sorry but thinking about like. c!prime home videos. c!dream acting like everything is normal in them and that they’re a happy normal family and there’s no obvious abuse in any of them but there’s something so off about c!tommy and how he reacts to things how he’s so jumpy how he bursts into terrified apologies over everything. how he seems suprised and confused any time something he should know if he really was a part of the family comes up. the oozing saccharine sweetness behind c!dream's voice at all times, honeyed words hiding venom, subtle takedowns mixed with condescending manipulation. just. sorry i was going to go to sleep but inspiration hit me.
There was a set of three planters on the property, lovingly taken care of by Nik every evening. Mostly herbs and other medicinal plants, along with a spindly but growing blackberry sprig. It was nowhere near bearing fruit - if it ever would - but Nik watered and cared for it just the same.
It had started as a necessity, really. Before he would have to forage in the wilderness that butted up against the ranch for roots and barks to take the edge off the pain of whippings and beatings. Trying to find the right herbs to soothe a stomach nauseous from bad food (or no food.) But there wasn’t always time after the work was done to go hunting for the right remedy for the anxiety that felt like it was eating away at his bones and sinew. So the next time he found some, Nik replanted and tended to them so they were accessible for him and Hilton. And now Brody, he figured.
Kneeling by the wooden boxes, he picked at the weeds that had sprouted up and let his mind wander. Brody was still adjusting, still trying to come to grips with this new hand he’d been delt. He was still new enough to believe he was going to leave someday. Nik didn’t have the heart to break that fantasy, not yet anyway. And regardless, Brody was already starting to learn how life on the ranch really worked, unlike Hilton who still didn’t act in his own best interests.
That boy was going to give Nik a heart attack someday.
A quiet chitter announced the arrival of the little squirrel Nik had been feeding, climbing up on the boxes to get his attention. And seeds he kept in his pocket. Such a strange one - stark white and not afraid of him in the slightest.
“Hey bud,” he greeted it quietly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out some of the sunflower seeds he’d been able to find. He barely had time to cup his fingers together before the little creature’s paws were cupped around his fingertips, eagerly looking for the treat. Nik smiled at it and used his free hand to stroke the top of its head with his pointer finger.
“Are you watching out for me? I’d sure appreciate it.”
The squirrel paused to look at him for a moment before twitching its nose and scurrying away at the sound of footsteps. Nik was only barely able to bite back the sigh before he stood and turned around.
Mason and Dylan were coming up the trail, never meaning anything good when they were together. Once closer, the boss held up an envelope.
“Got something in the mail today,” he started, dangerously casual. Nik didn’t respond. With a glint in his eye, Mason opened the letter and started to read it aloud.
“Mr. Driver,
I’m writing again in regards to the Kelmar estate and specifically Nikolas Stewart. We’re asking for another attempt at negotiating a deal for the land deed; one with more reasonable expectations.”
Dylan snickered and even Mason cracked a smile, all while Nik’s heart was pounding in his throat.
“There must be some deal we can agree to that promises his safe return. After consideration, we’re offering-” Mason stopped reading, tutting through the rest of the letter. Finally he looked back at Nik and shook his head.
“It really is a damned shame they just don’t seem to get it. I don’t negotiate. I see what I want, and I get it. So, if words don’t work, let's try blood.”
“What?” Nik found himself asking, completely caught off guard by the last statement. Dylan strode forward, smile on his face, and delivered a clean, unrepentant blow to Nik’s nose. Dazed and shocked, Nik stumbled backwards with a cry, hand immediately coming up to guard his now gushing nose. He didn’t move out of Dylan's reach however, and the other man had him by a fistful of a hair a moment later.
The glint of a pocket knife froze Nik in an instant.
A bit gleeful, Dylan sawed away some of the dark brown hair he was holding, cutting off a careless chunk on the side of his head. Without letting go, he turned to Mason and caught a small white cloth thrown to him, using it to dab up some of the blood and tucking the hair inside it.
Nik simply let his eyes close and the revulsion to wash over him. It wasn’t enough they had taken him to make his people give over their land - now they took his blood too. Take, take, take. That was all everyone ever did, all they wanted from him. If it wasn’t his literal body it was his time, and his work, and his mind. When Dylan shoved him away he just felt empty inside. Numb.
“Can, can I at least have the letter?” he asked, aching to hold it. To read the whole thing. Mason shrugged.
“I would have assumed you’d want the one written to you,” he said, reaching into his jacket to retrieve another envelope. He held it up between his two fingers, eyes locked on Nik’s face. Enjoying this. “Written by a Kia, I believe.”
Nik reached for it immediately, wanting before but now desperate. “Yes! Please can I have them? Please?”
Mason looked thoughtful for a moment. “I read it. Don’t think there’s much of importance in there.” He reached into his pocket again, this time retrieving a shiny silver lighter.
“No!” Nik was kept from jumping forward by Dylan, grabbing around his shoulders. “Please, please don’t burn them. I’ll work more, I’ll uh, I’ll do anything for you not to burn those.”
The older man clicked his tongue. “But here’s the thing kid - you already do.”
Nik shrieked when the first flame lick up the side. He struggled and tried to squirm away, but the grip on his arms was bruising. After a few moments, Mason dropped the now engulfed envelope to the ground and clicked is tongue again, signaling Dylan to release him.
Recklessly Nik threw himself forwards, stamping out the fire with his bare hands. He didn’t pay attention to the pain, paid even less to Mason and Dylan leaving. The letter was singed badly, but not completely charred. It mostly was, to his gut wrenching disappointment, but there was still some left. Still some readable.
On his knees in the dirt, with shaking hands, Nik tried to read what was left of his only piece of home.
triggers; mafia au, b!owjob, slapping, shouting / yelling, dacryphilia, yandere behaviour, questionable gunplay, dubcon. this is not what lovers do.
unedited.
“you’re so tiny i could easily manhandle you." His voice was icy cold. Yet there was a hint of seduction laced in. Not that you cared. All that was on your mind was leaving this hell hole..
Shouto's grip on your collar tightened as he gazed down at you. His bi-coloured eyes lingering on your body a little too long to be seen as just 'observing'.
"maybe that's what you wanted." He let out a sigh before pushing you against the wall. You gasped as you felt your body slam against the hard concrete. Your heart raced, the sound was so loud you swore he could have heard it if he wanted to.
"you want me to choke you, to bruise this pretty body and treat you like the slut you are." Shouto paused, a smirk tugging at his lips as he pressed his body against yours. "is that why you tried to leave me?"
You trembled under him, eyes locked on the wall behind him as he tilted his head to the side.
"answer me!" he demanded. His loud voice was terrifying. You had never heard his raise his voice before and now you were wishing you didn't have to.
Your silence only fanned at the flames roaring inside of him. Turning him into a mad man, a crazed lunatic who his wanted answers as to why his pretty baby was trying to leave him - again.
"i still can't believe you tried to escape from your room." His hand came up to gently caress the side of your face. Icy fingers brushing against your cheek causing shivers to run down your spine. "don't you love me?"
You cringed at the word love.
"i'm sorry." You whispered. You weren't sorry for escaping, you were sorry that you got caught by him.
"saying sorry isn't going to work this time." Shouto said, he grabbed you by your shoulders and forced you down on the ground. Your already bruised knees knocking against the floor. You winced at the pain only to feel his hand hit your face.
There was a sting left on your cheek. You covered your face, tears welling up as you felt the burn slowly fade.
"are you going to cry now?" Shouto asked. He wouldn't admit it but you were kinda cute when you cried.
"n..no." you said inbetween sniffs.
"such a pity." He mused, "i wanted to taste your tears again."
Shouto reached for his gun tucked away behind him. He pointed the gun to your head.
"unzip it." That's all he said as he looked down at you.
You had a decent idea of where this was going even though you really didn't want it.
"now." Shouto added as he pressed the gun to your head. The metal digging into your skin. Your shaky hands making quick work of his pants, unzipping and pulling it down.
"it's not going to suck itself." He added. You shook your head. Hoping he would stop , but he didn't.
"god, you're so fucking helpless." Shouto was getting angry now. He pushed down his underwear and grabbed the back of your head forcing your lips to touch his cock.
"open up, or i'll put a bullet in your leg." He demanded.
You slowly parted your lips, and without warning he rammed his dick into your mouth. You gagged around him, your eyes widened as your hands went to grip his thighs.
"cute." He pressed the gun to your head, "if you dare bite, i will know all your teeth out."
Your weren't sure if that was the trigger or not but as soon as the words left his lips you started to cry. Shouto never felt more in love before.
He grabbed the back of your head and began to move his hips. His pace started off slow but it quickly began to get more rough with each second. Your could feel his tip hitting the back of your throat in an awkward angle. Tears dripping down the side of your face as your finger dug into the material of his pants.
He didn't care that he was hurting you. All he wanted was to see you cry, to see your pretty form on your knees at his mercy.
He wanted to make sure you knew your place was under him, now and forevermore.
Just the thought of you being with him until you die was enough to get him even more excited. His hips moved quicker, his pace getting slower with each passing second.
Soft gasps left his lips he fucked your tight throat. This was all he ever wanted.
A lazy grin formed on his face as he threw his head back, cum spilling out of his cock as he kept moving. Fucking the cum into your mouth.
You struggled to breathe. You couched out the liquid, allowing it to drip down the side of your lips and spill all over your neck and chest.
You were such a sight to see.
Shouto finally paused, he pulled up his pants and looked down at you. Your eyes red and puffy with tears, cum dripping all over your face and your swollen lips.
It's like you wanted him to fuck you again.
"you're really in for it now." He growled as he grabbed you by the collar and pushed you down on his bed. "you'll never escape me again."
It took a while for this chapter to finally come together, so I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you so much for the kind reception this project has gotten. I appreciate it so much and I hope you continue to enjoy it. This installment: more about our mysterious lady and Thomas remembers to be scared of the dark. Enjoy!
Paper Trails Masterlist
tag list: **tag list is open; let me know if you would like added.**
cw: implied kidnapping; fear response; magical thinking.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The house could not be seen from the road. The front drive that belonged to it was hidden as well.
When the woman -- because Thomas could not let “Miss” invade his thoughts too -- gave him the instruction to turn in, Thomas briefly wondered if she was tired of him already; had decided running the car into a tree was the easiest way out of this cohabitation. She was telling him to turn into nothing. The headlights caught nothing but a narrow path between overgrown holly bushes and two deep wheel ruts in sparse gravel. He slowed down, hesitating just a second longer than she liked.
She let out a hard breath. “Just turn, Ford.”
“But--.”
“Turn.”
Thomas grit his teeth together, as if it could keep the words behind his teeth. Her latest order was becoming familiar in his mouth after only hours in the car -- shamefully so. “Yes, Miss.”
He braced as he turned the wheel, waiting for her hand to once again connect with some part of him; for her fingers to twist it from his grasp. He knew she could detect the acid in his tone. He kept waiting as gravel crunched under the tires and the headlights’ illuminations scattered into the dark. Trees rose up, black and spindly, along the makeshift road. Eyes appeared, glowing brightly in the corner of his vision before vanishing again. He bit his tongue and prayed it was just the odd rabbit, squirrel, possum, maybe a deer or a raccoon.
The road continued unimpeded in front of them. Nighttime swallowed it up after only a few feet. It felt endless -- creeping slowly forward, scanning the edges of the headlights, gripping the steering wheel hard to keep down that self-same old fear. The hair on Thomas’ arms stood on end in anticipation of anything. In anticipation of nothing. The woman sitting next to him inspired a fresh fear, separate from the other manifestations he had felt in her presence. This one was sharp, icy, unplaceable.
Thomas kept his eyes away from her dark hair and slight shape in the passenger’s sleep.
Thomas kept his eyes on the road ahead of them.
Seemingly endless, gravel and dirt stretch onward.
He had seen a sign for Mammoth Caves sometime earlier -- before the woman had told him to take an off ramp, but far enough back as to feel imprecise. His heart had sunk, continued to sink as he steered the old car down twisting sideroads that blurred and appeared to double back on one another. Thomas had quickly lost track of where they were, despite having not known until then. It had not occurred to him that they would be so far out of New England, that he would be so far away from what was home.
Two days ago, he had been in Cambridge, taking his friend’s advice to “get back out there” after his latest relationship imploding. Now he was closer to Kentucky than he had ever been in his entire life, with a perfect stranger. A perfect stranger who had kidnapped him.
Thomas was starting to forget that.
His heart sunk into his stomach.
He remembered a middle school math teacher who had latched onto the story of a missing girl. The man had become obsessed with the case, devoting more time than healthy to each twist and turn, even after she was found. The year Thomas had been meant to learn algebra 1 equations was overtaken by daily updates on the search, interviews of the family, photos of the house, the street, the school, the girl herself and her bedroom. Thomas could still see her bright eyes, striped shirt, and school picture day smile. He had looked at her then and discarded the warning. It would never happen to him and, if it did, he would definitely be a fighter. He would be the one to escape, to put up a fight, to get skin and hair under his nails before running for the nearest road. He had always relied on himself and his good instincts; trusted the twist in his gut.
Thomas was realizing he had always imagined himself wrong. He wasn’t going to save himself because he didn’t have the willpower. It had left him completely. Sure, going with the flow would probably be safer in the long run. Yes, plenty of people understood how keeping a captor happy could keep you alive. Thomas knew this, had heard this, understood this, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
Going along with whatever her whims were seemed like a very dangerous thing. Not just to himself, but for whoever she was hell bent on finding. The person he had been kidnapped to help locate. Thomas knew nothing about that person or why she was so determined to locate them. Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if he would be asked to commit murder or bury a body deep in these same woods. He was garbage at digging holes at the beach with his sister’s children.
That same sister would have told him he was spiralling. That he was letting his anxiety take root and get the better of him. He tried to comfort himself, saying she would be the one to notice his absence and report it. He ignored the small voice reminding him that they hadn’t spoke since Christmas.
“Stop here,” Miss murmured, pulling off her seatbelt. She pushed open the door before the breaks began to work.
Thomas complied, putting the car in park. She stepped out and slammed the door behind her. The headlights went out as he shut off the engine and his eyes adjusted to the wintertime dark just outside the car. They were parked out front of a picket fence, old-fashioned with bubbling, peeling white paint. Beyond it was an equally old and peeling cottage. It’s white form blurred into shadows at its edges. Dark arched windows gave it the appearance of large, staring eyes. A porch cut a wife swatch as it wrapped around the front and onto the sides. It was tumble-down, crumbling, abandoned. Thomas imagined it had once been quaint and charming, struggling to pick out the front door.
He watched, still and silent as he leaned onto the steering wheel. He watched the woman step in front of the car and lifted the latch to a gate set into the fence. She crossed through, then turned and motioned for him to follow. Thomas caught himself staring at her again. The sharp fear abated, but it didn’t feel like a choice exactly. Every time he glanced away from her face -- to the door handle, to the dark pine trees, to the almost full moon hanging in the sky -- something would catch him, stop him, guide his chin back to face her. An invisible tether catching his back teeth, pulled him forward, stumbling.
He was exhausted, disoriented, lost. It was only his mind gravitating to the one somewhat-familiar thing.
Familiar and pretty, if terrifying.
Thomas was forgetting again. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to recenter his scattered, drifting thoughts.
“Did no one tell you not to dawdle?” she said, her voice floating under the sound of soft wind through the trees, the rustle and fragrance of dry pine needles.
“Not since I was a kid, Miss,” Thomas replied with far too much ease for his liking. Frosty grass crunched underneath the soles of his shoes. Wet dirt and gravel reached his nose. He never broke contact with her eyes -- dark, dark, centerless eyes, holding tight to his throat. “Where are we?”
“Home,” she answered and turned on her heel.
“Your home?” Thomas called, following her through the overgrown yard in the direction of the front porch. She appeared unbothered by the twisted roots that tripped him up and briars that caught his socks and pant legs.
“Sometimes.” Reaching for a hand rail covered over by vines, she pulled herself up onto the porch. One fluid motion and she was standing above him. “I thought someone in your line of work wouldn’t ask so many dumb questions.”
“What would that be?” Thomas paused, deciding how to negotiate the falling-apart handrail and squeaking boards. No part of it looked safe. He pressed his lips together, betting he would drop straight through as soon as he was up there. “My line of work, I mean.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Scholar.”
“Ah. I’m going to have to correct you.” He put one foot up on a splintering support, balancing on the other as he reached for an uncracked area of railing and the base of a post. The strained noise he made hoisting himself onto the splintering, spongy wood earned him a pitying half smile from the woman. Where she stood, the moonlight just reached her head and shoulders. It made her brighter, softer. Thomas felt himself leaning in as he answered. “I’m an archivist only. I help scholars more than do that work myself. I’ve found asking dumb questions is the easiest way to get a usable answer when everyone wants to talk over your head. Without me, they couldn’t find the one thing they need for their work.”
“Force of habit then?”
“I prefer occupational hazard.”
“That may remain true here,” she sniffed, the half smile reappearing. That was good, he thought; she was pleased with him, perhaps would be easier on him. Perhaps would keep him alive because of it. “Come inside, won’t you?”
“Yes, Miss.” Thomas kicked himself again as he followed her. The word was so easy, too easy, painfully easy. Miss, miss, miss. It was his first flirting technique, had been since he was in college. She was twisting it, and he was sure she knew it too. He had flirted with her.
The woman walked up to what Thomas had thought was a window from the car. A tall, arching expanse of dark, warped glass set into metal frames. Two handles curl out, nearly hidden in the dark. Thomas half expects the whole thing to loose from its moorings and shatter in front of them. The wooden walls around it looked rotten, the paint flaking to reveal lichen and mold happily growing underneath. How the place had not collapsed into itself, Thomas didn’t know. How anyone could live inside, he didn’t know.
She rested her hands on the scrolled handles, smiling to herself, and the doors creaked open. Her hands remained suspended in the air, as if they hadn’t moved at all. Thomas blinked, trying to confirm whether he had seen them move or not. As she disappeared over the threshold, he didn’t believe they had.
“Come along, Ford. I wait for no man, and certainly not you.”
Thoma poke his head in the door, inspecting the wooden boards for gaping holes, forest critters, or other traps, and found none.
The inside was nothing like the outside.
Beyond the doors, the decay had vanished. Polished wooden floors stained a gleaming gunstock brown ran from front to back through a large entry hall. The walls were whole and solid, covered in a printed emerald fabric. As he stepped inside, Thomas ran his fingers gently over the surface. Silky, the weave smooth and fine, painted with delicate flowers, curling vines, and ruby-throated hummingbirds. Thomas felt his mouth drop open. He bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting for creaks and groans that never sounded.
“What on earth…” He whispered to himself. He blinked out of his reverie as the doors behind him slammed shut. Glancing around the large room, he found the woman standing behind him, further into the home. Startled, he tried an off-kilter grin. “Wind, huh?”
“Yes, just the wind.” She smiled, cat-like and alluring
He felt drawn to her again, the sensation stronger and more stomach-churning than it had been at any time prior. It knotted in his stomach and around his chest, yanking him forward. He found himself moving towards her unconsciously, as if on a string. She practically glowed, her face round and gentle. Her eyes were soft, dark lashes fanning out over her cheek with every measured blink. When she turned away, leading him deeper into the house, the spell broke. It left him off balance, unsettled, his knees weak and rubbery.
“It’s late. I’ll show you to your room. We can talk tomorrow, Mr. Ford.”
“Thomas.”
“Mr. Ford.”
“Yes, Miss.”
The solid wood and fabric walls continued, decorated here and there with framed trinkets, framed maps, framed photos, framed portraits. There are more portraits on the stairs. Men and women both, from all centuries and worlds. A man with blonde waves, looking vaguely revolutionary, sat in an oval frame. A woman with smooth dark skin and hawk-like eyes painted on wood, sporting a delicate lace ruff, gold-set jewels, and a deep red gown. Painted figures and small silhouette cuts, tin-types, daguerreotypes, hand tinted photographs, and soldier’s portraits. Each one bore a small metal label -- a description, a name, a place, a time. Thomas couldn’t read many of them. He was too focused on following the woman in front of him, on not getting lost in this strange house.
At the very top sat another portrait in a round frame adorned with mother of pearl. It was simpler than the rest, holding Thomas’ attention as tightly as Miss had. Set in a black background was the vision of a young woman, soft and pale. Her brown hair blends into the plain background. Her eyes are seductive, imploring. The rest of her shines for the contrast -- something Thomas knows cannot be just the hand of a talented artist.
It was her.
Thomas let himself be pulled to it, absorbed by the art more than the real woman. Let his eyes run over her face, her neck and bare shoulders; over the delicate trail of her earrings, the soft pink set of her lips, the softly shadowed eyes and how they glitter invitingly. His eyes trail to a small label, secured to the lowest curve of the frame.
“Ford.”
“Elisabeth Bonaventura Coranine, Countess, Salzburg…” Thomas murmurs, the name flowing easily from his lips. He turns to her in amazement. “Your name is Elisabeth.”
Her expression sobers, falling back into the seriousness he had known so well there. “Yes.”
“You’re a royal.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Thomas’ mouth falls open. “You’re Austrian?”
“No.” She shakes her head and offers no more. “I’d like to get to bed, Mr. Ford, if you would be so kind--.”
“I have so many questions,” Thomas breathed. “So many fucking questions… This place, this… all of this.” He exhales harshly, turning fully to her. “You’re going to kill me in my sleep aren’t you.”
Elisabeth shakes her head. The name suits her, he thinks. “No. I haven’t the energy tonight, and I prefer to be more creative in my murders. Now, your room is here.”
“Wait… your murders?”
“Another time, Mr. Ford,” She replied sharply. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and she pointed into a room. “If you please. I am tired and my patience is wearing thin.”
Thomas pressed his lips shut and follows the line of her fingers into a spartan room. Small, with a four-poster bed and empty pale blue walls.
“Thank you,” she huffs. “Good night, Mr. Ford.”
Thomas let out a slow breath, hearing the door swing shut behind him. “Good night, Elisabeth.”
The door shut, the locked clicked into place, then all the light was extinguished from the room.
(Cryptor, Sentry, Zane, Mr.E, Echo, Mindroid, Pixal, an Oc, etc.)
A nindroid ally goes missing during a battle with the Mechanic. Trails of clues and riddles lead the ninja in circles, leaving them wondering if they'll be able to save their friend before time runs out.
c!dream threw his bestie a birthday party this year! isn’t he such a good friend to c!tommy?
(image id: A digital drawing done in a painterly style of the characters of Tommy and Dream. Tommy is a teenage boy sitting at a table, with a birthday cake with a candle shaped like the number 19 in front of him. He is covered in bruises and scars, and is missing an eye. His face is expressionless as he stares at the cake. His hair is done in a long braid, and is more white than blond. Dream is a masked man holding onto Tommy's shoulders- his mask is askew to show him giving a proud smile. He’s wearing a green cloak, and his dirty blond hair is streaked with grey and white. He is scarred and also missing an eye, and the scars on his face match with cracks on his mask. The two are sitting in a prison cell, and there is a balloon in the back with the same smiley face as Dream's mask)
Oohhh babe you’ve got me intrigued! For the time….5:17 am, and for the characters let’s go wiiiith Asmo and Kicho!
damn bby, two great choices ;) thanks for the ask hehe ♡
5:17am
tw; somnophilia, dubcon, yandere, sleepy fem mc x pervy husband kicho. implied kidnapping.
he cant help himself. especially when youre sleeping so soundly next to him. your chest slowly rising and falling, your body shifts every few minutes and he would know because his pretty eyes has been glued to you for the past hour. he should be sleeping too but.... not when his wife is next to him.
at first it started off innocent - but now his hand is finding its way down your panties. a slender finger slowly moving between your slit as he lets out a soft sigh. he shifts closer to you and buries his face against your neck. you smell so nice. hes so lucky to be your man.. your only man.. its a sick obesession but with someone as sweet as you.. how could he not be obsessed ?
his hips rut forward as his fingers slips inside your cunt. youre so nice and warm compared to the cold outside... if you feel this good around his fingers, your gummy walls sucking him in. now hes the one who feels like hes in a dream.... you have him hooked and now he is imagining the way youd clench around his cock instead. kicho bites down on his bottom lip as he pulls his finger out.. he cant wait anymore. fuck this. kicho needs to be inside of you.. and he needs it now. hes sorry if he wakes you but then again he knows youd like it eiher way. afterall you are his little wife he stole from nobunaga.
