#(( twisted affection ))

[unforgivenn]

DIALOGUES FOR MANIPULATIVE WHUMPERS !!

Please tag me or lmk if you use any of these ❤️

"You know, I've never felt this way about anyone before. You're special to me."

"I can't stop thinking about you. You've completely captivated me."

"I love you in a way I've never loved anyone else. You're different."

"I love you so much, it hurts me to see you in pain. But it's for your own good."

"I only hurt you because I care. I want what's best for you, even if you can't see it right now."

"If you really loved me, you'd understand why I have to do this. It's because I love you that I have to push you."

"I love you, but you have to prove yourself to me. Show me that you're worthy of my love."

"If you do exactly as I say, I'll show you just how much I care for you."

"I love you more than anyone else ever could. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Those people who say I don't love you are just trying to tear us apart. They're jealous of what we have."

"You're just confused right now. Trust me, I know what's best for us. I love you too much to let you make a mistake."

"Oh, darling, I hate to see you suffer. But you know I only do this because I care about you."

"I'm sorry it had to come to this, but you left me with no choice. It's for your own good, believe me."

"If you really loved me, you'd understand why I had to do this."

"I need you to trust me. You're the only one I can count on in this world."

"Don't you see? We're meant to be together. That's why I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep us together."

"If you behave and do as I say, maybe I'll consider showing you some kindness."

"Prove to me that you're worthy of my love, and maybe I'll let up on you a little."

"You'll earn my affection when you start acting like you deserve it. Until then, you're on your own."

[caelibemart]

Checkmate

“Have you never wanted to leave this place?” Wilson asked.

The question caught Maxwell off guard.

He nearly snapped back “That’s impossible,” but bit his tongue just in time. Wilson didn’t need to know what he could or couldn’t do. He didn’t even need the idea to cross his mind—that Maxwell was anything less than omnipotent.

Instead, Maxwell feigned deliberation.

Really, why not give himself a moment? It wasn’t as if they were playing for keeps. Not tonight.

“Why would I?” he countered, sliding his king to F7. Naturally, he played black. As he had yesterday. And the day before. And every other day of his unending life.

He expected silence to follow. Wilson, too, usually took his time before answering. But this time the reply—and the move—came instantly. He’d come prepared. No doubt about it.

“Aren’t you bored?”

Wilson moved his king to F3. Maxwell clicked his tongue and captured a pawn with his knight.

“And you’re not? You’re saying you’re bored?”

There was something in his voice—not quite anger, not quite injury. A tightness. And for once, he didn’t bother to mask it. His tone said plainly: Listen, boy. I gave you everything. I gave you a home. I gave you secret knowledge. I saved your pitiful little life.

You could’ve died at any moment—not just here, amid monsters and storms and shadows—but there, too, in that other world. That world where no one wanted you. Where you lived on scraps, burning through your inheritance while trying to sculpt yourself into a genius.

Maxwell didn’t deny Wilson’s brilliance. It was, after all, the very reason he’d wanted him. First—to bring him here. Then—for himself.

Genius like that shouldn’t rot in poverty or be swallowed by the dirt. It should be harnessed, cloaked in darkness, sharpened in madness—until it shines in places where even light doesn’t dare exist.

And yet, Wilson—brilliant Wilson—refused to understand something so simple.

“No,” Wilson said at last, watching Maxwell with that peculiar, steady seriousness. “But sometimes I wonder what we could’ve done out there. Together. Not luring people into traps or killing them for power. But building something. Something real. We could’ve reshaped the world.”

“We already have a world,” Maxwell reminded him.

“Oh, how generous of you.”

“Just now noticing?”

“Come on. Playing in a sandbox isn’t the same as building a future.”

“So you need… ‘everyone’?”

What’s stopping me, Maxwell thought, from wrapping my hands around that scrawny bird-neck of yours? From snapping it—clean—and doing it again?

He knew the answer. He’d tried that trick a hundred times. A thousand. And still, the madness never left that messy-haired skull.

“Man is a social creature,” Wilson continued. “Without society, we’re nothing.”

Something shifted. The darkness around them grew colder, denser.

“I am a god,” Maxwell said flatly. “I am everything. And you, my friend, seem to forget who you're speaking to.”

“Oh, I know exactly who I’m speaking to, Will.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

“I will. When I tire of you.”

“Be sure to finish the match first,” Wilson said with a grin—then blinked, looking down at the board. “Oh! Check.”

The white queen, guided by his hand, slid to B3.

“And mate.”

Maxwell lowered his gaze to the pieces—silent little witnesses to yet another defeat. Not that he enjoyed losing. But somewhere, deep in the frayed recesses of his mind, the knowledge that he could still be beaten stirred something strange. Almost... comforting.

“Get some sleep,” he muttered, offering no congratulations. “You’ve got work to do tomorrow.”

The shadows stirred, coiling up around him. In a blink, Maxwell vanished—leaving Wilson alone in the moonlit tower that kept terror and death at bay. That held warmth in the devil’s winter, and coolness in the blaze of July.

A wonder, crafted by a god for one man alone.

[yanderejustforyou]

Day 12 - Lonely || Gloomy skies, soft blankets, and a warm fire

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Sam Winchester

Short and Sweet

The storm outside raged on, the gloomy skies a perfect reflection of the weight pressing down on Sam’s chest, making each breath feel like a struggle against an unseen force. The relentless wind howled, bouncing off the walls of the old cabin, a mournful sound that mirrored the turmoil swirling within him. The crackling fire in the hearth flickered intermittently, casting warm shadows that danced across the dimly lit room, but it did little to chase away the chill that seeped into his bones. He wasn’t quite sure if the icy tendrils wrapping around him were the result of the frigid air or the anticipation coiling like a tense spring in his stomach.

Sam found himself wrapped snugly in a soft blanket on the worn-out couch, its fabric comforting yet insufficient against the oppressive weight of his thoughts. He attempted to focus on the flickering flames, tracing their erratic movement with his eyes, trying to find solace in their warmth. Yet the sound of Dean’s boots echoing on the creaky wooden floor behind him shattered his concentration, plunging him into a whirlpool of unsettling emotions.

“You’ve been quiet,” Dean murmured, his voice low, thick with an undercurrent of something darker that sent a shiver up Sam’s spine. He stopped just behind the couch, looming over Sam like a storm cloud ready to unleash a torrent. His presence was heavy and commanding, suffocating in its intensity, filling every inch of the room with an energy that was almost palpable. “Thinking about running again?” The challenge hung in the air, a palpable threat nestled within his words.

Sam stiffened instinctively, his grip tightening around the edge of the blanket as if it were a lifeline. “No,” he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips, drowned out by the crackling of the fire and the symphony of wind outside.

Dean chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that reverberated through the silence, sending another jolt of electricity along Sam's spine. “Good,” he replied, his tone dripping with a twisted kind of satisfaction, before he stepped around the couch to kneel in front of him. Their eyes locked, and Sam felt a rush of heat as Dean's hands—rough, warm, and impossibly grounding—slid over Sam’s knees, gently coaxing them apart. The gesture was both intimidating and thrilling, laden with the weight of ownership that Sam both craved and feared.

“Because you’re mine, Sammy. You know that, don’t you?” The words hung in the air like an ultimatum, a proclamation of possession that sent a thrill coursing through Sam’s veins.

Sam nodded, his breath hitching as Dean’s lips ghosted over his jaw, the touch soft yet possessive, igniting something deep within him. “Say it,” Dean demanded, the sharpness of his voice slicing through the haze of Sam’s thoughts, his green eyes burning with an intensity that quickened Sam's pulse. It was a fierce gaze that stripped him bare, searching for the truth hidden within his heart.

“I’m yours,” Sam admitted, the confession tumbling out, his voice shaky and laced with the weight of truth and trepidation. The admission felt like both a surrender and a relief, the chains of Dean’s control wrapping tighter around him, pulling him deeper into their twisted bond, one that was both suffocating and exhilarating.

Dean’s grin was feral, predatory, as he pressed his lips against Sam’s, the kiss slow and deliberate, igniting the air around them with a heat that contrasted sharply with the storm raging outside. When he finally pulled back, his gaze bore into Sam's with an intense satisfaction. His hand slipped beneath the blanket, stroking Sam’s thigh with an almost tender touch that sent sparks of desire shooting through him. “Good boy,” he murmured, the words dripping with a blend of praise and unwavering dominance that made Sam’s heart race.

The fire crackled louder, filling the silence as Dean leaned in again, his lips brushing against Sam’s ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down Sam's spine, making him acutely aware of his own vulnerability, and yet, in that moment, he felt alive. Caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, he could do nothing but surrender to the storm brewing within both him and Dean, as they navigated the tumultuous territory of their unbreakable bond.

[darquedeath4444]

Always, Together, Forever

Chapter TWO

Gaara stepped through the door to his room. He had been sent on another boring mission. Shukaku raged within him, not at all satisfied with the half a dozen bandits he had squeezed to death with his sand during his C rank mission. It was most definitely not his fault that the client had gotten in the way and had nearly lost a limb.

He plopped down on his bed, clutching head. After a while, the pain of Shukaku faded away, just leaving a throbbing behind. He looked around his room, and noticed that Sakura wasn't there.

"Sakura," he called, but there was no reply. She usually appeared whenever he called her name, and that was because she was always within earshot. This meant that Sakura was too far away to hear him. Gaara gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes.

The girl was like a snake. Sly, powerful and always managed to slip away form everything. Gaara had to admit that she was a genius, and a very skilled shinobi. Contrary to her emotionless appearance, she always had a countless amount of possible scenarios running through her mind, and had a counter for each. He knew this better than anyone.

He also knew his father was regretting giving the girl to him, all those years ago. She would have made the perfect assassin. She could harden her bones to the point she was immune to most of his attacks. Sakura had never told him where she had been before she had come to him, but that was one of the few things Gaara had decided to let her keep to herself.

Besides, no one had expected her to live this long.

She had come when he was five, and now, they were twelve. For seven years, Sakura had stayed with him, not a word of complaint or protest. Sometimes, Gaara felt a very foreign and yet, familiar warmth spread throughout him. And then the present caught up with him and it was gone. But it was there.

There was a knock at the door and Gaara instantly recognized Sakura's chakra signature outside. His sand moved, unlocking the door and Sakura stepped through. "My apologies for not greeting you, Gaara-sama," she murmured, bowing her head.

Gaara held back from lashing out. He would listen to her first. He flicked his finger, indicating for her to enter. Sakura moved into the room, closing the door behind her. Gaara gestured for her to come closer and once she was within arms reach, he grabbed her arm. He felt her skin, sandy from the thin layer of sand enveloping her. If anyone but him were to grab her in a threatening way, the sand would react. There wasn't enough sand to harm them, but it would be enough of a defense from small cuts.

He tightened his grip in a way that would surely leave a mark, not that he minded. She belonged to him, so why shouldn't he be allowed to mark her?

He plopped the girl onto his lap and buried his nose into her hair. He took a deep breath before nibbling on her ear. "Where were you?" He asked.

Sakura shifted a little, otherwise staying still. "I was at the Kaze-kage-sama's office, Gaara-sama," she said. "He called for me."

Gaara narrowed his eyes. "And...did you know that I was back?"

Sakura nodded. "Of course, Gaara-sama."

"Then why didn't you come to greet me?" He growled against the pale skin of her neck.

"Kazekage-sama didn't allow me to leave." It sounded like an excuse, but he knew that the one person Sakura wouldn't lie to was him.

Gaara ran his sharp teeth down the length of her neck. "You stayed with my father, even though you knew I was back?" He asked.

"I-" Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by her own gasp.

Gaara tore his teeth through the pale skin of her neck, biting as hard as he could. He drew back momentarily, licking his lips before plunging his tongue into the wound. He moved it around until a sharp gasp of pain erupted from Sakura's mouth.

"Your top priority should be me," Gaara snarled. "Not my father. If the choice were me or my father, your answer should be obvious!" He ran his tongue up Sakura's cheek, leaving behind a trail of blood. "Tell me, who do you belong to?"

"You, Gaara-sama.” There was not a single hint of hesitation, and Gaara smiled.

"I am always above my father. You are to obey me and only me. You are mine. You are to follow my orders and take them above what others give you. It I order you to do something, you do it, regardless of the fact that the one who may be opposing is my father, the Kazekage."

Sakura nodded. Gaara roughly shoved the girl away. She crouched on the ground, head bowed. He clenched his fist and another gasp of pain freed itself from Sakura's mouth. He flicked his finger and from his height, could see the blood dripping down Sakura's cheek, landing on the ground.

"Look up."

Sakura did so, blinking her eyes furiously. However, she made no moves to rub her eye. The 愛 mark on her left forehead was welling blood, trailing down her face. Gaara decided that he liked the way her eye looked red. He twitched his hand again and a new wave of blood seeped out. Maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea when he had decided to leave grains of sand in her wound.

"You have a mouth. Use it. Who do you belong to?"

"You, Gaara-sama."

Gaara relaxed his fist and gently swiped his hand to the side. The sand coating her skin trailed across her face, cupping her wound, stopping the blood from spilling into her eye. "Good." He watched blood drip down Sakura's neck. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered. "So just listen to me, okay?"

Sakura nodded.

"Deal with the wound," Gaara told her.

Sakura dipped her head and reached up with her hand. A warm glow of chakra, looking so out of place, appeared on her hand. She ran a finger over the bite marks and they quickly healed. The bleeding of her forehead stopped too. Gaara nodded and the clump of sand around her forehead broke apart, once again layering itself on her skin.

Gaara growled at the thought of Sakura spending time with someone other than him. "Are you still spending time with that...that..."

Sakura tilted her head. "Chiyo-baa-sama?"  She asked. Gaara gruffly nodded. "Yes. She has been teaching me the art of healing, poisons, as well as the usage of chakra strings."

Gaara pressed down the negative feelings pooling within him. Everything she did was for him and he knew it.

Suddenly, she vanished with a swish of movement.

There was another knock at the door, which opened to reveal Sasori, his cousin, and one of the people who Gaara could tolerate. However, he had just recently began working for the Kazekage, and was still one of the many people who didn't know exactly where Sakura stood. To him, and many others, she was a 'pink haired girl who always seems to be around Gaara'.

Sasori nodded at him. "The Kazekage wants to see you," he said. He glanced around the room curiously, before leaving. Gaara scowled, but got to his feet.

"Temari, Kankuro, and Gaara." The Kazekage said. "You three are entering the Chunin Exams which are to be held in Konoha as a team."

Gaara narrowed his eyes.

The Kazekage met his youngest son's gaze with a smirk. "And you have a job."

By the time the man finished explaining their task, Gaara was ready to leave. He couldn’t careless, after all. Still, he unwillingly etched the plan to mind.

"Any questions?"

None of them spoke up, and the Kazekage turned around dismissively in his chair. "You leave in a weeks time," he told them.

Temari and Kankuro bowed, and they slowly withdrew from the room. Gaara followed a second later. The moment the door had closed behind them, both his siblings stiffened, glancing nervously at Gaara. He ignored them and instead he called out towards nothing in particular. "Sakura!"

There wasn't even a heartbeat of pause before there was a swish of movement and clothing, and the pinkette appeared in front of Gaara. "Yes, Gaara-sama?"

Gaara nodded in satisfaction. "I am to leave for Konoha in a weeks time. You are to come with me." Sakura nodded. "Tell me about Konoha."

Sakura dipped her head. "Konoha, unlike Suna, is a place full of trees. It rarely, if not ever, has problems with lack of food and water. It is said to be one of the most powerful of all Hidden Villages," she paused.

"How about the people there?" Gaara pressed.

"Konoha is the village housing some of the most powerful and well known clans, such as the Uchiha clan and Hyuga clan, as well as the Yamanaka clan and the Nara clan. It is the birth village of the Yellow Flash, the fourth and current Hokage of Konoha, the famous son of Hatake Sakumo, Copy ninja, Hatake Kakashi, and the prodigy, Uchiha Itachi."

Gaara nodded, cutting her off. "That's enough." Perhaps he could fight them. Maybe killing them would finally satisfy the voice in his head. "I'm going to the training ground,” he said curtly. “Sakura?"

"Of course, Gaara-sama."

Gaara's sand poured out of his gourd. A tendril grasped Sakura's wrist, pulling her towards him. He grabbed her around the waist and they disappeared in a swirl of sand.

Chapter THREE>

<Chapter ONE

Chapter List

[unforgivenn]

BLOODBOUND

CW: captivity, violence, blood, fear, and psychological distress.

The darkness was thick around Whumpee, suffocating, as he lay there, strapped to a chair, his wrists bound tight. Every breath he took felt heavy, laden with the scent of blood that filled the air, a potent mixture of terror and sickened anticipation as to what was to come for him. Though, he had a feeling he didn't want to know

The silence was suffocating, a heavy blanket pressing down on Whumpee, amplifying the thud of his heartbeat in his ears. Each beat seemed to reverberate through the room, a stark reminder of his vulnerability. Every second stretched out like an eternity, each heartbeat echoing in the hollow chamber, a drumbeat of dread in the darkness only to be broken by the soft footsteps making the floorboard creak

Then, like a serpent slithering through the darkness, a voice cut through the silence, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down Whumpee's spine. "You're going to enjoy this," it hissed, a sinister promise dripping with malice.

The vampire emerged from the shadows, his form a twisted silhouette against the dim light filtering through the cracks in the walls. Blood-red eyes gleamed with unholy hunger, sharp fangs glistening in the darkness like daggers waiting to strike. Whumpee's breath caught in his throat, terror seizing him in its icy grip.

Whumpee's heart hammered against his chest like a trapped animal, desperate for escape. He tried to scream, to plead for mercy, but all that came out was a choked whimper as the vampire drew closer, his breath hot against Whumpee's neck.

"You're my little blood bag, aren't you?" the vampire whispered, his voice a twisted caress that sent shivers racing across Whumpee's skin.

Whumpee wanted to deny it, to defy him with every fiber of his being, but the fear held him captive, rendering him powerless. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the blood on his skin as he sobbed quietly, a silent plea for mercy.

The vampire chuckled darkly, a sound that chilled Whumpee to the core. "Such a delicious fear," he murmured, his voice dripping with sadistic delight. "I can taste it on the air." His eyes suddenly glistened with a sinister gleam staring right at Whumpee's terrified face, reflecting the dim light in the room like shards of ice.

A whimper escaped Whumpee's lips as the vampire drew closer, his breath hot against Whumpee's skin. The scent of blood grew stronger, mingling with the sickly sweet aroma of decay that permeated the room. Whumpee's stomach churned with revulsion, bile rising in his throat.

"Please," he begged, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "Let me go."

But the vampire only laughed, a sound devoid of warmth or mercy. "Oh, my dear," he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You don't understand. You were never meant to leave this place."

Dread coiled in the pit of Whumpee's stomach, threatening to consume him whole. A sob tore from his throat as he closed his eyes tight, not sure if it were from fear or just from the much awaited anticipation that the vampire would devoid him of blood completely this time leaving him dead. Anything to leave this hell of a place.

The pain was unlike anything Whumpee had ever experienced, a searing agony that tore through him like wildfire, consuming him from the inside out. A guttural cry escaped his lips, torn from the depths of his agony, echoing through the darkened room along with body-wrecking sobs.

But beneath the pain, there was something else, something perverse and unsettling—a sickening pleasure that twisted his insides into knots.

Why did it feel like this? Why did his body betray him, responding to the vampire's touch with a sickening kind of euphoria?

"W-Why?" he gasped, the word torn from him as he managed to catch a breath, from the sobbing and screaming. "Why does it feel like-like this?"

The vampire's laughter filled the air, making Whumpee flinch violently. "Because, my dear," he said, his voice dripping with malice, "your body knows its place. It knows that you belong to me now."

Whumpee clenched his teeth, trying to stifle the screams that threatened to escape his lips, but it was futile. The vampire drank deeply, greedily, his lips pressed against Whumpee's skin like a lover's kiss, as Whumpee felt himself growing weaker with each passing moment.

He's nothing but a vessel to the vampire, a mere pawn in his twisted game of dominance and submission.

And as the darkness closed in around him, Whumpee couldn't help but let out one last single sob wondering if he would ever escape this nightmare alive, or if he would remain forever trapped in the vampire's web of darkness and despair.

[yanderejustforyou]

Day 11 - Snowball Fight || Heavy Breathing, Footprints in the Snow, and Warm Hugs

Pairing: Jason Todd x Bruce Wayne Genre: Dark Romance with Violence

Short and Sweet

The snow-covered clearing in the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor was eerily quiet, an unsettling stillness that blanketed the area, occasionally broken only by the sound of your own heavy breathing as the cold air surged in and burned your lungs. Each inhale was a stark reminder of the chill that seemed to seep into your very bones. The pristine white landscape bore the marks of an intense chase, with footprints crisscrossing haphazardly over the glistening surface, evidence of a frantic pursuit that had brought you and the others to this moment.

Across from you, two figures stood locked in a tense confrontation: Jason, his posture taut and ready, faced Bruce, whose own body radiated a rigidity that suggested a storm was brewing, one that had little to do with the weather. The palpable tension hung in the air like the heavy cloud of anticipation just before a thunderclap, each second stretching out in the cold stillness surrounding them.

Bruce’s jaw was clenched tight, his expression unreadable yet intense, as he stood there with fists balled at his sides, the white powder still dusted on his shoulders from their earlier scuffle. The stark contrast of the snow against the darkness of his clothing emphasized the turmoil raging beneath his surface. Jason, on the other hand, wore a smirk that was sharp and cutting, a façade that masked the raw emotions boiling just beneath the surface of his stoic demeanor. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all flickered in his eyes, powerful enough to shatter the icy quiet.

“You really thought a snowball fight would fix this?” Jason’s voice was deceptively low, laced with a darkness that sent a shiver down your spine, his breath visible in the frigid air, mingling with the snowflakes that fell softly around them. “That it’d make me forget everything?” His tone dripped with sarcasm, the bitterness palpable as it echoed in the clearing.

Bruce hesitated, his gaze steady yet shadowed with a deep-seated pain as he searched Jason’s eyes for understanding. “I thought it might remind you of what we had,” he finally replied, his voice softening, revealing a vulnerability he had long struggled to keep hidden. There was a genuine plea wrapped in his words, an unspoken hope that nostalgia might bridge the chasm formed between them.

But Jason was unrelenting, his scoff echoing through the frigid air, his smirk vanishing as he took a deliberate step closer. The crunch of snow beneath his boots sounded like thunder in the heavy silence. “What we had?” he repeated incredulously. His laughter was sharp, bitter, cutting through the lingering quiet like a knife. “You mean the lies? The manipulation? The way you left me to rot, without a second thought?”

Before Bruce could muster a response, Jason surged forward, the playful nature of their previous snowball fight forgotten in an instant. They collided with a force that knocked them both into the snow, a whirlwind of limbs, pinned emotions, and harsh words swirling around them like the snowflakes that continued to gently fall. Jason's gloved hands clutched Bruce’s coat, shaking him with a ferocity born from years of pent-up anger and heartbreak that erupted in violent bursts, desperate for an outlet.

“You don’t get to play the hero now,” Jason hissed, his face dangerously close to Bruce’s, the proximity amplifying the intensity of their unspoken connection. “You don’t get to fix me.” There was a world of hurt just beneath the surface of his anger, a twisted sort of affection buried deep in their contentious history.

As the fight escalated, fueled by resentment and tangled emotions, something unexpected lingered in the air: a deep, undeniable need that neither could brush aside. When the physical struggle finally ebbed, both of them panting and disheveled, Jason’s hands slipped from Bruce’s coat to settle on his shoulders, his forehead pressing against Bruce's in an intimate gesture that spoke louder than words.

“Don’t let go,” Jason murmured, his voice trembling as the weight of his emotions threatened to crush him. “Not this time.” Vulnerability seeped into his voice, revealing the cracks in the armor he had built around himself, layers of pain unearthing a raw need for connection.

Bruce, without hesitation, wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close despite the bruises and the lingering scent of blood. “Never,” he promised, his voice steady and reassuring, even as his heart ached with the reality of what they were and who they could still become. In that moment, amidst the snowflakes swirling around them, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them in a fragile moment of understanding and unspoken hope.