself through 20 Monologues?”

“Oh, no, this is all about you guys,” he declared, sitting on the edge of the king sized bed. He licked his thin lips hungrily. “I think what we have is an opportunity for you two to really open up to one another, y’know? Bare your hearts. Let’s see the real juicy stuff!” 

The double-entendre was not lost on Peter. He gulped anxiously. 

Kilgrave patted down the duvet on either side of him. “C’mon, you two,” he grinned, sparkling with childlike mischief. “Gather ‘round!”

Peter suddenly felt his legs lurch forward, his arm able to drop. The release of his tense muscles was relieving, but immediately he was horrified at being unable to control himself. He approached the bed slowly, sitting next to Kilgrave on the right. Kilgrave looked up to see his wife falter as she attempted to move off her knees. With a yelp, she toppled forward on her face.

Kilgrave snorted, shoulders shaking with humor. “What a klutz.” She half-crawled on wobbly legs, only sparking more laughter.

“Oh my god,” the weasel-like man howled. “She looks like a baby cow!” Peter’s eyes ran over her figure, taking inventory of as many injuries as he could see. One of the halter straps of her dress was askew off her shoulder. Finger shaped bruises peppered her jaw. Her knees were scraped and bloody. There were obviously injuries he could not see. Picturing them was like dunking his brain in acid.

“C’mon, I don’t have all day,” Kilgrave mocked her. He beat on the bedspread emphatically, like summoning a dog. Peter seethed in silence. “C’mon. Atta girl.”

Wincing in pain, she approached the edge of the bed, using her fingers to claw up the duvet. She thrust herself up next to Kilgrave on his opposite side, her legs dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

“There she is,” he sang fondly, before lifting his gangly fingers and slapping them down on her thigh. She gasped at the pain, her legs still prickling as the flow of blood returned to her feet. His hand clamped above her knee, fingers digging into her flesh. “Such a pretty little cow.”

A soft whimper escaped her lips. Peter shut his eyes at the noise, squeezing them tight enough to trigger a migraine. He recognized that she was hanging on to what little power she had, trying to withhold her pain in front of her tormentor. If she could keep it together, then he’d better do the same.

Peter opened his eyes, glaring sideways at him. “You said you were here on business?”

“Easy, easy,” Kilgrave turned to him. “I’m asking the questions here.” He lifted his other hand and settled it on Peter’s thigh. “No need to get all worked up,” he slithered, ice in his eyes. Peter glanced down at the intruder’s hand touching his pant leg. It was a possessive hold, as if he owned Peter like the stolen clothes he was wearing. Like he owned the bed they were sitting on, the house he’d invaded, or the woman he’d assaulted. 

Peter met his gaze, stone-faced. But he had the overwhelming urge to cry. From rage or fear or heartbreak, he didn’t know.

“You’ll need to wait your turn,” Kilgrave cooed, like admonishing a child. The most feared mobster in New York, the Unlikely King from Queens—reduced to a child. 

“I’m supposed to say something clever, like ‘Mr. Fisk sends his regards,’ or some passive-aggressive bullshit like that. But all that seems so cliche. Dull.” He shot a quick glance, left and right, snuggling into his space between the couple. He knocked his knee into Peter’s playfully. “So. Tell me about you two. How did you meet?”

Peter’s jaw shook like an earthquake, fighting the command. The fight was getting exhausting. 

“The day before our wedding,” his wife squeaked out. Her throat sounded raw. “At our house. Or... it used to be my house.” As she spoke, she gazed achingly at the open doorway. She reminisced with a bitter tone. “He brought daisies. Couldn’t hand them to me. Left ‘em on the table. Wouldn’t even look at me.” 

Peter’s eyes rested heavily on the floor, brow furrowed. 

“He spoke with my father for a half-hour while I waited upstairs,” she recounted, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “Thirty minutes, to decide the rest of my life. Mama locked me in my room. They took away anything sharp. In case I tried to back out.” 

Peter looked up and over at her, beyond their tormentor, and watched the way her lip trembled at the admission. He followed the length of her arm down to her idle fingertips. The chiffon dress bunched up around her thighs, revealing her secrets. Etched scars lined her thighs and told a story of a lifetime of suffering. Eyes full of sorrow, Peter looked back up at her face. His heart broke to see that familiar faraway gaze.

“You’d rather kill yourself than marry him?” Kilgrave blurted, snorting repugnantly. “Wow. That’s a ‘swipe-left’ if I’ve ever heard one.”

Peter avoided the urge to comment, holding himself back from shooting a dirty look. He ignored him, keeping his wife in his sight. He hoped that somehow she could feel his gaze. He wanted it to feel like a kind gesture. A warm, friendly ray of light. A compassionate embrace. 

She swallowed hard, and for a moment Peter wondered if she could feel him. “I’ve spent my whole life in a cage,” she explained numbly. “Like a pet in a shop waiting to be sold. Waiting for Papa to put me to good use. Or get rid of me somehow.” She whispered sorrowfully, “A coffin’s not so different. At least it’s quiet.”

Peter’s jaw clenched as he felt his eyes sting. It was the hopelessness in her voice. The familiarity of it. He had no idea of the suffering that she endured. He hadn’t fully considered getting to know her. He didn’t truly plan on being alive much longer.

“Hmm,” Kilgrave hummed, considering the weight of her words. “I bet you’re a delight at parties. What did you think of him when you saw him?”

Her husband thought he could see the faintest ghost of a smile flit across her face. She pulled her gaze away from the doorway, and looked at Peter. He nearly flinched at the action. He was too ashamed to look at her.

“Pretty eyes,” she stated, a breath of fondness in her voice. It made his cheeks turn red. “He was prettier than I thought he’d be.” She stared at him. Through him. Like she could see his soul. “My sister told me once that the pretty ones are the meanest.”

He dropped his eyes to the floor.

Kilgrave turned to Peter. “What about you, Prince Charming? What went through your head that night?”

This time, he didn’t fight.

 “I just wanted it to be over,” Peter replied, flatly. 

Despite herself, she winced. The sting of his words was apparent.

“Oof,” Kilgrave commented. “Bad first impression?”

“That wasn’t the first time I met her,” Peter explained, betrayed by his own tongue. His eyes closed in defeat. 

Kilgrave nodded. “Tell me about that.”

He paused, but not for long. “It was at a wedding,” Peter explained. “She was twelve. I was fifteen.” Her eyes shot over to Peter, surprised by the revelation. “She wore a yellow dress with daisies on it. These kids... um. They were pickin’ on her. Callin’ her names.” 

His lips turned downwards at the memory, heart aching. “I felt sorry for her. She spent the whole reception cryin’ in the bathroom. We could all hear it.” She looked away, the memory returning to her. “I told those kids to lay off, but... only after...” He let the words fall away. Kilgrave didn’t ask for more this time. It was a meaningless excuse anyway. “She doesn’t remember me,” he affirmed, “but I was there.” 

The couple met each other’s eyes briefly, and for a moment they were alone with one another in their thoughts.

“Aww,” the wicked man blushed, his tone thick with saccharine. “That’s sweet. So you knew from the moment you saw her you were gonna marry her?”

“No,” he replied. “She’s not—” He choked on the words. His vocal cords constricting. Swallowed hard. He looked up at her helplessly, seeing the wounded look on her face. It was as if all he could do was hurt her.

“Finish that sentence,” Kilgrave callously commanded. 

He begged his mouth to stay closed, but it creaked open. “She’s not Gwen.” 

The sound of the name rang out. Tolling like a distant bell harkening some terrible fate. “Oh. Wait.” Kilgrave snapped his fingers near his head, as if he was struggling to fit the pieces of the story together. “Hang on. I’m remembering this.” He made some odd noise, a humming screech that sounded like a computer crashing. “Nope. Sorry. Nothing. Who’s Gwen?”

“She was the woman I loved,” Peter shuddered as he spoke. “We met in high school. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Okay...?”

“She died,” Peter swallowed dryly. Now they were both staring at him expectantly. It was obvious from his wife’s expression that she didn’t know about Gwen. That was Peter’s design. The seconds ticked by, his wife staring at him with something between curiosity and horror. “It was an accident,” Peter said, suddenly feeling like he needed to.

Kilgrave leveled his gaze at him, studying Peter intently. “Was it really?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. The glass had spread to his veins. “No.”

Her eyes widened at his response. Peter stared at her, his gaze heavy with guilt. Kilgrave made a pleased sound, like taking a bite out of a delicious cake. “Did you kill her?” he smirked ravenously.

“No,” Peter responded quickly. His eyes told a different story.

“Tell me the truth.” Kilgrave’s mouth was watering.

“I didn’t push her,” Peter elaborated grimly. “But I put her in harm's way.” His lip trembled, face crumpling. “She was killed because of me.”

“Siiick,” said Kilgrave, not truly impressed. Peter’s attention wasn’t on him.

Whatever expression he expected from his wife, he got the opposite. She stared at him with pity.

“Well,” Kilgrave sighed, “that was even more of a downer than I anticipated.” He rolled his eyes, kicking his legs idly in frustration. “Fine, sure. You lost one girl. You got another. This one’s still young, and... alive? She seems alright. I mean, I’m sure Gwynn was great, but... are you really gonna spend the rest of your life moping over some dead pussy? 

His eyes flashed with rage, “Don’t fucking talk like that about her—”

Kilgrave leaped to his feet, outmatching Peter’s fury, exploding like a bullet out of a gun. Suddenly, he was giant and imposing. A mushroom cloud leering over Peter’s face with fiery eyes and flaming breath. 

“YOU don’t get to tell ME what to do!” his voice bellowed, like a crash of thunder. His booming voice was enough to make both of his captives flinch. “Ever! UNDERSTAND?”

Peter looked up at his tormentor and tried to hold back a shudder. The monster’s eyes had gone black and soulless, filled with rage. Any good humor in his nature evaporated instantly, lips pulled tight. His curls vibrated with anger. 

As he stared up at him bitterly, Peter heard the sound of his wife’s heart thumping wildly. She kept her head forward and sniffled gently, trying to tighten her trembling jaw. It was as if she was pleading with Peter through her heartbeat. Begging him not to do anything stupid and get himself killed. Because then, she’d be left alone. With him. Again. 

A caged animal, indeed.

Several long moments passed before Kilgrave’s shoulders eased up. His features softened, his expression shifting to apathy. He shook the hair out of his face like a dog, exhaled slowly, and sat back down between the couple. 

“So,” The Purple Man continued, biting back indignation at being interrupted. “You didn’t want anything to do with the girl. She’s a means to an end. You could care less about her.”

Peter flinched, struggling. He subtly wished he could bite off his tongue to keep it from moving. Kilgrave noticed it immediately. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he commanded. 

Peter exhaled, feeling his heart sink in his chest. “That’s not true,” he muttered quietly, staring apologetically at his wife.

She batted her eyes at Peter, before breaking eye contact and staring ahead before Kilgrave could notice. 

“Elaborate,” he replied coldly.

Peter swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to hurt her,” he admitted with a huff. “I wasn’t trying... It wasn’t right, what her father did to her. None of it. He was planning on making a deal with Martello. The Hammerhead. Trading her for protection. I thought—I thought I could help her. Take Hammerhead off the board. Get her father’s loyalty. Help her, like I shoulda helped her when we were kids.” Peter glanced down at the floor, his forehead creased. “I shoulda stayed out of it.”

Kilgrave hummed, nodding as if he was filled with wisdom, “Tale as old as time. Women are our inevitable downfall.” 

Peter bit his tongue, closing his eyes to keep them from rolling, holding back an offending remark. 

Kilgrave moved on, looking over at the woman in question. “What about you, cowgirl?” he questioned, with a slight smirk. “Your daddy sent you off like a dowry. A sheep for the slaughter.” 

Her darkened eyes remained fixed on the floor. Peter admired her strength. 

“You didn’t wanna play house with the rich man with nice eyebrows?”

“How should I know,” she bit like a whipcrack, her words laced with venom. “He hasn’t spent more than five minutes with me since I got here.” 

It was a stunning display of boldness from her, surprising both men. Kilgrave pulled back his gaze, eyeing her with intrigue.

“There we go,” Kilgrave simpered. “Now we’re getting to the good stuff.” He turned to Peter who was trying to focus on remaining silent. His efforts were dashed the moment Kilgrave spoke. “Respond.”

“She hates me,” Peter immediately murmured, then bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “She hasn’t said it. But I know. She... she can’t stand to be in the same room as me. I hate the way she makes me feel.” 

He would’ve willed himself to stop breathing if it meant no more words would spill out. But Kilgrave was hooked, engaged in his favorite television drama.

“How does she make you feel?” Kilgrave beckoned, hungry for more.

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Like a monster.”

She let out a slow exhale, her resolve crumbling as tears dripped down her face. 

Peter barely recognized his own voice, sounding as weak and broken as he felt. “She’s terrified of me. Cries in the room all the time. Won’t even look me in the eye. Like I’m... like I’m gonna hurt her or—” He swallowed hard, “I-I wouldn’t do that.”

“Or what? Finish what you were going to say,” he ordered coldly.

Peter squeezed his eyes tight, exhaling slowly. “Like I’m going to beat on her. Rape her.”

She went rigid; ice in her veins. Kilgrave shifted in his seat, adjusting his lap ever so slightly. “Is that what you like doing, Peter?”

“No,” Peter responded without hesitation, eyes defensive. “Never. I don’t...” He glowered at Kilgrave. “I’m not sick like that.”

If he could tell that it was a subtle insult, Kilgrave didn’t let on. “What are you like, Peter?” he grinned wickedly. “Be truthful. When was the last time you hurt someone?”

He stared. Mouth closed. Helpless. “This morning.”

Kilgrave smiled, holding his gaze. “Did you kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Did they suffer?”

Peter blinked at him, fighting a sting in his eyes. He spotted the way his wife shivered in his periphery. “Yes.”

“And did you like it?” he asked, like the cat that ate the cream. “How did it make you feel?”

Peter wished he could vanish into thin air. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes brimming with tears. “I felt powerful,” he admitted, shame and self-hatred evident in his tone. “It made me feel strong. Felt like justice. For Gwen. I liked it.”

The long-haired man chuckled darkly, “You really think it has anything to do with justice?”

A tear escaped his eye. Peter thought of the final expression on Gwen’s face, blood dripping from her mouth and nose. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth.

Kilgrave’s expression shifted, unhappy with the answer. “Okay, Peter Parker. Pillar of pious penitence.” He spat each word mockingly, leaning closer to the taller man, invading his space menacingly. Peter knew he couldn’t stand anyone having the moral advantage over him. Or any advantage.

“Tell me this then,” Kilgrave glowered, hissing through gritted teeth. “Maybe you’re not a rapist, but you’re not a eunuch.” His piercing blue eyes dropped downwards. “At least that I can tell. You sleep under the same roof as this...” Kilgrave glanced over at his wife, his eyes roving down her chest and legs. “...Sacrificial calf, tell me—Have you ever thought of just fucking her and getting it over with?”

Peter felt his heart seize in his chest. The air caught in his throat.

“Answer the question!” Kilgrave barked.

His jaw clenched. “Yes,” he irked out, shamefully. “I have.”

“Ah ha!” Kilgrave rejoiced, clapping his hands together. “So the boy’s cock does work. Let’s hear about it.”

“I don’t...” Peter stuttered, his skin beginning to crawl. “I-I don’t wa—”

Kilgrave gripped Peter’s shoulder tight. It was like clutching a stone in his fist. He leered over him regardless, pouring poison into his ear. “Details, Peter. Details. You want to fuck her, right? How bad? You ever jerk off thinkin’ about itr?”

“Yes,” he choked out. He let his eyes fall closed, ashamed and unable to look at the woman whose life he had destroyed. 

“You watch her when you do it?” 

“N-no,” he stuttered. “Sh-shower.”

“What do you like about her? What’s your favorite part? Her ass, right? You strike me as an ass man.”

Peter hoped that soon Kilgrave would tell him to throw himself off of a building. “Her eyes.” 

Kilgrave groaned, deflating at the answer. 

“She’s innocent,” Peter added truthfully, with bleary eyes. “Not like—” He clipped the words, but one look from his tormentor reminded him of the futility of his resistance. “Not like me,” he whispered, heartbroken.

The Purple Man glared at him, stewing with disdain. 

“Poor Peter Parker,” he mocked with a singsong tone. He gazed down at him through narrow slits, regarding him as ant under a bright magnifying glass. “Pitiful, pathetic prince of pathos. Pauper of power.”

Disgraced, he stared back, hollow and exposed. The sensation of a tear rolling down his cheek stirred him.

“Do you want to know why I like to play video games?” Kilgrave stated coolly. 

He could think of a hundred vicious replies. A hundred ways to hurt, maim, and kill. But none of them were real options. He looked at him apathetically. Hopelessly. It didn’t matter how he responded.

“It’s an even balance of power,” Kilgrave elaborated. “A fair fight.” His eyes roved over Peter’s figure, sizing him up from head to toe. “All I need is two thumbs and I can win fair and square. Keeps things challenging.” 

The maniac fell silent, staring at Peter in a way that made his skin crawl. His smile faded. Again, the friendly persona evaporated. He spoke again with a voice weighed down with malice. 

“You have all this money,” he stated. “All these... pawns, like the dead ones downstairs.” He reached over, squeezing Peter’s bicep gently. “You work out.” He gently patted Peter’s cheek. “You’ve got a pretty face. All this... ‘power.’” His azure eyes leveled, and the look sent a chill down Peter’s spine. “And yet all I hear about is how sad your little lonely life is. Your shitty bad luck. Your dead parents and your dead blonde whore.” 

Peter’s chest heaved, filled with fear or fury. He bit the inside of his lip, watching the vitriol rising in the man. 

Cruel jealousy filled his words. “You got it so easy, you don’t even know it,” Kilgrave hissed. “Silver spoon up your ass. Guys like you, you think you can just buy everything you want? You think you can just bully everyone? Beat them into submission?”

The intruder’s heart beat even faster with self-righteous fervor. He was insane, Peter concluded, unhinged and oblivious to the hypocrisy of his words. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not scared of me,” Kilgrave sneered. “Doesn’t matter if you couldn’t give two shits. Doesn’t matter if you own the whole world. I control you. All I have to do is say the words. That is real power, my friend.”

Kilgrave jumped to his feet, standing tall in front of the couple. He puffed up like a god casting down judgment. He was drunk on his version of power. Basking in the glow of their helpless misery.

“And sure,” he added, his smile growing larger, his voice getting louder. “When I’m done here, there’ll be a limo waiting for me. And I’m gonna go to the nicest hotel in the city. I’m gonna order room service, and I’m going to eat it off the girl at the front desk’s naked body.” 

He proclaimed this triumphantly. Like he was standing in a pulpit. Like he could hear thunderous applause. He probably could. 

“And then I’m gonna play a few hours of Call of Duty,” he continued. “I’m gonna kill a few spoiled little shitheads like you online, and even if I lose the game...” He laughed with a careless shrug, “I’ll just tell them to go fuck their mothers and swallow bleach.” 

“Then I’m gonna leave with my giant suitcase full of Wilson Fisk’s money,” he spat each word at the couple, matching their disgusted horror with his own outrage. “But before you judge me, let me tell you that I don’t do it for the money, Mister and Missus Parker.” 

He popped the ‘P,’ like a bloody dot on the end of a sentence. 

“I do it because I like it,” he declared. “I like to help people. And when you help people, good things happen to you!”

Kilgrave took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. He was regaining his composure, albeit for dramatic effect. “So, now for my next question, Peter, I ask you this:” he leaned forward, placing both hands on the bed as he glanced back and forth between the horrified duo. “Trick or Treat?”

Peter blinked silently, terrified to respond. 

“Choose!” Kilgrave roared.

“Treat!” Peter yelped, tears running down his face.

“Good choice,” Kilgrave declared. “Now. Are you finally ready to fuck your wife, or should I do it for you?”

Peter’s eyes were black as coal, overcome with rage. He whispered, agonized, “Touch her and I’ll rip your fucking throat out—”

From the tuxedo jacket pocket, Kilgrave suddenly brandished a straight-edge razor. It flashed in the low-light of the bedroom. He handed it to the woman he only regarded as ‘Missus’ Parker. 

“Use this to cut your own face off,” he commanded. The moment the razor went into her hand, she closed her fist on the blade. Her eyes were wide with fright, her arm trembling. 

“No! Stop!” Peter bellowed, voice shattering weakly, as he reached out and grabbed the end of the razor. He clutched the blade, feeling the sting of it in his palm.

Kilgrave leapt backward with alarm. “Nobody move!”

The couple didn’t move. Both hands on the blade of the razor. Blood spilling into blood. Kilgrave’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them, before settling on Peter suspiciously.

“You really do care about her,” Kilgrave stated, intrigued. His voice was thoughtful and unsure, as if he was observing the results of an experiment. He watched Peter’s tortured expression carefully. His lip trembled, his eyes wet.

“Please,” Peter begged him, shaking uncontrollably. Swallowing every ounce of pride, he pleaded for mercy. “Please. It’s me that Fisk wants. She’s got no part in this.”

Kilgrave stared quietly, as if he was considering it seriously. It was enough to give Peter hope. 

“Drop the razor,” he ordered. 

The weapon clanged as it hit the floor, narrowly missing their limbs. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought of another question,” Kilgrave declared, leaving Peter’s plea unanswered. He leaned in close between them, his thin lips positioned between both sets of ears. “Cards on the table. If you had to choose, right now,” he asked devilishly. “Who would you rather have rape your wife?” He locked eyes with Peter, smirking sadistically. “Me? Or you?”

Peter’s heart sank as it threatened to burst from his chest. He held Kilgrave’s stare, peering up powerlessly. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat. 

This was a message, he thought. A warning to all who dared to stand up to powerful men like Wilson Fisk. Those who were arrogant enough to try to beat the devil at his own game. 

It didn’t matter that Peter may have been the lesser of two evils. They were all evil. The city was overflowing with evil deeds and evil men. Like his father-in-law. Like Fisk. Like Kilgrave.

Like Peter.

Kilgrave simply smiled. Because he knew what Peter really was. 

He knew what his answer would be. 

And how poetically unjust was it—in his flimsy attempt at protecting this poor girl he pitied, the woman he wondered if he could one day love—that he would be the one to hurt her. He had imprisoned her to protect her. And he was going to cause her suffering. 

He really was a monster. 

But Kilgrave just wanted him to say it out loud.

Peter’s lip wobbled as he watched the intruder raise an eyebrow. He was waiting. 

“Answer the question,” Kilgrave grinned wickedly. “Who would you rather it be?”

He tried to keep his mouth closed, but it felt like trying to hold back an avalanche. He knew exactly what word was going to come out, and with it, the contents of his stomach would follow. The remnants of his broken soul soon after.

“Peter.”

Kilgrave blinked, turning towards ‘Missus’ Parker. He’d forgotten she was there. 

The woman sat calmly on the foot of the bed, her bloody hands placed in her lap. Blood droplets staining her scars. Her body was a mountain. Steady. Unfazed.

She locked eyes with Kilgrave. There was an audacious half-smirk on her face. 

“I would rather it be Peter,” she answered, knowing well-enough that the question wasn’t directed at her to begin with. She didn’t care. She was making her thoughts known.

“I would rather be probed by aliens,” she stated confidently, hatred woven into each word. “I would rather be railed by every dick in a leper colony. I’d rather be inbred by a family of cannibal hillbillies. I’d rather be fucked by a grizzly bear.”

Her voice taunted him, seething through gritted teeth, “Literally. Anyone. Else.” She glared at him viciously. “Anyone but you.” 

Kilgrave’s face fell slowly, his eyes growing cold at her harsh rejection.

She smiled, victorious, if only in this one fight. “And no matter what you say, that’ll never change.”

His eye twitched as he glared at her. She relished in the way his nostrils flared, basking in the glow of his rage. Savored the way a vein bulged from his forehead. 

Kilgrave studied her lividly, crossing his arms. “You heard the lady,” he replied. He commanded, “Pin her down.” 

Peter’s hands shot forward of their own accord, grabbing his wife’s wrists and throwing her back across a bed they had never shared until this moment. Despite her resolve, she shrieked as she attempted to push him off. She twisted like a snake beneath him. 

Tears sprang from his eyes and hers. He could hear his own disembodied voice, mumbling incoherently, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry so sorry...” 

In seconds she was subdued under him, his hips pinning hers down.

Peter watched her fall silent and still, tears rolling down the sides of her face. He squeezed his eyes closed, focusing his energy on releasing her wrists to no avail. Hot droplets from his eyes splattered as they fell on the skin of her heaving chest.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, to anyone who would listen. “I don’t... don’t wanna do this...” He squeezed his eyes tighter.

“Look at me,” he heard her whisper. He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. 

She gazed up at him, her eyes gentle. Sympathetic. He wanted to drown himself in them. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she timidly whispered. “We’re gonna be okay.” He wanted to collapse under the weight of his guilt. 

He trembled, “Please don’t hate me. Please, I’m... I can’t...”

“I know,” she nodded softly, barely above the sound of her heart. “I know. You’re nothing like him.”

Peter gritted his teeth, sobbing, growling as he tried to move his hands, only peeling one finger away from her wrist. 

“Give me her panties,” Kilgrave coldly ordered.

Peter’s hand reached under the skirt of the dress, gripping onto stretchy lace. With a snap, he tore the fabric from her waist. She yelped at the burn. He held his trembling hand outstretched, presenting Kilgrave with his trophy. 

He snatched the underwear, examining it in his hand. “Well, whaddya know,” he sneered. “Looks like she’s not that broken up about this after all. She’s dripping wet. Just like a whore.” 

Kilgrave tucked the underwear back in his jacket, turning listlessly toward the brutal scene. “Put your hand on her throat.”

She flinched as Peter followed the order. His large palm settled heavily the base of her throat. 

Kilgrave peered over at them, intently watching the way his hand circled her neck. Blood from the razor cut on his palm coated her throat, making a sticky red mess. Kilgrave licked his lips at the sight. 

“Such large hands,” his tormenter observed. “Bet you’re strong. Bet you could just... crush her throat with just your thumb and forefinger. Like snapping a toothpick” Peter’s bloody hand trembled, his whole body quaking with terror. “I wonder what that would sound like.” 

Peter shook his head, spiraling into panic, “P-Please don’t—”

“Relax,” Kilgrave admonished him, as if scolding a frightened child. Sickeningly, Peter felt his pulse slow down. His next breaths were even and steady. Kilgrave grinned, “I told you that you were gonna get a chance to fuck your wife, did I not?” 

She bit her trembling lip, glaring over at Kilgrave from the side of her vision. He stared back at her, skewering her with his look. “I never said she would be alive when you did it.” 

Peter felt like he was going to be sick. His skin went cold and clammy. Kilgrave broke into a fit of giggles.

“Fucking coward,” Peter ground out, shooting a glare at The Purple Man. “You wanna beat somebody? You wanna kill me? Just fucking do it. C’mon, just be a man and let’s do this—”

Kilgrave yawned, rolling his eyes. “Dirty talk, hmm,” he glowered mockingly. “Careful with that mouth. Unless you want my cock in there too.”

The muscles in Peter’s shoulders went rigid as he stared at him. His throat bobbing. His voice squeaked, “Is-Is that w-what you want?” 

Kilgrave tilted his head, curiously. Peter sounded... hopeful, almost. He gazed at him, feeling like prey begging a predator not to eat him. 

Peter blinked away tears, sensing a tug on the lure. He cleared his throat, softening his gaze. “C’mon,” Peter reaffirmed, steadying his voice placatingly. “Let’s go then. Just you and me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

It was a bold offer. Not surprising, but bold. Kilgrave studied him closely, the gears turning in his mind. He finally snickered, amused. 

“You will,” he sneered with a twisted grin. “I have no doubt about it.” 

Peter’s eyes followed him, unsure of his meaning. Kilgrave stalked up to the end of the bed, reaching forward and wrenching Peter’s hair back. He gasped at the sharp pain, his neck vulnerably exposed. 

“Tell you what,” The Purple Man replied, tauntingly. Kilgrave reached down for the hand resting on his wife’s throat. Slowly, he pulled it up to his mouth. 

Peter let it happen. He didn’t have to be told. 

“You be a good boy,” he said, turning his hand over. Kilgrave stuck out his tongue and ran it over Peter’s palm, licking the wound. He bit back bile as he watched Kilgrave lick his blood from his lips. “And maybe, I’ll let you share.” His blue eyes travelled over to his wife’s, shooting her a threatening glance.

She lifted up off of the comforter, wrists still firmly in place with Peter’s other hand. It didn’t matter. Kilgrave was close enough that she hit her target. He screeched and hissed as she shot a wad of spit in his eyes. 

“Ow, ow, gross!” he roared as if he’d suffered the most egregious of indignities. He rid himself of the velvet jacket, using it to wipe at his face furiously. When he turned back to her, he was livid.

“That’s it!” he screamed. Kilgrave stalked towards the bed, tossing the jacket aside. “Fucking whore!” he hissed. He reached down, snatching the razor off the floor. “Sorry, Pete. I’m tagging you out.” 

He gripped Peter’s hair once again, pulling his neck back. She shrieked as she saw the razor come up to her husband’s throat. The blade sliced into his flesh, leaving a red-hot mark.

In an instant, Peter’s hand moved to stop the blade.

Kilgrave was stunned. 

So was Peter, with his hand gripping the monster’s wrist. 

It was as if his Spider-sense reacted before his consciousness. A reflex of self-preservation. 

Kilgrave’s eyes widened with horror, his lips beginning to move. Seizing the opportunity, Peter flexed his hand, triggering his web-shooter. The intruder was thrust backward, a sticky mass pummeling his face and covering his mouth. 

He stumbled backwards, collapsing on his knees, pulling wildly at his gag. The web wouldn’t move. He was silenced.

Chest heaving, Peter turned over his palm, observing the wound already starting to heal. He looked over at Kilgrave, understanding the biology of how his powers worked.

Kilgrave was a disease. His existence was a plague. His words were a virus. 

One that Peter’s body could fight, given the right antibodies. From the moment Peter’s blood came in contact with Kilgrave’s saliva, his body did the rest.

He released the arms of the woman beside him, pulling his other hand back as if he touched fire.

Kilgrave scrambled like a cockroach in the light. Peter watched him attempt to scurry away. He released another web, yanking the man’s legs out from under him. Tangled and bucking frantically, Kilgrave rolled over on the floor. 

He met Peter’s gaze, his expression dark. Monstrous. And immune.

Fear turned the blue in his eyes to ice. In the blink of an eye, Peter reached down and snatched Kilgrave up by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The shorter man kicked wildly. Peter sucked in labored breaths, imagining the sound of a toothpick snapping. Tears continued to run down his cheeks, a storm of grief and hatred fueling the crackling lightning of his eyes.

He reached forward, grabbing Kilgrave by the chin. His fingers reached over the web and expanded across the man’s jaw. The part of Kilgrave that he used to hurt his wife. To torture his family.

Peter's mind was blitzed. Body on autopilot. Defaulting to factory settings. Returning to his innate nature. 

With a tear-soaked growl that turned into an agonized scream, Peter gripped Kilgrave’s jaw with enough pressure to crack the bone. The ridges of his fingertips buried themselves into his flesh. With a final howl, Peter snatched his hand back. And with it, he ripped the jawbone from Kilgrave’s skull.

The sound of the crack was grotesque. The spray of blood was everywhere. Stickying his skin. Filled their nostrils with the scent of copper. 

Peter blinked several times. So did Kilgrave. Both men stared in awe of the horrific act of violence. 

The only difference was that one of them was now missing half a face. His tongue dangled limply from his throat, and he became the walking dead. 

Kilgrave’s legs buckled beneath him as he dropped down to his knees. Peter’s arms twitched, his body trembling from adrenaline, terror, and rage. He stared down into the piercing blue eyes of the intruder who was currently grappling with the horror of having his power taken away. 

Peter watched the blood pour from The Purple Man’s mouth, his stomach twisting. Not at the gore, but at the feeling of relief. He stepped back, relishing in the savage violence as much as he feared it. 

He jolted at the rustling sound beside him. The weary woman approached him from the side, arms wrapped protectively across her chest. She stared at Peter’s deed with a wary expression. He shrunk back away from his wife, avoiding her eyes. Afraid of what she’d see.

A gargling noise spewed out as the blood began to fill Kilgrave’s exposed throat. He was fighting for consciousness. Fighting to survive. 

Peter glanced at the frightened woman beside him. He should turn her away. He should shield her eyes—

She stepped forward with the straight razor in her hand. He watched her reach down, methodically wrapping her fingers around Kilgrave’s tongue. With a swipe of the razor, she sliced it off. He grunted in pain, the action rolling his eyes up. He finally keeled over. 

Peter watched her in stunned silence, listening as Kilgrave’s pulse went quiet. She glowered down at her tormentor’s body, her chest and arms covered his blood. Her hands gripping the razor and the man’s tongue. Both of them hard-earned trophies. 

She turned around and looked up at Peter. They locked eyes, standing in the dim light of their bedroom. 

For the first time, they saw each other clearly. 

She wasn’t a lamb, or a pet. She wasn’t an animal. 

Neither was he. 

He regarded her with admiration. She regarded him with forgiveness. Compassion softened their eyes as they observed each other. And by rendering compassion towards one another, they showed mercy toward the reflection of themselves.

Exposed, for what each of them really was. 

Whatever they had to be, to survive.

Did you enjoy this story? If you did, please REBLOG, COMMENT, or leave an anonymous ask and let me know how you thought I did. Thank you for supporting fandom, and supporting me!

A/N

in case there is any confusion, I am fully aware that my version of kilgrave is an unrepentant, evil sack of shit. he says and holds beliefs that are outrageously offensive, inappropriate, and ignorant. I do not vibe with anything this character says or does. It’s fiction ;-)

#Lizzy writes! these violet delights #tw sh implied #cw: gore #dark fic #protective peter parker #tw sa #peter parker whump #wicked's kink or treat #Lizzy writes. #peter parker imagines #mob peter parker #dark peter parker #dark peter x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman smut #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm fanfiction #peter parker au #tasm smut #peter parker x oc #tasm peter parker #andrew garfield au #andrew garfield #peter parker imagine #peter parker #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield smut #spider man reader insert

[skenisasleb]

Heya Tumblr doomscrollers!!

Here’s some stuff about me you should know. :>

South Park Multishipper Alert 😇

Socials:

Second Tumblr account for my OCs: @southparkthenewkids

YouTube: lilypad

Identification:

Gender: Agender!

I can be called whatever you prefer me to be. You can use any pronouns for me. Including Bingus. Especially Bingus./j

Sexuality: Bisexual and Asexual!

I lean more towards feminine traits or women. :)

Age: 16; which means I am a MINOR. DNI pedos.

Mental ailments (😔): Neurodivergent; ADHD and autism

Though my ADHD is much more apparent, so sorry if I make no sense sometimes LMAO

Interests:

My interests change way too fast. Sorry if anyone follows me for a specific thing; I will most likely bail on that thing eventually 😭😭 (hyperfixations go brr)

Toilet Bound Hanako-kun

South Park

Raggedy Ann & Andy

FNAF

Evil Dead

Camp Camp

Invader Zim

Bravest Warriors

Rick and Morty

Moral Orel

Adventure Time

Over the Garden Wall

Smiling Friends

Ok Ko

Scott Pilgrim

Steven Universe

Good Omens

Popee the Performer

The Fifth Element

Craig of the Creek

Bluey

Kick Buttowski (guilty pleasure show fr LMFAO)

The Amazing Digital Circus

Haminations

Lackadaisy

Ranboo Generation Loss

Cuptoast

Music:

Green Day

LINKIN PARK

Lovejoy (Not a DSMP fan; just like the sound nor do I condone Wilbur’s actions in any sort of way)

Kings of Leon

TV Girl

The Killers

Arctic Monkeys

Paramore

The Proles

Vacations

The Strokes

Fwango

See my profile description for current hyperfixations and current status on art requests!!

Also, you can ship my OCs, canon or not, as long as its not sexual since most of them are 9-10 year olds 💀

I ALSO HAVE THE RIGHT TO DECLINE CERTAIN ART REQUESTS, WHETHER BECAUSE IT’S INAPPROPRIATE OR SIMPLY BECAUSE I AM NOT INTERESTED. These are art requests, not commissions.

(I will add anything new to this if I feel the need to add more!)

#intro #intro post #pin #pinned

[foxytoxx]

The Night Before (Astarion x fem!durge fanfic)

The Night Before

Words: 2.5k

Read on AO3

Summary: Morella has been gone for a while and it unnerves Astarion when he suddenly finds her in a compromising situation.

TW: Bad coping mechanism, Drug Use, Angst, Anxiety, Naked Body (no smut tho), Protective Astarion,

A/N: Heya! Been a lurker for a few months now and had an idea for my newly finished Durge Resist play. If this goes ok, I might write up some other ideas I have. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

He looked up from his book. It had been there again, that sound. He stole a quick glance around the other companions socialising lazily in the shared sitting area of their room at the Elfsong. By the looks of it none of the others had heard the sound.

His ears perked up behind the book, trying not to alarm the others unnecessarily.

The last few days had been spent destroying the Steel Watch Foundry, freeing the Gondians who had been forced into the cruel machinery’s creation and today Lord Gortash had finally met his end. The whole group had been exhausted at the end of it.

Astarion lifted his crimson gaze once more to the tall, red tiefling. Karlach had been the one to land the final blow on the man who had stolen her life from her, but she hadn’t seemed happy about Gortash’s death. Only sad and distant. 

His trail of thought was quickly dissipated suddenly to… was that laughter? 

“I believe that would be our dear fearless leader.” Gale said, hovering his eyes to the elf’s direction.

Astarion closed his book and rose to his feet. How long had it been since Morella went to the washroom to clean herself up? 30 minutes? An hour? She was entitled to privacy as much as any of them, and he wanted nothing more for her than to try to relax and take her mind off things every now and then. She had stolen away with a wine bottle to the washroom hadn’t she? But what could possibly have caused that near manic sound to come from her now?

Dagger at his hip he strode across the room and exited into the hallway. The washroom was just across from the rented room. He knocked softly at the door, there was some rustling inside. 

“Darling, I hope one of the Gondians haven’t persuaded you into a moment of passion as thanks for their freedom” a sly smirk toyed with his lips. “I’m not sharing my meals with… gnomes.”

A hushed voice answered, but the door distorted it into an incoherent muffle.

He slowly walked into the room. What met him caught him off guard. 

It was surprisingly dark. Only a few candles valiantly lit the room from complete darkness. The tub was filled, but seemed undisturbed.  She wasn’t there, or at least not currently visible. 

“Morella, darling?”

Then it hit him. A faint, but unmistakable scent. Her blood. His brows instinctively knitted together, hand hovering over the hilt of his dagger. His entire being felt tight like a coiled spring. 

He noticed the lack of alcohol in the air, but instead there was something he could not quite place. Something earthy, almost herbal.

“A-starion…” her voice was breathy, distant even, but it had a slight humorous undertone. 

He moved past the tub to find her curled up in the corner of the room. She was still in her camp clothes, but they were unnaturally dishevelled for her. 

He quickly stooped down to her and cradled her in his arms. His eyes didn’t have to look long til he found the source of the blood. Her lips had been tinted red from a light streak coming from her nose. 

She giggled softly as she looked up at him through glazed eyes. 

“Shit…” he quickly scanned the room. Eyes landed on a bottle laying off to her side. It had been the bottle she had brought, but it had not been wine. 

On their way back to camp from the burning ruins of the Foundry the other day they had run into some arms and drug smugglers down by the docks. Morella had used her silvery tongue to convince them to hand their ware over to the group without drama. Astarion had figured she would take the goods and sell it off for extra coin, but he thought he had seen a little glimpse of familiarity in her eyes. He had thought nothing of it at the time. 

Without letting go of his grip on her he reached out for the bottle. Without getting too close he tried to get a little sniff of its content to try identify it. Silkroot.

He put away the bottle and looked back down at her quivering body in his arms. 

“Darling, how much did you take?” His voice almost cold yet steady.

She shifted in his grip. 

“Enough- '' her voice barely above a whisper. “but she still won’t leave me alone… “ palm raised up to her temple. 

“Who, darling?” He had his suspicions, but didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

“Orin… ”

His grip on her tightened and he couldn’t help but quickly examine the dim room for any sign of the shapeshifter, but they were alone. Morella’s bloodkin Orin had been generous with her bloodstained letters as of recent. Which come to think of it had probably been what had sent his lover spiralling into the drug induced mania. 

There had been a fresh letter centred in a perfect pool of blood when they had returned from Gortash’s execution that day. But somehow this one had somehow made Morella seem… off? The others in the group wouldn’t have noticed the difference, but he did. He had asked her if she was alright, but she had just waved him off with a deceptive smile and laughed. The laugh had a nerve to it though.

“We need to get you an antidote.” He gently lifted her to her unsteady feet and guided her over to a chair, not letting go of her swaying body until he was certain she wouldn’t firmly plant her face onto the wooden floor. 

“I’ll be right back dear, don’t go anywhere.” He quickly exited the room, closed the door and hurried into the rented one. Making his way hurriedly over to his pack rummaging through it.

“Everything alright in there?” Shadowheart  asked with a smirk.

Astarion with only half a mind to pay them any attention finally grabbed the neck of the bottle and turned around.

“Hmm? Oh yes, yes. Everything is fine. Our dear leader only had a tad too much to drink is all.” 

“And for that you want her to drink more? Or is that an antidote bottle I see? Are you sure everything is alright?” There was an uncertainty in her voice.

Gods above, he couldn’t remember the cleric being this quizzitive. 

“I’m sure everything will be fine. I’ll let you know otherwise.” He wished he could ask Shadowheart for assistance, but he didn’t want to cause Morella any unnecessary embarrassment. Although this wasn’t his first run in with the substance, he hadn’t expected it from her. Hells he had used it himself once many many years ago while still under Cazador’s control. 

One of his attempted conquests had convinced him to partake in a dark corner of a tavern once. It hadn’t gone unnoticed or unpunished…

He quickly shook the memory from his head as he quickly made his way back to Morella. As he closed the door behind him he noted that she was still in the chair. She had probably been landing from the euphoria when he had found her. 

He scooted her up into his lap as he sat down. 

“Come here. Now you are going to drink this all up. And when you have come back to me fully, we will have a talk.” His tone was warm, but stern. Her back was very warm and clammy. Her shirt drenched in sweat. As she shakingly placed the bottle to her lips and drank it down he gingerly pulled some loose silvery white locks of hair behind her pointed ear.

Early on in their adventures the group had jested about how the two of them might be related simply because they were both silver haired high-elves. But the tone had quickly changed once they had become an established couple. 

With the antidote bottle empty in her hands he held her tightly to his chest while he listened to her heartbeat slowly picking up its pace.

Finally after what felt like forever there was a weak sob from her.

“I’m sorry, Astarion… I’m sorry.”

He hooked his index finger and lifted her chin so her golden blue eyes would meet his crimson. It struck him as uncanny how close the colouration of her prosthetic eye was to her original eye. He could almost not tell them apart if it wasn’t for the slight yellow tint to the prosthetic.

“It’s alright, darling. I just wished you would have talked to me about what was bothering you.” The corner of his lip lifted into a warm smirk. “I mean honestly you are setting a piss poor example for me now. Do as I say, not as I do isn’t really the greatest way of learning now is it? Or so I’m told at least.”

A small huff escaped her lips. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, and her eyes pooled over with tears. Her fingers fidgeted with the empty bottle, her breath became more laboured and her heartbeat quickened. He has seen it in her on a few sheltered occasions before, anxiety eating away at her.

He started tracing her black tendril-like neck tattoo with his cold fingers. This had become somewhat of a favoured way to keep her grounded while she worked through it. 

“Come on, dear. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

He helped her up. Her legs were more trustworthy now that she was back. He stood back a bit, giving her room to undress and get into the warm tub. As she sank down into the warm water he moved the chair over to sit behind her. Once she was comfortable seated, he continued the cooling tracing along her neck.

“So…” broke the silence tenderly.

Her body tensed up. Eyes flickered.

“We are going after her tomorrow aren’t we…” her voice was more hollow than he was used to. 

“That is the plan. Or so you said at least.”

She nodded slowly.

“I’m scared, Astarion…” her bluntness caught him slightly off guard.

“Our fearless leader, scared. Why, I would never have thought it possible?” he smiled light heartedly, and kissed her forehead again. 

“Darling, you’ve got nothing to fear about Orin. Or I doubt there is at least. Hells! With a tongue as sharp as yours you might cut her down with words alone.”

“It’s not just Orin thought, is it… It’s all of it… Bhaal, Orin, what if I can’t resist him down there? What of Lae’zel? Hells what about you, I could end up hurting you or try to, like the night outside Reithwin…” her voice caught as her memory fell on her attempt on his life.

He leaned forward, shirtsleeves be damned, and held her tightly.

“Shh, no need to dwell on that.” he hushed her. “I’m safe, you are safe. We are safe. And I am sure Lae’zel is relatively fine. Orin signed up for more than she was prepared for by abducting the gith and keeping her leverage.”

He moved out of his chair and crouched along the side of the tub to lock eyes with her. Astarion reached out and took hold of her hands.

“Remember what I said when you tried to break up with me because of your fear for my safety?”

She nodded.

“Well, my statement still stands. We will save you. And if I have to fight for your freedom like you fought for mine, then damn it I will fight for you. Until my last undead breath…” he paused for a quick moment. “Or something like that.”

Morella’s eyes teared up again, but a smile crossed her lips.

“Now with all the roundabout love declarations out of the way, I do believe you owe me an explanation.” His brow rose with a look over at the bottle of silkroot.

“It’s alright, darling. I’m not mad at you, but I do want the truth…” his voice had gone soft as he looked back into her eyes.

She didn’t have it in her to meet his gaze. Her eyes dropped down to her hands under the water. She started picking at her nails.

“I can’t quite explain it. But when we got all the stuff off of the smugglers I recognised the silkroot. Not from our travels, but from before. Almost like a memory of a memory.”

Astarion gently reached for a bar of soap and a sponge while he listened to her, and started sudding up the sponge.

“So when we came back here tonight, the letter was waiting for me… I guess realisation just hit a bit harder about our next steps. I had all these emotions and thoughts flood through me. And it all just became too much. I thought maybe a bath would help clear my mind, but on my way I passed the camp stash, and I just grabbed…”

Her voice broke off into a sob.

“I’m sorry…”

Suddenly she felt a cold hand at the nape of her neck.

“Do you have any idea of how much of that stuff you would consume previously?” she couldn’t detect any judgement in his tone. Only concern.

With a deep steadying breath she shook her head.

“Like I said; memory of a memory.”

He gave her an understanding nod.

“If you wouldn’t mind I would like Shadowheart or Halsin to look you over later. You can’t flip off daddy if you let drugs eat out your stomach lining, and honestly I should be the only thing that gets to eat you out.” 

He snickered as a deep blush and a smirk crossed her face, eyes lifting slowly from the water and she nods. 

He continued the wash in silence. Her heart had calmed down, and her breath was easy. Too soon for her liking he rose and grabbed a towel. She followed soon after. He couldn’t help but admire her body as she rose. Water droplets would dance downwards along her curves, it mesmerised him completely. He pulled the towel around her and held her tightly to him. She rested her head against his shoulder and let his scent consume her. 

He looked over to the pile of clothes she had tossed to the side. “You didn’t bring a set of change did you…”

She dared a look up at him, with a shit eating grin plastered on her lips.

“I figured I could just wear those until I got back.” gesturing to the pile.

“No you are not…” He started unlacing his own shirt. “I didn’t put that much effort into getting you cleaned up for you to ruin my fine work. Tck, honestly…”

He pulled his own shirt off and pulled it over her head, pulling up her long braid. 

“Darling, your foresight is absolutely criminal.”

She giggled and kissed him softly. His hands greeted her forearm and lower back as he leaned into it.

“Come on, let's get you back before the others worry more than they already do.”

He piled up her things and they walked out of the washroom and closed the door behind them.

#astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dark urge #astarion x tav #astarion x dark urge #astarion ancunin

[vikingstoner69]

You know what time it is when i pop up lmao

Geratle x fem!reader nsfw request cough cause i'm the biggest simp for this man-

108 from the writing prompt list “is that my shirt?”

And from the smut list

8 “I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now”

Have fun 🥰‼️❤

Of course as always, you don't have to do this request if you don't want to

 Heya! lovly! thank you so much for the request i'm sorry it took so long and its super sort. If you want a redo just let me know I do hope you enjoy.

as always my ask box is open

You and Gearlt found a cave and made a camp for the night. You watch the fire burn and sigh softly. You both had been on the road for months and you wanted to sleep in a real bed. Gearlt walks back to the cave with two small rabbits.  

"Hey! How far is the next town?" You ask, but before you could get an answer a huge monster apares. Gearlt kills it but not before it let out a Strange dust making you both cough. 

"(Y/n)! Hold your breath!" He shouts, you do as he says but it's too late you have inhaled some of the dust. You groan as your body gets hot. 

"What's happening to me?" You moan, you had no idea what that thing was but all you knew was that geralt smelled amazing and you wanted him badly. In your hazy thoughts you do not hear his answer. 

"We must stay away from each other" he growls his eyes dark with lust. His hands balled into fists trying to hold himself back. 

"No! Please-" your plea is cut short as his hand goes around your throat. 

"But I have never wanted to fuck you more then I do right now" he growls his face going to your neck and he bites making you moan and he growls. 

"Then fuck me!" You moan, geralt snarls and mashes his lips to yours making you moan he picks you up making your legs wrap around his waist. 

Geralt lays you on the bedroll and you cling to him. You both pull at each other's clothes till you are both naked. His hard cock rubs your soaking cunt and you moan out. 

"Fuck! It won't be gentle" he growls his hold on you almost too tight. 

"Please!" You beg and he thrusts forward deep inside you making you both moan at the feeling. He fucks you hard and fast your nails leaving marks in his back as you cling to him. 

"Look at you! Taking my cock" he growls, making you whine at his words. You never knew him to be this way but you loved it. 

"So good! So fucking close!" You moan as your climax was fast approaching.  Gearlt rubs your clit hard. 

"Cum on my cock" he growls and you cum hard with a scream of his name. When you finally come back down geralt is laying on his back panting hard. You look over at him. 

"Are you alright?" He asks looking over at you. You look back at him and smile softly. 

"Yes, fantastic actually " you grin and grab his shift and slip it on feeling the cool breeze on your skin. 

"Is that my shirt?" He growls as eyes go dark with lust again making you smirk.

"Maybe" you grin, he ckxks his finger in a 'come here' Motion.and you did just that. 

#smut #requests are still open btw #reader #please request #reader smut #short prompt #the witcher #geralt x you #geralt of rivera #geralt of rivera smut #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt rivia smut #geralt of rivia #geralt/reader #The Witcher

[yanderes-galore]

Heya!! Can I get a Platonic!Yandere!Master Chief? I hope you have a good day/night!!💖💗💕🌺

My regular Master Chief Yandere is already kinda platonic due to how Spartans work but I'll see what I can come up with :) Made this a concept take place around the time of Halo Infinite just to be different.

Yandere! Platonic! John-117 (Master Chief)

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Threats, Gun mention, Swearing, PLATONIC behavior.

- Due to the enhancements Spartan-II's were given you may only ever get a Platonic Yandere out of Chief.

- He isn't sure how to process strong emotions like obsession so he just comes off as overprotective towards you.

- Maybe for this concept you're a marine or spartan on Zeta Halo.

- Being a marine is scary enough even without the overbearing obsession Chief has over you.

- Doesn't entirely matter if you're a marine or spartan, however, as there's always the threat of Banished attacking your camp.

- You think you're a goner until Chief, whom you previously thought was murdered by Atriox, comes out of nowhere to save your camp.

- You're thankful for the help and this is how you meet.

- You promise the hero you'll always have weapons and help ready for him.

- Which makes him frequent your camp often.

- If you were a marine he'd probably be more protective yet he'd still be pretty fixated on your safety as a spartan too.

- The Banished did a good job on dwindling UNSC numbers.

- Even though Chief is usually busy you happen to chat with him once in awhile.

- Although the further into obsession he is the more he talks.

- You've even had other people from your camp come up to you claiming he's looking for you.

- All just to see how you were doing.

- If your camp frequently got attacked he'd probably move you to the main base they made at Outpost Tremonious

- That outpost he captured has strong security, making him feel calm enough to keep you there.

- Chief being a platonic Yandere it's debatable if he'd bring you into battle.

- As a spartan? Maybe. Probably not as a marine.

- Being who he is even if he adores you, Chief comes off as distant and foreign when interacting with you.

- Conversation isn't really something he indulges in.

- Although when he's resting he likes hearing you talk to him.

- A lot of the people around you are either astonished or envious at the fact you can be so casual with him.

- He's normally only ever close with Blue Team.

- Although, as they aren't sure where their whereabouts are, Chief may just need someone to talk to.

- They don't know how intense Chief is with you, though.

- You could get in a little argument with someone at base over something and if Chief is there, the fighting stops.

- Chief just needs to loom behind you and whoever you were fighting with salutes and leaves.

- He doesn't even need to do much to be intimidating.

- Someone would really have to piss him off if they're finding a gun to their head, though.

- Chief has the ability to be ruthless, treating anyone he doesn't like around you like they're some Banished spy.

- It's nearly impossible to keep him away from you, too.

- You could be transferred to a new outpost, only to find Chief made his way there with just a Mongoose and grappling hook.

- He knows better than to shoot a human unless they're a true threat.

- Unnecessary murder isn't a threat, luckily.

- He'd just be manipulative and controlling of whatever you did.

- He wouldn't openly admit it but he cares for you.

- Even if due to his emotion dampeners it doesn't come out... correct?

- But, he's humanity's protector, right?

- What he's doing must be for your own good....

#yandere halo #yandere master chief #yandere john 117

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Summer Lovin'." Sam Wescott X AFAB! Reader. A Commission.

Well hey, hey, hey! Lookie here a lovely Sam Wescott commission for the amazing @darkestamralime, I love Bug so fucking much and loved doing this for them! I went really in on it and did some editing to make it readable for everyone, don’t worry Bug has the OG version with her name in it! She wanted a 2.5-ish comm, I went above and beyond naturally, and I hope you all enjoy it!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 4K. Sam Wescott X AFAB! Reader. Warnings: Long Time Friends. Pining. Sam Is A Little Clueless. Deeper Feelings. Grief. Serious Emotions. Making Out. Teasing. Banter. Fingering. Oral Sex. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Raw Sex. Breeding Kink. Sappy Emotional Stuff. Dirty Talk About You Getting Pregnant. 

—

Going to camp every summer had a profound and positive effect on you. It gave you so many loves, for the great outdoors, camp fires, archery and hiking and canoeing. You’d been attending camp almost as long as you could remember honestly. You made wonderful friends throughout the years, some who you would only see at camp year after year, some staying as long as you, others eventually falling off and you losing touch but some of them you were pen pals with. 

One such friend was made when you switched camps, your old haunt sadly closed after many beloved years and you weren’t about to give up your summer habit so you were placed in a new camp that fateful summer by your parents. 

Camp Clear Vista is honestly, a really fucking good camp. 

Tons of activities, great staff, lots of other people to hang around with, the family who owned the camp were attentive and good at what they did but you were most taken with their son, Sam Wescott. You met that first year at their camp and you took notice of him pretty early on. He had a cute smile and even back then was a hard worker, more so than he should have been. You overheard his mom telling him one afternoon that while she appreciated the offer he should go for the afternoon swim at the lake with everyone else. 

He told her with a sad sigh, “Okayyy-”

A tone you’d come to know all too well as you got to know him better. His brow creased with worry, hands in his cargo shorts pockets, you watched as his mom ruffled his hair and said, “Really kiddo, take it easy, there is always time to help out lots more at camp when you grow up, just enjoy being a camper for now.” 

He nodded, a serious expression painting his features and after his mom walked off you made your way over. “Heya, Sam, right?”

He perked up, looking over to you, a small smile, “Yeah, Sam! That’s me, sorry I don’t think I know you? Yet anyway.”

“I wasn’t tryna be a creep but I heard all that. You okay?” You asked and he almost seemed embarrassed you overheard, “Uh yeah! M’ fine. I just know my folks and the staff have a lot of work around here, I feel like I should help out.”

You nodded, understanding just where he was coming from. “Yeah makes sense, but it’s like your mom said, there is time for all that later too. The work isn’t going anywhere, you should have fun like everyone else.”

“Suppose so.” He admitted shyly with a shrug, hands still in his pockets as his smile brightened, “Thanks.” 

He sounded so sincere it was nice. 

“Don’t mention it. You wanna come for a swim at the lake with me and everyone else?” You asked with a thumb over your shoulder and he took you up on it. That is where your friendship started on a hot summer afternoon at group swim.

You would pair up with Sam when you could and your activities overlapped. You would sit together at meals semi-regularly that first year. When camp was winding down you had made mention earlier about some pen pals you had from previous years at camp and Sam asked if you wanted to stay in touch. You agreed with a wide smile and produced a ripped sheet of lined notebook paper with your address on it. “First letter is on you Sammy.”

You got that first one within two weeks. Letters became a regular thing and so did your and Sam’s friendship growing every year you camp back to Camp Clear Vista. As years wore on and you and Sam both got older he insisted on stepping up more to help which cut into your hang time that had been steadily increasing year by year and well that wouldn’t do. 

You made the suggestion about getting more involved. You loved camp, you were older, wanted to start working towards giving back and if you helped Sam then that means any of his responsibilities would be done sooner. In addition to getting to spend personal time helping out once that was wrapped up you could indulge in whatever camp fun you wished. It was a great set-up really. 

Your training went swimmingly, Sam’s parents loved you, appreciated how hard you worked, how much you cared and the sheer amount of years at camp you’ve had under your belt. 

You became that person people talked about, girls excitedly on the bus with new friends who were first attending or to younger campers talking about you! The great, amazing, cool, older counsellor! Fun loving, great in crisis, fantastic at taking care of all the kids, talented and more. Your late teen years were spent helping oversee as Sam was moving right up along with you.

Both of you flourished in your new roles, would talk excitedly in the evenings around the fire about what you all got up to that day with your respective kids, who was in your bunk, the funny things that would happen. It was great. You got even closer still. Life at camp made sense, seemed almost too perfect, you wanted these summers at camp with Sam to last forever but those three months of June, July, August would fly by much too quickly for anyone’s liking. 

When Sam’s parents passed it was a terrible shock, an awful accident, one no one could have foresaw. 

When you heard the news you reached out. Pen pals no more, no you and Sam talked on the phone. You told him you could and would be there for him and so there were many nights where you would sit up on the phone those winter months and talk with Sam as he processed. 

You only missed one summer without the camp being open and it was hellish. You missed it, missed being outdoors, missed Sam. On the phone one night you asked how he felt about it and he hated it. Felt sick over it, he missed it all too.

You made the suggestion gently, softly, cradling the phone with your shoulder, sitting on your bed near midnight, “Why don’t you run the camp?”

So next late spring you and Sam were fixing up camp with a few other people, readying it for that year's batch of campers, the first year the camp was fully in Sam’s name. The camp looked great, it was cathartic being back there. When you saw Sam you and he dropped your bags and ran, a big hug that lasted so long and as soon as you broke apart there was excitement talking about all there was to do and how good it was to be back and to see each other in person.

Sam looked great and he told you the same. You were both past your teens, well into your twenties, had known each other over ten years at this point, so much history, so much emotion and neither of you campers or counsellors in training. Now Sam owns the place and you are one of the full fledged lead counsellors. When Sam took your idea to heart about reopening camp you were the first person he asked to join up. 

“You’ve been there, been there for the camp's golden years, you know how it should be, you get it, you know?” He sighed almost dreamly into the phone and you could picture the expression on his face perfectly. “You can help me make it like it used to be and better! Give these kids the kind of amazing summers we had.”

You were convinced three sentences ago but you loved listening to him gush so you let him go on about how perfect a fit he thought you’d be. 

It was two weeks after camp had been reopened that you and Sam took a moment for yourselves. You were sitting on that hill that Sam has always loved. The one he would sit on that could oversee the whole camp and gave a gorgeous look up at the stars. You and he were sitting there, sharing a drink when he first felt it. 

Looking over to you, looking up at the sky, cradling the can in your lap when he felt the beginning of deeper feelings hit all at once. 

How…

How had he never noticed this before, how had he never noticed you like this before? He had eyes, he was stupid but not that fucking stupid, he knew you were attactive and that you both got on like a house on fire. But it was almost like it was too obvious, you know? Like when you are searching for your phone but it turns out to be in your hand the whole time, almost offensively obvious once you notice it, the kind of thing to make you scratch your head and wonder how you could have been so oblivious. 

You cared. Really and truly and seeing how you were this week, with the kids, it made his heart melt. You taught them all archery and leading hikes and all the rest, you were amazing with them and they loved you. 

And Sam thought at that moment, that he just might love you too. More than he thought previously, maybe more than as a friend. 

“Hey?” He asked and your eyes were pulled from the sky to him, “Yeah Sammy?”

“I…I just wanna thank you for pushing me to do this. I know we are barely into the summer but this is just-it’s amazing. It’s just what I needed. I think my mom and dad would be really happy to know we reopened it and would be proud so just, thank you so much for coming back to hel-” 

You cut him off, a hand on his knee as you said, “Sam of course! What was I gonna do? Let you do all the hard work AND have all the fun yourself? No chance.”

Just as always you made Sam laugh and wipe at his eyes, breaking the tension with impeccable timing just before he got a little too mushy and in his feelings. He did however say, “You’ve been doing so good by the way, seeing you with the kids, you’ve been doing amazing, the kids all love you! I hear em talkin’ about you all the time. An’ I am so fucking glad I can help you anyway you need but you’ve really found out how to make it all work.”

You were so touched. Your body had changed as you got older, some stuff was harder for you physically than for a lot of people your age, it could be tiring but it was your body and you managed. Still him noticing, appreciating and not being weird or condescending about it, just the sweet regular Sam you knew so well, it was wonderful. You didn’t know you needed to hear it.

Sam was so busy with all this new responsibility, you both were to be fair, but the lack of personal time just you and him would not do. So one afternoon when you had nothing going on he made a concerted effort to seek you out for some friend time. 

He found you hanging out with none other than Steve The Kayak King himself when he asked if you wanted to hang out because he was free and you said, “Well sure, would love to Wescott but whatever shall we do?”

The tone made Steve laugh and Sam said, “Not sure, what do you wanna do?”

“I think I got a good idea.” Steve said holding up an ore and so it was decided.

A two person canoe ride with just the pair of you. It brings you back to the first time you did this when you were just teenagers and it feels good. 

It is quiet as you both paddle out, decently down the river, enjoying the peace of nature when Sam pipes up with, “Did you hear that Buddy is making your old favourite for lunch? He insisted and I think he’s right that it will be a big hit with the kids-”

You laughed and you dipped your ore deeper into the water before pulling it out and splashing Sam who protested, one hand up with an all too playful sounding, “Hey! The fuck is that for?” 

“For you talking about work STILL during our first legit solo camp activity of the summer! Knock it off and fuckin’ relax! Doctors orders, wait not just doctors orders, Steve The Kayak King’s orders!”

You said it in that half joking half serious way that made Sam grin but he scoffed too, looking over his shoulder to you with a squint, “Invoking the Kayak King clause? Low blow, real low.”

He turned to face you in the canoe to find you resting your ore across your knees with a big cocky smile thrown to him before a hand goes to your chest and you ask in mock innocence, “Me? Why Sammy my boy I only ever have the best of intentions.”

“Mmm I’m so sure.” He hummed. This was, great, better than great, just what he needed. 

As the paddling progressed, more conversation and jokes and banter flowed like water down the river you were riding on, it was too much to bear. All the feelings that had been growing, fuck, how long had he been in love with you without ever realizing it? Too long apparently because now that he was aware of it he couldn’t turn it off, couldn’t stop thinking about it and not of course, wanting to act on it, desperately. 

So instead of overthinking or taking too long or anything else that is instinctual to Sam, he does what he knows you would tell him to do which is to just go for it. So when you had stopped for a break and you were talking excitedly about something and the sun caught your hair like that, bangs all swept in the wind and wrapped in pink and white he made his move. 

He closed the gap and he kissed you and the only thought that was in your mind was, “Fuck yes.” 

Your hands met his shoulders and you kissed him back, his lips were so fucking soft and you leaned closer into him. You had heard that Sam was a damn good kisser, that Sam was damn good at a lot of things, but hearing and feeling are two totally different things. 

You were the one to break away first, just to laugh and he asked with that warm as fuck smile, “What? Is my kissing that bad?”

“No, no! Just-fuck Wescott, what took you so long?” You asked and he laughed too, “I don’t know, feel like a major fucking idiot right now though.” 

“S’okay, I’ll forgive you this time, so long as you make it up to me.” You teased and he asked, “And how can I start?”

“Riiiiight about-” Your hand fists in his collar and you tug him to you, much closer, your lips brush against his before saying that last word, -”here.”

He didn’t respond with words, he just kissed you again. He could do this more than that he wanted this, felt like he needed it.

It had started easy, fun and playful just like the relationship you had both had thus far but soon it shifted. You appreciate him stepping up and at long last making a move, finally waking up to how you both knew that he felt, that you felt, all that teasing, that flirting, those jokes and you getting him all flustered on and off coming to a head, you escalate. You nip at his bottom lip and that makes him kiss you deeper, more hungrily and one of your hands slides up into his hair and his hands go to your hips and on it goes. Passionate making out in this little canoe was quickly becoming stifling, you needed more room to touch, to feel him. 

So you make another helpful suggestion, a question really, “You opposed to fucking in the woods?”

He laughed, head tipping back, indulging in it for a moment before his head came back down and his nose brushed yours and he said, “I lost my virginity in these woods, remember?”

“That’s right with fuckin’ Toni Middleson!” You both shared another breathless laugh before you asked, “What ever even happened to her?” You asked as you pulled away to grab your ore and row to the riverbank.

“Don’t you remember? Her family moved states, never saw her after that summer.” Sam said and you hummed at remembering that yes that did sound right.

Soon as you were at the riverbank and Sam was helping you out of the boat, any talk of Toni was forgotten in favour of more physical closeness. It wasn’t like there was a rush but you did have more responsibilities to attend to back at camp, you were a solid forty minutes out from camp and after fucking it out you’d still have to make the return trip. Not to mention the fact that this was over a decade in the making, there was a lot of lost time to make up for.

There was no question in Sam’s mind of who would be on top, he had snatched a blanket from the canoe and had laid it down for you, ever caring, always concerned. He was on top of you, kissing down your throat, his leg between yours, allowing you something to press and grind against as he asked, “You comfortable?”

Between the soft grass you found and the blanket, his hand sliding up your shirt and his amazingly sinful mouth, yes you were very fucking comfortable. You hummed and nodded, your hands on his shoulders, tugging on his shirt and he said, “Good.” 

You moved him, tugged on his hair, bringing his mouth to yours, kissing him deeply and he groaned into it. You feel how hard he is against you, unable to stop the slight movement of his hips to gain some brief stimulation and you were getting pretty damn excited himself. You arched just a little into Sam’s touch, an encouraging moan into his mouth as he palmed one of your tits and he pulled back, “Fuck, this body of yours, so good-”

“Yeah it’s served me alright so far.” You teased, your hands sliding down his sides before hooking in his belt loops, you made him grind onto you and loved how his breath caught. 

“Cah-can’t take a single damn thing seriously can you?” He asked and you rocked against his thigh as you said, “Where’s the fun in that?”

You did however take this seriously, took what was currently going on seriously, you cared about him, so much.

You didn’t have the time or the words to communicate that because Sam was kissing you again, paying reverence to your body with wandering hands and sweet words before he had gotten your shorts off. He soon enough was between your thighs showing you that yes another one of those old camp rumours was quite legit. Sam Wescott was unfairly good at eating out. He took his time but didn’t need to, he seemingly read you perfectly, knew just what you needed, what made you arch and gasp, what made you call out his name into the trees surrounding you and what made your thighs tense around his head. He went about it in a wholly messy and wonderfully indulgent fashion, licking up every drop of you that he could, licks of his tongue, open mouthed kisses, sucking and slipping two fingers inside, moaning against your soaked slit about how drenched you were. 

He didn’t give up or stop until you had cum an impressive five minutes into his efforts and pushed him away with a shaking hand. “Fuck me Wescott-” You panted in disblief of how fast and how good that was.

“I mean if you insist.” He said softly and you laughed and helped him get his shirt off. 

You had seen a lot of him over the years, knew he had a good body but one particular part had always missed your line of sight, now however as he was taking down his pants and underwear, you got a clear eyeful. He was fucking goregous, long, thick, looked painfully hard and to be leaking pre-cum already, you wanted to wrap your legs around his hips and fill yourself with him so badly. He was taking in the view of you and with a shake of his head he confessed, “You’re so fucking pretty.” 

You reached out to him with both hands, “C’mon Sam, I’ve waited long enough, haven’t I?” 

“We both have.” He confirmed before his mouth was on yours, his body covering you once more. He nudged against you before pulling back and saying, “Shit, wait, I don’t have a condom-”

“S’okay, just pull out. I trust you.” You reassured him and you’d gotten this far, no way you could stop now.

He lined up and so soon you were treated to the feeling of him slipping inside you for the first time. Felt like the wind was knocked out of you but not in a bad way, a shared sharp inhale that made your make out pause, he breathed, “Oh fuck-”

“Yes.” You sighed, one arm looping around his neck, loving how close he was to you, how deep he was seated inside you. He started to move, fuck at an easy pace and you encouraged him readily with a low moan, “Yeah, Sam, mmf, that’s good-”

“Like that?” He asked, voice a little raw with the sensation, a purposeful grind against you, extra attention paid to give you some beautiful pressure on your clit that had you saying, “Yea-yeah! Like that!”

He was hitting it so well and he clearly loving it just as much as you were, “Shit, you-you are so fucking wet, feel so ahhn, incredible-” He sighed out that last word and it made you clench around him tightly. 

Neither of you were going to last long but after so much lead up, how could you? He asked, “I-I’m not gonna last, fuck, sorry, are you-?” He couldn’t get the question out, you were gasping out, “Mmmhm! M’ close, please, Sammy, don’t stop.” 

God he wanted it. Wanted to feel you cum on him but he knew if he did last long enough for that, to ensure your end, he would cum when you did, no way could he hold back, he slowly just a hair to prolong it, tried to fight back his orgasm. 

“No! Sam, please, please, I-I don’t want you to pull out now.” You begged and that made him throb inside you, nearly imperceptible but you feel him flex against your walls and you bite your bottom lip in response, dragged ever closer to the edge. He was looking down at you, “No? You want me to cum inside?”

“Yes.” You admitted. “Cum in you raw? You know how-God, how dangerous that is?” He panted and you again said, “Yes!” 

He continued, pace picking up once more as he asked, “Wha-what if it takes? What if I get you pregn-” He didn’t need to finish that thought you cried out, “I want it, fuck, it’s you! Course I want it, Sam please! Don’t stoppp-” 

He wouldn’t dare, wouldn’t dream of it and then with another deep thrust ending in a grind you cum, you fall over the edge, bliss overtaking, his name on your lips and midway through you hear him groan, holding all the way inside and more over you feel him cum. He makes sure to hold tight, gives you every drop, his body trembling just a little as he does so, mirroring the way yours does too. 

The come down is slow, sweaty and messy, more kisses as he refuses to leave yet, staying deep inside, he kisses over your cheek and your hairline and sighs out, “You’re gonna be the best mom.”

Fuck you really have always loved him, haven’t you? 

#Sam Wescott X Reader #BHF writing #BHF commissions #slasher x reader

[shibabrows]

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[senjo]

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[ydotome]

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[rome-okami]

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