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motorsportbarbie13 · 26 days ago

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The Princess & The Pilot - Part 2

In which Lando surprises you.

Warnings: nothing (mostly fluff. angst if you squint and are sensitive at the end ig) Pairing: Lando Norris x British!Princess!Reader Word Count: 3.5k

The Princess & The Pilot - Part 1 Master List

(this should go without saying but don't steal my work. you don't have permission to repost or translate or do ANYTHING other than reblog my work straight from my blog. kthanksbyeeeeeee)

positivelynottheprincess (private) posted

positivelynottheprincess new hair. new dress. lets get this (awards) party started yourbff MA'AM (respectfully) princecharming mum is going to have a fit over the back of that dress >>>positivelynottheprincess that's why she's not going to see it til I walk into the gala BROTHER. ladykensingtonpriv Windsor genes never miss >>>positivelynottheprincess miss your face. leave monaco and come back to me bby. >>>ladykensingtonpriv come visit meeeeeee!

“Mate, you’re drooling.” Oscar swipes playfully at Lando’s chin while shaking his head.

Lando swats at his teammates hand without tearing his gaze away from where you stand across the room talking to a middle-aged woman and her daughter.

"I'm sorry but it's kind of hard not to when she's over there looking like that. I mean, Jesus Christ." He hisses, sliding his eyes off of you and over to Oscar. Lando spotted you the moment he had walked into the large ballroom Saturday like you were a siren calling to a doomed sailor. Your hair was pulled back into a neat bun and the backless black satin dress you wore should really be illegal it looked so good. He was almost certain that if you were to cut yourself right then, you'd bleed royal blue.

"You're asking for trouble." Oscar warns, his eyes darting between Lando beside him and you across the room. "With the way you go through women, maybe pursuing an actual real life princess isn't the best idea."

Lando's head whipped back around to really glare at Oscar this time. "The fuck you mean, 'the way I go through women?"

The Australian levels a look at his British counterpart, brows raised as if to say 'you're really asking me that question?' and Lando blushes.

"Okay, fine. Maybe you're right but there's something different about her. We really hit it off earlier in the week."

Ever since the event a few days ago, Lando hadn't been able to get his mind off of you, the way you laughed as he took the car around the corners just a little too sharply, the way your smile lit up a room and everyone around you was just magnetically drawn to you. It was intoxicating just being near you and even though Lando had only spent a few moments in your presence, he was already craving his next hit.

"Well, don't look now but I think she's finally spotted us."

Lando and Oscar had arrived about twenty minutes ago and you had almost immediately noticed the driver's arrival. It was like the mood in the room shifted when he came through the door, a low burning fire stoking itself inside your belly the moment you laid eyes on him. If it hadn't been for the fact that you had been in the middle of a conversation with one of the award winners and her mother, you would have made a beeline to him, but your upbringing had taught you better.

As soon as you excused yourself from the conversation, you began scanning the room, knowing exactly who you wanted to see before the dinner started. Had you known Lando was going to be here, you would have pushed Sebastian a little harder with the seating arrangements and gotten yourself sat at the McLaren table.

The hum of hundreds of voices is just a faint noise in the back of your mind as you approach Lando and Oscar, who are both standing against the bar on one side of the room. Your dress swishes at your feet as you walk towards them and you silently thank Tilly, your stylist, for insisting on the backless black dress you were wearing tonight. You had originally wanted to go with something a little more conservative but Tilly was always giving you more bolder suggestions, insisting that despite you being a princess you were still a young woman with a 'banging body', as she put it, and deserved to show it off a little, even at official engagements.

"Lando!" You croon as soon as you're within earshot. Breaking all sorts of protocol rules, you accept the hug that Lando offers, sinking into the heat of his body when he wraps his arms around you. "I didn't think you were going to be able to make it. Zak said you were busy."

Pulling back, you're mesmerized by the bright blue green eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea for a moment as you grin at him.

Lando shrugs, not wanting to admit that he had refused to come until he found out you were going to be here tonight. "Last minute cancelation so I got to come bug Osc for the night." He grins that little cheeky grin you've noticed he's so fond of.

"And here I thought you were coming just to see me again." You feign offense, but a smirk plays at the corner of your red lips.

The blush that blooms across Lando's tan face has you biting back a giggle. "Oh...well..." He stutters. Beside him, Oscar chuckles.

Before Lando has a chance to recover further, your brother steps on stage to begin the awards. With a wink aimed at Lando, you excuse yourself, telling the two drivers you'll find them after the awards.

The dinner goes off without a hitch and before you know it, your brother is saying his closing remarks and thanking everyone for coming. You have to do your 'closing duties' as Sebastian calls them and stand by his side near the doors to say goodbye as your guests leave. The fact that you hadn't had a chance to see or talk to Lando since before the dinner and awards weighs on you and you hope that you're able to catch him before he leaves.

You're chatting with one of the winners when you catch sight of a certain curly haired mullet that makes your pulse quicken. He's hovering near the bar alone, Oscar and Zak nowhere in sight. Once you're able to excuse yourself, you make your way over to where he stands. The way Lando watches you as you approach sends a shiver of anticipation shimmering down your spine.

Lando has spent the last fifteen minutes after saying good bye to Oscar and Zak just watching you. Watching the way you worked a room was one of the most impressive things he'd ever seen. The way you're totally engaged in conversation no matter who it is is something Lando's never really seen before and he craves watching you. He notices other things though, slight shifts in your expression as you move from one person to another. It's in the way your shoulders hitch up towards your ears a bit when you're not speaking to someone like you're tired or the way your eyes glaze over ever so slightly when you're listening to someone talk for a long time. If he hadn't been watching you like a hawk, he would have never noticed but it was so slight and so subtle that he was sure no one but him caught on.

Suddenly, Lando wanted to take you away from all of it. He could tell your mask was solidly in place and that you were good at what you did but that didn't matter to him. Just the thought of you being uncomfortable or anxious made him feel the same. You were so good at making others feel comfortable and were authentic with your care and attention but he knew that there was a bit of you, deep down, that didn't want to be here. That craved the quiet respite of a dark room and soft music. He knew that because he felt it too, more often than he cared to admit. Lando felt that the two of you had more in common than he first had realized.

"Waiting for me?" You flirt, leaning against the bar as the bartender pours you another glass of white wine. You're past your two drink limit that is customary for you at these kinds of events but the heady buzz it gives you while you talk to Lando is too tempting.

"Well, you did promise you'd find me after." There's that mischievous glint in his eye again.

"Did I?" You counter, enjoying the way it feels to have his entire attention on you. The heat curling in your belly tells you that you'd like to have more of his undivided attention on you, in private this time.

Lando nods, taking a sip of his beer. "I never forget the things a pretty girl says to me." He murmurs, taking a subtle step closer to you. The fact that you're this close to him in public, with your brother just across the room, doesn't escape your notice but you find it particularly hard to care, what with the way Lando keeps staring at your lips every time you speak.

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

"Only the ones I can't stop thinking about." Lando's voice drops an octave, the husky tone scraping roughly against your skin.

The blush that creeps up your neck and over your cheekbones nearly sends Lando into a tailspin.

For someone who spends a majority of her time speaking to people and making conversation out of nothing, you're rendered speechless at the way this man looks at you. You're not used to someone being so bold with their intentions as people are intimidated by who you are and who your family is. It's refreshing to be spoken to like a normal woman by a man that you're attracted to. It doesn't feel forced or fake either, just a man flirting with a woman who he thinks is attractive.

"I'm meeting a few friends at a pub after this, come get a drink with me."

The way he phrases it makes it sound like a command and not a request. Desire curls low in your belly and you want nothing more to say yes. Regret stings though, harsh and unwanted.

"I can't." You lament "I have to stay here until the last guest leaves. Royal duties and all that." You don't bother trying to keep the sadness out of your voice.

"Oh..." Lando doesn't bother hiding his disappointment either.

"But," You say quickly, reaching out so your fingers brush his elbow. "I'm free tomorrow night."

The pub that you suggest is one that you're a regular at so you know your privacy will be respected. The last thing you needed was the press getting wind of you spending time with known playboy and womanizer Lando Norris, even if his reputation didn't match who the man really was in real life. You knew better than most that quite often, the chosen narrative that the press ran with was very far from the actual truth.

Thankfully, your father had followed through on his promise to give you the day off so you hadn't had to cancel but your protection officers had insisted on following you to the pub even though you'd been there hundreds of times before. "This is the first time you're meeting this person alone, your highness. Your father would have a heart attack if he knew we'd allowed you to go out alone." Your head PO had reasoned, despite you arguing that you were literally meeting Lando Norris of all people, a man who was almost equally as famous as you were. In the end, you had compromised and the two officers that were assigned to you that night, Bradley and Nathan, had agreed to be discreet and sit at the bar without bothering you.

Lando had been the first to arrive at the cozy pub, happy that you had suggested someplace quiet and out of the way. The last thing he needed was Zak getting wind of him doing the exact opposite of what he had advised him to do. He sat tucked away in a corner booth, pint ordered for himself and a glass of wine ready for you, nervously tapping away at his phone to his best friend Max, who was on Oscar and Zak's side that this entire thing was a bad idea. Which made Lando want to prove himself to them even more. He wasn't just some stupid race car driver that only bagged models left and right. He could hold his own with you, a well educated and well bred member of the Royal family, thank you very much.

The bell over the heavy door chimed, announcing your arrival. Lando's head popped up as it had with every jingle of the bell, nerves grating on his usually cool demeanor. He wasn't quite sure what it was about you that had him so off kilter, but you made him nervous. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not but he wanted to see if he could figure you out.

Lando's mouth went dry when he saw you, dressed casually in a flowy floral skirt and creamy white knit jumper. For the first time since meeting, your hair was down and the only thing Lando could think about was running his hands through the thick waves to see if you liked your hair pulled.

Nerves sparked down your spine when you saw him waiting for you, eyes trained on his phone in front of him. His ignorance to your arrival hadn't lasted long and the moment you two locked gazes, your pulse sky rocketed. Be normal about this you chide yourself as you cross the pub. Go slow your mind begs, although your heart has different ideas.

"Hi Lando." You murmur into his neck when he pulls you in for a hug, his arms lingering around just a touch longer than necessary.

"You look good tonight, princess."

The way he says 'princess' like it's a nickname and not a formal title has butterflies taking flight in your belly.

You sit across from him, impressed that he ordered you your favorite wine, not knowing that he had asked the bartender last night what you had been drinking at the awards gala. The two of you fall into an easy banter, discussing everything from his life racing in Formula 1 to the degree in business and international relations you had just completed the prior spring.

Everything felt so easy with Lando, you noticed as you finished your second glass of wine. As the fuzzy haze that the alcohol washed over you, you were relieved and surprised at how normal this all felt. You weren't the 'savior of the monarchy' or the 'perfect English princess' here with him. You were just a 25 year old recent uni graduate spending an evening with a charming man you had met out of pure circumstance.

"I have a confession." Lando says once he's two beers deep.

You arch a perfectly shaped brow, wondering if now is when the other shoe drops. "Oh?"

"I'm kind of surprised you were allowed to come here on your own tonight."

Relief floods through you as a laugh bubbles up from the back of your throat. "Were you expecting I walk in flanked by a bunch of body guards?"

Lando shrugs, looking a little sheepish. "Kinda?"

The way you throw your head back and laugh has Lando mesmerized, the sound of it airy and light. He thinks he could spend the rest of his life making you laugh like that and never get bored.

Oh.

"Do you see that big guy over there? In the dress shirt sitting at the bar?"

Lando finds the man you're talking about sitting with his back towards you and nods.

"That's Nathan, he's my lead protection officer tonight." You point towards the door next, where another large man sits scrolling through his phone. "And that's Bradley, my second PO. He's already clocked that we're talking about him, don't let the eyes on the phone fool you."

Lando sits back, a bit blown away that these guys had been here the entire time and he hadn't known. It made him feel better though, knowing that you had been under their watch and protected the entire time. He thought back to the story you told him the first day you met, about the stalker. He wasn't a stranger to weird fan behavior, with how public he lived his life but as his eyes pinged back and forth from you to your protection officers, he realized your fame was on another level.

You sensed the hesitation in Lando then, a familiar look of intimidation and shock falling over his handsome face. You were used to that look, having seen it time and time again from new friends and potential boyfriends. Everyone was in love with the idea of you, the idea of being associated with you and what your life was but when the reality hit them? More often than not, they realized your friendship wasn't worth the price of being in your life.

"I come with a lot of baggage, Lan." You murmur, playing with the stem of your wine glass. You know what comes next and you brace yourself for it, regretting allowing yourself to get your hopes up that maybe, just maybe, he had been different.

Lando is quiet for a bit as he gazes at you, eyes soft and vulnerable. You try desperately to avoid looking at him, unable to face what you feel will be pity in his eyes. You've seen it so many times before. When people learn about how regimented and controlled your life is, how you can't step one toe out of line for fear of bringing the wrath of an entire nation down on your head. It's hard and you never want to ask another person to voluntarily take that on for you.

"That's okay." Lando says easily. His eyes finally find yours then because you've fond the courage to look at him then and they practically sparkle over at you. "We all come with baggage but sometimes when you have two people handling it together, the baggage becomes a little easier to handle all at once."

The spark that scurries up your arm when he reaches out to clasp your fingers in his is something you've never felt before.

"I thought you lived at the palace?" Lando looks at you sideways as you walk down the quiet street later that night. The pub where you had spent the last several hours was just a short walk from your townhome so when Lando had offered you a ride, you had told him you would just walk. He had insisted on walking you home then and you had of course accepted.

"I have apartments at the palace, yes but I mostly live here." You point to the a brick townhome that sits at the end of a quiet row. "It belonged to my grandmother but she gave it to me when I turned 18."

"My grandma gave me a watch when I turned 18." Lando grouses.

Not for the first or even second time tonight, you tilt your head back on a laugh and Lando thinks it's the prettiest sound he's ever heard. He's mildly concerned that he's becoming addicted.

You come to a stop at the bottom of your stoop, turning to face Lando, suddenly feeling shy. You hadn't expected this to feel as much like a date as it felt. When he had said 'drink' you assumed it would be a casual thing between two potential friends getting to know each other. What you hadn't anticipated was how natural it felt being with Lando, how effortless it felt to have his eyes on you.

"I had fun tonight." Lando says, taking a step closer to you. He knows that your protection officers are close by, far enough away to give you privacy but close enough to be able to do their job. It doesn't bother him as much as he thought it would though.

"I did too." You confess, sinking into the warmth you can feel radiating from his body.

"I want to kiss you." Lando is so close now you can feel the brush of his breath fan out over your cheek.

"Then kiss me." You breathe.

The first brush of his lips has you drowning in him. The plush press of his mouth on yours has your knees weak, reaching out to steady yourself by clutching at his dress shirt. Like everything with Lando Norris, the kiss is unexpectedly heated and wholly natural. The thought buzzes in the back of your mind that you could get used to this with him.

It's so dangerous.

Lando swallows your sigh when he licks into your mouth for the first time, needing to consume anything he can that belongs to you. You find yourself entirely forgetting about the world around you, not caring that anyone could see you making out with Lando Norris in the middle of the sidewalk. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of your brain, an alarm goes off but the way Lando kissed you silences any coherent thought outside of his lips on yours.

"Oh." You whisper when you finally pull back.

Lando runs his hand over his mouth, eyes playfully regarding you as if he's surprised. "Oh is right, princess."

God you were so glad your brother had gotten sick this week.

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mggslover · 13 days ago

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How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed.

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age.

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them.

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece.

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.”

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking.

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied.

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up.

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you.

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat.

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.

Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted.

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable.

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold.

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips.

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again.

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin.

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more.

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure.

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth.

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips.

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.”

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you.

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart.

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in.

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces.

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

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hiveswap · 1 year ago

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Summary of The Cat of The Year poll atrocities of 2023/2024

I'm sure that most people on this side of tumblr have seen the Jellie vs. Nefarious Anglerfish poll going around with like 60k votes at this point, and I'd really like clear up some of what happened since I was around for the whole thing.

Url blocked out for op's privacy. They have already left but don't look for it if you haven't seen it/don't harrass them if you already have.

1. The previous round (preparation)

I discovered the poll in its previous round, needless to say she beat Jort's ass severely. This was around the 3rd of january, meaning that this round finished before jellie's passing with only about 7k votes. Op did add their own piece of propaganda from their main:

...which was FINE. (except for stuff we'll see later) Of course running a poll while biased isn't ideal but I for one didn't even know they were the op until much later. I also added my own piece in a separate thread, and they didn't interact with it at all. There was no drama.

2. The Finale

Jellie unfortunately passed away right before the starting of this poll, which was the catalyst for what happened next. Op did exactly as last time and added a slightly more mean spirited encouragement to vote for the other contestant. This is the point where I believe that i fucked up personally.

I added this thinkpiece accusing op of associating all mcyters with Dream (who we all hate for the record) despite them not alluding to him at all. This is because tumblr has a history of disimissing all mcyters as... everything that dream was been accused of. Op did allude to not caring for mcyt. but they didn't say what i accused them of. This is important to point out because this reblog of mine is still being spread. Jellie was in the lead at the time, but not by the time i woke up next morning.

I won't be including anyone else's additions because I don't want to put blame on any specific person. Just felt like clearing up mine.

3. The Fuckening

Some time later op made this post to their personal blog:

which is insanely shitty because, as other people have pointed out, the "lame ass youtube cat" didn't die to inconvinience op or ruin their fun, and people would have probably voted for her anyway because jelly is universally beloved in the mcyt community. This isn't anti democratic. This post was added to the poll with a caption saying op should not be running this poll, and it took off. Op later went on to say that this was a joke:

This apology was not taken well by people, (including me) because "you were not meant to see it" isn't an apology and they still very much made fun of someone's pet dying. Safe to say this did not make the drama stop and only added fuel to the flame. I believe this was the point where the conversation of mcyt fans being unjustly sent hate to was reignited.

We should discuss that! it's a real thing that happens often and is equal to childish bullying. However, in this case, OP was the only one getting sent hate to my knowledge. The notes were mostly saturated by mcyt fans, and even now i can only find one or two hateful stance towards us under the whole 20k notes post.

4. Conclusions

Op posted a second apology to the catoftheyear blog to try and calm people down (i believe this is comprehensive and a lot better than the previous one) The blog was deactivated shortly after, so i only have my phone screenshots of it that i also added to the poll itself at some point:

(Edit) Here's proof that op did not write the justification they got criticised for, from the notes of the original poll:

This apology didn't get seen, or get accepted by enough people, so op made this statement on their personal:

Needless to say I am deeply dissapointed (and guilty) that it's come to this. Yes, op said tasteless things that made us all angry, but telling a human being to commit suicide is worse than being insensitive about a stranger's pet dying. Even after I posted about the blog being decatived i had someone come into my notes to wish that "they never find happiness" i mean wtf. This isn't like shipping where we can do whatever without the content creator's input. this is fucking harrowing and i can't imagine how i'd feel if this was done in my/my pet's name especially after losing them as recently as a week ago.

I hope no one from hermitcraft who is on here (let alone scar holy shit) learns about this like they did with previous lighthearted tournaments. If you truly respect the creators you claim to be a fan of as people, you do not tell people to kill themselves over them. And finally, let Jellie fucking rest, guys. she had a long, good life. I hope op can come back and also avoids behaving like this if they ever wish to do so. I'm angrier at mcytblr, though.

#catoftheyear #jellie #tw animal death #tw suicide bait #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #adding to main tags so people see this instead of the poll itself with no context on how it ended #If this breaches containment and gets used as a reason to hurt mcyt fans i am going zo eat whoever is doing that #catoftheyeartournament #jellie the cat

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sundrop-writes · 8 months ago

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Precious Time Alone

Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader

aka the fic where Gar has a knot

Summary:

Even with the ability to see the future, you never would have guessed that your life would lead you to falling in love with the perfect man - someone sweet, caring, funny, cute. Someone with the passion and fire to protect the ones that he loves no matter what. A precious guy with green hair who had the ability to transform into a tiger at will. And when you finally made love to him for the first time, you never could have guessed how that unique ability affected his sex life.

You weren't exactly complaining, but you wished you had seen this coming. At the end of the day, it was just another thing about him to love.

Or - Neither you nor Gar knew that he has the ability to knot, and you both find out for the first time when you have sex together.

Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 2, Episode 9.

Word Count: 11,800

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, to make my masterlist for this fandom more complete, and to help new people discover my old fics.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Important Note: for reference, this is not an A/B/O fic - I have nothing against A/B/O fics and I love them very much (it's one of my favourite genres, and I really need to write more A/B/O fics and post them) - the reader character is 100% human and does not have any traits that fall into the A/B/O category. This fic is based off the concept that Gar has a knot due to his animal traits/animal DNA, and it is something that happens to his body because of his ability to transform into an animal. This could be considered a hybrid fic, but Gar's knot is the only animal trait he possesses during sex. If this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, come back later, and I might have something more your style. Or you can check out my masterlist in the meantime.

Warnings: the reader character has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; this is an established relationship - Gar and the reader have been dating for a while now; mentions of canon events from S1 and S2 (so there is some spoilers from the show - if you haven't seen the show yet and you want to watch it unspoiled, be warned); mentions of canon level violence, including Gar being tortured at the asylum; this is set during 2x09 when Gar is 'home alone' (and the reader is there with him); the reader character suffers from insomnia; the reader character does have powers but they don't really have major involvement in the plot of this fic (idk if I should have even labelled this as 'powered!reader') - the reader character has psychic visions; mentions of clothes sharing - the reader is implied to be bigger/plus sized because Gar wears her clothing and it's 'oversized'; the reader is attracted to Gar's more 'animal' side - she admits to being attracted to him because he protected her with his powers; this fic does use Y/N (I am a proud Y/N truther); Gar and the reader have engaged in sexual acts before (handjobs, fingering, oral) but this fic features their first time having penis in vagina sex; Gar's knot is a surprise to both of them due to it being their first time having penetrative sex (his dick only swells up once it gets inside of her body); though this is both of their 'first times' with each other, I didn't put any big emphasis on virginity in this fic, especially because they have done other sexual acts before; this could be considered Crack Treated Seriously - but like I said, my brain just took the concept and ran with it; there is something in this fic that could be considered consensual somnophilia - the reader character starts performing oral sex on Gar in order to wake him up, but she's not specifically turned on by the fact that he's sleeping, and there is an unspoken consent due to them being in a relationship; this whole thing fluctuates from making love/passionate sex to rough, animalistic sex; slight praise kink - Gar verbally praises the reader and compliments her a lot; there isn't really defined roles here, but Gar is more dominant and the reader is more submissive; as mentioned before - penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex - they don't use a condom (the lore of knots and condoms bothers me anyway, like how would a condom not break under those circumstances??); possessive!Gar; biting kink/marking kink (Gar bites the reader - a lot); Gar cums inside the reader - a lot, because of his supernatural dick (though this doesn't quite make it to cum inflation levels); Gar knots the reader (if you don't know what that is, just stay away); creampie kink - NOT breeding kink; there is mentions of pregnancy in a discussion after the sex is over, but not in the breeding kink sense (Gar and the reader both want kids and there is no mentions of alternate forms of birth control, so if that gives you the ick then don't read this one); slight warning for VERY BRIEF painful sex/pain after sex - Gar tries to pull out not knowing what the knot is and accidentally hurts the reader's vagina because of it (the pain only lasts for a few seconds, and he stops trying to pull out once he is unsuccessful); scent kink - Gar loves the way you smell after being fucked by him; (I was not planning on adding a bonus scene when editing this fic, but it's Gar and I got carried away) more consensual somnophilia toward the end - Gar fingers the reader a bit while she is sleeping, and then he masturbates on top of her and cums over her thighs before cleaning her up (again, this is operating off the pre-existing consent in a relationship, or you can imagine that they had a consent conversation about this before the fic, idc); the ending of this fic is just pure fluff.

A/N: This is one that I wrote in 2022 and I had kind of forgotten about it? But I was going through my older fics on AO3 and I was like 'omg I love that fic, I forgot how much I love that fic'. And because I am trying to post some easy stuff before my move (which will be exhausting and it will mean that I will post pretty much nothing for a few months) - I realized that this fic was an easy re-post because it didn't need a lot of work before being re-posted. So - here ya go! If you haven't read this fic before and you don't know what a knot is (in terms of fanfiction/smut): run away. Run away now. I don't need to be the one to corrupt you lmao. But yeah - this fic was inspired by someone on Tumblr (I wish I could remember who it was and link the post) posing the theory that if Gar is 'part animal', then he might have a knot. And my brain felt the need to exorcise that idea once it entered my mind and literally possessed me, and thus, this fic was created. I think it is one of my better Gar fics - with a very straightforward concept. And if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy it!

...

It was entirely strange to wake up to the Tower actually being quiet.

Well, quiet aside from the sound of Gar’s snores rumbling beside your head. But there was a lot less noise than usual.

There was no distant beeping of the coffee machine where Dick had it pre-set to go off at an ungodly hour. No grunting of Jason training because he couldn’t sleep. No rumbling bass tones of Rachel’s music where she played it aloud, thinking no one else could hear.

No arguing voices.

Strangely, that was something you missed most of all. You had come to love the chaos of so many people living in your new home. And you had secretly hoped that Dawn, Hank, and Donna would stick around for a while, even if they insisted that they were just going to take care of the Dr. Light problem and leave once again. With them cooking meals and hogging the TV, it had started to feel like a real family.

You had definitely not expected all of the Titans to barrel out faster than cockroaches fled from light when Dick told them of his past transgressions. But boy - they fucking ran. And naturally, when Gar volunteered to stay at the Tower with Conner in order to hold down the fort, you stayed with him.

What else would a good girlfriend do?

You had stuck by him through everything else, so of course you would stick by him through this.

And even though you missed everyone dearly, and you worried about the long-term impact that Dick’s confession would have, you did see the appeal of The Tower now being completely empty. You would be lying if you said that it didn’t bring some salacious thoughts to your mind.

Maybe it was that morning silence, truly reminding you of the lack of occupants in the house - or the burning hum between your thighs that had you awake at this hour in the first place. But you couldn’t sleep, and now your mind was brimming with better, hornier things that you could be doing with your time. (Things that you likely already would have started if Gar had been awake along with you.)

You were sometimes jealous of his ability to sleep so well. Typically, sleep was an area that you did very poorly in.

Usually, having Gar’s intense warmth curled up next to you did help. And you thanked that perfect human furnace for what little sleep you had gotten the night before. Especially after all the anxiety and the fighting, and the unexpected charge of everyone leaving so suddenly.

You lifted your head from Gar’s rumbling chest as he snored and snorted away and you looked at the clock on his nightstand - 4:15am. You sighed deeply to yourself and decided to get out of bed. You knew from your experience with insomnia that it was no use trying to fall back asleep again.

You untangled yourself from Gar’s grasp, careful not to wake him - and then you grabbed a piece of clothing off the floor to shield yourself from the morning chill.

It was an oversized hoodie that you and Gar often shared. It had originally started off as yours, but now your things had migrated into Gar’s room and it seemed like your lives were easily blending into one. He found himself wearing one of your socks mix-matched with his own, and he often slept under a fuzzy throw blanket you had brought when you moved into The Tower. You used his body wash in the shower, and had some of his nerdy pins on your backpack.

It always just felt right.

The hoodie smelled delightfully like your boyfriend - and you couldn’t help but to press the fabric to your nose with a small contented sigh while you walked down the hallway to check on Conner.

The young man was still deeply unconscious - not making a single movement or a flicker of acknowledgment toward you when you walked into the room. His vitals were stable, with his puppy asleep on his knees. The dog looked at you with curious eyes as you checked on the machines and even used a stethoscope to listen to Conner’s heart just to make sure that he was doing alright. Krypto made no moves to get off the bed, entirely protective of his half-human companion. You shut off the light and partially closed the door as you left (leaving enough room for Krypto to get out if he wanted to).

Then, without much else to do, and feeling a slight grumble in your stomach, you went to the kitchen. You ate a bowl of cereal as you scrolled your phone, listened to music, and checked for messages from any of the other Titans. There were none.

After you had eaten, you were still bored and the sun wasn’t even up yet - so you decided to take a shower.

As the hot water poured over your body, you couldn’t help but think of Gar.

The two of you had been together since your psychic powers led you to Scooter’s Roller Palace.

Before that, you had lived a somewhat normal life, even with your visions. You had the very typical ‘loving family, suburban home, thriving at school’ type of life.

You had been trying to achieve your goals while completely ignoring your visions.

Visions that you had previously denied had even been able to predict the future - until a horrifying dream of your parents’ double murder came true. You were unaware at the time that the same doomsday cult that was attempting to track down Rachel was also looking for you. A group that had been watching your abilities carefully and wanted to use you to track Rachel and to perceive better outcomes for ‘their work’.

So with the realization that you could see the future, you knew that you had to act. Especially with visions of the dark, crumbling end of the world plaguing you. You let your powers guide you to that roller rink in search of a purple haired girl who could save everyone and a green haired boy who could transform into a tiger. And since then, you hadn’t let him go.

It was only when you had been captured at the asylum that you and Gar became truly close. The day that he had first come to your rescue.

The ‘scientists’ there hadn’t been unable to taunt or shock him into his transformation like they had been planning to. But the moment he had heard your screams of torture and torment from down the hall, he had transformed into the tiger and ripped the cage’s door off its steel welded hinges with his teeth just to get to you.

When he witnessed them torturing you in an attempt to demand predictions of the future out of you - Gar had snapped. And then, a bizarre vision that you’d had years ago came to life before your very eyes. A vision of a giant green tiger ripping apart a group of men in white lab coats, making them bloody in order to save you.

He later told you, as you were traveling on the train, that he had never harmed another person before that. He had never used his powers to harm someone before that. But he also told you that he absolutely didn’t regret it. He had told you that if it meant that he got to save you, then he would do it a thousand times over. And that was something that warmed your heart and drew you to him like a moth to flame.

If you had a schoolgirl crush on him before that, then in those moments, it grew into a heated, womanly lust. You started falling in love with him on that day.

That animalistic strength, that passion, that courage was what had drawn you to Gar immediately. He claimed it was ‘hero syndrome’ - the thing that made you pull him close and kiss him on the train. The thing that made you call him your boyfriend. He claimed it was only because he was the one that saved you, and if it had been someone else, then you wouldn’t have ended up with him at all.

But no - nobody else had the primal drive that he did. Nobody else had the same protective instincts that he had. Nobody else looked as good with blood dripping from their teeth.

It was a dangerous thought to have. But it was one that got your clit throbbing every single time.

Of course, you loved Gar for all of his soft parts. You loved him for his dorky smile, his smooth laugh, his shy gaze. He was a soft place to land when you were hurt, upset - when you needed comfort the most. But you also loved him for his sharpened edges - his undeniable passion, the way he wouldn’t hesitate to harm an enemy when it came to protecting the ones he loved. The way he bit down on your lip whenever you gripped his cock just the right way.

You sighed hard through your nose as the water went cold around you. Had you really been in the shower for that long?

Disappointingly, you and Gar had never actually had sex before.

You had done plenty of sexual things - but it always felt rushed, and it never quite scratched that itch in the way you needed it to.

The fact that the two of you were pretty much never alone together meant you never had the time to indulge in each other, to properly touch each other the way that you really wanted to. Everything you did together was always quick and haste. Grabbing and groping each other through clothes, shoving your hands into each other’s pants, panting breaths down each other’s throats, desperate to cum as quickly and quietly as possible.

You wanted nothing more than to feel every single inch of his naked skin against yours. You wanted to be able to spend hours worshiping his body, getting your tongue onto every perfect muscle you had seen when he trained shirtless. You spent far too long fantasizing about him laying you down in the middle of his bed and pounding into you, roughly and savagely - showing off that animal side you loved so much.

As you wrapped a towel around yourself and wiped the steam off the mirror, you realized something absolutely wicked. The house was empty. This was the perfect opportunity to get exactly what you wanted - what you needed from Gar.

You dried off your body, abandoning the fresh clothes you had brought into the bathroom with you and simply walking down the hallway naked. It was a strange feeling, to say the least. You were aware of the fact that there were cameras in literally every common area of the Tower (as Gar had pointed out to Rose a few days prior) but you took for granted that nobody would have to review this footage for any reason.

You slipped into Gar’s room, where he was still fast asleep - splayed out on his back, his jaw wide open as he puffed out air and snorted loud snores.

He was adorable, almost innocently so. He was so peaceful when he slept. He was wearing a tee shirt with a cartoon of Link from The Legend of Zelda on it - something you only knew about because he had explained it to you in great detail. His green hair was messy in a beautiful way that suited him, his limbs sticking out from the covers at odd angles. Even though you did have some idea of the not-so-innocent things he thought about you on a regular basis, you did feel slightly guilty for disrupting his sleep with your lustful corrupting force.

(Just not guilty enough to stop what you were about to do.)

With the morning sun rising at your back, just slightly orange through the curtains, you pulled up the covers and crawled in on top of Gar. Instantly, you were warmed by the natural heat radiating off his body. Apparently something about his ‘condition’ - that thing that made him half-animal, also made him incredibly warm. At any given time, his skin was near-burning, almost like a fever to the touch. It made him so pleasant to sleep beside, so nice to hug and cuddle up against. It was just one of the many, many things that made him the perfect boyfriend.

With that heat gathered under his blanket like a sauna, it almost made you want to lay down on top of him and fall asleep again. But the prominent hum between your thighs was a bit more persistent - and you knew that there would be plenty of time to fall asleep with Gar later. His clothes did slightly irritate your sensitive, bare skin - you knew that you wouldn’t have to tolerate the feeling for long.

Gar liked being naked more than you did. So he certainly wouldn’t mind you undressing him. You knew the only reason he even bothered to sleep with clothes on was because of the general pretense of others being around.

You pressed yourself on top of Gar, not worried about your weight disturbing him - not after the many times he had told you how much he enjoyed the feeling of being cuddled with you laying fully on top of him. You pulled the covers up over your body as the chill of the room bit at your still somewhat damp skin, and you leaned in to kiss across Gar’s neck. He moaned quietly in his sleep and began to stir.

You smiled to yourself, loving the feeling of his muscles so relaxed underneath you. It was something that had been too rare as of late - with all the intense training sessions, and the stress of Rose being brought into your home, Jason being kidnapped, and then Conner being shot. For the past few weeks, whenever you had hugged Gar or cuddled against him in bed, he had been nothing but a tense ball of stress.

You certainly understood that stress. He was worried for his friends and wondering what would happen next. Even though you had the ability to see the future, you couldn’t simply predict what would happen on a dime. You had helped to secure Jason’s safety, but you had been nervous that the others wouldn’t be able to get to him in time. Even though everything had worked out in the end (debatable, seeing the emotional scars Jason had come away with), the stress had taken a toll on you and Gar.

Life as a Titan was stressful. And you knew that you and Gar were both well deserving of a break. Even though Gar marked this as a tense fracturing of the group, something else to stress about, you knew that everyone simply needed a break.

And you knew exactly what kind of relaxation Gar deserved now that you had the time on your hands. It was something you hadn’t been able to give him since a late night in the bathroom many weeks ago, when he had to muffle his moans into a hand towel for fear of being caught. You laid a few more gentle kisses against the skin of his neck, and then began to descend downward.

You wiggled yourself completely under the blanket, loving the warm cave that it created around you - a pleasant fog of Gar’s body heat that easily made your cheeks scorch. It raised your body temperature more already, and made your cunt clench in anticipation.

Of course, you were going to focus on him first. You pushed his shirt up his stomach, gathering the fabric lazily around his midsection, not really making an effort to take it off. You appreciated the skin that was revealed to you, especially seeing as every single part of him was beautiful.

You had seen him naked before.

Gar was a smart person - but he wasn’t always clever. So he had unintentionally shown off his ‘goodies’ on more than one occasion when transforming into that mighty tiger that you loved so much. He didn’t always rush to cover himself if he thought that nobody was looking. It was a strange juxtaposition - the fact that you had made him cum before, but you had only seen him completely naked when he used his powers publicly.

During the times when you had been intimate, you had both been forced to keep most of your clothes on - your trysts entirely secretive, shoving your hands down each other’s pants or dropping to your knees and taking his cock out, keeping everything haste and ready to easily redress in case someone came upon you.

Now, you were more than ready to make love to him. You were fed him with never having enough time - never having enough of him. You so badly wanted to have your naked body pressed against him completely; to have him naked in bed for hours where there would be absolutely no disruptions. Your pussy throbbed with excitement at the very thought.

(Perhaps Dick coming clean of his transgressions and pissing off all the Titans had been the best thing that had ever happened to you. Not that you would ever admit that out loud.)

You kissed along the now exposed skin of Gar’s stomach, loving the little moans he let out as you did so. Clearly, he was still floating somewhere in sleep, his sounds still dull and adorably sleepy. Perhaps on his way to waking up as your wet mouth worked a trail down to the edge of his sweatpants.

His stomach muscles flexed under your touch as your tongue darted out and traced the light trail of hair leading down from his belly button and dipping into his pants - definitely one of your favorite things about him. You laid a few more light kisses near his hip, causing more cute little jolts, before you lovingly eyed the outline you saw forming inside his pants. Even though the fabric, his cock looked perfect.

You knew that Gar pretty much never wore underwear.

It was something he had given up on because it was just another article of clothing to rip off, previously impeding his transformations. And then he simply never wore them in his off-time because once he had stopped, he found them too uncomfortable to wear casually. It was a dirty little secret of yours - but you absolutely loved his commando lifestyle.

It always made the outline of his dick so obvious through his clothes (even when it was soft). You had never admitted that you ogled him on a regular basis. Especially when he trained - his movements when sparing causing his cock to bob around and move in a devilishly delicious way.

Maybe you were a bit of a pervert. At least, that’s what some people might call the way your mind worked. But you couldn’t really help it. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that you had found the most gorgeous man ever and he had a sex drive that seemed just as potent as yours. (Though - as previously mentioned - you had been horrendously impeded by a barrage of housemates and multiple crises interrupting your alone time. Until now.)

You were quick to undo the tie on his sweats, and from there, all it took was a firm tug to get his pants down. The fabric became slightly trapped between the plushness of his ass and the bed - thankfully he was still limp and pliant with sleep, and you didn’t have to put too much effort into getting the clothing down. You took the edge of his pants down to just past his hips, letting his cock free.

This gave you a perfect view of his long, thick cock - freshly awakened from its slumber and easily half-way to hardness. It was as remarkable as always - pretty pink cockhead (just like the sweet pink of his lips), pale and seven inches long - about nine inches long when he was fully hard. Tugging the fabric of his pants down a bit more, you gently pet your fingers over his round, full balls - one of your favorite parts of him, even if you felt shy admitting it aloud.

You also loved his so beautifully Gar, bright green pubes. The first time you had seen that his green hair was so entirely all natural (well, natural since the injection of Dr. Caulder’s serum) - you had been shocked and absolutely amused.

You loved every inch of him, and you definitely loved how this was a solid reminder of exactly who your boyfriend was, even when you were making steady eye contact with his dick.

You placed your hands on the tops of his thighs and leaned in, taking the head of his semi-hard cock into your mouth. You couldn’t help but to be pleased with yourself, knowing that this was how he was going to wake up. His skin was delightfully smooth under your tongue and he tasted slightly of a musk that was so uniquely Gar.

You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, thumbing down over his balls as you bobbed your head down - with your tongue loose and your mouth wide open, you gave a few good, greedy slurps on his cock, simply enjoying the feeling of him hot and thickening up in your mouth as he became harder. You couldn’t help but to moan around him, and he let out a startled snort, and then a deep groan.

You felt movement above you as his tired arms grappled with the covers - he was definitely awake now.

His dick throbbed under your tongue as he swelled to full hardness - and you held back laughter as he momentarily pushed on your head through the covers. Clearly, still not quite awake enough to know what was going on - just enjoying the feeling of a warm mouth on his cock. You squeezed your grip tighter around the base and prodded your tongue into the slit, gentle and exploring, lapping up the first bit of precum that he leaked out.

He let out a perfect shuddering gasp.

“Wha-? Hmm? Y/N?” He mumbled out, confused in that tired, dumbly adorable way.

A moment later, the covers were ripped off your head, ruining that lovely cave of warmth you had going, causing a rush of cool air to prick at your skin. With your lips wrapped around his cock, bobbing down over the first few inches of the mighty, thick beast while gently pumping at the rest with a casual grip, you looked up at Gar through your eyelashes. You attempted to look sweet, knowing how sinful you looked with your lips stretched around the girth of his cock.

You suppressed a moan of your own when you taste more salty precum and his jaw dropped open with a broken moan.

“G-good morn-ning.” He said, voice tight and raspy, partially from the haze of sleepiness and partially from the lust coating his throat.

He propped himself up on one elbow and stared down the length of his body at you. He moved to wipe the sleep from his eyes, clearly stunned and awed to be woken up this way. His gaze was hazy with that half-awake look and his chest moved in thick beats as he began to struggle for breath, partially holding back his moans in a practiced way due to your living situation.

You simply continued your actions, widening your lips to suck more of him down. You bobbed your head slowly as you took the first half of his impressive length like a popsicle, swirling your tongue around it and using your hand on the base. Gar’s chest became tight with trapped sounds, and his hip muscles seized tight as the urge to fuck your mouth overtook his body - but he held back with intense self-discipline.

“You - oh - you-you’re naked.” He quickly observed, struggling to speak through the pleasure of your tongue on his cock.

His eyes scanned over your naked body with intense hunger, and he rushed to move the blanket back more, wanting to reveal your bare ass and thighs. When he managed to do this, you quickly felt the coolness of the room against your bare pussy and realized just how wet you were.

Gar’s eyes went wide in an almost cartoonish way as he drank you in.

He had only been able to get glances at your naked body before - when you were coming out of the shower and flashed him in an attempt to rile him up, or during your trysts when he had been able to pull off pieces of your clothing, but not everything all at once. Now, seeing you entirely bared to him, in the warm light of the early morning, something that made your skin glow - it caused his heart to speed up inside his chest, and made his dick throb. It was something you felt under your tongue that brought you another thrill.

You popped off his perfect cock with a wet sound, much to Gar’s disappointment, so that your mouth would be free to speak.

“I had a shower.” You told him, giving him a little smirk. “I didn’t feel like bothering with clothes afterwards.”

You leaned back in and licked a broad stripe across Gar’s dick as you waited for his reply, causing a sharp breath to shake his chest before he could speak.

“But what if someone-?” He glanced toward his bedroom door, thinking of the other Titans. Thinking about the possibility of being disrupted yet again.

Perhaps he had forgotten of the debacle that happened the day previous. You were quick to remind him.

“No one else is home. Remember?” You said, your breath fanning out over his cock before you gave a few kitten licks to the leaking, pretty pink cockhead.

Gar shuddered with delight, gripping the sheets with tight fists. He hadn’t really forgotten, but he had been hoping that someone else would have come home by now. That they all would have gotten over the argument and just wanted to be Titans again. But he couldn’t find himself too upset about those hopes being dashed with your hand pumping his cock and your tongue swirling around him like that.

“Fuck.” Gar breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, desperate to compose himself. “What about - what about Conner?”

“He’s still asleep.” You told Gar. “That lady - his Mom, guess? She said that he would be out for at least a few days.”

You paused for a moment, and then, you gently confirmed:

“It’s just the two of us. We’re all alone.”

You stopped your actions, simply holding his dick in your hand and looking up at him with a small grin, giving the words a moment to sink in. Gar stared down at you, letting it truly work through his brain.

The two of you were alone. You were naked. You were naked in his bed. You were holding his hard cock and you both wanted it to happen - very badly.

There was nothing stopping the two of you.

“This is so awesome!” Gar’s voice was pure enthusiasm as he grinned widely at you, his hands quickly moving to rip off his shirt.

You sat back on your heels, giving Gar room to fully shed his clothing, knowing that he was likely just as excited to be fully naked and uninterrupted as you were. He was slightly clumsy in kicking off his pants - something that made you giggle as he got caught up in the fabric. After a moment of struggle, you reached out and helped him untangle the pant legs from around his ankles and toss the unwanted item to the floor. You were now both fully free and absolutely ready for each other.

“C’mere,” You let out a joyous laugh, quick to pounce on Gar.

The second that you were close enough, you got your mouth on his, engaging in hot, open-mouthed kisses while he wrapped his arms around you. He was quick to roll you onto your back, leaving you lying slightly awkwardly, diagonally on the bed with your ankles tangled in the sheets. Not that you cared about any of that for a moment - not with his whole body shadowing over yours, bringing more of that amazing warmth to cover you.

Then, for the first time, you felt that ultimately satisfying press of pure skin on skin. The feeling made you both moan loudly into the other’s mouth as he leaned all of his weight onto you and pressed your bodies almost completely together, from knees to chests. You felt every single inch of him: his warm, muscled thighs pressing against your own, his hard cock up against your pelvis, creating a deep hunger that caused your pussy to throb hard between your legs, his smooth stomach and chiseled chest pressing against you - the beating of his heart racing in tandem with your own. It was topped off by the breath-taking sight of his big, brown eyes staring into yours as he looked down at you with utter adoration.

It was so utterly perfect.

He leaned in for another long, hot kiss, and you moaned heavily into his mouth. After a moment, he pulled away from the kiss with a nip on your bottom lip - something that made you whimper from the back of your throat. A hard, hot pain throbbed between your thighs as your pussy cried out for him, desperately needing him inside of you.

You had waited far too long for this. His fingers had always felt good, but you knew that his cock would feel so much better.

“So fucking perfect.” Gar told you, his voice taking on a deep, lustful rumble that had you clenching around nothing, yearning for the fullness of his cock inside of you. “You are a goddess, I swear.”

As he said this, his eyes raked over your naked body with an intense heat that had you squirming.

His voice caused even more heat across your skin - an intense tingling raking over you like goosebumps. You felt his words with the genuine intense passion that he intended them with, all the affection that boiled inside of him breaching out and spilling over you. It was something that made you feel more beautiful than any expensive dress or makeup ever could have.

“You’re perfect too, Gar.” You echoed back, feeling lame and uncreative with the compliment, but absolutely believing it to be true. Every inch of him was something to love. Inside and out.

Gar drowned any further words - perhaps afraid he would get too emotional - by shoving his tongue past your lips. He ran his hands up and down the sides of your body while yours settled on his gorgeous, plump ass. Your legs naturally fell open for him, your knees coming up to sit on either side of his thighs.

You let out a moan as his tongue mingled with yours, his hips grinding into you, moving his cock against your mound and partially bumping against your swollen clit. It was a beautiful sharp shock that made you gasp and pull him closer into you. You wrapped your ankles around the backs of his knees, setting yourself in the perfect position to take his cock.

You were dripping and needy, and you weren’t prepared to wait much longer.

“Gar, please,” You moaned, pulling away from the kiss to puff the words out against his now wet lips.

You angled your hips up in a way that directly dragged the wet folds of your pussy along his hardness, beginning to hump yourself against him, showing him the true depth of your desperation. This caused him to groan and buck into you. He echoed the movements right back, humping his cock along your pussy, rubbing across your clit again and sending sharp jolts through your whole body.

This made you even needier.

“Gar!” You gasped out in response. “Please!”

Your voice was a lilting whine that you barely even recognized. Of course, only he could do that to you.

“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled back.

His brow furrowed as he stared down between your bodies, clearly captivated by the sight of your pussy drooling wetness all over his cock. He was now very purposefully jutting his hips to slick that glossy wetness across his dick, to feel the essence of you covering him for the first time.

“You want me to just-? You-? Are you ready?” He choked on his own words, his mind hazy with lust.

“Yes.” You were becoming absolutely short on patience, your tone demanding. “Just get inside me. Please.”

Gar simply grunted in affirmation, reaching down to use a hand on his dick to guide himself inside of you. You hitched a leg up over his hip, opening yourself up more to give him better access. It was only a single moment of staring at his concentrated face - something that was entirely arousing in the situation - before you felt it.

The thick head of his cock breaching your slicked, needy hole. Your body was so prepared to take him, having taken his fingers (and your own thinking about this very moment) so many times before - you practically sucked him in. He let out a breathy, desperate sound as he let go of his cock and gently rolled his hips into yours, sinking home for the first time.

It was something that made you dizzy. You were so fucking full.

You knew how large his cock was - you had seen it, felt it in your hand - but having him fully inside of you for the first time - it knocked the air out of your lungs in the best possible way. The press of his pelvis fully against you, the slight coarseness of his pubic hairs up against your most sensitive skin, his heavy balls brushing your ass - all of it sent jolts across your skin and had your mind so beautifully blank.

All you could do was grip onto him tightly, and let out a breathy moan of his name.

“Gar.”

“Y/N.” He moaned back, his voice absolutely thick with pleasure, lost in a deep haze as the feeling of your pussy clenching him for the first time. You were so perfect - so tight and hot around him, leaking wetness around the base of his dick. The feeling easily sent hot waves rolling over his body. “Fuck, so perfect.”

He was absolutely smothered - the feeling of you gripping his cock like a vice driving him insane in the best way. His thighs quivered and he struggled for breath as he resisted the urge to pound into you - resisted the urge to selfishly chase his own pleasure inside the irresistible, velvety feeling of you.

He didn’t want to hurt you.

The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt you.

There were the tiniest echoes of logic still chanting in his brain, screaming at him that he absolutely couldn’t risk hurting you. That he had to use self control.

Even as he looked down at your gorgeous naked body, your tits heaving with your breaths, the slight gleam of sweat across your skin, your kiss-bitten lips, the gloss of lust that had come over your eyes. You were a sexy goddess; you were so perfect, and you made his cock ache, and he wanted to pound into you until you were screaming, and filled with his cum and dripping white around his cock.

But he could never hurt you.

“Move, please.” You begged. “Need you, Gar. Please make me cum.”

With that perfect plea, how could he resist you?

Any semblance of Gar’s scared self control flew out the window.

And you became all too thankful for that.

In seconds, it went from a feeling of perfect fullness to a blur of flesh, his hips pulling back and slamming into yours. His animalistic instincts kicked in, and absolutely took over. That thing in the back of his head chanting at him, telling him to fuck his cock into the perfect hot body beneath him without stopping.

Don’t ever stop.

That thing told him that he needed your pussy to live now - and he couldn’t find a lie anywhere in that feeling.

He let out a growl that shook your chest - a sound that turned you on far more than you expected it to - causing you to let out a whimper in response. He gripped at your inner thigh, holding you open as he dug his knees into the mattress and pounded into you with impressive might. The thickness of his mighty cock splitting you opened caused sharp pleasure-pain shocks from your pussy that quickly stole your breath. You didn’t think that you would enjoy the slightly venomous bite of the pain so much, but mixing with the pleasure, it made you even more beautifully delirious.

You knew that you would likely have difficulty walking after this, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The pure force of Gar’s hips easily shook the whole bed.

You were mildly aware of the headboard hitting the wall behind you - a sound that seemed so distant in your sex-hazy mind. It was easily drowned out by the wet, sloppy sounds of your pussy drowning his cock; the wicked slaps of flesh to flesh, and the whiny whimpers you let out. Followed by his near feral groans and deep growls that were absolutely programming a response into you that would likely get you untimely turned on the next time he transformed into the tiger.

(But that was something you would have to mentally unpack later.)

It was all so perfect.

The hot, shocking tingles flowing from your pussy in waves, the perfect pain of his pelvis bruising you every time he slammed into you, splitting you open with his cock. But you needed one more thing. You reached a hand down, needing some form of touch on your throbbing clit.

When your hand found its destination, Gar was quick to smack it away - something that surprised you. He had never been so rough with you during a sexual encounter before. You absolutely didn’t hate it, though. This new side of Gar sent dizzying waves through you. You fucking loved it.

“No.” He said, his voice edging on a growl.

He went so far as to grab your wrist and pin your hand down to the bed - and you let out another loud moan at the feeling.

Before you could question him, he went on to answer the silent query - why didn’t he want you touching yourself?

“Mine.” He grunted, his voice almost unrecognizable, coated hazy with lust.

He moved his touch away from pinning your wrist down, and in a second, he had a thick thumb on your needy, swollen clit in place of your own touch.

He was possessive - claiming your pussy entirely as his own. The action sent your spine into a sharp curve against the bed as you felt even more waves of white-hot pleasure shooting through you from the touch. He made quick, demanding circles against your clit in time with his hard thrusts, leaning down to dig his teeth into your neck as you desperately gripped at his upper arms for something to hold onto.

“Mine.” He grunted again, the word solid and demanding against your neck.

“Mine.” The second time, it became lost, a slur against his teeth as he bit down into your skin again.

“Gar!” You gasped out.

You already felt your orgasm coming to fruition, tight and hot in your belly. His touch was so perfect against you - he was so perfect.

“All yours.” You murmured back, your throat tight and almost too weak to form words. You hoped he even heard and understood what you were saying. “Yours.”

He sunk his teeth harder into your neck, a sharpness that stung in a delightful way, and then pulled back to lav his tongue over the blooming bite mark.

“Mine.” He growled into your neck once more - a powerful, possessive statement that made you quiver.

He pressed his thumb harder into your clit as he felt your pussy fluttering around his cock, as he felt your thighs jumping from pleasure, heard your needy whines. He knew you were tumbling over the edge. He gave a few good, hard slams of his hips - almost as if he was attempting to break your pelvic bone - but it was a roughness that had you gasping with delight, chugging air past your moans. It was a wonderful, harsh fullness that sent a perfect ache through your pussy. Gar played your body as well as played his favorite video games.

He had you cumming around his cock with a strangled sound, digging your nails into his biceps so hard that you likely drew blood.

“Fuck, Gar! Oh, oh!”

It was a dizzying orgasm. Blood pumped through your ears, your whole body tingled - your pussy clenched down on his cock hard, as if determined to keep him inside of you. You felt like you were floating - the only feeling you had left being the hard throbbing where you were connected to him and the dryness of your mouth. Your tongue turned to sandpaper from being exposed to the open air by your slack-jawed moaning.

You were beyond words. You couldn’t even get out the single syllable of his name, left gargling your own spit and gasping for breath as he fucked you through it and groaned into your neck at the wonderfully wet feeling of you cumming around him.

He slowed his hips after a moment, still hard and throbbing inside of you, and moved his head up to lay gentle kisses across your hot cheeks and jaw as he finally moved his touch away from your almost numb clit.

“So perfect,” He murmured into your skin, clearly delirious with pleasure himself, his eyes closed as he leaned into your skin. “So beautiful. So good, Y/N. So good. I love you so much, baby. So much.”

“I love you.” You breathed back.

You were barely capable of speech, but you knew that you had to return it. Especially after something that spectacular. As you came down from your orgasm, you found yourself still hungry for him at the feeling of his thickness perfectly motionless and full inside of you.

“Wanna make you cum,” You told him, your voice raspy and rough.

He laid a gentle kiss on your mouth before he took a breath, gathering his words to make a request. He pressed his forehead gently into yours as he spoke.

“Can you -?” He paused, attempting to think of the right words or gathering his breath to say it. “Can you turn around?”

You were slightly confused by this. Fuck-drunk from your orgasm, feeling numb and positively unsure how to move - you had no clue what he meant.

Gar saw this on your face and drew more words from his mind.

“I wanna - I wanna see your pretty ass.” He spoke out, hot breath fanning across your cheeks. “Wanna grab it. Wanna fuck you from behind.”

Those words sent a hazy wave of pleasure through you, and caused you to unconsciously squeeze around his cock - which drew a whiny groan from him.

“Yeah.” You told him. “Yeah, okay.”

Gar hesitantly pulled out of you, drawing a small gasp of disappointment at the empty feeling. This left you absolutely gaping from the absence of his large cock. But it was only for a moment as you situated yourself and got comfortable with a pillow under your chest and one under your hips at Gar’s insistence.

Though that pillow did little to support you, seeing as a moment later, he was using his animal strength to man-handle your hips into the air. He positioned you with your knees bent and your ass high up, your chest and face pressed into his orange tiger striped pillow case.

He didn’t hesitate this time before plunging his cock back inside of you - something that had you absolutely alight with pleasure, showing the animal inside of him shining through. Especially as he let out another sharp growl and didn’t waste any time before he began drilling himself into your tight, wet warmth.

“Fuckin’ love you.” Gar grunted out, his words quiet compared to the loud slapping of his hips against your ass as he fucked his cock deep inside your wanting pussy. “Love how you feel on my cock.”

His filthy words had you clenching around him, moaning out so whiny that you barely recognized your own voice. You were so pliant to Gar, so needy for him. But you loved it, because you loved him. You couldn’t help but to love everything about him. You felt like you belonged with his cock inside of you.

“Love you too.” You gasped back, barely able to summon words at all with the powerful fury of his hips fucking into you.

Gar groaned out, his head tilting up to the ceiling in a moan as he grabbed a handful of your ass. Just as he had promised, he took a possessive hold on the flesh, tight enough that it would likely leave marks behind. He pistoned his hips into you with a mighty fury, fluctuating between staring at the space where his cock disappeared into your dripping, wanting pussy, soaking his cock with your wetness, and closing his eyes for fear of cumming too soon at the delicious sight.

You gripped the pillow underneath you, desperate to hold onto something. Your face was half-shoved into the fabric with some drool leaking from your open mouth onto the pillow case as you struggled for breath and involuntarily let out an increasingly loud string of moans and whorish cries for Gar. His cock was so perfect inside of you - a perfect, hot length filling you up.

Your pussy was dancing somewhere between pain and pleasure, well used by him and tingling with shocks every time he fucked back into you with the sharp movements of his hips. So you almost thought you were mistaken when you felt that thing. That extra bit of thickness prodding to fight its way inside of you.

“Gonna cum.” He grunted, his voice garbled down to a broken mess of consonances by now. At this point, one word syllables was all he was working with.

He was already so big, it seemed impossible that there was more of him. But you definitely felt it. That extra bit of something at the base, that extra girth of his already impossibly long cock that he was shoving inside of you with each pass. More and more of him with each time he fucked his hips forward.

It felt so fucking impossible.

“Gar!”

Your voice was a whiny, high-pitched howl that you couldn’t even recognize, a plea for him to slow down, or give it to you - you weren’t entirely sure. Your pussy ached with a hot fire that you had never felt before and you wanted more. You really couldn’t imagine him stopping at this point. If this was going to break you - then so be it.

“Take it.”

He growled, shoving his hips so close to yours, spreading your pussy open with the impossible thickness of his cock, and that even thicker thing blooming at the base. It felt like it was going to split you in half, but it felt too fucking good to stop.

“Take it, fucking take it-”

His words dissolved off into a shuddering moan as he gripped your ass even tighter, pulling you back into his pelvis, shoving his cock impossibly deep inside of you as your pussy somehow accepted his gigantic size.

His words had you faint and hazy, the sound of his voice like that making you more drunk than any booze ever could have. You knew that those words - his voice in that ravenous tone, it would echo inside of your mind forever. It would be something that you thought about every single time that you touched yourself from now on.

He leaned down to drape his body over yours - creating a wonderful slick of sweat and damp skin on skin that warmed you in the coolness of the room as he pressed right up against you.

He mouthed at the back of your neck and across your shoulders, leaving more sharp lines with his teeth, determined to mark you. Your pussy was almost numb with the pleasure, absolutely throbbing around him, but the feeling of him swelling even more inside of you was unmistakable. Somehow, his already large and impressive cock was growing larger.

In your babbling haze of pleasure, you couldn’t find your voice to relay this strange feeling to Gar. So you were only able to lay there and clutch at the pillow as he dug his fingers into your hips - hard and possessive, as he shoved his cock even deeper inside of you and began spilling his cum inside of you in hot, thick waves.

“Y/N, fuck - love you,”

Somehow, his cock continued to expand inside of you. It was an entirely strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one. It was something your body began to take pleasure in. Something that had you letting out a strangled moan as he bit at the back of your neck and groaned into your skin, gently humping his hips into you as he rode out his orgasm.

He was so swollen and thick inside of you that it felt as though your pussy might burst, the outer ring of your muscles almost stinging with pain, stretched to the limit where the base of his cock was lodged inside of you. He was slick with your wetness, but not a single drop of his cum had leaked out from where you were locked together - you could definitely feel that.

Gar moved to pull back, seemingly unaware of the strangeness going on down below. When he did so, a sharp pain rocked you as he pulled at your most sensitive, stretched-out muscles.

You loudly winced in pain and he immediately stopped his movements.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, breath puffing out over your neck, his voice returning to its usual brightness as he was shaken from his pleasure haze by his worry for you.

“Just stay still.” You instructed.

Your legs were shaky, your muscles weak from the intensity of the sex. You were still high up on your knees where Gar had put you, tiredly trying to support your own body weight. Struggling with that task as your thighs quivered, so fucked out from his excellent job fucking you. You unconsciously squeezed yourself around him and he let out a groan - clearly still sensitive.

He tried again to pull himself out, not yet understanding the situation, and you let out a sharp hiss of pain as the thickness of his cock tried to breach through you without success. He was stuck inside you.

The realization flashed through your mind. Oddly enough, you knew exactly what was happening. One too many late nights plagued by nightmares (that had turned out to be glimpses of the future) had caused you to end up reading some… interesting fiction to fill your late night hours. So you knew what this was. At least, a fictional approximation of it. That’s what you get for dating a guy with animal DNA in his system, you guessed.

“Gar.” You said, a warning in your voice. “Just. Stay. Still.” You gritted your teeth, praying he would listen this time.

“What? What’s wrong?” He said, his voice quickly escalating with panic and worry.

He raised his head up from your neck, moving to look down toward the space where you were joined, looking to inspect the problem. This was a movement that jostled things, and caused another a small jolt of pain.

“Gar!” You gasped, voice warning him to stop once again. “Just - just lower us down so I can lay on the pillows, okay? Be gentle. Please.”

“Why? I can just pull out, right? Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to, I swear, Y/N-” Gar began a rambling panic, and you knew the news you had to tell him wouldn’t calm him down at all.

“You’re stuck inside me.” You told him.

“Stuck?!” Gar shrieked with shock, his voice sharp right next to your ear in a way that made you flinch. “Wh-what do you mean? Did I do it wrong? Fuck - I must be the only guy who messes up having sex, I am such a fa-!”

“It’s not your fault, Gar.” You said, quickly cutting him off. Your legs shook more, and you yearned to rest against the bed. “Just lower me down to the bed, please.”

He began to do so, easing your joint bodies down toward the bed, letting your legs untangle and stretch out - the soreness from how roughly he had fucked you was already setting in.

“What the hell is happening, then? How did I get stuck? I’ve literally never heard of this happening to anyone ever.” Gar said, clearly exasperated.

He settled in, laying against you. As he put his weight against your back, his cock sank somehow even deeper inside of you. This sent latent shocks through your overly sensitive, worn-out pussy, causing you to let out a quiet whimper.

“Sorry.” Gar mumbled as he heard the quiet sound.

You really didn’t need him to apologize. It had been the best sex of your life.

“Just - just pass me my phone.” You said.

The only way you could think to properly explain it to him would be to look up some diagrams and perhaps show him your AO3 history. It was strange to see, and feel some of those wild fictional concepts coming to life right between your legs, but hey - at least you weren’t as unknowing and freaked out as him.

Gar glanced at both night stands flanking the bed and then sighed.

“I don’t see it.” He told you.

Right. You had left it in the kitchen before you went to shower.

“Then… pass me your phone.” You said.

He would end up with some very weird shit in his search history, but this was quite literally, his problem. Technically - it was both of your problem, considering it was currently between your legs. And he was your boyfriend, and you definitely weren’t going to break up with him over this. Especially with your reading history, you found it to be more of a turn-on than you were willing to admit.

Gar reached out to the night table on the other end of the bed, something that caused more jostling and another sharp gasp of pain from you. He mumbled a chorus of ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’ as he grabbed the phone and then returned. He blanketed his body over yours once more, relaxing into his position on top of you as he passed the phone to you.

It took you about an hour to fully explain the concept to Gar. There were a few diagrams available - ones that had been drawn by writers in the genre. But most of the explaining was done by your hand movements, showing him how it was possible to get ‘stuck’ because he had moved smoothly and pleasurably and first, and then essentially - based on biological instincts, and no purposeful intent of his own: he had knotted you.

“So you know this from a story?” Gar asked, trying to confirm the source of the information.

“A few stories.” You told him.

You didn’t want to divulge just how many stories of the genre you had read and fantasized about before. You were glad that your face was half-buried in the pillow, and Gar couldn’t see the expression of partial guilt on your face as you tried in vain to hide your kinkier side from him.

“So how do you know it’s true?” He asked.

“Because you’re literally stuck inside me right now.” You said, voice dancing with a laugh. “And in fiction, it’s usually something that happens with characters who are half-human, half-animal. I think we know which part of you is doing this.”

Gar sighed, leaning down to rest his head between your shoulders. Clearly he was frustrated at the lack of predictability. He was frustrated that this was just another aspect of his life that couldn’t be normal.

“Fiction is the only good reference we have to go off.” You said. “Rachel can bring people back from the dead, Kory can literally shoot fire out of her hands, and you can turn into a giant tiger. I think we passed reality a long time ago.”

“So… when does it stop?” Gar asked. “As much as I enjoy being this close to you, I don’t wanna hurt you.” He rubbed his hand lovingly along your bare side, a genuineness in his voice that made you absolutely thick with love.

“In the stories I’ve read…” You were also hesitant to share this answer. “Anywhere from a few minutes to… several hours.”

“Hours?!” Gar let out another indignant shriek, and your muscles tensed. “We’re gonna be stuck like this for hours? Wh-what if it doesn’t go down at all? What if we have to call 9-1-1 and get my dick surgically removed?”

“It’s gonna be fine, Gar.” You told him, trying to be the soothing calm to his unnecessary panic. “It’s your body’s natural instinct. Your body knows what to do. Just relax. It’ll probably help.”

“My body’s natural instinct?” Gar echoed back the words. “So what… the animal inside me wants to get you pregnant?”

Your face burned at the words, and you wondered if Gar felt your pussy flutter around him.

That did appear to be the truth. A large part of you had wondered why this had never happened to him before. His cock had reacted differently when it had just been your mouth or your hand, or when you had made him cum in his pants dry humping against each other. It was like some animal instinct inside him took over when his body felt your pussy around him - like that thing inside of him really was determined to get you pregnant.

It was a thought that made your stomach roll with heat. The part of you that loved being Gar’s, the part of you that loved him and everything about him so dearly. Of course you wanted a family with him. Of course you wondered what your little green haired babies would look like.

“That seems to be the case.” You said, slightly breathless in your reply.

Gar wrapped his arms around you, tucking his strong grip between your stomach and the mattress to hold you tightly.

“Would you wanna keep it?” He asked, voice quiet. It was something he did when he was afraid to know the answer. “If you did… end up pregnant?”

He was leaving the choice entirely in your hands. As though he had no say in the two of you starting a family. But he was good like that - he knew that it was your body you would be sacrificing for those months, he knew it would be asking a lot from you.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” You told him. “I’d wanna have your baby.”

Gar moaned quietly at this realization.

…

You chatted about other things for a while - what you were gonna make for dinner, hopes of the other Titans to make-up and come home, wondering when Conner was going to wake up, wondering what Krypto would eat because you didn’t have any dog food in the house (wondering if you should go out and buy some dog food). Eventually, you dozed into sleep and Gar fell asleep on top of you.

…

Gar woke up before you did.

His cock had slipped out of you while he had slept, and he felt an insane sense of relief to look down and see his usual soft member hanging out between his thighs, no longer stuck inside of you.

Then - he became very distracted by something else.

The sight of your pussy - fucked raw, slightly gaping, with white cum flowing out of you. So much cum.

Gar bit his lip, suppressing a groan - he wanted to be quiet. It would be rude to wake you.

His eyes flickered over to your sleeping face, wanting to check - and yes, you were in the middle of a deep, peaceful sleep. You had been worn out from the intense, rough fucking. You deserved to get all the sleep that your body needed now.

Gar’s eyes went back to your pussy, and entirely against his will, his cock stirred to life between his thighs. He was still covered in the mixture of your wetness and his own cum, and god - the smell. He knew that his sense of smell was infinitely more sensitive due to that animal part of him, and fuck - this had to be his new favourite smell.

The tang of your natural wetness mixed with his own cum. The undeniable scent of him just pouring out of you. The fact that he could smell how well he had claimed you.

Gar itched to touch you more, and gripped a fist tightly, resisting the urge.

It would be rude to wake you.

But maybe - he didn’t have to.

While sitting back on his heels, he inched his touch forward, and oh-so-gently eased two fingers into your pussy. He just needed to feel you - he needed to feel what he had done. Your pussy easily gave way to his touch, and more of his cum came gushing out around his fingers - he was met with another pungent burst of that perfect smell, and his cock ached between his thighs.

He couldn’t help himself.

He gently scooped through the mess, careful not to be too rough with your sensitive, fucked-out pussy as he gathered the mixture of your cum and his on his fingers - and then he brought this hand toward his hard cock, spreading the mess across himself. He choked down a loud moan, wanting to stay quiet for you.

He wrapped a tight fist around himself, and began jerking off earnestly - he needed to cum. He needed to capture this moment in his mind forever.

His eyes couldn’t race fast enough to take all of you in - your beautiful, peaceful sleeping face, the soft muscles of your back, the way your breasts were pressed against his pillows, showing off the gentlest peak of the side, round fat. The thickness of your spread thighs, slightly marked by his dull nails scratching you earlier, the perfect plumpness of your ass, and your perfect pussy leaking his cum - the ultimate mark of his claim on you.

All of it had Gar fucking his own hips into his fist fast, biting down on his lip hard to conceal growls deep within his chest.

Within a minute, he was overwhelmed - by your beauty, by the perfect smell, but the idea that he had you, perfect you, and he would get to have you forever - and all too soon, he was cumming again. Not nearly as much this time - a meager few stripes that leaked across his fist and sprayed out across your thighs and his own.

Perfect.

He felt much better now.

He knew that it would be polite to clean you up, so that you wouldn’t have to wake up to the mess. The first thing he spotted was his own shirt that he had shed off in a haste earlier, and he wiped you down with that (and let out a growl when even more cum came spilling out of you the more he wiped) - before he went to the bathroom in order to get a warm cloth.

Once you were as cleaned up as he could get you (he was partially impressed and partially embarrassed by just how much cum he had fucked into you) - he found a pair of your panties and slipped them onto you, leaving a small kiss on your ass through the fabric before he covered you up with a blanket. He could have spent all day in bed with you, but you had requested pasta for dinner. And he was nothing if not a servant of your every need.

…

You had dreams of a green haired little boy with your skin tone, and you wondered if it was purely fantasy, or your powers trying to tell you something.

…

You woke up feeling unpleasantly empty.

You knew in a moment that Gar’s knot had gone down and he had successfully pulled out of you. It left your pussy sore, but not unpleasantly so. He had also managed to dress you while you were sleeping. Well, he had put a pair of panties on you.

Your body must have really been exhausted from the sex for you to sleep so deeply, but it was something you were grateful for, considering how many nights you had laid awake sleepless due to your nightmare-like visions and the worry they caused you.

With your upper half bare, you still felt a slight chill - you got up and grabbed an oversized, cotton band tee shirt that Gar often liked to steal from you and shoved it on. As you moved, you noticed that the modest cotton underwear he had put on you were slightly damp against your pussy. You didn’t think much about it.

You continued on, shoving your feet into a pair of slippers you had left in Gar’s room to shield you against the coldness of the floors. You heard music coming from the kitchen and followed the sound, smiling widely when you saw Gar stirring a pot and swaying his hips, dancing to a Cardi B song. He was dressed in an oversized green hoodie that made him look delightfully cozy and a pair of sweatpants. The moment he saw you, he put down the spoon he was using and turned to pause the music.

“You’re awake.” He gave you a small, lop-sided grin. “I tried to clean you up as best I could, but there was a lot… a lot of… cum.”

His hesitance to say the words was entirely adorable - especially considering how filthy his mouth had been just hours before. His persona outside of sexual encounters shifted entirely, and it was one of those things you loved so much about him.

That would explain why your panties were damp.

He cleared his throat, quickly shifting the tone of the conversation when you didn’t respond.

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier, I kn-” He began to apologize, and you were quick to cut him off.

“Don’t be sorry.” You said.

Gar’s brows curled with confusion and you stepped closer to him, leaning your body against him, reaching up to smooth your hands over his arms and across his shoulders. You pressed your forehead into his and his hands took a natural place on your waist. His expression softened as he realized that you weren’t mad at him or upset with him in any way.

“Don’t even think about apologizing, Gar.” You told him firmly. “You don’t have to apologize for what happened earlier, because I loved it. It was fucking amazing. That was the most amazing sex ever.”

Of course, you had to start by assuring him of this fact. His skills were well pronounced and he had to know that he had made you feel a multitude of pleasure that you had never felt before. Something that you knew you wouldn’t be able to get with anyone else but him.

“The ending… I know it was… weird. Neither of us really saw it coming. Which is strange, considering my powers.” You said, chuckling lightly as the joke flowed naturally from your lips.

Gar let out a laugh at this.

“But I love that side of you.” You declared, absolutely certain. “I love the animal part of you as much as I love that sweet, soft side of you.”

You leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss, skimming your teeth along his bottom lip in a tentative bite as you pulled away, showing him a little roughness of your own.

“I’ve never been afraid of the tiger, you know.” You added on, your thoughts on the matter absolutely final.

Hearing you say that made Gar’s heart flutter. It was something you had told him before - after he had taken down your attackers at the asylum. But back then, he had been convinced that you were just trying to placate him. He had thought you were just trying to soothe his anxieties about hurting someone for the first time. Now he heard it for the genuine sentiment that it was: you saw his animal side, and rather than being afraid of it, you embraced it.

“I love you so much.” He said, a heartfelt whisper that warmed you from the inside out.

“I love you so, so very much.” You told him, and he kissed you again.

“I made dinner.” He announced. “The pasta you wanted.”

It was something you had discussed earlier, when you had still been locked together in that slightly uncomfortable position, a lovely food smell now filling your nose. He was a talented cook. Just another thing about him to love.

Krypto wandered in, the padding of little doggy feet catching your attention. When you leaned down and began petting him, cooing at the dog with a sweet little baby-talk voice - Gar couldn’t help but imagine the two of you in your own family home, with your own pets, making dinner for your kids some day. Maybe it was a pipe dream to think a couple of super-powered freaks like the two of you could have the white picket fence dream, but Gar wanted it so badly, because he wanted it with you.

“I also made cookies, but they turned out weirdly… flat.” Gar said, moving to the counter, and picking up a large plate that was covered in plastic wrap.

He presented them to you, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you saw something that you easily recognized as an amateur baking mistake. He had either set the oven to too low of a temperature or neglected to refrigerate the cookie dough before baking them, causing the butter to melt before it actually started cooking.

“I’m sure they’ll still taste good.” You assured him. And to make sure of this, he handed you one to sample. You tasted it - the mixture of sugar and butter and chocolate chips could never go wrong. “Delicious. Everything you do always turns out right.”

It was a clear hint at what had happened earlier, and Gar grinned at you.

“Everything I do for you always turns out right.” He corrected. “And I’m thankful for that.”

...

A/N: Please keep in mind - this fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'part 2', so please do not ask for one. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written. Reblogs and comments are appreciated, and if you want to check out more of my Gar Logan fanfics, definitely check out my DC Titans masterlist!

#sundrop writes #dc titans #titans fanfiction #dc titans fanfiction #gar logan x reader #gar logan #garfield logan x reader #garfield logan fanfiction #garfield logan #gar logan fanfiction #gar logan smut #gar logan x fem!reader #titans x reader #hbo titans

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snailsgoingdowntown · 1 year ago

Text

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

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Chapter 1

Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Agriche makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Agriche.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the terrace.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t argue with him, because it would only be one-sided. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decides to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Agriche was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argiche family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

#dion agriche #Dion x reader #yandere dion agriche #dion agriche smut #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #twtptflob #deon agrece x reader #dion agrece x reader #dion agrece #yandere dion agrece #had to edit tags lol and also switched the last name to the pretty looking one

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coulsonlives · 2 years ago

Text

PSA: CAT MEDICAL BILL SCAM

Please signal boost this if possible to inform your followers about these scams.

Earlier today, I got a message from the account nicole-loves-king, where they asked me to signal boost a post because their cat needed medical help. Here's the ask:

(And you can see the post in question here)

I looked at this post and was immediately put off because they were asking for people to send things through 'friends and family', which if you aren't aware, is a very insecure way to send someone funds using paypal, because you don't have the protections you would get if you used 'goods and services'. So scammers can make off w your money really easily.

I looked at their blog and scrolled down to the end, and I realized their blog was made today! And, all their posts (there weren't many posts to begin with lol) were of trending topics. I noted puss in boots, and welcome to nightvale among others. This is probably how they found me, because I reblogged some of that stuff recently.

Here's the time stamp from their oldest post (notice it says the time, not the date, which means the post was from today):

In their ask, they also tell you to answer privately. Hm, that seems sus. Why would someone not want you to publish a request for help?

So I have a policy where I don't signal boost posts from brand new blogs because, yknow, they could be scams. I posted this, and the scam account blocked me. They also blocked my friend when they replied to their ask and said their blog looked suspicious. I did some more digging, and I found a comment from someone that confirmed my suspicions:

This is in fact a scam!

@nicstonka is almost identical to the above account (nicole-loves-king). Look at the avatar, the pictures, and the paypal address, both accounts even have 'nic' (as in 'nicole') in the name. The only thing that is extremely different is the name of the cat! Yet both blogs also have the name of the cat in their url ('king' and 'tonka'). That should also be a red flag, because usually someone isn't gonna have the name of their pet in their url, only a few posts, and a signal boost for that exact (fake) pet.

Here's a side by side:

Looks at those paypal accounts: nbrunelle519, and nbrunelle391. Nope definitely not a scam /s

And the cat pictures side by side:

Tumblr's "scam" tag is actually full of these reports now, which you can see here. Or if there's nothing there anymore, click here and here for images.

And links to some older PSAs about other cat scams: 1 2 3

So if you see any blogs like this, where all they have is trending posts, it seems like they've copied and pasted an ask to you, or if they're asking you to send things via friends and family, vet them so so so carefully, because chances are you're walking into a scam. Don't just repost things without carefully checking! If you aren't in a position to check carefully, better safe than sorry: don't repost it! Don't let these scams spread.

Pro tip: If a blog is dash only, so you can't view their archive to see when their first post was made, and you're on desktop, you can just open the blog in its dashboard view, then click 'end' on your keyboard over and over until all their posts are loaded. Usually if it's a spam blog, you'll only need to click 'end' 5-6 times, sometimes a bit more, since they only post just enough times to give the appearance they're active, then there's absolutely nothing after that.

If you want more proof someone is a scammer, you can look at the currency they use their post (or the currency shown in the vet bill), then hover over the paypal link and inspect the part of the url that says 'country.x=AA'. The 'AA' is the abbreviation for the country your money is going to! If that country doesn't match the country of the currency shown in the post, it's a scam! Example: someone's post says '$' for USD/CAD dollars, but the country in their paypal link is 'PH', which stands for Philippines, where they use Philippine pesos, not dollars!

Also keep in mind that these are not bots! There is a real person behind these accounts. They have replied to people who wanted to confirm they were real, but their intentions are still to scam you, they just know it looks better if they reply.

Stay safe!!

Edit:

Updating this post to announce the scammer's made more blogs, and they're probably gonna keep doing it! Here's the list so far. This isn't up to date btw, go to @scamarchive and check their pinned post for the most recent detected blogs

turncoatrune, starlightdisc, xxmy, wxnt, eeyore-pg, coatedpeanbean, starrypanelstars, panelstars, scyllostyle, the-nonbinary-witch, aash-aash, leechness, ash-aahs, commandobutch, lovely-pages, pagefive-to-six, reconnecteed, five-and-fourty, stepsapphic, farmer-butch0, health-pages, turnersapphic, lxve, march-pls-be-good, emberful, imse7en, kassidymaygemz, kassidymaydream, dreamingkassidy, kasdream, live-march, confusedskulll, march-lives, criticaltuesday, quicksilvah, wrldy, quicksilveey, the-stucked-pan, flurrbum, o345, nxce, thls, hokkairi, sykdykee, furrtasticbu, bumfurry, supsense, wickdart, the90sbest

Keep in mind you may not receive an ask like the above ones. You may get something simpler like this, instead:

Most of these are cats, but there's been dogs and even people too.

If you wanna get even more info on all these accounts, there's an archive of this scammer's pinned posts and asks here, so you can see at a glance how similar they all are. You can also see a comprehensive list of scammer red flags specifically for tumblr here!

And lastly, you can report the scams using 'report something else' > 'unlawful uses or content' > 'phishing'

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tteokdoroki · 1 year ago

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Aali!!!! I was gonna put this in the tags of your training scenario but got shy :(

but i immediately thought of Gojo!! And like he's not surprised you flipped him over due to you're strength, he has no doubts about how strong you are but it's the fact that he trusts you so much he unconsciously turned off his infinity for you <3 so now he's like !!!!!! because what!!!! but also you're on top of him and you look so pretty so now he's short circuiting double the amount!!!!

Like !!!!!!!! my brain is going crazy thinking about it - 🍓

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. neither strong, nor weak - just in love.

about. combat training with gojo makes him realise just how strong you really are. inspired by this silly post i made yesterday, it wasn’t meant to become a whole thing but it did and now it’s…sad. im sorry. also pls don’t be shy ily :(

warnings. minors, ageless and blank blogs do not interact. sfw, angst, mutual pining, slightly unrequited romance, mentions of violence (they’re combat training), death mention, canon!verse, gn!reader.

you’re pissed.

over the years satoru’s seen a colourful array of emotions splayed against your features. he’s seen joy, laughter, happiness — all of which are his favourites. he wishes he could have seen them more. but also sadness, anguish and a pain so deep he felt like he was dying right alongside you.

he’s died once before, nearly, but it never could have compared to the feeling he got when you looked at him with pure hatred. because gojo had been the one to hurt you, then.

you’ve never been one to hold grudges, you’re too good of a person for the world to hold anyone in such a negative light for way too long — but when you do experience these emotions, you feel them all too much and all too hard and everyone can see it too. maybe that’s why gojo picks up on your spike of anger so easily during training today, it could be the sick reason behind how much he’s enjoying you being pissed off too.

because you wear your heart on your sleeve and your emotions on your face, so gojo knows exactly how he makes you feel — all of the time. “c’mon sweetheart, don’t lose focus. don’t you wanna beat me?” he taunts you, a cocky smile stretched over his lips as he dodges each of your blows, though the shades over his eyes hide the admiration he has for you.

“fuck you.” you spit back harshly, as if the words scald your tongue. shifting your weight onto your back foot, you take a chance and swing your leg up high, just narrowly missing the silvery mop of satoru’s hair where his infinity goes up to protect him.

for gojo, it’s easy for things to lose their meaning, slipping away from him like fine grains of sand through his fingers. at times when he should, he finds himself without a care — it’s easier to walk through life not giving a shit than to tie emotions to actions, people and places. if the strongest cares too much then people have to die. that’s why the wielder of the six eyes holds you to such high regards. you’re strong because you’re able to care — no matter what’s in your path or who might stand in your way, and what they might make you feel, you are able to be strong for those in need.

you feel what satoru can’t.

“i’ve been waiting all day for that, honey.” he quips back, lifting his shades just a little to bare the full brunt of your aura through his technique. “c’mon, let’s put in a little more effort, shall we? if i were a curse, you’d be dead by now.”

everything gojo sees is magnified by one hundred, he could detect the smallest of changes no matter how close or far he was from you — and being able to witness frustration build up in your core along with stacks of your cursed energy elicits a pleasant reaction out of him. his head flops to the side, almost bored, despite how the corner of his lips quirk up into a lopsided grin. satoru loves how you’re just teeming with anger, from the top of your head right down to your toes — spreading into your fingertips as your cursed energy balls powerfully around your fist.

and even though he catches it between his larger hands, the thin invisible veil of his infinity quite literally stopping you from killing gojo — he can still feel that you’re pouring your all into this, into him. even though you’re tired and dripping with sweat while your muscles burn so hot you fear they might melt away, you’re still trying. you still won’t give up. you’re still stronger than he ever could be.

and he’s practically a god.

“you would be the dead one if you didn’t have the cheat code to life.” rolling your shoulders, you step back with a menacing snarl and start again — fists flying in the direction of the six eyes as you’re fuelled by the passion of taking him down. making him hurt. people like gojo piss you off, their existence serving as a reminder that your life is not promised and every step you take is a sacrifice to help them live on. though deep down, you know that you don’t hate him for it. it’s nothing that he could have helped.

once again, satoru snags your fist before it can even leave a mark on him and draws you in by his infinity. for a moment, you’re scared that he might use it to repel you, harm you — he catches the flicker of fear in your eyes before you steel your nerves and keep on fighting even as he grabs at your wrists, sweeps your feet out from underneath you and pins you to the hard ground below.

leaning over your frame as you squirm beneath him, gojo tuts down at you in faux disappointment. “so sad, and here i was, thinking that you were strong enough to beat me.” he says, cruelly. “give up already, princess.”

in response, you bare your fangs and dig your nails into his wrists — not letting up. “i’ll give up when you’ve killed me.”

that makes satoru falter.

it’s only training, really, it shouldn’t even be that serious. but his mind can’t shake the idea of one day sacrificing you for the good of others. for everyone satoru gojo has ever cared about, there has been a day where he has to choose between letting them meet their end and protecting the jujutsu world. that’s the way it’s always been and always will be. it’s not that he thinks you’re weak, that you can’t handle yourself — you’ve proven yourself capable of that time and time again. you’re strong, physically and resilient in your emotions, mentally but you’re only human.

and humans don’t last as long as gods do.

seizing the opportunity at hand, you squeeze your thighs around satoru’s slender waist to switch your situation and rip your wrists free from his steady iron grip. so now, your positions are reversed, and he’s the one with his arms above his head — exposing all of his vulnerable vital organs. he could have easily kept himself in control and have you squirming below him for hours, but he lets you. he trusts you enough to let you prove yourself to him — just so he can have that moment, that lets you know that the great satoru gojo is not immune to the likes of you.

he is weak for you.

his infinity slips away unconsciously just as his back his the the floor with a dull thud — wisps of his snow white hair flying about the place with the motion. satoru lays still beneath you, unmoving like a tree rooted to its spot, and peers up at you through the thickness of his lashes. he watches how you try to control your surprise and how shocked you are at yourself for pinning him down — truth being told that if he didn’t have infinity to hide behind, if he was human, you probably would have been able to from the start.

“think again,” you breathe, the dip in your voice doing nothing to help satoru’s crazed mind and how insane he is for you. “princess.”

you’re so pretty like this. your eyes are frenzied and and astonished, your chest heaves with every breath you take in desperation to fill your lungs with air and your skin shines with light perspiration from your training. and even then, to satoru, you’re the most precious form of life he’s ever seen. a rarity amongst unpolished gems. every emotion you have right now is laid bare against your features, coursing through your veins and it’s because of him.

it’s nice like this, to feel weak in the knees and in the heart for someone. to be able to feel your pulse rather than see it as nothing but a flicker of a blue flame with blue eyes.

he wants to touch you, subconsciously reaching out to brush a thumb over your cheek. “you’re so beautiful.” satoru whispers, his voice low and uneven — causing goosebumps to rise over the expanse of your skin and a soft gasp to lay wet on your lips.

exasperated tears begin to well up in your eyes, sitting pretty in your lower lash line. you’re so angry at gojo and how you think he sees you but you don’t dare to push his hand away, instead turning your head to look elsewhere. you don’t want him to see you cry.

“turn your infinity back on. i could kill you.”

“you’re beautiful,” satoru repeats adamantly, not caring if he sounds like a broken record. “you’re strong. stronger than me.” you’re pissed at him too , for looking down at you. for all the things he’s said that hurt you without meaning to. your grip on his wrists loosen along with your hold on your emotions. “i wish i could be weak enough to love you.”

“i said turn it back on, gojo.”

“look at me, please.”

“gojo.”

“please.”

your shoulders sag with a shaky exhale, all of the fight you had leaving you as you sit on top of him — looking down at him. “what?” comes your quiet mumble, not daring to flinch away as his thumb traces over your bottom lip without the gentle hum of his infinity.

“i love you.”

if you were at any other point in time, satoru’s words would have had you melting over him like butter in a pan. you would have been weak enough to say it back and let him overwhelm you with longing. because if this were any other point in time, you would have needed satoru gojo like you needed air to breathe. like you needed him to live.

but things are different now, there’s a concrete wall built around your heart to fortify it and you’ve grown to become immune to him. like gojo says, you are strong and while you know that you always have been — hearing him admit that makes you realise you don’t want to prove your worth to him anymore.

you would much rather have him kill you instead.

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celaenaeiln · 23 days ago

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Hey! I just wanted to say that I’m a big fan of your blog and I love your posts about Dick Grayson <3

I must warn that english is not my first lenguage, therefore I apologize for any mistakes that I make.

I’ve seen some posts were you mention some things that I find very interesting, and I would love to have a longer analysis on them. For example, the dynamic between Slade/Deathstroke and Dick/Nightwing, how complex their relationship truly is and some similarities it has with Bruce’s and Dick’s relationship. I would love to read a longer post analyzing this and going into more detail about it, mainly because I’m also kind of new to getting to know much of their story (I’m also kind of new to the whole fandom in general hahah). I also found very interesting something you mentioned in one of your latest posts about Superman’s relationship with Dick, and how you found it a bit more complex than the one he has with Bruce, I would love to read more about that as well! Of course only if you have the time and actually want to do it, I don’t want it to sound as if I’m making any demands hahahah.

Thank you for your time! This is actually my first time asking anything to a blog, so I hope I did alright haha

Hello and THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I would love to talk more about all of this with you!!!

For example, the dynamic between Slade/Deathstroke and Dick/Nightwing, how complex their relationship truly is and some similarities it has with Bruce’s and Dick’s relationship.

Anon's ask is based off this post where I discussed some similarities between Slade and Bruce in terms to their relationship with Dick but it wasn't really in depth.

In some ways I think Dick sees Bruce in Slade. I really don't know if Dick has made the connection between them but I think Dick is drawn to certain traits in Slade's and it subconscious at the least from his dealings with bruce. Meaning, Slade and Bruce have the same relationship with Dick as Dick has with the other. It's veiled because they're on opposite sides of the spectrum, but Dick and Slade's relationship have parallels with Dick and Bruce. We should really break this down lol.

I think the overarching component and similarity to each of their relationships with Dick, is that they see his potential to do better - to be better.

What do I mean by this - I mean that Slade and Bruce are similar in that they both see his potential and try to mold him into someone greater, but in different ways. The end result is that Bruce tests Dick's responsibility and pushes him further but still manipulative, while Slade's approach is more negatively manipulative and he tests Dick’s resilience and ethical boundaries.

So that's the first similarity - the praise and mentorship

Take a look at Slade's interactions with Dick and how he talks to him-

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #43

He's effusive with his praise -

"You're not a fool, Grayson. Why are you pretending to be?'"

"Tricky brat...gotta admire him though. Took one chance in a million and he got away."

"Funny. Of all the titans, the one without powers proved the hardest."

The way they are to Dick, they are his consciousness. Slade is Dick's evil conscience and Bruce is his angelic conscience. (Their New Titans comics ally-ship was peak)

Deathstroke the Terminator Annual_1

Nightwing (1996) Issue #114

The New Titans (1988) Issue #86

They're nemesis, obviously, but Slade his this kind of tough love teaching going on with Dick. They're on opposite sides but he still makes him better. Dick, the hero he is now, is a consequence of the underlying teaching he learned from Slade. He's as supportive to Dick as he is ready to fight him with makes for a weird combo.

This kind of - I'll let you get your feelings out and then make you settle down - type of mentorship reminds me EXACTLY of Bruce's reaction to the Blockbuster event.

I think Dick is hooked to this type of relationship mainly because of his issues. Dick has canonical abandonment issues -

Now everyone's heard the term but what are abandonment issues?

sounds reallyyyy familiar doesn't it?

Gotham Knights Issue #14

It's very definition is basically the entirety of Dick's monologue in Gotham Knights Issue 14.

Because of his abandonment issues, Dick is a huge people pleaser. There's a comic issue which I can't remember from where he's talking to i think Kori and Kori's like 'you've done enough. you're always there for everyone, it's more than enough. Why can't you be satisfied with that.' and Dick responds along the lines of 'It's ever enough.'

So Dick on a basal level is attracted to figures of authority. He feels both the need to earn praise from them yet this desire wars with his own need to be free of them. He has control issues on top of abandonment issues. There's a comic that I forgot the name of but Dick teams up with members of the Justice League and they trapeze through a jungle under the orders of this corrupt military general. He teams up with Arthur and automatically starts commanding people to which Aquaman tells him off, saying this isn't the Titans. Dick is genuinely sorry and backs off. For a minute. But immediately goes right back into command mode but Arthur lets it go, realizing that Dick's not conscious of it and that his behaviour is automatic. "Too many leaders" he calls the situation in his head.

He's wants his freedom and control and to be acknowledged for that freedom and control just as much as he wants to be acknowledged for following orders/being a good boy.

it's fucked up.

And this all ties back into Dick's relationship with Slade paralleling Dick's relationship with Bruce.

With Bruce, this thought process is very clear and it's okay for him to think about (because he'll never admit it out loud) it because it's his mentor/best friend/father.

Dick can not think this way about Slade because he is not supposed to. Slade is his enemy. But his actions talk more than this words which is why whenever Dick allies Slade, he acts like he does with Bruce. Or atleast, he feels that way.

The Titans (1999) Issue #10

This is the time when their Dick's relationship with Bruce parallelling his with Slade is explicitly written. It's so obvious that even Roy picks up on it. Well, I shouldn't say 'even Roy' because Roy is pretty perceptive actually but the point still stands - it's obvious.

So in brief summary, Bruce and Slade's 'mentorship', if you can call Slade's as much, have parallels in their behavior and attitude towards Dick. And Dick, as a result of his issues, reacts the same way he does to Slade as he does to Bruce. Now this was all Dick's perspective of the situation, but the thing is, Bruce and Slade know Dick. They know him very well which leads to my third point.

The freaking parallel manipulation

It's so crazy how they act towards him. They both try to manipulate him -

Nightwing (2016) Issue #75

Nightwing (1996) Issue #112

But you what's really messed up in their similarity between these two scenes?

It's the fact that both Slade and Bruce are trying to manipulate Dick into coming back or staying with them.

Bruce using using Alfred's death and appealing to Dick's sense of guilt over staying separated from the family in order to coerce dick into coming back into Bruce's fold. This is what Dick means when he says he's sick of the mind games.

Slade, on the other hand, is appealing to Dick's sense of justice and moral righteousness. He's using his daughter in order bring Dick to his side by teasing Dick's need to do good for others. He's coercing Dick by hanging his daughter as bait on a hook and saying 'look. The naive daughter of an evil mercenary. Don't you want to save her?' He's targeting Dick's hero complex and need to protect the vulnerable.

This makes the parallels even more disturbing because both men are well aware of how to play Dick's emotional strings to pull Dick into their sphere and gain control over him.

In summary, there are three overarching components that make Dick and Slade's relationship eerily similar to Dick and Bruce's and vice versa.

With Bruce's relationship, his mentoring is rooted in emotional support but it often borders on manipulation. He sees Dick's potential and pushes him, sometimes excessively. Because of this push-pull relationship with bruce, Dick usually feels torn between adhering to loyalty and fighting for independence. His mindset is just perpetually caught in the middle which makes it so easy for Slade to exploit because Dick’s abandonment and control issues make him crave Bruce's approval while simultaneously feeling stifled by the overbearing nature of their bond.

Slade's relationship with Dick is darker, more manipulative, and rooted in exploitation. Although Slade is sometimes mentor-like, his intentions are really not. But the confusing thing is that's not always true. Sometimes he wants the best for dick and other times he's the worst enemy. He sees Dick's potential and uses it to manipulate him for his own purposes. While Bruce appeals to Dick's guilt, Slade appeals to Dick's sense of justice and heroism.

They both share a deep understanding of Dick’s potential and vulnerabilities. They know exactly how to manipulate him emotionally—Bruce through guilt and family ties, and Slade through exploiting Dick’s need to help others. Just like how both Slade and Bruce act the same way to Dick, Dick reacts the same way to both of them because he needs what they're selling.

Both Slade and Bruce see Dick as a tool to achieve their goals - Bruce shaping him to be a protector and leader, while Slade views him as a weapon in his own fight. Dick’s response to both figures is a reflection of his deep-seated need for approval and his desire for autonomy. This makes his relationships with Bruce and Slade sooo much fun to explore. Treating your enemy like you treat your friend? Hahaha!

I'll answer the Dick and Clark question in another post because I'll definitely exceed the image count per post if I try to answer it in this one.

And thank you again, anon!! you were perfect (*^ ‿ <*)♡

#dick grayson #nightwing #slade wilson #deathstroke #bruce wayne #batman #rose wilson #ravager #cl anon asks #cl asks #thanks for the ask!

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mssorceressupreme · 5 months ago

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Hiii

I heard your requests were open 👀👀👀

Your writing is sooo amazing, it's addictive, like I can't get enough 😩🤚

Could I request a Minho X reader, reader is from Maze B, superrr close with Aris, and she's confident, sassy, sarcastic, loud and laughs a lot, total morale booster, she also cracks a lot of that's what she said jokes.

Since she's close W Aris, the boys might get the wrong idea and think they're a thing, but they clarify they're not lmao

You can ignore this request if you want, I just think you write so good, and so many people would love to read smth like this, I feel like some authors forget they're just teenagers ykwim?

It's so nice to see active Maze Runner blogs, especially when they write so bomb like you 😘

I hope you have a good day, never stop writing ♥️♥️♥️

Of course love, I’d be more than happy to write this for you 🥹❤️❤️❤️ Thank for the kind words, it really keeps me motivated, you’re such an angel 😭😭🫶🏼🫶🏼 Hope you have a great day too lovely!! 😘🥰 (also so sorry for the delayed post, I’ve been so busy with assignments lately 😭 I hope this satisfied your prompt 💓)

Who is She?

Pairing: Minho x Reader

Summary: Sparked with curiosity, Minho follows you one day. And your relationship takes a turn.

Warnings: none really, it’s a sweet imagine I like to think

——

The dining hall was a strange blend of sterile and vibrant. It was filled with chatter and the clinking of cutlery, the usual dinner routine. To you it was the most ‘normal’ atmosphere in this whole facility, the only time you felt sane. At least people weren’t shoving needles in your face, or interrogating you.

At one of the tables, the boys from maze A—Thomas, Minho, Newt, Frypan and Winston—sat together, their eyes scanning the room occasionally while engaging in conversation.

They were still trying to figure this new place out, especially the people in it. One of those people was you, confident in spirit and as sassy as can be, currently sitting with Aris. But they didn’t know his name, he was just a quiet kid to them, or your “boyfriend”, or so they thought.

“Whatever, I could take on 50 of those guards at once, they look like they’ve got no balls.” You sneered, while chewing on your food.

“Keep it low Y/N, we don’t want anyone overhearing us.” Aris warned.

“If I could set this whole place on fire, I would, but Stella won’t let me do shit. Don’t you think it’s time we try to escape?!” You huffed. Stella, one of the girls from maze B, was the bossiest girl you’ve ever came across. (aka the Gally of Maze B, before his redemption lol)

Mind you, she’s only alive to this day because you saved her from a griever…unfortunately. Sometimes you wished you left her in the maze.

Aris sighed, he too, disliked Stella. “Anyway, you should eat up. You’ve barely eaten since we got here.”

You slide your plate over to him, “Today’s your lucky day, I’m not hungry.”

He shrugged and began indulging in this second helping. Aris wasn’t much of a eater but boy, this is the first time you guys have had real food and he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity.

“Look! An opening, I’m going to check it out.” You whispered, standing up as the guards walked away from their previous post.

“Y/N! Get back here!” Aris whisper-yelled, but you were determined to get through the other side of that door.

——

“Where is she going?” Minho observed as you made your way towards the door.

“Who?” Winston swiftly turned around, accidentally knocking over a cup of water in the process.

Newt chuckled, while Minho pressed his lips together. “Sorry, Minho!” Winston exclaimed, grabbing napkins.

“You’re alright man. I’ll be back.” Minho gave Winston a reassuring back tap, before leaving to find the bathroom. Or, maybe he just wanted to follow you.

——

You managed to get past the doors. This was a way easier attempt than anticipated, you thought to yourself but shrugged it off.

However, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being followed. Regardless, you didn’t care, the only thing that mattered was finding out what these people were really behind.

You halted your tracks, observing your surroundings. It seemed to be a never ending grey hallway with millions of doors, great, that makes it sooo much easier for you doesn’t it!

As Minho turned a corner, he bumped into you, nearly knocking you over.

“Woah, watch it!” You exclaimed, steadying yourself.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Minho was quick to defend himself.

You furrowed your brows, the newcomer from maze A. “Were you…following me?”

Minho scoffed, “Pft of all the people here, why’d you think I’d follow you.”

You shot him a look, “Oh come on, I’ve seen you newbies. You guys watch Aris and I like a hawke.”

One of the doors dinged, about to open, so Minho quickly reacted by pulling you by the waist into one of the tiny cracks in the hallway walls, adequate enough to fit two people.

“Stop touching me!” I grunted, pushing his hand away.”

“I’m barely even on you!” He retorted.

“Why were you following me anyway?!” I whispered, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I had to use the bathroom! I’m wet if you can’t tell!” He responded, but it came out a bit too wrong. Minho immediately regretted how that sounded.

You held back your laugh, “That’s what she said.”

With a tiny bit of banter, Minho managed to break down your walls, all too quickly, something you weren’t really used to.

“So what are you up to anyway? Sneaking around like you own the compound.” Minho smirked, while keeping an eye out for any guards.

“I’ve seen them move bodies in and out of here like clockwork. Aris and I don’t trust these people.”

Minho’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? You should get back to your boyfriend then. I don’t think he’d be pleased to know you were in a confined space with another man.”

You rolled your eyes, “Oh, no. Aris isn’t my boyfriend. He’s more like a brother to me.”

There was a moment of silence as you stared at each other, the air thick with tension. Before either of you could say more, you heard footsteps. A guard was coming your way.

Minho quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you into what seemed like a nearby closet, closing the door behind you. You stood close together in the dark, barely daring to breathe.

The guards footsteps echoed past you and faded away, earning an exhale from the both of you.

“That was close,” You whispered, “and wow here we are in another ideal place to be in right now.” Boy, you are one sarcastic girl, Minho thought.

“I know I love it here.” Minho’s breath warm against your neck.

In the confined space, your proximity made every small movement noticeable. He could feel the heat radiating off you, and your scent was intoxicating. You looked up at him, your eyes reflecting the dim light filtering through the cracks in the door.

“Why did you really follow me?” You asked, voice soft but filled with curiosity.

Minho hesitated, then decided honestly was the best approach. “I don’t know. I guess I was curious. You seem like someone we could trust, Thomas doesn’t trust the people here either.”

“Thomas?”

“Grey shirt, brown hair?” Minho described him, hoping I would recognise him.

“Ah yes, I saw his little incident yesterday. Attempting to fight a guard in the dining hall is daring, he’s got some balls.”

“Sure does.”

“You seem to know the place really well, we could learn a thing or two from you.” Minho added.

You smiled, a genuine one that made Minho’s heart skip a beat, “Well, maybe we both have a lot to learn about each other.”

Minho could see the flicker of something more in your eyes, a spark that mirrored his own feelings. He leaned in slightly, feeling the magnetic pull between them.

Before anything could happen, the reality of your situation came crashing back. You couldn’t afford to get distracted, not with so much at stake.

“We should get back,” you whispered, though your eyes said you didn’t want to move.

Minho nodded reluctantly, “Yeah, we should before anyone finds us here.”

You carefully slipped out of the closet, the hall now silent and empty. As you made your way back together, Minho couldn’t help but feel a new sense of determination.

You were in this together now, and he would do whatever it took to protect you and figure out a way out of her.

“Yo, Aris!” You called out as you re-entered the dining hall. Aris gave you a questioning glance, as you appeared with Minho, you simply nodded, signalling that you were fine.

Minho returned to his friends, who eyed him curiously.

“What happened?” Thomas asked.

“Just…getting to know our new friend.” Minho said, glancing back at you. You were already back at your table with Aris, but you shot him a quick, knowing smile.

Minho then gestured for you and Aris to come join them which you did.

“Don’t be shy, you can sit next to me if you’d like.” Minho smirked, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

You scoffed, “As if.” But you bit your lip, hiding back a smile.

“Careful, her boyfriend might not like that.” Newt warned, glancing at Aris to see his reaction.

“Oh no no, we’re not a thing.” Aris was quick to respond, “She’s like a sister to me.”

You chuckled, “Besides, I’m more into leaders, I like a guy who can lead.”

“Someone like me?” Minho teased.

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah you wish. Who was the one leading you around just now?”

“Uh actually, if I can recall, it was me who had the reigns.” He hummed, smiling when he saw you get all worked up.

“Stand down maze boy, this is my terrain. You guys want a way out, Aris and I can help you.”

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” Thomas agreed, leaning in closely.

Minho shot you a smile, and you returned it, thought a bit cocky, he did manage to grow on you or whatever.

And for the first time, you actually felt a spark of hope. With extra manpower, you might be able to break out of this place.

You might be in a dangerous situation, but at least you weren’t alone. And Minho knew deep down, that together, you could face whatever came next, for once, everyone at that table felt hopeful.

The safe haven felt closer, and so did your friendship with Minho. But could this friendship blossom into something more, you often pondered.

Perhaps so.

You smiled, watching as Minho lead the next discussion. You could get use to this, it felt nice to be relaxed and not take the lead for once.

#dylan o'brien #imagine #ki hong lee #maze runner #minho maze runner x reader #minho tmr x reader #the maze runner #thomas brodie sangster #thomas tmr #tmr newt

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depravitycentral · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer General Profile

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, heavy manipulation, threats of violence, threats of assault, mind breaks, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of non-con, non-consensual touching, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of cum, threats, Chrollo has a god complex but what else is new, Uvogin is mean to you but he doesn't mean it I promise!, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

DARLING PROFILE:

Smart

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius or anything like that, but they do need to posses a certain degree of intelligence.

Chrollo considers himself a well-read, cultured man, and he feels that his partner needs to match his level of worldly awareness, of cognitive ability. It doesn’t need to necessarily lie in the same fields as his own (though he can’t deny that it would be absolutely wonderful to have a darling who enjoys the same types of literature as him, the same philosophers, the same composers), but they must have a certain area that they hold an above average amount of knowledge in.

He finds intelligence attractive, and what initially causes him to develop an interest in his darling is largely due to the showcasing of this knowledge and smarts. He’s entranced the moment his darling opens his mouth, eagerly hanging onto their every word and nodding along, actually finding himself enjoying speaking with them.

He doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in their words for his own gain, rather finding himself genuinely wondering about their opinion on this or that, curious like a child.

He finds his darling fascinating, and a smart darling will get him falling faster, harder, deeper, to the point where Chrollo develops into a love-starved, desperate man who wants to learn more and more and more, aching to become an expert of his own in his favorite field; his darling.

Creative

Similarly, a darling who leans more on the creative side is a perfect match for Chrollo. It doesn’t matter where this creativity finds its medium – perhaps his darling is particularly artistic, enjoying expressing themselves with the arts.

Maybe they love to paint, watercolors and acrylics seeming to come alive under their fingers. (He’d melt if he found a work of him, the colors making him sigh and dreamily trace the lines, joy swimming in his heart that they painted him, that he means enough to them that he’s taken a starring role in their hobby.)

Perhaps they enjoy photography, documenting small, beautiful moments in life. (He’s always trying to look his best around his darling, keeping his neck tense and posture strong, so that if they did take a sneaky, candid photo of him, they’d enjoy what they see.)

Perhaps they play an instrument, melodies ringing out and making Chrollo smile and nod along. (Learning his favorite pieces would make him struggle to not reach out and place a gentle kiss to their forehead, letting his hands wander down their shoulders and cupping their breasts, telling them he’d love to repay the favor and learn their favorite things as well.)

Maybe they enjoy knitting or crocheting, making all kinds of creations that Chrollo finds endearing. (He’d expect them to make him something, of course, subtly demanding he receives something so that when he’s away, he’ll be able to keep a piece of them with him, something made with love and care and specifically for Chrollo Lucilfer himself.)

Cooking, sewing, writing, anything and everything can fit into this category – Chrollo really just likes that his darling is thinking of him, that they spend their time doing something that makes them happy, and if he gets to be involved, all the better.

He’ll even push his way into their hobby, learning all that he can about it with eager fingers, wanting to impress his darling and make the activity into something they can bond over – a way to spend time together, a way to get them all by his side and happy, never, ever wanting to leave.

He just loves them so very much, after all.

Observant

While it would be difficult to find someone more calculating and cunning than himself, there’s something alluring about a darling who is more observant than those around them.

He likes the idea that his darling is just able to pick up on things, their eye more trained to assess those around them, to understand their motives and notice the things they do.

It’s a sign of intelligence, and once Chrollo’s obsession has formed, he’s purposefully doing things he’s hoping his darling will notice, all with the hope that they’ll spend time wondering why he’s always fiddling with his ring finger, or letting his eyes flick to them. It’s like a game to Chrollo, and he finds it beyond entertaining to watch his darling in action, seeing their expressions flit across their face as they try to interpret his odd behavior.

There’s just something that attracts him towards darling that are able to perceive their world for more than it is – he views himself as better than everyone else, a sort of God among men, but a darling that has this trait rises above the countless below him, standing out alone as a superior being, someone worthy and perfect for him.

He’s egotistical, after all, but a darling that can at least kind of match his observation skills is something that will attract him to them – whether that’s good or bad, one can’t say.

Witty

His darling certainly doesn’t need to be a comedian, but someone who can keep up with his thinly veiled banter would cause his interest to spike.

His words are almost always tinged with just the slightest amount of snark, the slightest bit of condescension that seems to be present no matter who he’s talking to.

Perhaps it’s a result of his own pride or self-confidence, but regardless, a darling who can not only pick up on this but also respond with a bit of snark as well would make him momentarily pause, before laughing a bit and wondering just how far he can push them. It excites him to have a darling who can keep up with him, bantering back and forth, and once his infatuation develops, this is one of his favorite things about his darling.

He loves that speaking with them is endless entertainment, hence how often he tries to goat them into conversations. He’s always, always asking them questions, often designed to get them speculating, philosophical questions that he’s genuinely curious to know their answer to, and in the process he gets to have a sort of playful discussion, something that makes his heart race a bit in his chest.

He just likes his darling’s ability to think on their feet, only reinforcing their intelligence and making him fall deeper, harder, more soundly.

It makes him want to keep that wit all for himself, to not let anyone else have the pleasure of indulging in his darling’s words – they’re his, and the longer his obsession festers, the more he believes in that sentiment.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Dependent

Much of what fuels Chrollo’s obsession for you is selfish in nature.

Initially, he’s interested in you because you make him feel something, some strange emotion he can’t quite place. He’s running through all the possibilities early on, wistfully trying each emotion on before discarding it.

Does he want to use you? No, you wouldn’t be especially useful - you’re not all that developed of a nen user, if one at all, so you’d just be wasted effort.

Does he want to steal something of yours? No, you don’t have anything of particular value, nor are you an important individual.

Does he want to kill you? No, something about the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He’s stumped at first, genuinely unsure of what you’re making him feel, but it’s not until he spends more time with you that he begins considering options that are more foreign to him - that is, that he may have developed more positive emotions towards you, less manipulative and more yearning.

He contemplates whether he’s fallen in love - the books he’s always perusing make love sound so obnoxious, virtuosic, grandiose, and Chrollo can’t quite say he agrees. What he feels for you is ultimately overwhelming, surely - but it’s also much more subtle, slowly taking root in every aspect of his life seemingly without him even noticing. What used to be hours spent searching out new heists and items to steal becomes twinged with just a hint of your presence.

Small thoughts in the back of his head wonder whether you’d like the diamond necklace displayed in this gallery, or how it’d look against your pretty skin, sitting in the hollow of your throat.

What used to be solitary evenings spent reading in candlelight become small daydreams about what you’d think of his current philosopher’s theories, whether you’d indulge him in hours of philosophical discussions, what your opinions on the perception of self are. What your perceptions of yourself are, and, more importantly, what your perception of him is.

It’s not too overwhelming at first; he’s mostly able to control himself, that ever composed stature of his kept carefully in place.

The thoughts are mostly just fleeting, odd off-handed curiosity about you that he doesn’t worry too much about. It’s interesting, mostly, that you’ve gotten to him at all - and it’s this, really, that drives his desire to learn more about you. The fact that you continue to become more and more intertwined with his thoughts leaves him anxiously aching for more, wanting to see the extent to which you’re able to make him feel - something he’d always thought was more or less impossible.

And what you make him feel is so, so very good; his palms are a bit clammy when he sees you, gaze raking over your figure and noting how well your shirt fits your curves, dark eyes eagerly scanning the title of the book you’re reading out of. He’s a confident man, of course, but at the prospect of approaching you and discussing the literature, he can’t help but swallow, tongue sneaking out to lick over his lips.

He feels a strange sense of peace when he’s looking at you, taking in the way the sunlight shines off of your face, the way your clothes frame your body, how your lips quirk up into a smile when you see the little bunny that hops along the grass in the public park. It’s small things, mostly, that get little butterflies fluttering in his chest – and it’s these little fleeting moments of happiness, of contentedness and fascination that lead him to believe what he’s feeling for you could be the ever famous love – or, at least, some variation of it.

Is it love when he’s letting a smile cover his features as you scrunch your brows and huff when you can’t get that stupid jar open? The way you stick your tongue out in concentration and squeeze your eyes shut is honestly adorable, forcing Chrollo’s eyes to linger on your face just a tad bit too long.

(He can’t help but imagine how you’d thank him so profusely if he opened it for you; he’d even go so far as to roll up his sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms that he knows women can’t resist. Do you fall into that category? Would you be transfixed by his strength, his physical appearance, his smooth voice when he tells you that next time call me first, please, I wouldn’t want you to struggle…)

Maybe it’s the way you look so disheveled in your oversized t-shirt and ill-fitting lounge pants as you shuffle about your apartment, completely unaware of the camera he’d had Shalnark place in your living room. You look comfortable, and there’s something about seeing you so vulnerable, so raw that gets him breathing a bit heavier.

(More than once a thought has, seemingly out of the blue, surfaced where you’re starring and wearing a dress shirt of his – white, stiff material just barely hiding the outline of your breasts and the curve of your hips, tantalizing and looking so very right on you. If that were to happen, Chrollo has already made peace with the fact that he’d hold out on washing that particular shirt – just until he’s gotten the chance to slip it on himself, occasionally sniffing the collar and getting something heavenly, something that can only be described as you and him together.)

Chrollo honestly isn’t sure what it is about you that’s gotten to him to develop feelings - he’s intrigued, earnestly trying to understand it, but as time passes and he finds himself spending more and more time simply thinking of you, he finds himself caring less.

It’s happened already - he’s in love, he’s certain, and now that he’s in that position, the only logical thing to do is pursue you. And while he tells himself it’s all because he wants to learn more about how you’ve managed to trick him into falling for you, really it’s all because he absolutely has to. The longer his infatuation goes on, the less time he can spend away from you, and the less he can justify the strength of his feelings.

He becomes restless when you’re not in his sight - his hands are shaking slightly, thin brows pinched together, every muscle in his body flexing involuntarily. His temper is heightened, irritation brewing in his chest even if he doesn’t mean it – he’s snapped at Nobunaga by accident, his words just a bit harsher, a bit more clipped when telling him the meeting time for the next month.

When he’s not been around you for long periods (a day or so), he just feels like something’s missing, something he can’t quite place. There’s a you shaped hole in his chest, and it turns Chrollo into something of an addict going through withdrawals - he’s become too dependent on the way you make something warm bloom in his chest, and the moment he’s without it, he’s counting down the seconds until he can return to you, return to the calmness and serenity of being around you.

And when you smile at him, answer his questions, brush your hand against his when he hands you a cup of tea, Chrollo can’t help but shiver slightly, his content smile twitching up at the corners ever so slightly. It’s addicting, the way you make him feel so alive, so strangely happy, so light and bubbly and horribly enslaved to his emotions. But while he’s never known himself to a weak man, he thinks he’d be okay with you being his Achilles heel - as long as you smile at him, let him stare as you talk away about your day, let him brush his knuckles against your cheek and whisper that you’re so warm and frail, Chrollo could care less.

He could care less about most things, really, once you step into his life - as long as you don’t leave him, that is. As long as you don’t abandon him, taking you and the feelings you ignite within him with you.

You wouldn’t dare, he’s sure of it.

Possessive

Tying into his desperation for you to stay under his thumb and by his side, Chrollo can’t seem to shake the way anger flares up inside him whenever another man interacts with you. He knows it’s irrational - it’s possible to have interactions with the opposite gender without ulterior motives; he regularly speaks with Machi, Pakunoda and Shizuku without any goals aside from Troupe business.

And yet, he just can’t forget the way he knows some men are - viscous, disgusting, cruel, vile in a way even Chrollo isn’t. He may be a mass murderer, mentally unstable, unhealthily in need of being in control and a pathological thief, but he’s never harassed a woman before. He’s never sneered at one, groped or touched them in a sexual way without their consent, and he’s only ever seduced a woman with the intent of getting information out of her.

But others?

He knows others are probably just as in love with you as he is - you’re beautiful, intelligent, sweet and oh so perfect, truly a naive, painfully unaware little bunny in a world full of wolves. And wolves will pounce, even if the bunny is already in another’s jaws - just the thought of another man attempting to intervene and seduce you themselves is enough to get Chrollo’s jaw clenching ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit and his fingers clasping around his nen book just a bit tighter.

He’s territorial, unwilling to share the way you make him feel with anyone else - only you can bring him the happiness he craves, so therefore only he is allowed to be on the receiving end. He hates the idea that another man could start chatting you up, throwing false compliments and sweet words your way, buttering you up and trying to steal you from right underneath his nose. It makes his fingers itch, the sense of control he harbors over you slipping slightly. It scares him, if he’s being honest – an emotion he hasn’t felt since he was very young, scavenging the streets of Meteor City.

He loves the way you’re able to make him feel, but this particular emotion he very much doesn’t like, nor does he enjoy the way jealousy pricks at his heart when another man glances at you. It leaves his blood boiling, every inch of his body feeling unbelievably hot, his muscles tensing up over and over.

And yet, Chrollo is a man of opportunity – while it may be torture to see you with another man, something excruciating in ways Chrollo has never experienced before, this is a good chance to paint himself in a better light. It’s a good opportunity to sway your perception of him – particularly if the man isn’t wooing you successfully.

Before he’s stolen you away, he’s quick to observe how men approach you, with suave smiles that make you visibly nervous, your high pitched responses to his questions vague and obviously constructed for your escape. It makes some weird sort of protectiveness spring up into him, but he holds himself back. He wills himself to wait just a tad bit longer, to elongate the discomfort you’re feeling because this will only really work if you’re desperate for an escape route. It’s torture, watching, but Chrollo holds on – until he decides you’re fearful enough, his long strides towards you not nearly as quick as he’d like.

Words will slip from his tongue before he can even really think, always placing himself in between you and the man, physically separating you as he quietly but firmly tells the man off, mentioning something about how unchivalrous it is to corner a defenseless woman.

Honestly, as shocked as you’ll be that Chrollo just emerges from the shadows so often, you’ll be incredibly grateful for his presence and intervention - which is exactly what he’s hoping for. He doesn’t like the way his possessiveness eats him up, but there’s something to be said about making sure that he saves you, making sure that you perceive him as your protector and someone to trust.

It’s an insurance thing, more than anything, because there’s nothing that calms Chrollo quite like knowing that you like him, that you’re associating positive emotions with him. It makes pride swell in his chest to think that you perceive him as some sort of guardian angel to you, and while it almost makes him pity you, it just makes his job easier.

It makes it easier to constantly be trailing you (you’ll never catch him, however), and to get you falling for him just as strongly as he’s fallen for you. If you hold him in a position of power, he will be exploiting that power and control - he’ll be subtle when he starts isolating you, the power trip making him giddy because now no one will talk to you. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch up when he sees that notification on his phone, your contact flashing across his screen.

(It’s just your full name, though sometimes he’ll play with the idea of adding a star next to it, or perhaps a diamond or crescent moon - it’s too childish for him, but he’ll often type it out and quickly delete it, only to retype and repeat the process.)

It makes him feel good to know that you’re contacting him, that you reached out to him, meaning you’re thinking of him and not someone else. He’s leaving small hints of his presence in your apartment; a copy of his book that he ‘accidentally’ left there last time you invited him over for dinner, a watch of his (that he stole, of course, but you don’t know that) that you keep neatly on your dresser and glance at every morning, marveling at how pristine and silver it is.

He’ll leave his leftovers in your refrigerator from nice evenings out, internally cooing at the way you finish them off yourself, liking that you’re wanting to finish his food, obviously not disturbed by the fact that his mouth may have touched a bit of it. He’s trying to stake his claim on everything around you, no matter how big or small it may be, just to get you thinking of him.

(Of course, he’s also a fan of staking his claim in ways you’re less knowledgeable about - he’s even spent nights at your apartment, dark eyes appraising your pretty, sleeping face, spending hours simply staring before wandering around your room, picking things up and digging through your drawers. Sometimes, on days when Troupe business has him feeling just a bit stressed, or he has to deal with particularly important but irritating individuals, he’ll even settle himself beside you, sitting in your desk chair and letting his black slacks fall to his knees, palming himself and shakily exhaling. He’ll caress your cheek with one hand, letting a strained, breathless smile slip across his face while his other hand relentlessly tugs and flicks around his cock, eager to see the way you’ll look with white splattered all across your pretty face. He’ll clean it up afterwards, mostly – it can’t hurt to leave a bit on your lips, right? Just so that you’ll taste him in the morning? Just so that he’ll be with you all night, all day tomorrow, so close?)

He’s possessive in the worst way possible, and while it manifests itself as seeming chivalrous and even a bit endearing, it’s anything but. There’s nothing cute about the way he religiously thinks of you, his every free moment spent watching you or speaking to you with the smoothest, most attractive voice he can muster.

There’s nothing sweet about the way his hand lingers on the small of your back, just a tad bit too insistent when he's guiding you through the crowd, making sure you don’t stray far enough away from him to let air flow between your bodies.

There’s nothing flattering about the way he gazes at you as you slowly wake up in his hold, with no memory of how you got there, no memory of where you are, no memory of how you’d changed into a pretty, billowy nightgown, and no memory of him, at least of the tattoo across his forehead or the carnal look in those eyes.

He’s a possessive freak, and once he decides you’re his target, there’s really no chance of escaping. So don’t even try.

Manipulative

He’s good at getting what he wants, and that mixed with his natural charisma leaves pretty much everyone he encounters susceptible to his charms. He’s spent his whole life studying human emotions, interactions and what drives people, and as such he’s got a pretty good understanding of how to exploit others, how to find the cracks in their armor that leave them putty in his hands.

It’s almost fun, in a way, like a puzzle Chrollo becomes extremely skilled at solving flawlessly. But when it comes to you? Well, no matter how adept you are at seeing through people, no matter how levelheaded or careful you are, Chrollo will be getting you wrapped around his little finger, completely bending to his will.

You are certainly no exception to his charms, if only because Chrollo is trying extra hard with you, the genuine drive to get you visibly bashful at his compliments and craving his touch nearly driving him to insanity. And honestly, you probably won’t even realize it – he’s subtle, giving you a small push here or there with little comments about the people around you, or about habits he wants you to break.

When you’re out together shopping around at stores much too expensive for you (courtesy of Chrollo smiling at you and requesting you let him buy you something, because it would mean so much to me, and I know you’ve secretly been yearning for that new dress), he’ll gently chastise you about how you shouldn’t talk to him anymore – don’t you see the way his eyes are on your chest rather than your face?

(The sales clerk who had been helping the two of you was most certainly not ogling your breasts – but even if you bring it up to your companion, he’ll just sigh softly at you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and murmuring that he knows men better than you do, that he can see right through them, just trust me, he would’ve given anything to have you alone.)

The comments will be small but plentiful, designed to get you listening to him and coming to think of him as right, as much smarter and more observant than yourself, something that Chrollo will use to his advantage. He does love you, in some twisted, sick way, but Chrollo’s idea of love is distorted, warped and made ugly by the way he treats you.

He knows it perhaps isn’t the classic method of wooing you, but there’s nothing wrong with twisting the situation just to make sure that his desired outcome sees fruition. He doesn’t like lying to you, and would prefer to always be truthful (to an extent, at least), but he understands that it’s what has to happen in order to make his long term plans a reality – in order to get you unconditionally devoted to him, just as he craves.

It’s unhealthy, but Chrollo doesn’t mind; which is why he’ll be putting to use every possible tactic he can think of to get you returning his feelings, all twinged with just a hint of manipulation, just to get the right seeds of thought planted in that pretty little head of yours.

He’s buying bouquets of flowers every week, sent to your address by hand with a note attached in big, loopy cursive detailing how gorgeous you are; haikus he writes describing your eyes, your hair, your figure and your laugh that get your neck and cheeks feeling warm, the flowers always your favorite colors. (The note also generously makes use of the word ‘my’, preceding nearly everything pertaining to you – my darling, my beloved, my angel, my future.)

He's dressing himself to the nines, with his shirts and pants always pressed and pristine, his cologne noticeably but not too intense, just the slightest touch of gel in his hair, all just to make sure he look as attractive and presentable as possible. He knows women find men in casual business wear attractive, and he’ll purposefully choose white dress shirts with the sheerest material he can get away with – just so that when the light hits just right, you’ll see the hard lines of muscle underneath, his abs and pectorals standing out and straining against the fabric. (He’s always making comments about how other men dress when he’s out with you – claiming that there’s wrinkles in their clothing, that wearing such bright, obnoxious colors are unbecoming of a true gentleman, that their watches and jewelry are obviously fakes, even that he’s seen that shirt for sale and it’s a laughable price – some men must not care much for beauty, and if they’re willing to purchase such low-quality items, imagine how poorly they must treat their partner.)

It’s a constant with him, as if he’s actively looking for every opportunity he can to make himself look better compared to those around him – call it a result of his possessiveness, or maybe some weird, unhealthy craving to get your praise and admiration.

Regardless, it’ll eventually have you slowly seeing what he means, finding yourself nodding along and agreeing with his words, even if you’d never have independently formed such a thought. It’s a slow process and will take a while to work, but Chrollo watches with intent, bright eyes and bitten lips, satisfaction oozing out of him because he’s got you right where he wants you, and sweet little you doesn’t even know.

Of course, once he’s stolen you away and permanently attached you to his hip, his manipulative tendencies don’t just magically disappear. Oh no – if anything they grow stronger, because now that you’re truly isolated, it’s just so much easier to mold you into the perfect version of yourself, all needy and dependent on him just as he wishes. It’s easy to get you believing things about those on the outside, using tactics like ignoring you or limiting your freedoms in order to get you caving to his desires, to get you listening and hanging on to his every word like it’s God himself speaking.

And really, Chrollo likes that imagery – that he’s your god and you’re his devoted little follower, worshipping everything he says and making him feel good, important, wanted in a way he’s never experienced before. (Although, in reality, the roles are more flipped – you’re his god, the one thing he comes crawling back to no matter the situation, his unending devotion to you rooted so deeply inside him that not even his soul is unaffected by you. He’s written poetry about the idea, entertaining it through writing, but he’s always quick to rip the pages out and crumple them, not enjoying the uncomfortable sense of truth in the words.)

So while Chrollo’s feelings for you do resemble love in some ways, his methods and expression very much doesn’t – he’s not afraid to lie t you in order to receive the results that he wants, and really, it’s best not to bother fighting him. He will prevail, no matter how to try and keep your head on straight, and it’s just easier for the both of you to not try, to not attempt to make sense of the mixture of lies and truth he feeds you. It’ll save you both time and energy, and Chrollo would really, really appreciate your cooperation – you’re cute when you’re being defiant, but it grows old.

And while Chrollo would never lose interest in you, he’s not above making you believe that he has – if it gets you obeying and letting him rest his hand on your hip (dipping down to firmly grip and squeeze at your thigh too, if he’s lucky), Chrollo will do anything it takes, no matter how depraved or violent.

Anything at all.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Chrollo, while liking to view himself as being above other men, is only human. He’s still a man, one with an intense, disgusting obsession with you, and the moment that your attention is threatened, the human side of Chrollo becomes very apparent.

It’s difficult to look at him and see it, but internally he’s simmering with jealousy every time another man approaches you, to the point where it becomes difficult to focus on anything else except you, except the way that you’re looking at someone else, talking with them and breathing the same air as them. It’s horrible, and even more so than the idea that you’ll be stolen away from another man, Chrollo doesn’t like the fact that this scum thinks he has to right to even be in your presence.

You’re perfect, in Chrollo’s eyes, and he hates the fact that others get to be around you so freely, even when that privilege is something should belong to him and him only. It angers him how other men don’t seem to understand that you’re already taken and claimed, your fate decided the moment Chrollo decides he wants you.

You’re better than everyone else, a breed above, and he's always just a bit worried that you’ll somehow be tainted by talking with other men, like your perfection will become marred when others look at you.

So, Chrollo does what he feels he must – he must interfere, even if getting closer and closer to the scene has his heart pounding, anger swimming through his veins in amounts he’s never, ever experienced. It’s cathartic, in a way, to have such sudden bursts of emotion, but as his dark gaze focuses on you, he decides that what you make him feel, all the warmth and dizziness and disorientation, is much better than the jealousy sitting heavily in his gut.

He’ll, of course, take his time; he’s opportunistic and wont’ simply waste the chance to further build his positive image in your mind, but waiting is absolute torture. He’s digging his nails into his palms with every moment he’s forcing himself to wait, dark gaze unblinking as he stares at the two of you, mentally berating the man and thinking of the thousands of ways he could torture and kill him. And once he thinks it’s finally, finally time, he’s not wasting a moment and approaching the two of you as fast as he can. It's easy to enter into the conversation, picking up something the man has said.

His voice is smooth and sure, a complete contrast from the stranger attempted to pick you up – your head turns sharply when you hear him, relief flashing over your features at a semi familiar face.

He’s maybe a regular at a café or diner you enjoy – you’ve seen him around, chatted lightly a few times, only really knowing his name and a few of the books he’s always reading.

And while Chrollo knows this, he can’t help the way his heart practically soars when he sees how visibly relieved you are for his presence. His fingers twitch with the intention of reaching out and cupping your cheek, but he refrains himself.

The man, however, doesn’t seem nearly as pleased by his sudden arrival – he’s scowling slightly, brows tucked inwards as he growls out sorry, but we’re having a private conversation.

Your relieved and awed expression suddenly returns to a grim and fearful one, and internally Chrollo feels his anger flare. His face is still neutral, however, as he responds carefully and calmly that he’s making you obviously uncomfortable, and it’s the chivalrous thing to do when I see a woman being harassed. The man splutters slightly, shocked at Chrollo’s forwardness.

He tries to argue back, claiming you were answering his questions, being polite, so evidently you must have wanted him, right?

You’re unimpressed, shrinking back further away from the man and instead subtly getting closer to Chrollo, something he notes with a distinct sense of pleasure. Chrollo doesn’t let up, however, continuing to inform the man that you don’t want to be there, that you aren’t really interested when he offers to show you his apartment that he swears is the best thing you’ll ever see.

You’re grateful, and as weak and lame as it makes you feel to have Chrollo fighting this particular battle for you, you’re glad he showed up. He always seems to show up, really, just when you need him – it’s almost magic, you think, how he seems to know when you need help. The image of him as your savior makes your cheeks feel warm, the girlish thought embarrassing but oddly accurate.

Eventually the man leaves, huffing and muttering under his breath about how you weren’t even all that pretty anyways, and Chrollo feels his eye twitch, a small flick of the wrist inserting just a bit of nen into his shoulder.

Not enough for the man to feel it, but just enough so that he can keep track of his whereabouts. You’re immediately thanking him profusely, embarrassed about how inept you’d seemed, some small part of you hoping you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt.

But he doesn’t seem to mind – if anything, he’s silent, allowing your rambling to continue on, those dark eyes meeting yours and holding your gaze. It’s intense, but as your voice dies off after the fifth ‘thank you’, he only softly smiles.

Of course, his voice is low and nearly demure, making a shiver roll down your spine, it’s no trouble at all. I’d help you out anytime you need me.

He can tell you’re flustered, and while he wants nothing more than to revel in the sight of you looking bashful, twiddling with your thumbs and stumbling over your words, he knows he has to leave. He needs to leave, really, so that he can check over his book of nen, flipping to the page where that the location of that piece of scum that had bothered you was.

He bids you farewell with a twinkle in his eye, looking over his shoulder as he turns and walks away. You look so pretty, standing there and staring at him, trying to hide the way your mouth gapes open, and Chrollo bites his lip ever so slightly, closing his eyes and reveling in the way his chest feels all warm and airy from just the sight of you. Soon he’s turning off the street where it had all happened, immediately stepping into an alleyway and flipping open the book.

The nen signature leads him to a dingy apartment – surely not the beauty he’d been boasting to you about – and Chrollo nearly snorts as he sees the man throwing back his head, drowning the beer bottle in hand. No one else is in the apartment, he finds as he slips through the front door, which is ideal. He’s quick to conjure up his giant nen fish, a smile slowly spreading across his lips as the man suddenly freezes, unable to move as a fish moves to nibble at a toe, teeth biting and crunching through bone.

It doesn’t take long – maybe ten minutes or so, but Chrollo enjoys every moment of watching the man slowly get eaten alive, those dark eyes wide and excited. It’s euphoric, really, and as he remembers the way the man had nearly had the audacity to touch you, to touch what was Chrollo’s, he can’t stop himself from chuckling slightly.

It’s only after the fact, once all is said and done, that he notices his hands are shaking, his cheeks a bit sore from smiling for such a long period of time. It’s only then that he hears how his heartbeat is loud in his ears, blood pounding as the excitement and satisfaction of seeing the sofa now empty, not a spec of blood ruining the upholstery.

He wishes he could have killed him by his own hand, perhaps stabbed him a few times, burned him alive, maybe even drowned him – but this is better, because now when you watch the news you won’t see some horrible, mangled body.

And once he’s stolen you away, it’s better if you don’t see the gruesome ways that he’s killed – how will you continue to look at him with such adoration and love in your eyes if you do? And Chrollo couldn’t stand to not have you gaze at him with anything short of fondness, admiration, desperation.

He closes the man’s apartment door, making sure to lock it, before tapping into the nen wedge lodged into your own shoulder – seems you’re walking home now. Perhaps you’d like some company from the shadows.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Chrollo is extremely methodical with his approach towards seducing you.

He’s careful to present himself as a gentleman, a classically chivalrous man with his dark features and smooth voice. He’s never tried to genuinely make someone develop feelings for him before – it’s only ever been for a job or to place someone into the palm of his hand, but with you it’s different.

He’s actively trying everything he can think of to make you like him, pouring through romance novels to find common themes, trying all manner of approaches and tactics so that you’ll only associate him with happiness and nerves.

And frankly, Chrollo will absolutely get you falling for him. By the time that he feels he’s ready to steal you away, you’ve probably developed a massive crush on him, your feelings strong and difficult to ignore. Really, you can’t be blamed – he’s a master manipulator, and while his romantic experience is dismal, it’s not so hard to find out your favorite flower and leave a bouquet at your door. It’s not so difficult to send expensive perfumes or jewelry to you, attached with a note detailing what it is about the piece that makes him think of you.

You’ll nearly be in love, something that he’s worked extremely hard to cultivate. It hasn’t been easy, holding off all this time. There’s been more opportunities than he can count where he could’ve so easily swept you into his arms and took off into the night, never to have you seen again by anyone but himself.

He’s had to physically restrain himself more often than he’d care to admit from reaching out and grabbing you, tucking you so tightly against his chest that you can’t breath as he boards the airship, the Troupe standing guard outside your new bedroom to make sure you don’t get any funny ideas. You’re laughably weak compared to him, and while it sometimes causes Chrollo to worry for your safety, it’s ultimately an asset to him.

Because now that you’re completely under the impression that Chrollo is the perfect man for you, it’s all so much easier to relocate you without a fuss. It all happens much faster than Chrollo had expected, however – all too soon you’re seeing blurry images on the television news one night, the cereal you’d been eating forgotten as you take in the familiar earrings, the dark eyes, the forehead tattoo he’s always written off as a family tattoo.

You’re in shock, eyes wide as you listen to the anchor list off the multitudes of crimes the Troupe has been accused of, and for a moment you refuse to believe it’s true. That’s not Chrollo – not your Chrollo, the man who picks you up at 7:00 sharp for the dinner date he’s reserved at the fanciest restaurant in town.

That’s not your Chrollo, the man who opens doors for you and pulls out your chair, almost placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through large crowds. He could never murder someone – could never be the cause of the some hundreds of lost lives the TV claims he’s responsible for.

But then you hear a sigh, that familiar voice murmuring out that it’s really all just so unfortunate, I was hoping to gain your favor a bit more. Alas, the façade is up, I’ll make sure to pack that sweatshirt you love so much. Please, love, don’t struggle too much. There’s a pinprick in your neck, those dark eyes the last thing you see before blackness surrounds you. Chrollo can only mournfully look down at you, having caught your unconscious body in his arms.

It’s a good opportunity to run his fingers over your lips, to trace the shape of your nose, to press a surprisingly sweet kiss to your forehead. It was inevitable, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me eventually. We’re made for one another, after all.

Once you’re trapped with him, a few things will become very apparent to you very quickly. Firstly, Chrollo is a criminal – the dashing man you thought you knew is not real, his true personality slipping out almost immediately. He’s no longer attempting to hide the reality of his work, discussing new jobs and elimination plans over the phone in the same room as you, not mincing words when he tells the mystery man to make it messy, the more blood the better.

Second, he’s a very important man. He’s constantly being phone called, stepping out for this or that meeting, making decisions you don’t even understand. The very few people he’s ever let you meet almost seem to revere him, unconditionally bowing to his word and only addressing him as Boss.

Third, he’s much stronger than you’d realized, the odd pressure he seems to radiate growing and ebbing at various points in the day. You’d seen the way he’s merely flicked his wrist and a man that had seen the handcuffs initially around you was suddenly headless, sliced clean off without so much as a sound.

Lastly, Chrollo Lucilfer is desperate. Despite being kidnapped, forced to jump from hotel room to hotel room firmly attached at his hip, there’s never been a lull in the way that he demands your attention. There’s never been a free moment where he’s not looking at you, that same small smile quirking on his lips that used to fluster you but now only makes your gut twist. He’s always asking you questions – some are easy, surface level and don’t require effort on your part. He’s asking what your favorite color is, what your favorite breakfast foods are, if you prefer to wake up early or sleep in.

(He already know the answers, but he likes hearing you say it.)

Some are more difficult, making you consider your words before you speak them. He’s asking you whether you’ve ever dreamed of what your wedding venue will look like (he of course pushes for details, mentally noting everything and imagining it alongside you), what you would name a pet cat (either solid black or solid white fur, you pick), asking you to jot down a few of your favorite songs so that he can compile a playlist for you, as you have limited electronic access (the playlist is really for him, so that when he’s away on missions he can still feel like he’s with you, but that’s besides the point).

And then there’s the ‘why’ questions – these are the hardest, his eyes boring into you as he asks you why you claim to love your friends, why you’re fighting him so hard, why you think life itself even exists. They make you think, and while you don’t want to answer, Chrollo will keep pushing and pushing and pushing, using your words against you and slowly taking away any privileges you’ve managed to earn.

It’s not worth the fight that ensues if you ignore any of his questions, so you’ll answer as succinctly as possible, choosing your words carefully and watching for his reactions. Mostly, he just likes to hear your voice – knowing there’s no one else in the room, so you’re talking to him and only him, thinking of ways to respond to what he asked you.

He likes to know your opinion on things, each and every word you utter only furthering his fascination with you, contradictions in your thoughts popping up right and left. Mostly, as a captor, Chrollo is really just omnipresent. He’s always there, dark eyes trained on you and listening to every little thing you say, watching every little thing you do, commenting on what feels like every thought you have.

It’s exhausting, the way he’s constantly hovering, the way he’s constantly on the look out for any kind of interaction with him, and at first you’ll find yourself growing tired, afraid, frantic to be alone.

You’ll eventually explode, yelling at him and telling him to leave you alone, to disappear, to just get away from me, you monster! He’s silent as your words sink in, his face carefully neutral, before he laughs softly, shaking his head a bit.

If that’s what you wish, he’ll ominously tell you, walking out the hotel room door and locking it behind him. It’s wonderful, the first few hours without him – finally some time to yourself, to really cry or scream or just ponder your new life.

But after a day or two passes, thing start changing – you don’t like Chrollo, you promise, but it’s sort of lonely without him. The hotel room is big but empty, his missing presence louder than the silence. You’ll slowly find yourself starting to miss him, wishing he’d come back and continue asking those stupid questions of his, to brush his fingers against your cheeks and thighs, to gaze at you with that deranged but enamored look in his eye.

By day five, you’re frantic for him to come back, taking to sitting in the corner and staring at the door, persuading yourself that he’ll have to return sometime, that eventually he’ll come back to you, that he won’t just leave you alone to die.

And when he does, ten days after leaving you fully alone (minus the cameras placed in the room), he’s shocked to feel the way you rush in for a hug as the door swings open. You’re wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest, and Chrollo can’t help but blink widely down at you, lips parted but no sounds coming out. He knew the loneliness was getting to you, but you’d never initiated physical contact like this before. Was it an act of desperation, or was it because you were missing him?

Did you ache for human contact, or did you ache for his contact?

He’s not sure, but he finds himself humming and returning the gesture, letting a hand pet your hair as he asks you if you missed him, if you’d gotten lonely, if you’d like to lay down for a bit with him. You’re not as clingy after you pull away from the hug, but Chrollo doesn’t care – you lay with him, a good two feet of space between your bodies, but it’s progress.

You’re more open after that, not flinching away and snapping at him when he reaches out to touch you. Instead, you’re almost leaning into his touch, enjoying it – which leads to another key aspect of being Chrollo’s captive; the touching.

He’s not invasive with it in the beginning, but as time passes you’ll notice the way his hand is always lingering at your waist, his fingers drumming against your skin. You’ll realize he’s always shuffling closer to your body, dissatisfied with the space between you. You’ll get used to the way he asks for a kiss before you both fall into slumber, his arms snaking around your middle and pulling you back against his chest as he sighs into your ear.

The rational side of you is enraged, disgusted by his attempts at romantic and intimate touches, but a part of you that grows larger with every passing day stops caring, slowly accepting that Chrollo is all you have left now, and that you should take advantage of every ounce of affection he’s willing to show you. It may not be real (though the obsession that gleams in his eyes certainly is, as is the blood that sometimes stains his pale chest when he returns home from a few days away), but it’s something.

It’s enough that you can almost overlook the way he keeps you trapped in the hotel rooms, stuck by his side, with only your books and himself to entertain you. You can almost forget the way he’s freely admitted to killing for you, nonchalantly threating family members if you try to escape, telling you he’ll hear about anything and everything you do because nothing can hide from him.

Eventually, you’ll stop caring – your life is easier now, all the stress and worries of independence gone, and Chrollo couldn’t be more pleased that you’re settling down, or mellowing, as he likes to say. You’re closer to realizing your true purpose with him – to continue to give him that warmth he craves, to continue to let him kiss and hold you, to let him steal every ounce of your attention and time.

He’s a thief after all, and now that you’re his, he’s entitled to take whatever he wants.

PUNISHMENTS:

While Chrollo is, overall, a somewhat lenient captor, he does have a few strict guidelines.

Firstly, you are to never ignore him. To ignore him would mean a rejection of his feelings for you, and while Chrollo is normally a cool, level-headed man, the second you even encroach on any actions that could be considered a rejection of a his love, of him, he’s clenching his jaw and doing his best to not lash out, keeping his temper and check and calculating ways to make you recognize the consequences of your actions.

Secondly, do not try to escape. He’s lucid enough to understand that once you’ve first been kidnapped, you’re likely to try everything in your power to escape. It doesn’t matter how deeply your feelings for him have formed – it’s only human nature to not enjoy being trapped, which is why he’ll have to train you, to make sure that you correctly acclimate to your new life with him, to your new future.

And lastly, you must never attempt to hurt him. Of course, you could never do any real damage, but the sentiment will hurt him more than he’d care to admit – by reaching out and wishing him harm, you are, once again, rejecting him. You’re displaying a desire to wound him, and he absolutely cannot have you thinking that you’re in any position of power or control in your relationship with him.

(You are, of course, because Chrollo’s dependence on you is really quite pathetic and sad, but you won’t be aware of the depth of his feelings for you until very, very late into your time with him. He’s good at hiding this, if only because letting you see him vulnerable would mean letting you have a sliver of control over him, a concept that terrifies him to his very core.)

Those three things are really the only ways to set Chrollo off – he’s generally pretty adaptable, able to read you like a clock and understanding what you’re thinking merely by watching your facial expressions, and because of this he won’t often punish you. He doesn’t like the idea of disciplining you, instead preferring to simply manipulate you into thinking and feeling the way he wants you to. But, if any of the three rules are breached, Chrollo finds himself resorting to more extreme measures, doing what he feels is necessary to garner the results he’s looking for.

Even so, he won’t ever rely upon physical means to punish you – he doesn’t like the idea of you being injured or hurt, and it would be a hassle to mend the damage hurting you would cause.

So, Chrollo defaults to more manipulative measures, punishments he knows will leave you crying and terrified, inflicting more psychological rather than physical damage. It’s the only way he can get what he wants, after all, and Chrollo has always been determined to get his way – even at the expense of you, his most prized possession.

When you’re staring at him with such hard, pained eyes, it almost makes him feel bad for a moment. Almost, if only because your words are replaying in his head, the tone and wavering in your voice making pause for a brief moment.

You’d said you hated him, that he was a monster, that you were unhappy being with him. It was all things Chrollo had already known, of course, but it certainly didn’t feel good to hear them come from you, nonetheless.

He just sighs, looking at you with that same belittled, heavy gaze, telling you to calm down, darling, don’t say things you don’t mean.

This just angers you more, it seems, because soon you’re nearly screaming, throwing a pillow or two at him as you yell that you’re not lying, you sick fuck! I hate you, I will never love you, I will never need you! Please, you have to let me go, I can’t stand being with you any longer!

What you’re saying isn’t even particularly harsh – he’s heard much, much worse from his victims over the years, searing words insulting his intelligence, his appearance, his morals, his past, everything and anything. And yet, there’s something about hearing the words coming from you that makes him flounder a bit, a sinking feeling in his gut making him stand up straight, appraising your shaking, heaving form across the room. It’s silent for a few long moments, before he simply adjust his jacket, pulling the lapels slightly and turning his back to you. Very well then, if that’s how you feel. As you wish, my dear.

And with that, he’s slipping out the hotel door, disappearing to who knows where. You’re left trembling in anger, your breathing unsteady, but before you can think you’re rushing to the door, wiggling the handle violently and sucking in a sharp breath when you feel that it’s unlocked, practically begging you to throw it open and leave this godforsaken hotel room.

As you rush away, sprinting down staircases and down never-ending hallways, you’ll distantly know that this is probably a trap. Chrollo wouldn’t just let you go, you’re sure, especially with such suspicious time. But you can’t stop yourself from taking advantage of the opportunity, deciding that even if it is a trap, the few brief moments of freedom that you’ll have will be enough to warrant it all.

And yet, as you push through the front doors and take a look around the busy, bustling street you’ve stumbled upon, you nearly sob. You have no idea where you are, the landmarks totally unfamiliar, but you’re free, feeling the sunlight on your skin without Chrollo’s presence pressed into your side, his cold fingers pushing into your hip or shoulder. You don’t have any money and have no idea where to go, but your legs are moving faster than you can think, wandering through the city along back roads and side streets.

Hours quickly pass by, exhaustion beginning to settle into your bones as the sun dips back behind the horizon, leaving the city in shadows and quiet aside from the hum of cars and the bustle of city goers. It’s only once you’re stumbling through an alley that you hear it – him, to be specific.

At least, you’re pretty sure it’s a man – the footsteps are obviously trying to be quiet, but they’re not doing a good enough job to go unnoticed by you. He’s breathing loudly, too, and as you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide and scared, you don’t see anyone.

You’re sure there’s someone there, that they’ve followed you down this alleyway, and as you press your back against the slightly wet brick wall of the building behind you, you feel your heart practically about to beat out of your chest.

Who was there?

It’s silent for a moment, before a short laugh is barked out, the man emerging from behind a dumpster. Shadow falls over his face, making it impossible to see his face, but you do see his size. He’s a monster of a man, bulky shoulders easily above your head, muscles bulging along his arms and under his pants. A wild bed of hair sits atop his head, and you feel yourself freeze, fear eating away at your heart.

You can’t move as the man comes closer, face still hidden in the darkness, and it’s only when he comes down to punch at your stomach do you realize what’s about to happen, panic engulfing your senses as his fist comes closer and closer and closer – It sucks the air right out of your lungs, making you wheeze and gasp for breath, knees slamming into the concrete below you as you gasp and struggle to regain your breath.

The man laughs, a timber, horrible sound, but stops abruptly at the distant sound of sirens. He curses under his breath, and you feel his eyes on you, daring to look up at him in between your fits of coughing.

You’re lucky, bitch, he starts, voice gravelly as he begins backing up. Next time I’ll get you, the cops won’t be coming and I’ll show you why weak little things like you shouldn’t be in alleyways late at night – makes it hard for me to resist ya, and I think you’d look even better without that ugly ass nightgown you’ve got on.

And with that, he’s sprinting down the alley, running away even as the sirens get further and further away. You’re left to lay on the cold, wet ground, having regained your breath but letting tears stream down your face. You don’t want to admit it, but you’d been hoping that Chrollo would magically appear, just like he always does. You’d hoped that he would’ve stopped the stranger’s punch, that he would’ve saved you just like he used to.

The thought of Chrollo makes you flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from wondering if maybe he was right. Maybe he’s right that you can’t take care of yourself, that you’re too weak for this world, that you’re better off with a monster like him (quoted directly from him, with that signature smirk of his) rather than the everyday men.

You curl up, knees to your chest for a while, before your up again, wandering and trying to retrace your steps back to the hotel you’d run out of only hours ago. Eventually you’ll make it back, and as you wait in the lobby, rubbing at your now dirty and bruised body, your eyes will flick across every person entering and exiting, before you begrudgingly make your way to the elevator, riding up tot eh floor you knew your room was on.

It takes everything in you to knock on the door – his door, but eventually you do. And when he opens it, a small hello trickling past his lips, you can’t help but let out an ugly, gaspy sob, rushing forward and wrapping your arms around him. It feels horrible, disgusting, so very good to feel how he returns the hug, gently patting your back and smoothing down your hair, a soft hello my dear making your shoulders shake.

He won’t ask too many questions, letting you inside and nearly forcing you into the shower, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Even when he’s got you wearing a fresh set of soft, lounging clothing (with a neckline just a bit too low to cover your collarbone, something his eyes are often drawn to), you can’t find it in yourself to ask. He’s talking to you, after all, asking you if you enjoyed your time in the real world, if it was as grand as you’d hoped.

His eyes are twinkling, and although the apology you offer up isn’t as loud or insistent as he’d hoped for, it still makes him smile, his throat bobbing as he loudly swallows.

The conversation is over for the evening, and it’s only after you fall asleep (in his bed, he notes with a somewhat shy smile and a shaky exhale) that he pulls out his phone, pressing the contact name and smiling at the dial tone.

Thank you, Uvogin, he starts, letting a hand run very lightly over your leg under the sheets. This favor won’t be forgotten.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The thing that makes Chrollo a dangerous yandere is less his violent tendencies, and more of the way you nearly won’t recognize yourself after being with him for long enough.

Of course, he loves you – a sick, messy, disgusting love that he quickly grows addicted to. He finds you irresistible, fascinating and growing drunk off the way your body fits with him, but he’s still a criminal. He’s still a mass murderer, singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of more than he can count, and he will not be suddenly listening to commonplace morals once his feelings for you form.

There’s no such thing as bad to him – he views you as his woman, his partner and his most precious, cherished possession, and as a result he has absolutely no qualms about doing what he wants to you. He’s manipulative, lying to you just as often as he tells the truth, making you feel as if you’re going crazy because you have no idea what’s real and what’s fake.

He’s possessive, slowly isolating you and barring you from any contact at all with anyone he deems a threat to your future with him, or anyone at all, really. He doesn’t want you to grow feelings for another man, and has no issues with cutting off your contact with everyone in your life that you hold dear. He’s always got that same look on his face; a small, prideful smile, his dark eyes so impossibly wide and sparkling as he stares at you, every ounce of his attention focused on you and only you.

He’s terrifying, and while you’ll more than likely develop feelings for him before you know of his true self, you’ll begrudgingly find those feelings doesn’t entirely dissolve even once you know that he’s a crook and a perverted, horrible man who’s stolen you away. You’ll probably still find him charming, still thinking his hair looks soft enough to touch, still finding his hands (littered with a fair share of veins) drool worthy, even when you realize how many have likely died because of them.

You’ll hate yourself for it, but you will eventually find yourself growing just as dependent on Chrollo as he is on you – and really, that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to need him, to yearn for him and crave him, if only because he feels all that for you and more, and he needs to make sure he has you under his thumb, so that your pretty smile and lovely voice and heavenly body are never not by side.

Things would grow ugly if you were to ever be snatched away from him, corpses piling up and his own sanity slipping away until he can hold you in his arms once more, pressing his lips messily, desperately against yours, hearing you say his name with that lilt you always do.

Chrollo needs you, and it’s best if you just give in – you may essentially be ending your own life, but you’re giving meaning to his and saving so many others. So, so many others.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_chrollo lucilfer

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