#How To Get Healthy And Fit In A Non Obsessive Way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 6 months ago

Text

angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else.

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to.

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today?

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches.

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain.

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that?

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead.

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head.

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake.

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot.

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you… Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time.

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me.

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you.

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep.

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching.

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts.

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will).

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.”

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic.

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #tw: noncon touching #tw: noncon #tw: chikan #n/sfw #tw: stalking

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itsabouttimex2 · 8 months ago

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Yandere Alphabet: Red Son

Authority: Do they see themselves as above their obsession?

Yes, yes, and yes. A thousand times over. Red Son’s pride is unmitigatable, an ever-searing pillar of his person. Y/N is viewed as a silly mortal pet, with a collar to boot. Though his opinion of you might eventually improve to seeing you as something of a friend, it still wouldn’t be great.

Bread: Can they cook or bake? Is their obsession responsible for their own food?

So long as they don’t injure themselves further than a mild burn or cut, Y/N is allowed free roam in the kitchen, allowed to make themselves what they please. Good behavior earns them a little fridge all to themselves, stocked with healthy snacks and ingredients they enjoy- Red Son can be generous, when he wants to be.

Not that he won’t steal from your plate if the things you cook look good enough. In a way, it elevates your status with him, sharing food with you as family would.

If you do get hurt too bad, Red revokes your access to the stove, oven, and knives. He’ll starts to make your meals for you, with the addendum that you help with the non-dangerous stages of food prep. Of course, what’s actually happening is that he’s making extra portions of what he likes, then giving it to you. Let’s hope you like spicy food.

Cruentus- How do they respond to Y/N being hurt, both slightly and severely?

Immediate scorching of whoever dared to lay their hands on property of the Demon Bull Family ensues, and then continues until their flesh has carbonized. Red Son will clean and bind your wounds with a firm hand, viciously scolding you for daring to put yourself in a position where you might be harmed in the first place. “My family has a reputation to maintain, you numbskull! If anyone sees you damaged, what will they think of us?!”

This lecture will occur even if the perpetrator broke into the Demon Bull fortress and smashed down the door of your room to get to you. After some time has passed, he’ll feel slightly bad for blaming you, and bring you something sugary to drink.

If the wound is minor, like a cut or scratch, Red Son will scoff at the weakness of your skin and ignore it, mocking you as ‘whiny’ and ‘pathetic’. If the issue persists, he’ll steal a few high quality first aid kits from a hospital and throw them onto your shelf.

Disengage- What’s their response to being ignored?

Laughter. Mocking, howling laughter. And then an immediate removal of privileges and freedom until they ‘grow up’, in Red’s own words.

Enclosure: Where do they keep Y/N? Do they have a place for them at all?

In the Demon Bull Family’s Fortress. Y/N has a section in Red Son’s room all to themselves, with a little mattress and small shelf to fit several personal possessions. During the beginning of their captivity, Y/N will be shown a length of chain bolted to the wall with a shackle on one end- a warning that freedom is now a privilege, not a right. You’ll have to wear it all through the night for many months on end if you make any escape attempts.

Facade: Are they good at hiding their true intentions?

No. But that’s only because doesn’t even try. The most he’ll do is lie to his parents about the depth of his obsession- and they’re willing to believe (for a time) that he merely wanted an amusing little pet to keep him company.

Garment: Do they take control of Y/N’s clothes?

Yes, to a stifling extreme. Red Son will torch the entirety of your wardrobe in order to replace it with something more suited to him and the tastes of his family- expect lots of red and purple. Secretly, Red enjoys matching with you. He might spare a few pieces of your clothing from his fire if you argue to their sentimental value. Also, he’ll do your hair, likely in a way that resembles his mother’s style. He might even force you to grow it out so that he can pin it up in twin ‘bull horns’.

Again, he forces you to wear a collar stamped with the family insignia (pictured here twice, the Chinese word for ‘bull’, written in bone script), but good behavior will have him upgrade you to a large pendant instead.

Also, you’re getting a bindi/tattoo like his- but only after he’s shifted you from ‘pet’ to ‘sibling’.

Handicap: How do they handle Y/N being or becoming disabled?

Unfortunately, a disabled Y/N in the clutches of Red Son is very likely to be the victim of humiliation and dehumanization- for a time. As his affection and care for you grows, the blade of his pendulum swings. He switches quickly from constant mockery and boundary stomping to stifling care and strict restriction. One day he’ll be kicking your crutch or hiding your anxiety meds while you panic, the next he’s demanding you to relegate yourself to the constant use of a wheelchair and punishing you for not taking your medicine where he can see it.

Intertwine- How physical are they? Do they enjoy skinship and touch?

Red Son is pretty reserved in terms of touch- he’ll accept minor displays of physical affection, but rarely initiates. When he does, you can expect condescending headpats and lots of hair brushing. If you’re feeling particularly down, he’ll muster up a half-hearted hug, awkwardly thumping your back.

Jaunt: Are they willing to take Y/N out in public? Where do they go?

No. Not unless they’re willing to be led around by the aforementioned shackle, the chains rattling with each step taken. However, Red Son might teleport them to somewhere isolated and empty for a few minutes, allowing them a little bit of fresh air as a quick reward for compliance and obedience.

Kindness: What brings out the best in this yandere?

The Crystal Heir AU leaves him extremely protective towards Y/N, acknowledging their trauma and suffering- and he works to be a better person for them.

Alternatively, when you get very sick- Red Son will stay beside you all the while, stuffing you with water, medicine, and hand-made soup. Having you completely vulnerable only serves to make him softer, given that you can’t fight or sass him- he might even cuddle you once or twice, letting you rest against his ever-warm body.

Limitation: What holds them back? Work? Family obligations? Physical weakness?

His family’s goals and ambitions are always at the fore of Red’s mind, a perpetual desire to please them. Given the time he has to spend planning or tinkering, Y/N does have time to themselves- enough to plan or attempt an escape, if they can muster the courage.

Morals: What lines are they not willing to cross?

Any form of ‘rigorous’ discipline or outright abuse. Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning your thighs or whipping you hands, and wouldn’t ever beat you outright. You might get slapped on the back of the head or receive a sharp swat on your nose- but he wouldn’t really go any further. Also, no deliberately putting Y/N in danger. He’s just not risking it.

Nausea: Can they tend to an illness, or would they rely on a doctor?

He handles it himself. As mentioned before, Red Son plies you with water, soup, and medicine. He’ll restrict you to his own bed, sleeping in the guest room as you recover- and he’ll sneak in during the night to wipe the sweat from your brow and refill your glass.

Obcordate: What reminds them of Y/N?

Food and drink with warming (but not spicy) spices, like cookies with a dash of ginger and cinnamon. Stray dogs that would be better off taken in hand and brought somewhere safe. Any little flower that’s blooming all alone.

Pacify: How do they comfort Y/N? Do they even bother trying?

Jokes aside, he’s not too great- but there’ll be some mild, concerned effort. Maybe just lay your head in his lap and let him play with your hair- it’s more comfortable for him trying to give you a hug or pep talk.

Queue: Do they have something of equal or greater importance to Y/N?

His family. Red’s obsession with Y/N will never come before his love for his parents, even after they find themselves forcibly ‘adopted’.

Redemption: Could they grow out of their obsession and make amends with Y/N?

Unlikely, but not impossible. After several months/years spent spent with them, Red Son will grow more protective and less cruel, but his obsession never really fades.

Sobriquet- What nicknames do for they have for their obsession?

Many mocking and insulting epithets are bestowed upon Y/N, the most frequent being, you guessed it- peasant. If Red Son grows particularly angry, he’ll get more threatening with his wording, referring to you as ‘kindling’ or ‘firewood’.

After a few months spent in captivity, he might refer to you as little sister (妹妹) or little brother (弟弟). These moments are fleeting, but impossibly soft and genuine- and after a few months or even years spent acclimating to your new life, you might see fit to call him older brother (哥哥).

Troop: How many people do they obsess over? Is that obsession spread equally?

Just one- Y/N.

Underdog: Who‘s on the yandere’s side? Would they help out?

His parents are massive enablers, unfortunately. So what if their son has a little mortal pet? They want to take over the world- Red Son taking one of the mortals that they wish to subjugate as a slave/pet/companion does not bother them at all.

Though they do find you to be very cute- especially when Red Son forces you to dress and style yourself like a member of their family.

Vocalize: How do they justify their actions?

Red doesn’t bother- he doesn’t need justification. He wanted Y/N, so he took them. The end, with no regret.

White Whale: Why do they pursue Y/N? What caused this obsessive love?

Probably they do one or two nice things for him and he snatches them up, not unlike a human adopting a cute and friendly stray. The bulk of his obsession comes later, after he’s spent enough time to start caring about you.

Xanthous: What do they really want?

Approval, attention, and affection. Red Son switches from desperately seeking his father’s pride and love to demanding to have yours, finding it a much easier goal to achieve.

Youth: How old is Y/N in comparison to them? Younger, same age, or older?

Given that they’re almost invariably a mortal he finds amusing, Y/N is much younger.

Zealous: Do they pursue Y/N doggedly, or are they more laidback and casual with their approach?

Red Son is extremely casual the majority of the time- he’s entitled and prideful to the point that he sees nothing wrong with what he’s doing. Why would he be anything but relaxed?

Author’s Choice 1: What do Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King think of Y/N?

Iron Fan thinks of you as adorable when Red Son styles your hair like hers, and might even throw some of her old clothes your way- they’re abraded to softness and cozy to sleep in, offering some comfort during long nights. She’s not too opposed to having you as part of the family, even if she has to help her son “train” you into obedience and politeness.

The Demon Bull King uses you as practice for his future rule over mortals, making demands of you. He chuckles as you scurry about to fulfill them, trying hard to avoid his ire. Occasionally he’ll lift you by the scruff of your shirt, examining you closely. It’s fun to watch you yelp and kick, fearful that he’ll drop or crush you- he won’t actually do either, to his credit. It’s just funny to him that you think he might.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Red Son #Red Son #Yandere Alphabet

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tenpintsofsundrop · 1 year ago

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What would Dick Grayson be like in bed? (Titans Kink Headcanons)

A/N: So originally I was going to publish all of these for all of the characters in one long post, but I got tired/creatively stalled out about halfway through, and it's just been sitting in my drafts unfinished for weeks now. So I have decided to post them for the characters one at a time so that way I can catch up on them and have the energy to complete them really well. The reader is meant to be completely gender neutral, and I don't really know how to put warnings on this, because there is mentions of kinky topics throughout, but it's basically just a list of kinks? Like, the content itself is like a warnings list for a fic. Main warnings are for kinky topics, Daddy kink, and discussions of BDSM.

DC Titans Masterlist

...

So... one of those things that is totally obvious to me from the source material is that Dick Grayson is Daddy.

Not just when it comes to Daddy kink (although he definitely does enjoy being called Daddy for sexual gratification). He is the living embodiment of the title of Daddy. And tbh, I think he would love being called Daddy in a non-sexual context - which might sound weird if you've never been in that kind of relationship before. But when you try it out with him, you would probably love it.

It's something he would find comforting. You calling him Daddy in completely non-sexual contexts when you have no sexual intent behind it - it would make him feel good because it brings the joy of having a long term partner who feels comfortable calling him that. And he would definitely also love the casual dominance of it. He would love feeling owned by you because he gets to wear that title 24/7.

But he would be likely to say that it's something the two of you can only do in private - like in text messages or when nobody else is around to hear it, because he holds the title very sacred and he doesn't want others to mock him for it, because it is like a safe space for him. Even if he would 'laugh off' any mockery of it, he would feel hurt deep down inside.

But anyway, speaking of casual dominance - it's something he is obsessed with. I think he loves BDSM as a lifestyle, and for him, when he has a partner, it definitely doesn't stop in the bedroom - he loves setting lifestyle rules for you as a way of taking care of you.

He will set rules about when you eat (to make sure you never miss a meal), what you eat - he wouldn't ban you from eating junk food, but he would limit your intake of sugar and make it mandatory for you to eat a certain amount of healthy foods, and if you have a bad habit of consuming too much caffeine or soda, he is sure as hell gonna use sexual punishments to curb it.

His goal with casual dominance and the rules he makes will always be to take care of you and improve your quality of life - including your physical health and your mental health.

Is he always dominant?

I think that he vastly prefers being dominant because he is a control freak who hates giving up any kind of control, and funnelling those feelings into a BDSM relationship can keep him from exerting his intense need for control in other areas of life - like having emotional fits when other people don't do what he wants and violently beating up criminals. And on very rare occasions, when he is with someone he knows very well and trusts, he will play the submissive role. But I don't think he would ever be a submissive in a long term relationship.

If his sub misbehaves, I think he would avoid using pain as a punishment. I genuinely think he wouldn't be into spanking or any other type of painplay, because at the end of the day - even if he's strict about rules, it really makes his soul ache to hurt you.

One of his favourite punishments is overstimulation. He loves giving oral simply for the fact that he loves overstimulating you with his tongue for hours, and he loves vibrators and even fuck machines for the same reason.

He would use attention denial or ignoring you as a punishment - denying you of affection, or going as far as to ignore you completely if you want to talk to him at all (unless it's an emergency, of course).

He would also use this punishment in combination with overstimulation - setting you up with a vibrator pinned between your thighs and leaving you alone until you're whining and desperate, begging for his attention and ready to apologize for whatever rule you have broken.

I can also see him being into semi-public sex. He would be the type of dom to enjoy putting a remote control vibrator in your underwear just to push the button and watch you squirm at the most inconvenient times. He would also love taking you out to dinner somewhere nice and teasing you under the table, living to see you squirm and become desperate for him.

He would love any kind of bondage - tying you up in different complex ways, blindfolds, gags, all of those kinky things. As long as it doesn't hurt you, he would love seeing you vulnerable and wanting - he would love seeing rope against your skin. (And he would absolutely have the patience and intellect to learn complex shibari just to tie you up.)

And lastly (one that is obvious to me from the show) - Dick has a breeding kink.

He wants to be a father so badly, even if it's unconscious for him - it would come out when he feels you squeezing around his cock. And whether you can get pregnant or not (and whether you want kids or not), he would be obsessed with roleplaying the act of knocking you up. He would be obsessed with seeing his cum leak out of you, and telling you how he's gonna knock you up while he's deep inside of you. The first time you tell him to ditch the condom while having sex, it drives him insane, and it's the best sex of both your lives.

(A/N: I think that's a good round-up of all my headcanons for him lmao.)

#sundrop writes #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson headcanons #titans!dick grayson #dc titans #titans #dc titans fanfiction #dc titans x reader #dc fanfiction

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dykedvonte · 8 months ago

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thinking abt what you said with house viewing Benny as a son and I’m obsessed. Like. The man spent most of his life before the war presumably alone, and then after the bombs fell he was alone again, save for AI he himself devised. Then he decides to pull in some Tribes, and one kid shows promise! So sure, treat him well, train him, groom him to be his protege, then next thing you know UH OH he’s got developing paternal feelings towards this guy. Wanting some semblance of a family when the time has long since passed, yet fostering that feeling all the same seems so accurate for him. Benny meanwhile only views him as a boss, and not a particularly good one at that. makes me wonder how House must’ve felt when he found out about Bennys plans

I view it as House blames only himself for this, cause he kind of does in canon (strap in this is a long one).

When reflecting on the issue of Benny, House chastises himself first and foremost for not acting quickly enough when it comes to priming Benny. He describes Benny as being ambitious, ruthless and capable; compliments coming from a man like House. House has an ego and while he is logical enough to understand there was never any evidence Benny saw him as a father-figure, he lacks the humility to admit he let his own views on his relationship with Benny blind him to the activities happening behind the scenes.

I doubt that House was as aware as he makes out about what Benny was doing, he knew early on but certainly not early enough to stop Benny from hacking and obtaining a securitron along with getting the chip in the first place. I take it he was distracted by all the possibilities he was calculating of Vegas' success and growth with him steering and Benny as the new figure head, not because of any normal affection for Benny but the admiration of his capabilities. It's to be noted that House believed menial incentives (likely caps, booze, basic needs, etc..) were enough to keep Benny tame like the other Chairmen but, as evidenced by the Omertas and Mortimer in the WGS, this is not enough when it comes to more driven Vegas citizens. This implies he still undervalued Benny and created a space in which Benny felt the need to rebel.

House in my eyes is not sentimental in the traditional sense. I can imagine his pride was severely scorned as someone he certainly deemed dumber than him was, albeit only for a little, able to out-gambit him. It would definitely hit home seeing how his brother also betrayed him but I feel like that's why he's so apathetic when he tells the Courier to do as they see fit with Benny. I doubt the way he terrorized his brother brought him any emotional satisfaction other than a "Now who's in charge!" ego boost. Putting that same emotional intensity towards Benny isn't worth it because who does it benefit? Wasted time, wasted planning, and most importantly wasted potential are all he gets from continuing to be hands-on with Benny. I say the closest example is not being able to throw out old toys due to the memories attached but knowing it's necessary as they are broken or just taking up space for new ones, and then asking someone else to do it so you don't need to get caught up in the feelings of throwing something you put so much effort into. It's not Benny House cares about in my mind, not in a way that sounds healthy to any non-emotionally constipated individual, but what he could've represented for him, which is why he so quickly offers the same position to the Courier.

As for Benny's view on all of this, it was a long time coming. Benny didn't and doesn't believe House is a completely shitty boss. He admires what he's been shown and admits House knows how to run the strip, but disagrees with the directions. Ideologically, House is an anarcho-capitalist while Benny is just an anarchist. House wants to run the strip to profit, though money is not what he's concerned with being rich with anymore. Benny wants a free state that he wishes to become a place for the people, except for the Chairmen who would be on top (I like to remind people that Benny's motives were selfish but not for personal gain/power as was it for the people he actually saw as family). Benny was never looking for a father but a future. He was not interested in being adopted, or having the chairmen adopted, as bigger names still overshadowed in House's legacy.

Truly, it's easiest to summarize as House feeling strongly and thinking positively enough of Benny to start incorporating him into the future of Vegas (a huge honor actually) while Benny was so disillusioned by House's ego and indifference that he thought the only way Vegas could be the future is with House gone.

#tdlr House saw Benny as the perfect face of his Legacy while Benny saw his legacy as a stagnant mosquito infested pond #its more complex as house certainly would of been irate if he hadn't known and the courier came to kick benny's ass #but more someone being mad youre fucking with their things #i likely thing that even in a more traditional father son relationship House is conditional and would force Benny to confrom more to his #standards as I also believe the Chairmen are more tightly monitered due to bennys unique relation to house and being the first tribe #so itd be smothering and oppressive for someone like Benny even though imposing his beliefs and standards would be how House shows affectio #and fatherly praise which would result in Benny probably wanting to act out even more. like the only way a father son dynamic is healthy an #works is if house would relent some control and show he sees benny as an equal which would never happen cause its house but its still tragi #to me cause house has that longing for something more personal to him than Vegas and tries to fill it with progress cause its rather hard #to create those bonds in the state he is in and benny was the closest thing to that and even that he inadvertently ruined #but on benny house kinda ruined him cause the chairmen for all intents and purposes liked and trusted benny as a leader after bingo who #benny really only killed because of the illusions of grandeur house put into a young impressionable mind and how bingo refused to hear him #not to absolve him of his wrongdoings and being a dick but benny didnt just attack bingo he challenged him and won and in the end while #nostalgic none of the chairmen choose to leave and go back to the old way which says something cause they can leave #this is long and honestly should a seperate post on benny cause i have thoughts on him and how more people need to add his all roads traits #to get a cohesive picture of how hed really act #benny gecko #benny fnv #fallout #fallout new vegas #robert edwin house #mr house fnv #mr house #ask #anon #sorry if this is confusing I have very indepth thoughts on all aspects and possibilites on how unhealthy and power inbalancey anything #with house would be but this is so interesting cause its oddly vulnerable for house of all people to disclose this to the courier

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nagisalovescorpse · 1 year ago

Text

☆ 𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹𝘀 , jean kirschtein

☆ ; jean kirschtein × fem¡reader ☆ ; inspired by the video clip of the song "animals" by maroon 5. jean is a sociopathic butcher obsessed with you, the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on, to the point where it crosses the line. ☆ ; this story contains voyeurism, stalking, invasion of private property, mention of mental illnes and drugs, male masturbation, female masturbation, fingering, penetration, unprotected sex (this is fiction! use protection irl), creampie, breeding kink, using of pet names as "doll" or "angel" etc., half (?) non-consensual sexual behavior ☆ ; i picture jean as the most respectful and healthy man EVER, but i just get so turned on by the scenario of the insanely hot stalker that is completely and madly obsessed with you, so pls let it slide for this time. also english is not my first language so pls be kind and correct any grammar/lexical/whatever mistake you find. enjoy your reading. ☆ ; 2,4k words, not revised ☆ ; minors/ageless blog do not interact

i'm sick of your little game.

everyone may think you're a good girl, but i know who you are. with that innocent look of yours and doe eyes, do you really think i wouldn't have noticed what you were doing?

the day you first walked into the butcher shop where i work, clean face with no make up and disgustingly short skirt, biting your nails in a sweet and sensual way, i saw you sneaking glances at me over the counter.

you seriously wanted me to fuck you in front of everyone back then? because is basically what you were asking me with your eyes.

from that day our game began, i saw you walking down that street every morning, passing in front of the shop as if you didn't see me, but i know that instead you were perfectly aware of it.

i noticed the provocative way you had of pulling your hair at the back of your neck when it was too hot, throwing your head back to seek some relief from the heat, what were you trying to show me? the way you'd throw your head back, baring your tender neck for my kisses and bites when i finally fucked you like god intended?

not to mention your outfits, doll, you're a fucking eye candy in shorts and mini skirts, but i hate that even others can see your beautiful body to the point i feel phisically sick just thinking about it.

you always try to seduce me, don't you? so desperate for me, doll, you act like you're in heat. at the butcher's shop you act shy and look the other way, «a package of sausages.» you tell me. seriously? is this your way of letting me know you want me to fuck you?

but it doesn't matter, angel, i love how pure and chaste you are. do you know what i'd love more? fuck the sin out of you. when this game comes to an end i will give you your reward.

you play it hard to get, isn't it? you stubbornly continue not to look at me and pretend that i don't exist, but we both know that there is much more between us. when you get home in the evening you leave the light on for me, so that i can see through the window of your room while you slowly undress and lie down between the crumpled sheets of your bed.

it doesn't matter if it's cold or it's raining, i love standing across the street to watch you, just the way you want.

you know i'm there, that turns you on. you caress your stomach, hold your breast in one hand, slowly sliding the other one over the elastic band of your panties. you are so sweet as you pleasure yourself, you arch your back and squirm as you climax.

i'd love to take care of your pleasure. as much as i love watching you touching yourself and imagining the ethereal sound of your moans, my cock would do much better.

you're so beautiful, doll, i bet my dick could barely fit in you. i think about it while i look at you and in the dim light i touch myself, reaching the peak when you're satisfied and panting between the sheets, i wish i could cum inside you and maybe make you the perfect mama you'd be. sweet as an angel, beautiful as a doll.

but you play too much for my liking and i'm starting to lose my temper.

you barely look at me and you do everything to piss me off, like the other night when you got drunk at the club and smeared yourself on that guy. you're crossing the line and i don't like that at all.

i see you when you leave the house, even if you don't turn to look at me as i walk behind you, i don't like how you smile at other men and the sweet looks you give them. don't think you can win this game by acting like a slut, be careful to abide by our rules or i'll end up getting really angry.

tonight at the club you're acting really bad, all your friend's fault, she's a very bad influence for you.

you're wearing a shiny black minidress, you're lovely, but the others have noticed it too. i must muster all my self-control not to lay hands on every man who approaches you tonight.

what are you doing? your friend takes something from her bag, but i can't see clearly from here. i force myself to observe what she has in her hands under the purple lights of the club, it's a bag, a transparent bag with two small colored buttons. pills.

oh no, doll, what's on your mind? do not take them, do not tak… and you took them. seriously, do i always have to take care of you?

you dance and drink and get drunk, you're behaving really badly tonight, angel, what happened to your purity? you can barely stand up, i don't know how you managed to call a cab to go home, luckily i'm here to keep an eye on you.

i see you enter the building where you live, i imagine you go up the stairs wobbling on your heels, clouded by alcohol and drugs, finally after what seems like an eternity the light in your room comes on, you throw your bag on the chair, take off your heels and dress, you just put on a white undershirt and throw yourself into the sheets, without even bothering to turn off the lamp on the bedside table.

oh darling, what have you been up to? i enter the code to open the door to the building, i go up the stairs as i have imagined doing countless times, only this time the game is over and i'm on my way to claim my prize. you left your apartment door open, doll, imagine if some psycho walked in and tried to hurt you. luckily i'm there to protect you, angel.

there's a part of your house i've never seen since it can't be seen from the window, your apartment is messy and smells like instant food and women's perfume, i'll have to remember to cook you some food everyday, doll.

your gym bag is still in the hall, a pair of panties hang out of the pocket, they are lacy pink, just as adorable as you. your things are scattered around, all kinds of makeup and cosmetics are stacked on the bathroom counter, even if you don't need that stuff to be beautiful, just imagine our daily bickering about how messy you are, i'd love to have to deal with your items everyday in this house.

i nearly trip over your heels when i get to your room, you only sleep on one side of the bed, leaving the other empty for me.

i look at you, you were so tired that you fell asleep immediately, your face is relaxed and if i could stop time and look at you forever i would without thinking twice.

i lie down on my side of the bed, still dressed, i look at you for a long time, it can be minutes or whole hours, it started to rain and the loud noise covers even the sound of my thoughts. the only thing i hear other than the sound of the water is your breathing, it reminds me how nice it would be to hear you pant for real this time.

i reach out and caress your leg, it's the first time i touch you, your skin is smooth and soft exactly as i imagined it.

fuck, my dick is already hard, what are you doing to me, doll? i keep touching you, fascinated by the perfection of your face. you are the most beautiful woman i have ever laid eyes on and above all you are mine. completely mine.

i run my fingers through your soft hair, the night's makeup has smudged a bit, but to me it just makes you even more innocent and pure. i forgive you for the way you approached that guy, angel, but i'll make sure no one else bothers you now that the game is over.

you move in your sleep, towards me. you intertwine a leg with mine and cuddle up to my chest as if you want protection from me. i hold you and continue to caress your arms and hair, you stir in your sleep rubbing your soft breasts against me.

you've wanted this all along, haven't you? i feel how your breathing gets heavy, are you getting excited in your sleep? your leg presses against the bulge in my pants, making it hard for me to think straight.

«doll.» i murmur to you who are completely above me. in one quick movement i unbutton my jeans, my cock is fully erect and craving you, you rub against the tip, i can feel how wet you are through the fabric of your panties.

i can't help it, i masturbate between your legs that squeeze my hips, i kiss your neck, your collarbones, i smell the scent of your shampoo mixed with the fabric softener you use for the sheets. you moan, your hips move by themselves because your body knows, even before your mind, who you belong to.

then you wake up. you're confused, darling, it's understandable. at first you don't get what's going on but you don't walk away. you stay in my arms, enjoying my kisses and my attentions.

«what–» you sigh. «is this a dream?» «this is. it's your dream.» i answer you, sucking gently the sensitive skin under your ear.

«i– i don't understand.» «shh. lay back, spread your legs for me, doll. mh? can you do it?» you do it. you spread your legs for me as the good girl i know you are, i touch you softly down there, caressing you through your panties, you shiver and sigh, i bet it's a lot different than when you do it on your own.

«oh, fuck.» you curse when i reach under the fabric, you're ridiculously wet for me, so much so that my finger slides inside you without problems, i can easily imagine how good you'll be at taking my cock.

i lean over you to kiss you, you don't resist and your tongue wraps around mine, you cling to my shoulders and moan against my lips as your hips meet the movements of my hand.

«a–another one.» you whine. «another what?» i tease you. my sweet angel wants to be fucked in heaven, i know you want another finger, so just think how embarrassingly good you'll feel when i'll thrust my dick inside you. «a–another kiss.»

another kiss? oh, my pure angel, sweet doll. you're so chaste, heavenly creature. «i'll kiss you all night long if you want.» you like when i kiss you, don't you? you sigh so softly that i'm starting to think i'm going to lose my mind very soon.

i kiss you wherever it feels good, your neck, your forehead, your breasts, your stomach, you crave the touch of my lips on your body, but in the end your mouth always seeks mine.

i put another finger inside you, your knees tighten around my hips every time i find that sweet spot that makes your back arch, tomorrow i'll have your nail marks on my shoulders, but i don't mind the idea of you making me yours.

«do you want to try to take my cock, doll?» you moan, i know that these two fingers aren't enough for you and that only my dick can fill you properly.

«use your words, darling.» «put it in me.» you cry out. «i want to be filled.» «your every wish.» i smile.

i place the tip on your opening, you are so wet that i have to push just a little to slip inside you, slowly your velvety walls envelop me, you cling to the sheets and stifle a cry.

«shh, don't worry, it's okay. you are very good at taking it, doll.» i tell you, as i thrust deep inside you. you squeeze my cock so tight that it seems that you want to cut it, you are tight as a virgin, angel, inside you feels like heaven.

i kiss you passionately, a couple of tears run down your temples and disappear in your hair, but you have to resist only a little longer before the pain turns into pleasure.

when you cum your walls tighten around me making me feel insanely good, i keep thrusting deep into you, nicely and slowly.

«doll, if you keep holding me like this i'll end up cumming inside you.» «c-cum inside,» you sigh, leaving me speechless. «please, let me feel you.» «do you want to get pregnant? do you want to become a beautiful angel-mama?» «yes– fuck. yes. cum inside daddy, please.»

i hold your hands above your head, and i cum inside you with the last strong thrusts. i kiss you deeply, enjoying the afterglow of your orgasm as you tremble and i slowly move my hips against yours.

«who do you belong to, doll? i wanna hear it.» your eyes are blank, you moan in ecstasy of the senses, it takes you a while to answer. «i don't know.»

i laugh. «seriously, angel. don't be a fool, i wanna hear you saying who you belong to.» «i– i'm telling the truth. i don't know who you are.»

…what?

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anotheroceanid · 5 months ago

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Hello! I just wanted to share with you my full appreciation of your fic <3 I only discovered PJO with the show (since then I've read all the books except the two last TOA). While I'm multishipping Percy, Perpollo is my last obsession.

I LOVE everything about them, I LOVE dark Apollo, and I LOVE all the angst that could fit with this ship. However, as I've read several of the Perpollo fictions on AO3, some of them did hurt me too much with their angst... </3 For example, I always feel so bad when, in some ff, Apollo ends up killing Percy; so bad it makes me cry and makes me feel kind of sick. Some of my friends told me I'm ridiculous to feel so many things with a fiction, but I can't help myself :(

Your fiction has a fair share of angst, but it's eveything I love and I don't feel like it'll be hurting me in the end. (Or maybe not?) I really enjoy reading Foreboding and WTHB, they're like my confort fics, especially since my life is a little bit hard right now.

I don't know if my comment is understandable, english is not my native language and I had a hard time writing it, but I just wanted to thank you for writing both of these wonderful fictions <3

I hope you have a wonderful day <3

This is so sweet 💕💕💕 thank you

Perpollo is also my obsession, when I first wrote foreboding I considered letting the “who’s the father?” as an unanswered question, but then I realised (at that point I wasn’t aware I’d ever write the sequel, though I had the story in my mind) I wanted us to have a glimpse of them together.

While I also love the darker fics with the sad outcomes, I decided I wanted to go with something different. Yeah, the story is very sad, but in the end everything in foreboding and WTHB is about love and how much we need it. Not even in a cheesy way, we literally need companionship as we are social creatures, loneliness can drive us crazy.

Despite being a Perpollo fic, the themes I wanted to write about (which are the themes I like to write about in general) are family and healing. This also is something that exists in Apollo’s storyline, when we get to his pov. So though I also like dark Apollo, for this fic I wanted them to actually have a nice relationship and a connection. I can’t wait till we get to the flashbacks of their past together.

Though I admit, it’s easy for me to go angsty with PJO fics because these are child soldiers. They have a lot of abilities and none of them are healthy coping mechanisms, I fear. We’ll see that a lot in Annabeth’s chapter, when we get to see the adults that came from these child soldiers.

Her chapters is the hardest to write so far, not only because it’s the first non-Percy chapter we’ll see, but because a lot of things happen, things that impact much more characters than just Annabeth, even if her arc and her bitterness is explained through these many things that happened these past years.

And if it makes you feel better, these are also my comfort fics but in a writing way. My life is a mess rk, and this years was rough. I’m definitely using it to organise my feelings and thoughts and to keep myself as calm as possible. February, when I posted foreboding, was a terrible month, and the only good thing that happened was that I posted the fic and had something else to talk about. So yeah, I want these characters to have happy endings.

Ofc, I can’t promise everyone a happy ending, but the fic will end in a warm way.

And don’t worry, I’m not native neither. And I understood you perfectly!

Thanks for reading and commenting 💕

#WTHB fic #ask

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fala-alfredo-pasta · 1 year ago

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Can I ask how you feel about the popular idea in the fandom of Nagito's luck being balanced out post-game by Hajizuru's? Because me personally...I really really dislike it.

To start with it basically suggests that in any other scenario where he doesn't end up beside him, Nagito is doomed. Not only does that imply other ships are shot down. But it also implies that even Komahina wouldn't work without Izuru's talents being added to the mix. So there goes his happiness in a non-Despair timeline. I mean I guess Makoto might be the other exemption, but still.

And while I do think Komahina and Komaegi are of course very very cute, I can't buy that Nagito would feel happy with that idea. It not only means that he's completely dependent on a single person for any chance at happiness. But he has to resign himself to accepting that on his own he's a doom magnet. When really I think he'd want to beat his luck cycle somehow on his own terms. Plus I just think the idea that Hope's Peak could somehow implant a person with supernatural luck is just incredibly stupid. Makoto and Nagito's unique forms of luck should be the one thing they found impossible to replicate. I actually have a personal headcanon that the Kamukura Project was secretly only a 99% success. In that they only managed to give Izuru a consistent 10 for his Luck stat. But they failed to grant him the wild 20s that Makoto and Nagito have when their luck goes into overdrive.

Honestly I agree that the luck balancing theory can tie down Nagito’s options for partners. Although, in a way that could add to the appeal of Nagito’s tragic existence given that there’s always a caveat to everything for him--in this way the good luck is having someone love him, the bad luck is it being how limited his options are given that they need to fit a specific criteria to simply be able to survive around him.

On top of which is also brings into question whether Nagito’s feeling towards said specific person are actually genuine or if he’s clinging onto them more so for the reprieve they give him from his luck rather than any real feelings of love. Kinda like someone marrying for money or security—it’s done for necessity not because there’s actual strong romantic emotion.

But again, to some this can be part of the appeal of the theory. I’ll admit I’ve delved into this theory exploration myself with komaegi lol. There’s just so much about their luck we still don’t know and will probably never know about such as how it actually interacts—so it can be fun to explore this theme and it’s dark underbelly!

But I agree, it would be so much better for Nagito to be able to take control of his luck on his own rather than have it hinge on someone else’s existence. This theory is one of those ones that seems cute and “meant-to-be” on the surface but is actually a very slipper slope of one-sided dependency and given Nagito’s tendency for obsession with things that help him cope, it can get dark real fast. Which is why I feel it’s one of those theories you really need to be prepared to address the flaws and not simply sugarcoat it as “the-best-lucky-thing-to-happen-to-Nagito”. I mean for this theory to even be remotely healthy even for Hajizuru/Nagito or Makoto/Nagito, you’ll NEED to have Nagito become self-reliant and assured. Otherwise, Nagito would have a breakdown and/or major anxiety simply when he’s away from his partner because he knows now that his luck is active again. He’s already very anxious as is about his luck—but going from being able to finally live at ease for once in his life only to be reminded in a blink of an eye that no his luck is still there and can still hunt him down now that his shield is gone, would probably make the anxiety even worse in those moments.

So at the end of the day, balance theory or not, the best thing for Nagito would be for him to overcome the fear of his luck on his own and find a way to manage it that doesn’t rely on unhealthy coping mechanism. That’s always been Nagito’s journey. Learning to live despite his luck. Whether he has a partner or not.

On a side note—I too agree that Hope’s Peak replicating luck is cap lol. Like….how do you even replicate that??? Even to just a 10 I feel like it’s pseudo luck. I mean Izuru has (virtually) ALL the talents! I find it more believable that he utilizes a multitude of them at any given situation to make the odds work in his favor rather than having actual innate luck. Hear me out okay, hear me out, but I mean what exactly stopped Hope’s Peak researchers from implanting the idea of “this is your lucky talent” into Hajime whilst operating on him so that they could say to the world that they’ve done it while also making Izuru be wired to believe something like that? Improbable you say? Of course, but this is Danganronpa where a whole ass man can become butter from riding his bike too fast, I think surgical brainwashing is like…the least improbably thing tbh. You’d think they’d implant the idea of being loyal to Hope’s Peak too ayeeeeee. K Imma stop now.

#anonymous #danganronpa #komaeda nagito #fala replies #a e i o queue #me: u gotta try to answer things in order of which u recieved them #also me: BUT I HAD A LOT OF THOUGHTS ON THIS ONE--#ok i actually A LOT of asks i gotta catch up on aaaahhh

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thestruidora · 2 years ago

Text

Misery

Supernatural RPF Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Yandere, Stalker, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Dom/Sub

Category: F/M

Pairings: Jensen Ackles/You, Jensen Ackles/Reader

Summary: You know what time he wakes up and what time he goes to bed, even though he tends to stay awake far later than what it’s healthy for him, but that’ll change soon. You know what’s his favorite dessert and how he takes his coffee. You know he is a stomach sleeper and a light snorer. You know that he loves the rain but is a little scared of thunder. You know everything there is to know about Jensen, you’re his number one fan. But most importantly, you know exactly what is the room number of the hotel he’s staying in for the night, and now he will get to know you.

Chapter Updates: Masterlist

Author's notes: This chapter was very hard to write because it was so plot heavy, but don't worry, there's definitely not much plot in the next ones.

Chapter Two

I Will Follow Him

“Ever since he touched my hand I knew that near him I always must be. And nothing can keep him from me. He is my destiny.” — Peggy March

It didn’t start out like this.

It didn’t have to be like this.

But it was the only way. The only way for them to be together.

When she first saw him, it was through a TV screen. Her heart skipped a beat and everything else turned blurry like it didn’t matter anymore. He was gorgeous. His face, and his hair, and his skin, and his smile… He was perfect.

But it wasn’t just the physical aspect. She watched every show, every interview, and every public appearance. He was funny and charismatic. Charming beyond belief.

She gushed about him to her family and friends and went on and on about the day that the two of them would meet and how he would fall in love with her at first sight. But no one paid her any mind, just laughed it off. Called it a schoolgirl crush, which was fitting, since at the time she actually was in school.

And she believed that.

She wholeheartedly believed that it would go away like people said it would. So she had a crush on some celebrity, what’s wrong with that?

But it just grew, and it kept growing.

Every penny, every cent she ever made went down the drain. Merch, collectibles, books, autographed souvenirs… Anything she could get her hands on. And conventions, of course, conventions.

They were the epitome of a fangirl’s dream. Because there he was, right there, no longer a collection of pixels put together to form a virtual image, but the real him, in the flesh.

She’d make sure to get all dolled up for him, but every time he would look right through her, as if she was just any other person in the crowd. She’d go to the Q&As, wait in line for ages to ask her question, which was always directed to him, and he’d always ask her name, every time. She lost count of how many times she introduced herself to him, only for him to forget her in a few months’ time.

Was that what she was to him? Forgettable? Expendable?

Why did he treat her like this? Why did he ignore her time and time again? Couldn’t he see what she saw? Didn’t he know what she knew? That they belonged, that they were meant to be.

But it was fine, she wouldn't hold it against him. He was tired, overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated. She forgave him, every time, because love shows grace even when it’s faced with indifference.

It would happen, any time now. Their eyes would meet and his heart would skip a beat and everything else would turn blurry for him.

There was no hurry. She could be patient.

She would go on to graduate and start her life and even go out with a few unimportant guys, while he dated his own unimportant girls. And that was okay, because love is persevering even when it’s faced with drawbacks. These were all just delays in their path to each other, and that was perfectly natural.

She could live with that. She could be tolerant.

But what she couldn't deal with was the disrespect. He went out, met some bitch, and got married. He proposed, became engaged, and then tied the knot with a woman that wasn’t her. The audacity!

Was he blind? Was he crazy?

Because that was just too damn much. That crossed the line.

She was waiting for him. She was being fucking accommodating to his fucking stipulations. So what the fuck was that about?

It’s been eight years, eight long insufferable years and nothing has changed. He stayed with someone else. She had thought that, maybe, it would blow over. He would realize what a huge mistake he had made and have the decency to get a divorce. But no, every time she saw him there would be a ring on his finger still.

Something was not right. He clearly needed her help. She couldn't wait for him to make the first move anymore, or it might never come. Y/N knew what had to be done. It was time for her to take control of the situation.

It wouldn't be easy for him to understand, but she had to get him alone with her, if not only for a few weeks. Long enough for him to get to know her just as much as she knew him, for him to realize that they were soulmates. And for that, she was gonna have to implement some unusual methods that could only work if she did what he taught her to do best: be patient.

So she orchestrated, and elaborated, and planned. She planned for months, she dedicated herself to this venture, because it meant the world to her, and soon it would mean the same to him as well. She moved to Canada. She moved to a fucking different country for it. Left behind all she had, started out fresh. That’s how seriously she took this. That’s how far she was willing to go.

It was tough, acclimating to somewhere new, but she took it in stride.

She applied and got a job at a hotel in Montreal. The hotel in Montreal. She remembers so vividly when Hector, the front desk manager, and her soon-to-be supervisor, asked her on her first day, with his heavy french accent so foreign to her ear at the time, why would someone like her choose to be working in a place like this. She was fresh out of college, smart, spoke many languages. Why work in a two-and-a-half-star hotel where the paychecks weren’t even that good?

She couldn't tell him the real reason, of course. So she simply smiled and fed him the same bullshit story she had served to her family and friends; that she wanted to travel, discover herself, have new experiences, broaden her horizons… Crap like that. And he bought it, just like the folks back home had.

Y/N wasn’t aware that she was such a good liar, or that maybe most people are just stupid and unassuming. Either way, she would use it in her favor.

Throughout the time she spent working there, which was almost an entire year, she built connections with her co-workers and the various guests that came and went. She was polite, reserved, and competent. Pleasant with all. Soon her responsibilities grew, but so did the perks of her position. She had networked her way into becoming a very trusted and integral part of the establishment's staff. And in that way, what took place upon the day of Jensen’s arrival and its subsequent events were all part of a masterfully tailored web that Y/N had weaved.

That is, with a couple of bumps in the road, provided that she was definitely not expecting the man to kick a hole through a door, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

On the afternoon his check-in was scheduled, she accessed the booking system and tweaked some of the information so that his name wouldn't show up when searched. She magnetized the keycard lock of his door so that no key could open it. She marked all other available rooms as booked. All in hopes of forcing him to move to the presidential suite, situated on the most secluded floor of the hotel.

But that was asking for too much collaboration from the universe, right? That was too much wishful thinking right there. Because she should’ve predicted that he would decide to act like a real-life superhero and kick the dammed thing in. It was stupid of her to assume that everything would naturally pan out the way it was supposed to. She swears sometimes it feels like the cosmos is conspiring against her for some reason.

Now she’s gonna have to recalculate and that’s alright. Her mom did always tell her that sometimes there’s nothing better than for life to throw a curveball at a person, it helps to keep them on their toes. And Y/N was nothing if not resourceful. She could readjust. She could improvise.

“Hey, Hector, that guy just left his bags in the middle of the lobby. Should I bring it up to his room?” The bellhop, Antonin, whose name she would never recall if not for the name tag attached to his vest, had come to the front desk with the question right after Jensen had left with his co-stars for dinner.

“It took forever to find that man’s booking, he stood in front of me the whole time saying how much he wanted to get into his room. I manage to find his name in the system, give him his key and he leaves all of his things right here and goes out somewhere! This is why, for the life of me, I can’t understand Americans.” Hector shook his head, gesturing dramatically, his thin, long fingers flailing in his emphatic state, which happened to be his norm.

Y/N was standing by his side behind the computer screen of the front desk, pretending to type something up on the keyboard while listing closely to their exchange.

“You better hurry up and take his luggage to his floor before he comes back and complains about it!” He said to Antonin, who began moving to do it at once, only to be interrupted by an elderly couple that asked him for help with their own bags.

“I can do it.” Y/N said to Hector once he noticed that the bellhop had suddenly become wrapped up in another task right before their eyes, an idea forming in her mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you, young lady, that today is your day off?” Her manager reached in and booped the tip of her nose as one does to a dog or a child, his beautifully painted nails scraping lightly against her skin. “You’re not getting any money from the extra work you’re putting in.” His tone was stern and playful at the same time.

“And how many times do I have to tell you, my liege, that my whole life is this place?” She smiled at him, thinking for a second about how her relationship with Hector had grown from strangers, to colleagues that barely tolerated each other, and finally to close friends. Well, he saw her as a friend, at least. “I have nowhere else to go today, might as well be useful.” She shrugged, as if it was no big deal if he said yes or no to her, even though it was, in fact, a big deal.

The lean and stylish man pondered before giving his response, his mustache following the movement of his lips as he puckered them while in thought.

“Alright, take the bags.” He waved her off, and she promptly came out from behind the desk and went to pick the items off the floor, finding them to be less heavy than what she expected.

“What’s the American guy’s room number again?” She asked nonchalantly, going to the service elevator and pressing the call button.

“666, le nombre de la Bête.” Hector informed her, in a mocking way.

“Scary.” She laughed at him referring to it as the number of the beast, holding in the urge to roll her eyes. As if she would ever allow anything bad to happen to Jensen while in her vicinity, that’d be preposterous.

The elevator arrived and she walked in, but instead of pushing only the specified floor number, she pushed various different buttons as well, making it so the machine would stop at many other floors before getting to the right one, giving her enough time to do what she did next.

She opened his suitcase and his hand luggage, going through his clothes and unfolding and crumpling whatever her hands reached, turning it all into a big mess. Once she was pleased with her handiwork, she closed everything up again, making sure to leave the zippers exactly in the position that she found them in.

Now she had the pretext to hopefully get into his room, and that was at least one less thing to do.

When the elevator finally got to the right floor, she left his things in front of his door, passing a few guests on her way and offering them modest smiles and unpretentious nods, which they returned in kind. That was the usual impression she left on the people that interacted with her, that she was meek and demure, harmless in every possible way. And that’s how she liked it.

She then chose to go down the stairs, walking straight through a short hallway that led to the hotel’s kitchen. She pushed one of the double swinging doors to enter the space. She was met with shiny pots and pans, modern industrial stoves, and wide, open windows that allowed the last rays of light from the sunset to come in. She expected the area to be empty around this time, most of the cooks being on one of the many cigarette breaks that they took throughout the day, except for one.

“Hi, Claire.” She greeted the blonde, pale-faced woman that was busy chopping some greens on the kitchen island prior to Y/N’s entrance.

“Oh, hi, Y/N. What’s up?” The chef rested her sharp knife on the cutting board, her face contorted into a welcoming expression.

“Do you know where we’re keeping the gift baskets?” Y/N tried to appear neutral enough as she inquired, seemingly succeeding by the response she obtained.

“Right over there.” Claire pointed to the shelve on the adjacent wall, numerous baskets lined up on top of it. “Why?”

“It’s for Mrs. Vonesch.” Her fingers tapped on the doorframe, having to quickly contrive a reason for her need for the object.

“That bitch is here again?” Claire’s face soured at the mention of the name.

Mrs. Vonesch was an older and bitter Swiss woman that visited the hotel frequently. She was known for being horribly mean and hateful towards the staff. In her opinion, the bed was always lumpy, the steak was always overcooked, the floor was always dusty, and so on and so forth. But for some reason, she kept coming back.

“Yep.” Y/N sauntered towards the shelve, taking one of her desired artifacts and holding it carefully. “She always books the same room, right? But I think I screwed up or something, ‘cause she came to check-in a week ago and there was already some other guest in there, and she threw a fit.” None of that was true, only the part about Mrs. Vonesch having arrived a week prior, but what was Claire gonna do? Fact check?

“I can’t stand that lady, I swear to God.” The blonde shook her head, going back to her fastidious chopping.

“Oh, me neither.” Y/N began to move ever so slightly towards the exit, already machinating her next moves like an action movie sequence. “By the way, why would someone from Switzerland want to come here for vacation? Like, I would think that anyone that lives somewhere that cold would prefer to go to a warm place in the winter.”

“She probably combusts when in contact with the sun, like the blood-sucking vampire that she is.” Claire joked with a vivaciousness that made it almost sound like she truly believed her own words, and Y/N reacted by laughing openly.

“Anyway, it’s the last day of her stay so I’ma bring this basket to her, and be all nice and sweet, and apologize. Hopefully, she won’t give us a bad review like she did last year.” Her free hand was pushing the door open to leave, doing her best to make it look like she wasn't in a hurry.

“Good luck, girl.” Claire waved her off.

“Thanks.” She says and only then walks away from the kitchen.

She proceeds to take the long way around the premise of the building, avoiding being seen as well as she could. She was on a mission, her goal to remain undetected. Finally arriving at her destination, the staff sleeping quarters, Y/N felt that she was methodically approaching her eventual objective.

Upon reaching her room, she retrieved the keychain she always kept with her from her pocket and used one of its keys to open the door.

Her room was simple, with plain white walls contrasting the dark-colored floor. There was not much in terms of decoration, since there was none. She only had one tiny window that barely provided any ventilation, but then again, when one has already worked the whole day from the top of the morning all the way to the end of the night, one ends up not giving a shit about fresh air.

Her small single bed was one of the only pieces of furniture in the space, apart from the dresser that also doubled as her closet. She closed and locked the door behind her and went to said dresser, rested the gift basket on top of it, and used another key from the same keychain to open the lock she had put into the bottom drawer. Inside, there was a plethora of Jensen Ackles paraphernalia, a super fan professional kit. Among the miscellaneous articles, she found the packet of sealed beef jerky that had been previously laced with potent sedatives and took it out of the drawer.

Carefully untying the bow that was secured around the plastic wrapping of the basket, she places the jerky between the other goods, and it fits in an inconspicuous manner as though it always belonged there. She ties it all back together, making sure to leave it just as it was before, without any signs of interference. Knowing how much he loves the salty snack and how rarely he gets to eat it, she’s sure he’ll take the bait.

After all of those preparations, she went to bed that night with the absolute understanding that things would go her way for the day to come. That Jensen would get back to the hotel and discover that his key didn’t work, be offered the presidential suite, and accept it. Once he got back from the convention, she would go to him, introduce herself for the last time, present to him a welcome gift as a first-time guest, and offer to rearrange his clearly messy bags.

With a bit of luck, it would all come true, but nothing ever did come easy to her, did it?

He made a massive hole in the door and was able to get inside his room, forcing her to find a way to work around that. Which she did, but couldn't he just act like a normal person and spare her the extra hassle? Damn.

But the end result was all the same. He did accept the gift basket, and he did let her in. Now, she has him at her fingertips, literally, as she sits by his side on the bed, where he lies unconscious.

Y/N can’t believe how breathtaking he really is. There’s no retouching, no filter, no concealer, but he’s still mesmerizingly good-looking.

His eyes are closed, and his facial expression is relaxed in his state of deep sleep. She runs the pads of her fingers against his smooth skin till the point where it reaches his growing beard and the texture becomes rough to the touch. She can see so distinctively now how the hair on his head is darker than that of his eyelashes, which are a much lighter shade of blonde. She contours the outline of his lips that, even when he’s passed out, remain pouting.

It is not fair. How can she help herself from wanting him so much when he’s that handsome? How can anyone blame her for needing him all to herself?

Snapping out of the trance that is admiring him, she gets back to the task at hand. She goes to his phone on top of the nightstand and unplugs it from the charger, taking his hand in hers and using the fingerprint of his index finger to unlock the device. Opening the messaging app, she types up a text to his wife, having to fight the urge to cringe when the woman’s name flashes across the screen.

‘Hey, honey. Just wanted to let you know that Jared and Misha came over and invited me to go out to see a bit of the city. I thought it might be good to have a fun night out and clear my mind. Probably gonna wake up late tomorrow, though. Love you.’

Having to write the last words stings, but Y/N does it anyway, sending the text and then locking it again, knowing that this step will be crucial in order to buy her more time. The longer people spend not wondering about Jensen’s whereabouts the better.

She shoves the phone in her pocket and grabs the almost fully empty packet of beef jerky and puts it back in the gift basket, taking it with her as she exits the room. In the corridor, she finds a garbage can and sticks the basket in it, leaving it there to be thrown away by the cleaning crew.

She walks down the stairs once more and arrives at the lobby right on time, without a minute to spare. Mrs. Vonesch was just done checking out and was rudely instructing Antonin on how to properly carry her many bags and suitcases to her cab.

“I can help you with that, ma’am.” Y/N rushes over to Mrs. Vonesch and takes the one bag that Antonin couldn't carry from her hands, finding it to be surprisingly heavy.

The grey-haired old lady scans Y/N up and down and lets out a relieved huff.

“Finally someone that steps in. I swear that this place’s customer service gets worse every year.” Her thick Swiss accent made her tone even more cutting as she began to walk ahead to enter the car that was going to take her to the airport.

Y/N moved at a shorter pace, allowing Antonin to get in front of her. The poor bellhop did his very best not to step over his own feet as he tried to balance the countless amount of luggage that he carried in his arms, the taxi driver jumping out of his seat to help him fit it all in the trunk.

Utilizing the commotion in her favor, Y/N unzipped Mrs. Vonesch’s bag and found it full of travel-sized shampoos and conditioners, as well as anything that is usually stocked in the guest’s mini fridge. Not having the time or the will to do anything about that, she pulled Jensen’s phone out of her pocket and stuffed it inside the bag, zipping it back closed in a single fluid motion. That way, if anyone tries to track his location through the device, it will point to somewhere all the way in Switzerland.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Antonin says to her after she gives him the hand luggage, the last item to be put in the cab’s trunk, which was stuffed so full that a lot of elbow grease had to be used just to close it.

“You’re welcome.” She responds with a kind nod and watches as the taxi driver gets back in his car and turns on the engine. Y/N leans down to see into the backseat, where Mrs. Vonesch is seated with her head to the opposite window. “Farewell, madame. We look forward to your next stay.” That was actually true, since she was not going to be there to deal with it anymore, but no one else but her knew that, yet.

The old lady rudely waves Y/N off in a flippant gesture and doesn’t say another word, doesn’t even turn to give her a single glance, and soon the cab drives off, leaving both her and Antonin with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did she even give you a tip?” She asks the bellhop.

“What do you think?” He scoffs and then shrugs, walking away.

The young woman takes a second to wrap her head around just how shitty her job has been in that place, but only a second, because she’s leaving very soon. Matter fact, right now.

She goes to her bedroom again, but this time she doesn’t intend on ever coming back. She pulls her suitcase from under her tiny bed and puts it on top of her thin mattress, opening the case as wide as possible and beginning to take all of her belongings from the drawers in her dresser and packing it up. Once it is done, she zips it shut and rests its wheels on the floor so that she can make the bed. She runs her hands through the sheets and flattens them, getting rid of any creases on the fabric.

Taking a final look around she makes sure that there are no traces of her presence left behind in the space, and then begins to move towards the small rectangular mirror that hangs on one of the walls. She inhales deeply and her eyes start to water more and more as she stares at her own reflection, dense tears taking form and finally dripping from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

After a couple of minutes, her face is red and puffy, and that’s when she takes her suitcase and drags it out of the room, hurried steps taking her to the lobby.

“Hector, Hector!” She frantically calls out to him, voice breaking in between her crying.

Her supervisor turns to look at her, shocked at her state, as well as her other colleagues and all the guests on the floor.

“I’m gonna have to call you back, sir.” Hector says and hangs up the phone call he was taking at reception. “What happened, what’s wrong?” He comes out from behind the front desk to examine Y/N more closely.

“My mom, it’s- it’s my mom!” Her co-workers begin to gather around her, never once having seen her so emotional. “I just got a call from my dad and she’s sick!”

“Sick how?” Claire’s voice sounds by the left side of her, concern clear in her features.

“I don’t know, but it’s very bad and she’s at the hospital and I think she might die.” Y/N hears gasps all around her and Hector’s hands hold her by the shoulders.

“No, that’s not going to happen.” He says in an attempt to calm her down and the people next to them murmur in agreement.

“I need to go to her. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant to leave like this, but I need to be with her.” Her sentence comes out rushed and choked up.

“Y/N, this is your mother you’re talking about, of course you want to go see her. But it’s so dark out, you should leave tomorrow.” The man’s french accent becomes even more prevalent with the nervousness of the situation.

“No, I can’t wait, I’m gonna go to the airport and take the first flight home.” Y/N declares, determined even amidst sniffles.

“Are you sure?” His fingers wipe at her tears that continue to fall down.

“Yes.” She nods vehemently.

“Listen, if that’s what you wanna do, that’s completely fine. We’ll miss you and you’ll forever be welcome here.” He wraps her in his arms in a tight hug.

“Thank you, for everything.” She hugs him right back and whispers in his ear before taking a step back.

Her fellow workers move in and take turns giving her more hugs and words of encouragement, the whole process taking way too long for her comfort, but she plays it like it all means the world to her.

They walk her to her car, the minivan in the staff’s parking lot. Antonin takes her suitcase from her hand, ignoring her protests to do it by herself. He helps her put it in the car and she thanks him for his kindness.

She then gets in the driver’s seat and waves goodbye to the group that had formed by the side of her vehicle, some of them even shedding tears of their own. It would be quite moving if she did feel anything other than contempt for those people.

“I love you guys, bye!” Is the last thing she says to them, feet pressing on the gas pedal as she drives away.

In the review mirror, she can see them lingering there until her car turns on the street corner and she contains her laugh before realizing that she doesn’t have to, letting it out. She shakes with laughter, previous tears drying on her skin. She couldn't believe that it worked, that they bought it. Maybe after all this is over she can talk to Jensen to get into acting, ‘cause she is good.

The thought of Jensen alone in that room, out cold from the megadose of sedatives she had given him, flashes across her mind and her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

She makes a U-turn back to the hotel, parking in front of the loading dock where the produce, bedding, drinks, equipment, among other things tend to come in and out of. She opens the backpack atop the passenger seat and takes out a room maid's uniform along with a dust mask, letting out a long sigh at knowing that she’s almost there, she’s almost at the finish line. She removes her clothes and changes into the uniform, putting on the dust mask and fixing her hair up in a bun, all so she won’t be recognized.

She gets out of the car and looks around, not a single soul roaming the area. The dark cloak of the night aids her while she opens the back of her minivan, proceeding to pull down the wheelchair ramp. With it all set, she goes back inside the building through the dock’s entrance, taking a big laundry cart with her on the way up to room 666. She passes many familiar faces but none of them pay her no mind in her disguise.

Once she’s inside the room though, is when the real tough part takes place. She looks at him, spread out in bed, lightly snoring, and then looks at the laundry cart.

“Fuck my life.” She murmurs underneath the mask that covers her mouth and nose.

She’s gonna have to put him in the cart. Will she be able to move him? Will he even fit?

She moves close to him, calculating how she’s going to do this, exactly. Maybe she should have brought a paddle or something, you know, to use as a lever.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I think there’s only one way for me to do this.” She whispers to him, receiving nothing but silence in return.

Y/N starts to carefully pull him towards the end of the bed, one limb at a time. And not surprisingly, it’s a workout. He’s heavy and really not cooperating, letting out soft sounds of discontent every time she repositions him. After his whole body is at thevery edge of the mattress, she places the cart against it and exhales due to the exertion.

Did she really have to fall madly in love with such a big guy? The man is 6’1 with broad shoulders and toned muscles, but he’s still known as the ‘short one’, go figure.

“This might hurt a little bit.” Another whisper, and she gives him a final pull, causing him to fall inside the cart with a dull thud.

Half his legs hang outside the container and she has to fold him in half so that all of him will fit. He groans in his sleep and she mentally tells him to suck it up, they are almost home now.

She grabs a handful of heavy blankets from the cabinet near the bathroom and throws them on top of him, covering him entirely. Feeling relieved that the worst was over, she gets on with pushing the laundry cart out into the hallway, to the service elevator, and ultimately outside to the loading dock where her car is parked. Making use of the ramp she had attached to her minivan, she wheels him up onto the back of the vehicle. She gathers the ramp and shuts the rear doors, climbing into the driver’s seat once more, only this time, he’s with her.

Then, she drives, for hours, taking him far away. To a cabin in the snowy mountains of Canada, where she’s got it all planned out. Where he awakes, tied securely to a chair.

“Wh- what?” It’s the first word he’s able to form, eyes adjusting to the low light of a strange room. He moves to get up and finds himself stuck, but he tries not to panic. “What’s going on?” He’s so confused. He doesn’t remember how he got there.

He remembers the convention, going to his room, getting in the shower before bed, and then… A knock, but not much else.

This doesn’t feel right. His mouth is dry and his brain is hazy. He attempts to move one more time and he can’t, his heartbeat picks up and he starts to pant. This isn’t funny, whatever it is. He gulps, suddenly out of breath and hearing a ringing in his ears. There’s sweat forming on his forehead and he begins to thrash, only a thought in mind, that he needs to get out. He needs to run. He needs to break free. He needs to-

“Shhh, sweetie, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He hears a tranquil, feminine voice and it all comes rushing back, that’s when he panics. She’s further away in the dimly lit room, watching him as he keeps putting all his strength into snapping the cords that bind him. “I’m gonna have to give you some more medicine if you don’t stop.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Let me go!” He roars, never once in his life feeling such fear and rage all at once. It’s her, the receptionist from the hotel. Did she roofie him? But why? Did she want money?

“Baby, please, try to be reasonable.” The way she’s aiming to talk him down only serves to make him madder and Jensen yells, looking around for something that might help him, for an escape. When he doesn’t find it, he struggles even more violently against his restraints. “Use your words.”

“You’re fucking crazy!” These are the words he chooses to use, not knowing how much he would come to regret them. Because after he spits them out, there’s a long beat of silence and then she’s on him, right by his side. There’s something shiny in her hand and then he feels a sharp pinprick on his neck.

She takes a step back and the needle she’s holding enters his field of vision, but he can’t see much else afterwards, since the walls start to spin and everything gets darker and darker.

“Rude.” He can hear her comment, disappointment saturated in her tone, before he’s off to dreamland yet again.

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