#WHEN I AM IN CONTROL OF THE DIRT/MYSELF | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soulofapatrick · 2 months ago

Text

Fighting for Control - Rhysand x female reader

Summary: Rhys finds you training and you challenge his insufferable ass

Words: 3.9K

Notes: I am alive, sorry for being MIA for so long - I've been down with the flu for a week or so 😭

Y/N's POV

The late afternoon sun bathes the training arena in a golden glow, the heat sinking into my skin and mixing with the satisfying burn of exertion. Each punch I throw lands with a solid thud against the padded dummy, and I imagine it’s an Illyrian male with one too many smug comments. The mental image fuels my strikes, sharper, harder, faster—until I finally step back, breathing heavily, and shake out my arms.

I shift my weight, readying myself for another go, when the faintest prickling sensation tickles the back of my neck. Someone’s watching me.

I turn, slowly, scanning the empty terraces above the arena. Empty—except for the male leaning lazily against a stone pillar, silhouetted in the sunlight like some arrogant statue come to life.

Rhysand.

His midnight hair stirs in the soft breeze, and even from here, I can see the smirk tugging at his mouth. He looks unfairly perfect, his tailored shirt rolled up to the elbows, exposing forearms I stubbornly refuse to admire. His violet eyes lock on mine, and there’s a distinct, infuriating glimmer of amusement in them.

“Enjoying the view, High Lord?” I call, resting my hands on my hips.

“Immensely,” he replies, his voice carrying effortlessly over the distance—low, smooth, and laced with wicked humor. He pushes off the pillar, sauntering toward me with all the grace of a panther on the hunt. “Though I’ll admit, it’s much more entertaining when you’re scowling. You have this adorable little furrow in your brow when you’re frustrated.”

My scowl deepens on cue, and his laugh rings out, warm and rich and utterly maddening. “See? There it is.”

“I could arrange for you to see it up close, Rhys,” I say sweetly, though my tone drips with challenge. “Say, by smashing your face into the dirt.”

“Such violence.” He presses a hand to his chest as if I’ve wounded him, but that grin of his only widens. He’s close now, close enough that I can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the mischief practically oozing from every pore. “But if you wanted my attention, darling, all you had to do was ask.”

I snort, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair out of my face. “Please. You couldn’t keep up with me if you tried.”

“Bold words for someone who just spent five minutes attacking a dummy,” he counters, his voice teasing, though there’s something sharper lurking beneath it.

That spark of competitive fire ignites in my chest. “And here I thought the great Rhysand didn’t need to inflate his ego any further. Tell me, High Lord, do you actually have the skill to back it up? Or do you just rely on your magic to make up for the lack?”

His grin sharpens, wolfish. “Are you challenging me, sweetheart?”

“Depends.” I step closer, tilting my head as I eye him. “Are you scared?”

“Scared?” He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head like he’s indulging a reckless child. But there’s a gleam in his eyes now—bright, electric, and entirely too dangerous. “You’re either incredibly brave or terribly foolish.”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” I shrug, deliberately casual, though my heart is already pounding. “No magic. No wings. Just you, me, and good old-fashioned hand-to-hand.”

Rhys takes another step, and suddenly he’s looming over me, all dark power and infuriating smugness. His voice drops, low and velvety. “You really think you can take me on?”

I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as his scent—night-chilled air and cedar—threatens to fog my mind. “I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

He studies me for a moment, the corners of his mouth curling into a slow, wicked smile. Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, he shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto the stone floor. “Alright, darling. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

I don’t give Rhys time to settle. The moment he’s rolled up his sleeves, I’m already moving, throwing a sharp jab aimed directly at his perfect, insufferable face. He sidesteps with a grace that borders on casual, like he’s stepping out of the way of a falling leaf rather than dodging a strike meant to wipe the smirk off his face.

“That’s cute,” he drawls, his voice rich with amusement.

I grit my teeth and pivot sharply, aiming a kick toward his ribs, but his hand shoots out faster than I can track. His fingers curl around my ankle with maddening ease, holding me in place like I’m a kitten trying to swipe at a lion.

“Careful, darling,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, as if to study my form. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. I’m rather fond of your legs, you know.”

Heat rises in my cheeks, though whether it’s from anger or the way his thumb brushes lightly against my ankle, I can’t say. I twist my leg free with a growl, spinning back to put distance between us.

“You’re insufferable,” I snap, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension coiling there.

His grin widens, the sunlight catching on his teeth. “And you’re predictable. Shall we try again?”

I don’t answer. I lunge forward again, trying to be faster, sharper, unpredictable. I throw a series of punches, each one aimed to force him back, to make him work for his victories. For a moment, it seems like I have him; his weight shifts, his footing adjusts—but then his hand snakes out, seizing my wrist mid-swing.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, pulling me off balance. Before I can recover, he’s behind me, twisting my arm gently but firmly behind my back. His chest presses against my shoulders, solid and unyielding, and his breath ghosts against my ear.

“But not good enough.”

The low rasp of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I don’t even bother to suppress the snarl that escapes me. I stomp down hard on his foot, grinning in satisfaction when he hisses through his teeth. His grip slackens just enough for me to wrench free, spinning to face him once more.

“That’s more like it,” he says, shaking out his foot with an exaggerated wince. His eyes sparkle with mischief, a flicker of heat simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s toying with me. I know it, and he knows it. But I can’t help myself; the challenge in his gaze stirs something reckless in me, something that refuses to let him win.

We fall into a rhythm then, strikes and blocks, feints and counters, the sounds of our movements filling the space around us. His laughter rings out every time he dodges or counters me, a low, infuriating melody that fans the flames of my frustration.

“You’re quick,” he says, effortlessly deflecting a punch. “But you telegraph your moves. Like that little shift in your shoulder just now.” He ducks beneath my next strike, adding with a wink, “You’re giving me too much time to admire the view.”

My cheeks burn, my temper flaring hotter. I push harder, striking with all the strength and precision I can muster. But no matter how fast or clever I think I’m being, he’s always a step ahead, always one movement away from sweeping my legs out from under me.

And sweep them he does. Again.

I land flat on my back with a grunt, dirt clinging to my skin and hair. Before I can move, his boot hovers just above my chest—not pressing, not pinning, just a reminder that he’s still in control.

“Need a break, darling?” he asks, his voice laced with mock concern. “Or shall we keep going? I’m happy to wait if you need a moment to—”

I slap his boot away and scramble to my feet, my breathing ragged, my pride thoroughly bruised. “I’m going to wipe that smirk off your face, Rhysand.”

His grin deepens, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sends my pulse skittering. “I’d like to see you try.”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. This time, I focus, letting my frustration fuel me without clouding my mind. I circle him slowly, watching every subtle shift in his stance, every twitch of his muscles. When I strike, it’s deliberate—a feint to the left, a sharp kick to the right, a series of rapid punches meant to disorient him.

And for a moment, it works.

He moves to grab my wrist, but I twist out of his grip, using his momentum against him. My hands find his shoulders, and with a surge of strength I didn’t know I had, I shove him backward. He stumbles, his balance faltering just enough for me to tackle him.

The world tilts, and the next thing I know, we’re both on the ground. Dust rises around us, the faint scent of earth and sweat filling my senses. My thighs bracket his hips, my hands pinning his wrists to the dirt above his head.

For a moment, everything goes still.

His chest rises and falls beneath me, his dark hair spilling messily across the ground. Those violet eyes, usually so full of amusement, are wide with something else now—something sharper, hotter.

“Well,” he says after a beat, his voice rougher than before, “this is new.”

I lean down, close enough that my hair brushes against his cheek. “What’s the matter, High Lord?” I murmur, my breath ghosting over his lips. “Not so smug now, are we?”

His gaze flickers to my mouth, his eyes darkening with a heat that makes my stomach tighten. His wrists shift beneath my hands, testing my grip, but I press down harder, refusing to let him regain the upper hand.

His lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. “Careful, darling,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “You might start something you can’t finish.”

The tension between us crackles like lightning, the air thick with the heat of the fight and something far more dangerous.

And gods help me, I don’t think I want to stop.

I stay there for a beat longer than I need to, straddling his waist, my hands firm on his wrists, holding him down. His chest rises and falls, brushing against mine with every labored breath. The moment hangs heavy between us, the fight draining away and leaving something far more dangerous in its wake.

I lean closer, so close that our noses nearly brush. His eyes are dark now, the violet swallowed by endless, stormy depths. His lips part slightly, as though he’s already anticipating what I’ll do next.

I let my gaze drop to his mouth, deliberately slow, watching as his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. My own lips curve into a wicked smile as I lean even closer, until our breaths mingle, the heat of him sinking into my skin.

“You’re all talk, Rhysand,” I whisper, my voice low and taunting. My lips ghost against his, so faintly it could be an accident—or a promise. “For all your big words, I don’t think you can handle me.”

His breath catches, the smallest sound slipping from him—a soft, needy noise that makes satisfaction curl deep in my belly.

His hands tense beneath mine, his body taut like a bowstring, and for a moment, I think I’ve won. He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world, his focus razor-sharp, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

But then I pull back, dragging my lips away before they can touch his.

I start to shift, moving to stand, intending to let him stew in his frustration. “Better luck next time, High Lord,” I toss over my shoulder, my voice dripping with mockery.

But I’ve barely lifted myself off him when everything shifts.

A startled gasp escapes me as his hands break free from my hold, his movements faster than I can react to. The world tilts, and suddenly, it’s my back hitting the ground, the air knocked from my lungs.

And now it’s him above me.

He looms over me, his body pressing me into the earth, his weight deliciously warm and solid. His hands pin mine on either side of my head, his fingers wrapping around my wrists with a firmness that sends a shiver racing down my spine.

“Was that supposed to rile me up?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a raw edge to it, a crack in the smooth facade that tells me exactly how much I’ve gotten under his skin.

His nose brushes against mine as he leans closer, so close that his hair falls around us like a curtain, shutting out the rest of the world. His scent surrounds me—crisp night air, cedar, and something uniquely him, intoxicating and overwhelming.

“You think you can tease me, taunt me, and just walk away?” His lips hover just above mine, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath. “Not a chance, darling.”

I swallow hard, my chest rising and falling against his, every inch of me hyper-aware of the way his body fits against mine, the heat rolling off him in waves. His eyes are locked on mine, dark and intense, like he’s daring me to look away.

But I don’t.

Instead, I smirk up at him, letting the smallest hint of challenge curl my lips. “What’s the matter, Rhysand? Losing your composure?”

A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest, his grip on my wrists tightening just enough to send a thrill racing through me. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet threat, his lips grazing my ear as he speaks.

“Maybe I like the heat,” I shoot back, my voice breathless but steady, even as my pulse races like a wild thing beneath his touch.

His head dips lower, his mouth brushing the corner of my lips in a touch so fleeting it makes me ache. “Careful,” he murmurs again, his tone dark and laced with promise. “You might just get burned.”

The tension between us is electric, a live wire that hums and sparks, pulling us closer and closer until it feels like I might shatter beneath the weight of it.

I could stop this. I could break the spell, laugh it off, pretend this is still just a game.

The charged silence between us cracks like a dam breaking. I’m not sure who moves first—whether it’s his lips crashing against mine, or mine claiming his—but suddenly we’re kissing, and it’s anything but gentle.

It’s fierce, raw, and hungry. The kind of kiss that steals the air from your lungs and sets fire to every nerve in your body. His mouth moves against mine with an urgency that borders on desperation, like he’s been starving for this—starving for me—and finally has permission to feast.

I arch into him, my body instinctively responding to the weight of his pressing me into the dirt. His hands still pin my wrists above my head, but I’m not about to make this easy for him. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, and then bite lightly at his bottom lip, earning a low, guttural growl that vibrates through his chest.

And just like that, the balance shifts.

I buck my hips up, trying to twist out of his grip. He’s strong—unbelievably so—but I’m nothing if not determined. I manage to wrench one hand free, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as I yank him closer, kissing him deeper. My nails graze his scalp, and he groans into my mouth, his control faltering for just a fraction of a second.

I take my chance, twisting us sideways. The momentum carries us over, and suddenly I’m the one on top, straddling him once more. His dark eyes flash with something between frustration and amusement as I grin down at him, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“Not so easy now, is it, High Lord?” I tease, my voice breathless yet triumphant.

His answer is a feral smile, and before I can fully savor my victory, he surges upward. His hands find my waist, and with a smooth, almost predatory movement, he flips us again.

The ground is rough beneath my back, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is him—his weight pressing into me, his hands sliding down to grip my hips as his lips claim mine once more. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, but no less consuming.

I refuse to surrender.

My hands roam over his back, my nails dragging lightly against the taut muscles beneath his shirt. He shudders above me, and I take that as my opening, wrapping one leg around his waist and using the leverage to push him off balance.

We roll again, the world spinning around us as we grapple for control. Dirt and grass cling to our skin, and the cool evening air brushes against the heat of our flushed faces. I end up on top once more, my knees pinning his hips, my hands braced against his chest.

“Yield,” I demand, my voice rough with exertion, though my lips twitch into a smirk.

His gaze locks onto mine, dark and blazing. “Never,” he growls, and then his hands are on me again, one gripping the back of my neck, the other sliding down to press against the small of my back. He pulls me down, and our mouths collide once more.

This kiss is different. It’s not just hunger or passion—it’s a battle. A clash of wills as much as it is a meeting of lips. He kisses me like he’s trying to conquer me, and I kiss him back like I’m determined to prove I can’t be tamed.

Our breaths come hard and fast, mingling in the space between kisses. His hand slides up to cradle my jaw, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a touch that’s almost tender—almost, but not quite, because his lips are relentless, drawing me deeper and deeper into him.

I break away first, gasping for air, but before I can say anything—before I can even catch my breath—he flips us one last time.

Now it’s me beneath him, pinned and breathless, my wrists captured once more in his iron grip. His face hovers inches from mine, his lips curved into a smug, infuriatingly gorgeous smile.

“Do you yield now?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, his thumb brushing against the inside of my wrist in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.

I meet his gaze, defiance burning in my chest even as my heart races wildly. “Not a chance,” I whisper, my lips brushing his as I speak.

His answering laugh is dark and full of promise, and as he leans down to kiss me again, I know this battle is far from over.

Rhys’ mouth descends on mine again, stealing what little breath I have left. His lips are softer this time, his movements slower, more deliberate. He’s not trying to conquer me now—he’s savoring me. His tongue brushes against mine, coaxing a sigh from my throat, and his grip on my wrists tightens just enough to remind me who has the upper hand.

But I’m not about to admit defeat, not even with the ground cool beneath my back and his weight pressing me into the dirt. My leg hooks around his, trying to gain some kind of leverage, but all it does is bring him closer—too close. His chest is flush against mine now, his body an unyielding wall of heat and strength.

I bite his bottom lip lightly, pulling back just enough to catch my breath. “You’re insufferable,” I manage to whisper, my voice shaky but laced with playful defiance.

“And you’re irresistible,” Rhys counters smoothly, his eyes dark and glittering as his lips trail from my mouth to my jawline. He takes his time, teasing a path down the column of my throat. My skin burns under his touch, every nerve alight, and I let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

I arch against him, and he groans, the sound low and rough like it’s been dragged from the very depths of him. His lips hover just above my collarbone, his breath warm and tantalizing, when a familiar voice slices through the air.

“Training fields,” Azriel says dryly, his tone flat and unimpressed, “are for training. Not… whatever this is.”

My entire body stiffens, and I freeze beneath Rhys, mortified. I manage to tilt my head just enough to catch a glimpse of Azriel standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and his face impassive—though I swear there’s the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

Rhys doesn’t move immediately. Of course, he doesn’t. If anything, he looks even more infuriatingly relaxed, propping himself up on his elbows as he turns to glance over his shoulder.

“Whatever this is?” Rhys repeats with a smirk, his voice utterly unbothered. “I think it’s quite obvious, Az. Would you like a demonstration?”

I groan, my cheeks burning so hot I’m certain I could melt the dirt beneath me. Without thinking, I grab the front of Rhys’ shirt and tug him down, burying my face in the fabric to shield myself from Azriel’s gaze.

“Don’t you dare,” I hiss into Rhys’ chest, though it comes out muffled.

Rhys chuckles, the sound rich and deep and maddeningly pleased. “What?” he says innocently, though his hand slides to my back, holding me securely against him as though he has no intention of letting me hide anywhere else. “Azriel clearly interrupted something very important. He should be properly educated on the consequences of such rudeness.”

“You’re impossible,” I grumble, my voice still muffled.

“And yet, you can’t seem to resist me.” His voice dips lower, teasing, and I know without looking that he’s grinning like the cocky bastard he is.

“Rhys,” Azriel says again, this time with a sharper edge to his voice, being the only one who can talk to him like this. “Get up. Now.”

“Fine, fine,” Rhys sighs, finally releasing my wrists and sitting back on his heels. He doesn’t move away, though—no, of course not. Instead, he leans down, brushing a kiss against my temple before murmuring, “We’ll finish this later, darling.”

I swat at his chest, still too embarrassed to meet Azriel’s gaze, but the traitorous part of me—the one still reeling from the heat of Rhys’ kiss—wonders if he means it.

Rhys stands, offering me a hand, and though I’m tempted to refuse, I know there’s no escaping this without his help. As he pulls me to my feet, I finally dare a glance at Azriel. His face is a mask of calm indifference, but the faint quirk of his lips betrays his amusement.

“If you’re done rolling around in the dirt,” Azriel says, his wings flaring slightly as he turns away, “some of us actually came here to train.”

I groan again, burying my face in my hands. Rhys’ laughter follows me as I stalk toward the nearest bench, determined to regain some semblance of dignity—even if my heart is still racing and my lips are still tingling from his kiss.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222 @illyriassweetheart @rainswriting-blog

143 notes · View notes

bloodlust-1 · 1 year ago

Note

Are you still taking requests? I literally cannot control myself when it comes to angst so I was thinking of a fic where Tav gets kidnapped by Cazadors spawns and is getting tortured by him, so Astarion goes crazy with worry and anger trying to get them back

Like I said i am insatiable when it comes to angst

The dramaaaaa.... LET'S DO THISS SHITT. I do love me some angst too :')

Hope you enjoy @blades-are-for-skating-ya-dingus <3

. Shackles .

Astarion x fem Tav — angst

T/W: abuse, blood

Notes: I’m so proud of this one ahh. This makes me hate Cazador even more.

Tav's body trembled as the shackles dug into her wrists, her bare skin exposed to the cold, damp air of the dungeon. She had been captured by Cazador one night by his spawns. Tav never returned back to camp that night, and the only thing that was left for Astarion was a note he found on a spawn:

-------

"My Dear spawn, how dare you to run away from me. Know that there will be consequences for your actions, and your lover will not be spared from my wrath. You will regret ever crossing me, my child."

-------

Her wrists were bound by heavy shackles, chains attached to the wall, preventing her from moving more than a few inches. The sharp metal dug into her skin, causing her to wince in pain every time she struggled against them. Her body was covered in bruises, cuts, and burns, the result of Cazador's ruthless torture techniques.

Cazador stood in front of Tav, a wicked grin on his face. He held a whip in his hand, the same one he had used to lash Tav's back until it bled. She could barely lift her head to look at him, her body exhausted and broken.

"Pathetic," Cazador sneered, his eyes filled with malice. "You thought you could hide from me? A mere mortal challenging a vampire? How foolish."

Cazador stood in front of her, his face twisted into a sadistic grin. "You think your lover, Astarion, will save you from me? He will help me ascend and be nothing more than dirt on the floor. And soon, you will be too. Tell me where is the boy."

Tav's heart sank at the mention of Astarion's name. All Tav wanted was to trade with a merchant to gift Astarion a better dagger. But now, here she was, captured and tortured.

"Never," Tav spat, defiant even in the face of her tormentor.

Cazador's grin widened. "We'll see about that, my dear. We have ways of making you talk."

He signaled to his spawn, Petras, and he poked at Tav's skin with a hot metal rod. She cried out in pain, her body bruised and bloodied. But she refused to say any information.

"You will never have Astarion again," Tav gasped, her voice weak from the beatings.

Cazador's smile turned into a scowl, and he grabbed Tav's chin roughly, forcing her face to meet his. "You wretched thing."

Cazador motioned for Petras to stop as he approached Tav, snatching the hot iron rod from Petras’s hand. Tav's eyes widened in terror as she realized what he was about to do.

"Please, no," she begged, tears streaming down her face.

But Cazador didn't listen. He pressed the hot iron against Tav's skin, causing her to scream in agony. The smell of burning flesh filled the dungeon.

"I will make you suffer until you give me what I want," Cazador growled, enjoying every moment of Tav's pain.

Tav's body shook with sobs as the torture continued. She thought of Astarion, their love, and their plans for the future. She refused to let Cazador break her, even if it meant her death.

"I said no, you bastard!," Tav cried, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Cazador continued to torture her, and Tav's thoughts became consumed with memories of Astarion. The way he looked at her with love, the cold touch of his lips on hers.

"I love you, Astarion," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

But as the darkness of the dungeon consumed her, Tav feared she'd never see Astarion again.

Astarion's heart raced as he crept through the dark and musty corridors of the dungeon. His mind clashed between anger and guilt. Astarion feared that Tav was somewhere within these walls, shackled and tortured by Cazador.

When Astarion reached Tav's cell, he caught sight of her. Tav's face was pale and bruised. She was shirtless and barely conscious.

But even in this state, Tav was still the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

His hands trembled as he quickly picked the lock, and with a loud click, the chains that bound Tav fell to the ground, and Astarion's heart swelled with relief and anger. He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring Tav's cries of pain from the bruises and cuts covering her body.

"Shh, my love. It's me," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I've come to take you away from this place."

Tav's tear-stained face looked up at him, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Astarion? How did you find me?"

Astarion fixated his eyes on Tav's face, the sight of her hurt gaze ached his dead heart. "I will always find you, no matter where they try to hide you." He pulled the shirt off his back and covered Tav's bare chest.

Carefully, Astarion carried Tav out of the dungeon, making sure to avoid any spawns or traps along the way. It was especially hard when Tav winced to every movement.

Astarion stealth his way out of the palace and went back to camp. He felt anger gnawing at his chest. He should have been there to protect Tav, But he had failed, and now Tav had suffered because of his shortcomings.

When they got back to camp, their companions rushed to their side, relieved to see Tav alive. Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, and Karlach swarmed around Astarion.

"Get out of the way! She needs to rest!" Astarion snapped in a fit of anger. His emotions were pouring out in the worst possible way, and whoever was in the way needed to move.

Astarion gently settled Tav onto his bed, frowning at the sight of her bruised and battered body. She winced in pain as he placed her down, but he quickly reassured her, "I'll take care of you."

He grabbed a small bucket of water and a cloth, carefully cleaning the dried blood and dirt from her skin. Tav winced again, tears streaming down her face as he touched her injuries.

Gods this is all my fault. Astarion gritted his teeth from the sting of remorse.

"It's going to be alright," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you like this again."

Cazador will pay for this.

Tav weakly reached out to wipe away the tears that had fallen from his eyes, a small smile tugged on her chipped lips. "Don't cry, Astarion. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her stubbornness, even in her injured state. "Your wit amazes me, my dear."

Astarion continued to clean and tend to her wounds, his hands gentle and careful than anything he'd ever touched in the past 200 years. Tav winced and hissed in pain, but she never once pulled away. She simply gripped his hand tightly as he worked, her eyes shut tightly.

Tav winced as he tended to a particularly deep cut on her arm. "It hurts," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

"I know, my dear," Astarion's eyes narrowed at her pain. "But I promise, I'll make it better."

After what seemed like hours, Astarion finally finished and leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. "There, all done."

Tav slowly opened her eyes and looked down at her now clean and bandaged skin. "Thank you..." The burn marks would scar her skin forever. It was something Tav looked past for her own sake.

"You are strong," he continued, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "And I will do everything in my power to protect you and keep you safe from Cazador."

Tav reached up and cupped his cheek, she whispered. "I trust you.."

Astarion leaned down and pressed his lips against Tav's, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss. Tav pushed against his lips gently, while his hands held Tav's shoulders. When they pulled away Tav could see the desperation in his eyes and it was heartbreaking.

"Rest now, my dear. I'll be here when you wake up." And with that, Astarion stayed by Tav's side, watching over her as she drifted off to sleep.

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

#bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion #bloodlust 1 #astarion angst #bg3 angst

634 notes · View notes

storieldraw · 4 months ago

Text

I don't know with whom I can share what I feel, but I feel myself weaponized lately.

Many times I've been forced to talk about sexual life of someone. No, I wasn't physically harassed, it was just talks. When I started feeling uncomfortable, people around me started manipulating and blame me. For example, saying:

"Haha, it's not possible to talk with you about sex, so I'm gonna have fun with others. You should grow up because this is normal for everyone". And pretending that I have problems if I can't "freely" speak about sex. When I'm not interested in.

Mind you, I'm more than fine to talk about sex and discuss. When it's not forced and not just a random topic to howl. You should firstly ask your opponent if they feel comfortable or not. In other cases, you are an asshole.

I'm tired that people project sexual positivity as a freedom to speak about sex anytime and anywhere. It is lust. It's not about positivity. I've started to feel traumatized and assaulted because discussing someone's sexual experience is violating. Even if it is just words.

Especially when you said no. If you say "grow up, it's normal" -- go to hell. Go teach yourself how to speak about it safely with your closed one. If you are friends with someone, this doesn't mean you can't control your language. You have to learn it.

In other cases, I really felt myself as a trapped person with a rapist. Which does no physical harm, but expresses his wishes in a very dirt way. If someone will try to shut me with "it's your problem", you are not welcome here. Start looking in the mirror too.

I've started calling hotlines just to understand am I normal or no. Everytime they have been reassuring me that this is a trauma caused by victimblaming and manipulating that I'm just not grown up enough to talk "adult" talks, forcing me to talk about it bc otherwise I'm a ghost.

I don't know what I want from this thread. I just want to feel that I'm not alone in this shit. I guess that's all.

#tw: sex mention #tw: harassment #artists on tumblr #support #thoughts #text

141 notes · View notes

barelylivingscholar · 10 months ago

Text

Arlecchino with a daughter tw: unhealthy family relationships, manipulation, and gore(?), suicidal thoughts, unstable/mentally ill daughter. Not for the faint of heart, heavy angst, a somewhat positive ending in the last part(?) (Do not read if uncomfortable)

An: I am backkkkk, second semester and last semester’s finals kept me busyyyyyy but I’m here again to post some stufffffff!! Not hsr related but like I also write for Genshin now, apparently… Will post a part two, I guess? “Father. When am I able to hang around with the others? I have done everything that you’ve asked for.” A young girl asked, to which “Father” responds with, “You need to focus on the task in hand. I still have many more missions for you to do before I set you free.” The girl sighed, knowing very well that she may as well never be able to be allowed to play with the other kids… For a moment, the girl had wished that she wasn’t the only one to deal with this kind of burden. The burden being, the “successor” of “Father.” She wanted to play with the other kids as well, but alas, her father does not permit her to do so. Instead, excuses are made, and the standard Fatui discipline is instilled in her mind, always have to act proper and professional, not allowed to shed a tear, or to feel strong feelings regardless of what the matters are. I hate it here. I do not wish to stay here any longer. Every day feels like I am only made to be the person that “Father” wishes me to be. I am never truly happy. I am sinking. Father was not family. This whole thing is and always was, a lie. Do I ever get to be free? Perhaps I can set myself free. There is a way. ̶T̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶q̶̶u̶̶e̶̶s̶̶t̶̶i̶̶o̶̶n̶ ̶i̶̶s̶, ̶a̶̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶l̶̶l̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶d̶̶o̶ ̶i̶̶t̶? --- After burning the corpse of their enemies, I return to the House of the Hearth, albeit bloody and face that is smudged of dirt, the smell of blood and gasoline lingers around me. With every passing servant, caretakers, and also children as well, unsettled and left shaken up at the sight of me. I stained the carpets red. I wonder if “Father” would notice as the carpet is in the same shade of the blood of her enemies…? Will she punish me and discipline me? Although words are exchanged, no form of physical harm done, I am still left isolated. Like I am to be a monster kept away from people… I feel caged.

This time, I didn’t bother to clean up and went straight ahead to father’s office. Where I know I’ll be punished for such a careless mistake. “Father, I have returned.” I greet, looking to see her eyes staring straight at me. For once I don’t cower. I simply walk up to her and wait for her response. I have no reason to be scared, right? I don’t think I care anymore. Father’s eyes narrowed. The sight of blood that wasn’t mine, the smell of gasoline, in her eyes, I may as well be the filthiest child in the house. One that is simply, uncouth for the position of “successor.” “Why have you not followed protocol? Especially contingency 8? Have I not taught you well?” Her voice sharp, dissatisfied with my performance. It must be a surprise for her that her “successor” had become disobedient. What is she going to do to me, I wonder? Dispose of me? Or would she find someone else who is to succeed her as the “Father” of the House of the Hearth. “I… I have no other excuses.” I was unable to control my voice. It was shaky, wavering. I hate it. Father’s eyes seemed to had harden. I am interested with what is going to be the left of me once this is all over. I look forward to it. I want her to snap at me. Kill me. Foul words for a child like me, but this is what I planned. Maybe it is best that I sleep in eternal slumber instead rather than live a life full of misery. I have nothing to be grateful here. I am not thankful that I am still alive today. “…You are hereby stripped of the title “successor.” You are no longer worthy of the title. I am disappointed.” Is that it? No severe punishments? My mind raced; I was unable to comprehend why had she punished me in a way that is so… Little? Had she gone soft? I do not remember anything that made her want to punish me lightly. Don’t I deserve… More? My brows had furrowed. “Father” did not miss that. “Daughter… Are you, upset?” Her voice sounded confusing, to me. Why do you suddenly care? I don’t understand you at all. I do not feel safe at all. Are you really “family?” “…I’m fine.” I say, my voice a little tight. Unshed tears on my face, I am no fool. I do not need your love.

“You are now excused.” Never had I ever left her office so quickly after that. I had to get away…! I need to get out of here… I breathed heavily as I ran and ran… Until there is nowhere to go. The heavy snow had engulfed me. And soon… I was unconscious. I awoke to an unfamiliar place. This is not the House of the Hearth. I quickly got up, ignoring the sudden rush of blood shooting up due to how fast I went up. I ignore the throbbing pain on my forehead, I focused on my surroundings instead. Where am I? This place is… Different. I jolted as I felt a hand on my shoulder, immediately backing off and grabbing a hidden dagger in my boot. “Stay there! I will stab you!” I hissed. Glaring at the mysterious figure. They looked… Kind. I am not supposed to feel that way. There are no kind people in this world. Everyone I know will always lie to me, manipulate me for their gain. Just like “Father.” Just like them…

The stranger had knelt down and attempted to soothe me. I only responded with aggression and threats. They weren’t phased at all. “Who are you? I am no ordinary orphan! I am a murderer!” I shouted, clearly agitated. The man in a familiar coat had not reacted violently at all. I am confused. And angry. “I am Pantalone. “Regrator” from the Fatui. I assume you are one of the Knave’s lost children…” My eyes widened at the statement. He is no ordinary man… I should’ve known, I gritted my teeth and gripped my dagger tight. “I am not her orphan! I am no longer a part of that… I could care less if you are a part of the Fatui, I will die gladly in vain if I have to fight for my freedom!” I hissed. The man is amused. I can tell by the look in his eyes. “I have a better proposal for you, child.” “Regrator” inquired. I had not chosen to back down even at the prospect of an offer. “What makes you think I will take it?” I replied, gripping the dagger tight. “I will not surrender you to the Knave. Rather, I’ll take you in as my disciple.”

Disciple? Is this man sick in the head? Why would I agree to that? It seems “Regrator” had heard my thoughts, and so, he added, “Although, it is up to you if you would rather be surrendered back to the Knave… Or join me and I’ll give you a much better purpose, in life… Not that you have any choice on the matter if you decline my offer…” I had no sense of purpose to live for. I am merely an empty shell of what I was once. I have nothing to achieve… In the end, I don't have what it takes to truly end my life. So I will follow my new superior. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be easily obedient. I am rather mad.” And it was the start of something anew… I had become, “Regrator’s disciple.” I wonder how “Knave” will react to such arrangements… An: Part two will include Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. There will be other characters who will be included as well but, part one's story was set before Lyney became the sucessor of the House of the Hearth. I am thinking of interesting ideas to write for this story and some alternate routes as well... We'll see once I whip up part two.

#platonic genshin x reader #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact #arlecchino x reader #pantalone x reader #fatui harbringers x reader #platonic genshin impact #daughter!reader

167 notes · View notes

pretzel-box · 4 months ago

Text

Hello everyone.

This will be a rather long post about some things I wanna adress, including the fact that I plan to stop writing for Pressure, my OCS and other peoples Ocs in the near future.

Down under the cut is a list with my personal view, issues and some other things that lead to this decision. Maybe I miss a lot or don't go too deep into detail but the main points are covered.

But before I would like to add that this is MY opinion and MY choice. I let you think of it what you want but I also request that you respect my actions.

The first point is probably already clear from the start. Maybe some noticed, maybe not but I fell out of love with the fandom and the game itself. It became boring to play, the characters lost their charm and I can't come up with any creative scenarios anymore and the ones that already exists have lost their meaning. This may sound like the typical burnout thing and maybe it is but I'm more than certain that I wanna step away from the game and the fandom to focus on other things that bring me more joy. Maybe I start a multifandom writing blog or I just learn another hobby.

The second thing that is close connected to the first point is the fandom of the game, including the community on tumblr. A huge part are super sweet people with a very creative side. I would go as far and say that I brought some of those together with my projects and writing and it really makes me happy to see everyone interact so friendly on my blog.

But something that I haven't adressed is the fact that there are also plenty of hardcore fans, haters and weird people in my askbox or general in the fandom. It is to be expected when someone gains a massive amount of followers. But I do not accept the fact that people judge me based on what I write, who I write for, when I write and if I write at all. I delete those asks. Some telling me that my community project is awful, unserious and pulls other ocs into dirt. Other people are claiming that I don't write Sebastians Character right and oh wow seriously? I am not Sebastians creator, I do not have that ultimate deep lore and mindset to write a person 1:1. I get hate for my own stories and of course the fans could now come to my protetion and say „But Chea don't listen to the haters, you are amazing“ but it doesn't fix the thing in a slightest.

Also regards the people that praise me, some of them ( I won't name anyone) are counting to those weird people that force me. There were 2 or 3 people that acted all sweet in public only to try and take control of some story plots etc.

Also, I started writing when Pressure was first raising to be popular. There weren't many pressure writers out there. I am usually not someone that posts their work online, I don't comment on stuff and I rarely like something. But I really wanted to see more pressure fanfictions. Now we reached the point where there are more than plenty amazing writers and I can quit. There is no need for me to continue something that only makes me hate myself more because everytime I open my notes to write a story for pressure it feels like a mental torture. I leave the writing to the other blogs.

The status for now:

AASB gets discontinued.

Reverse AU gets discontinued.

Streamer AU will recieve 6 more chapters to end the story on a good term.

House of Entities will get continued for a small period of time, probably till I am done with the Streamer AU. There is no plan for the chapter count yet.

All requests in the inbox will get deleted and the inbox itself will be closed after Streamer AU finished.

Any other unnamed project will get discontinued as well.

All stories, one shots, series, drabbles and other works of mine are free to use. Other authors can pick them up, re-write them or just make an own story out of those. I drop all rights for the ideas and I won't demand any credits either. Maybe someone else would like to continue House of Entities as well.

My final word, which may sound repeating: I do not change my opinion, there won't be any motivation talks or sugar coated words that will change my stand in those things. I know some of you will try and comfort me but this is really not needed. I wish for you all to accept the outcome of this situation and move on more or less.

I apologize dearly because this is very sudden and I hope you all will understand.

-Chea

89 notes · View notes

vyainide · 8 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤthree–legged deerㅤ౨ৎㅤ4.3k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

educate yourself. 🍉

synopsis. trafalgar law is uselessly sympathetic to a vampire without a sire— he suffers as he learns that a monster without a mother is an animal without a leash. injured or not, it has its fill.

tag(s)&warning(s). afab! reader, nsfw 🤗, modern au, fledging vampire! reader, surgeon! law, reader nd law are both crazy switches, violence, blood drinking, biting, vampire/human relationship, don't ask ab the dynamic cause i have no answers for you, dub–con, non-linear narrative, law is a freak (for lack of better term) and likes being in control; he obviously is not in control...., blood, gore, cumming in pants (law you freak !!!!), cannibalism mention, pwp

from vyon. i've been listening to sir chloe's "i am the dog" album too much recently... i'm not sorry, i love law and i love freaks and i love the devotion that comes with devouring. UNHINGES MY JAW AND EATS TRAFALGAR LAW WHOLE. sorry, this was supposed to be quick and easy but i started ovulating sooo... might be cross–posted onto ao3 if i'm feeling up to it :3 honestly had to stop myself at 4k words cause realistically, i could have gone on and on and on and never ended up releasing this as it'd just end up as a neverending wip

don't repost / copy / translate.

“Even if you ask nicely, I have nothing for you.” There’s a mean lilt to Law's voice that makes you twitch, curling closer to your knees as you pressed down harder on the open wound to the side of your abdomen. It doesn’t take an idiot to know that he's enjoying the view— getting to see you crumpled over and laying at his feet, a hand on your side, the other clutching his pants, your head on his knee. Law’s eyes flicker from your hunched form, whimpering, to his fridge. His hand falls on the bicep closest to him and he pulls you up, “I’ll fix you up now and, in the morning, I’ll get you blood.” There's a dragged path of dirt from his door to where you're sat; handprints of grass and blood marked into his previously clean floor. He'll force you into the bathtub after this.

It’s bad practice, keeping an undomesticated vampire by you but Law can’t help the itch that crawls up his spine when he finds you laying by his feet; the satisfaction that unfurls inside him and brushes up against some depraved part of him that’s gone undetected for so long— it’s much too good to pass up on. Plus, you’ve always been the docile kind— the absolute horror that marked your features when Law had caught you on the floor of some old car, hunched over an open abdomen, hands deep into the heart comes to him at night sometimes. The widening of eyes, lips parting to threaten a scream like you’d caught him eating a man. The memory pushes him to amusement, his head rolling to the side as his hands fall onto your waist.

You let out a pained groan as Law forces you into your feet, he soothes you off your weight with his hand on the side of your waist that isn’t bloody and drags you to the island in his kitchen. Setting you down, he steps back to trace eyes over you— he clicks his tongue when he finds out, you don’t look as nice when you're at his eye–level.

There's a vile weight to your wound when Law moves away from you. You don’t feel him anymore as his footsteps round the island, then you hear some cabinets opening and then closing; when he rounds back to you, he’s fixing gloves onto his hands. Your eyes flicker through your lashes, a sharp snap resounds as he lets go of the rubber and it bounces back onto his wrist. Your breathing stutters, a burn behind unblinking eyes; you trace the curves of the veins that colour against tanned skin and everything else blurs. There’s suddenly a rhythmic beating in your head that drowns out Law’s voice and brings an itch to your gums, your side burns when your fingers tightened down around the wound— blood splitting through the cracks of your fingers and ruptured flesh, blood dripping down onto Law’s kitchen island, blood staining your hands, blood, blood, Law, blood. Your heart beats in twos. Blood. Law. Blood. Law. Fucking Law full of— you hiss in pain.

His features are impressively unmoved as he moves your hand away from your side and uses his other hand to push back at your shoulder, so you’re no longer curled into yourself. He peels away the shirt clinging to your skin and his expression scrunches around a mid–point of his face when he sees it. “Stay still, don’t be stupid and move.” He's awkwardly bent down to study the details of the wound and ponders on things like how it'd need to be treated; there’s no reason for him to be so close, his breath near heavy on your flesh. There’s a vague sickness haunting your gums, an itch deep-set in the holes beneath every tooth, a dryness to the saliva on your tongue as Law’s head tilts and you’re suddenly given a view of his neck.

There’s a quietness to you that’s stifling as Law pokes around your wound to assess nerve damage, he makes an attempt to nod his head up for a moment but is ultimately stopped by your face suddenly burrowing under his ear, your paced breathing suddenly brings his heart to life when it’s on his skin. “What are you doing?” His voice is oddly strained as a low hum sounds in your throat.

“Dizzy,” you mumbled lamely, and he sighs, almost relieved for a reason he doesn’t know. Right— of course this amount of blood loss has you weakened.

You push your head further in, close enough that he can feel your eyelashes dragging slow with each blink across his collarbone, your nose brushes away the collar of his shirt, and dried lips scratch his skin as your head moves up, so your mouth is sat at the base of his neck, your head under his jaw.

Law’s face scrunched up, a taste of annoyance at his mouth, “straighten up, I can’t see what I’m working with here.” And when you don’t move in accordance with his words, he's jerking back, anger flaunts his face, and he shoves at your shoulder to straighten up your back. An unperturbed gaze stares back at him, a pitfall trap awaits him when he meets the lens of your eyes, a deep cavity coloured in an eerie pink— near bleeding into red that almost makes Law dizzy, something sweet sits at the tip of his tongue as the face of a sheep cracks wide open. Its mouth rips open clean, skin splitting across the end of its mouth straight to its ears, as if it was made to unhinge that way, like there’s a threading you could pull out to allow its disconnected head to flop back onto its back like a puppet made for play. The forehead of the sheep knocks against the top of its shoulders; a wolf stares back at Law, and it mimics a mangled cry, sounding like a bleating of a sheep.

“Law, please.”

His bones lock into place and he feels a rupture of panic drown him, his senses dulled with a sweet nectar that'd urged him to you; you’re still sat where Law had placed you, too afraid to move in case you crossed too many boundaries, your eyes begging and pleading like you were still stood outside the threshold of his apartment, waiting for his permission to enter. There’s something in him that tells him to get away, run, anything to put some space in between you two and he finds the voice distastefully familiar—it brings about memories of pink feathers and his face scrunches up first in fear and then in amusement. Because it’s you, the weak-willed, spineless vampire that’s grown overly dependent on a human to supply bagged blood for it instead of hunting for its own lunch, and he was comparing that to an existence that knew nothing but cruelty and hatred. It takes one word, a twitch of his eyebrow, the pull of a frown to get you to retreat— he knows that well. But there’s a compulsion in him that wants to see where this takes him— an intrigue that’s always had its morbid way with him, stroked by your sudden insistence.

It's by choice that he allows you to push this further, duck your head neatly into your chin and gloat your pretty eyes up at him through flickering lashes, Law lets you intrude into his sense of personal space— there’s nothing stopping him from stepping back, forcing you away from him once more, telling you to wait, you’ve given him the power to do these things to you after all, but he doesn’t. His breath is a sharp exhale; Law’s body tenses and his face contorts— into an expression you’re sure you’ve seen before. You suddenly find it odd that you’re looking down at him; you expect a scream as your teeth drags deeper than the comical two holes you’ve seen in movies. Your incisors drag through flesh like bulldozers as you bite down, his skin rips and tears under the collar of his white button; you can still smell the lemon air freshener hung around the rear-view mirror, tangy as it hangs on the iron of his blood— it makes your nose itch and the blood taste weird on your tongue. You hear his mumblings about daughters and a wife, and you have to wonder which one of them you caught him at the hotel at; either way, it would be bad you think. If his wife was that young, if he was taking his daughters to hotels.

Law’s hand tightened on your shoulder, the memories of the night in the car park escape you again but they linger on your tongue; Law’s face, when you look at him, is all pinched together, a burdening mess and his hold turns harsh, for a second you think there’s a violence that’ll meet you tightened in his fist but he merely shoves you back onto the counter. It’s cold but it’s not uncomfortable. Hovering over you, Law is close enough for you to hear his fascinating heartbeat— this too is familiar, but you recognise it a little earlier into that night, when your eyes caught that man’s and you saw him stumbling into the hotel with the girl under his arm. A constant, steady hum. So, you push. Eyes stubbornly on Law’s face, his pinched eyebrows and his bottom lip hooked under his teeth, you watch as, fraction by fraction, his face relaxes when you finally lay your lips on him. It’s salt and it’s sweat and it’s warm; it burns the hunger in you alive when you stop kissing his neck, parting your lips over his skin to nip at his flesh.

It's all you do until he’s purposefully pressing his hip down on your thigh, pushing your lips against his neck in wet kisses until he’s delirious enough to chase after his own pleasure. You feel his hand drag up your thigh, pulling along the flesh until it stretches no longer and has to give up to tighten his palm against a new expanse of skin. Law, when you turn your head to look at him, has a hunger so vivid in his eyes that you think you’re looking into a mirror. You didn’t know you were laughing until Law has a hand around your cheeks, pulling your face away from his neck, “what’re you laughing at?”

The glare in his eyes doesn’t do much to stop you from laughing, only spurns on a more unforgiving pitch of laughter as you bend your knee, “this.” Law winces, his body doubling over yours on his kitchen island when you push against the obvious bulge behind his tight jeans. His head falls onto your shoulder and your lips are back to his neck, teasing with your canines; there’s no rush to your actions, like you know that it’s in the flesh to want to be torn, like it’s in man to be devoured.

You hear him curse, pretty, under his breath and his skin burns hot— it reminds you of the blood swimming around under his flesh as he goes back to kneading the plush of your thighs. He drags higher and higher until his hand disappears under the stained ruffles of your skirt and you feel the warmth of his palm over your underwear; for a second, as his thumb presses experimentally around in a certain perimeter until he gets that little gasp from you, you think that this is fine. You think you’d be okay with being underneath Law for a little while longer, just until he works you through that specific high you know he’d be mean about but when you shift your hips upwards to meet his touch, you feel a burn shoot through your side. Wincing, you remember that you’re still bleeding out and your tongue feels obtrusive in your mouth. With the reminder of your injury, you falter momentarily.

You might regret this, but your hand reaches out for Law’s wrist, tightening around his skin and urging for a stop; he looks to you in obvious question. “W–wait,” you huffed, a layer of sweat shining on your forehead. In hindsight, it was a horrible idea to grab Law’s wrist. You feel his unsteady pulse right in your palm, his neck is right there, and there’s some kind of buzzing that leaves your head heavy and awkward.

Law notices something wrong when your hand tightens impossibly hard around his wrist, when your breathing turns heavy and staggered. In his line of work, he’s never been a stranger to vampire victims. Unlike in the movies, there’s nothing romantic nor clean about being bitten by a vampire in reality; real vampires don’t just drink, they eat. Panic rapidly blossoms in his chest, branching out to his nerves and urging all his muscles with a simple task: move. If it were that simple, he’d never had been faced with so many corpses, all mangled and maimed. Law swears he sees your jaw unhinge around his neck, a whimpering ‘sorry’ break through your mouth before your jaw clamps down on his neck. He’s dead, Law thinks, you’ll bite right through all the meat and tear off the flesh from his body and then eat the rest of him as he’s bleeding out and his heart beats louder than its ever done before as he’s imagining his death.

That doesn’t happen.

He feels your cheeks bulge against his jaw twice as you draw the blood away from his body, gulping down hungrily; his body weakens against your ravenous embrace but, as the dots blur into his vision and his eyelids weigh down, you pulled yourself away from his neck. Your tongue presses flat against the comical wound (two clean dots, just like in the movies), and he feels the muscle trail a line of saliva from his neck, across his jaw, and then around the shell of his ear. He doesn’t know what he expects but you press a kiss against his ear awkwardly and then, “you’re still hard, pervert.” When you work up your knee once more, he finds that you’re right. You trail your hands over his arms and hook your finger over the end of his gloves, snapping them off his fingers.

Shame burns through him as embarrassment forces his cold cheeks to warm, but Law’s body is in no position to listen to him right now. Though he has to wonder, if he wasn’t so terribly weakened right now, would he even have it in him to pull himself away from this? You keep pressing your lips against his neck as if you’re trying to wear away the skin, alternating between simple pecks and sucks; lips part and he feels your tongue warm and he braces himself for a prick that never comes. With how reckless you are now, with your arms tightened around his back, the constant movement of your knee against his only growing erection, it's not a reach to assume that Law's blood has healed you up enough.

His hands tightened on your shoulders; aggrieved groans mixed with whimpers spill out of his throat at an alarming rate as you begin to get more precise with your knee. Your hands slowly trail down his back until they reach the waistband of his pants, then they tuck upwards under his shirt and you're pressing down on near the bottom of his back to keep him pressed against your grinding. Law doesn’t think it can get any worse, and it doesn't. But you do press your lips against his, wide and devouring, and your damned tongue is pushing and pushing. It doesn’t get worse. Only Law ends up opening his mouth to let you curl your tongue upwards, flicking up against the roof of his mouth, he can taste his own blood on his tongue, iron heavy between his teeth, and then he’s chasing after the taste.

His hands fist onto the collar of your shirt and pulls you up closer to him. Despite himself, he flinches at the taste of his own blood— smooth — on his traitorous tongue; a taste branded against the depths of his mind like the heavy cloud that clings to the horizon, it's bitter and metallic. A ringing in his head accompanies the soft ‘mmf' that betrays him and gets swallowed up greedily by you some more as you worm your tongue into his mouth, Law shakes and trembles in your grasp; it’s strange, you're raw and starved and governed by an altogether different hunger. He chases after you when you pull back, that makes you stifle a laugh too; his face is furious, his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed like a stroke of thunder, his jaw clenched and tense, hands still tight on your collar. You think he's about to burst, all the creepy, weird things he's wanted that were stuffed down, bottled in his throat; he's going to shatter and take you with him. Your thigh burns from the constant movement under him, hands still weighing him down but then you stop and he's left hanging. He's desperate enough to press himself down without needing prompting, his hands fall onto your hips and he straightens up a little, enough to get a better grasp and to stabilise himself as he tugs your body down the island.

You watched Law, almost in amazement. He fixes his position against your thigh and seriously starts rutting himself against your thigh; you can only watch, a breath stuttering in your throat at how sloppy his movement is and at the fact that he needed no prompting. Men are the dupes of their desires; you’ve seen that quote somewhere before— you didn’t know that you'd one day find Law to be a part of those men. His hair hangs awkwardly over his face as his lips part, and his eyes flutter shut, a shudder works up his spine as his hands tightened on your hips. It's not embarrassment that makes his skin crawl. No, what's eating away at him is the realisation that he's little care for what he looks like and if you end up thinking less of him after this. Vaguely, he feels his fingers press under the hem of your shirt and tightened down on cold flesh as he comes to the dreadful realisation that he's enjoying this. He's harder than he's ever been in his life and all he's done is fucking hump your thigh and kiss you a bit— he, without thinking about it too much more, dials it down to the fact that there must be some kind of aphrodisiac side effect to being bitten.

Thoughts are decisively turned away from him. He's nothing, empty, a marionette on its strings, a vessel to be filled, and for every moment you spend watching and observing and pulling back from his lips, instead of doing anything to help, his frustration builds. It's frustration that builds in Law, a kind that digs deeps into his bones, it’s fury and rage, a desire that eats away at rationale in his mind. “Fuck,” he curses, his head drops onto your collarbone and his pace becomes more purposeful, pressed even closer to your skin for leverage. There’s no room to breathe with how close he is, his head turns up and you can feel his lips against yours, a certain wobble in his upper lip as his tongue parts your lips. His hands drag up the side of your body and his hand bumps against the side of your chest. He grappled with the bra, his shaky hands doing nothing for him you can imagine, you arch your back upwards, your hands joining him to mess with the bra until the hooks and clasps separated.

The grip he has on your tit is unforgiving, grabbing the fat with his hand and squeezing without a care, Law arches off your thigh with a groan.

“I think we're past the point of you grinding on my thigh,” you mused, voice tinted in amusement. You move to straighten up but Law presses you back down within the second.

His eyebrows furrow, jaw clenched. “Don't move, I'm so—,” he trails off into a sigh. The realisation that he's worked himself close enough to an orgasm on your thigh brings an ache that almost as similar to hunger; your teeth itch and you wish you could take them out for a moment.

“Kiss me,” you murmured before you know what you’re saying, your voice throaty and thick. Law doesn’t let you dwell on it much; his lips are fucking searing against yours; your hands fall onto his cheeks and you feel his heart beat so loud just from kissing him, you're surprised that the room isn’t shaking yet. You're aware to the point of discomfort that your underwear is sopping, stained in obvious desires when Law's hand comes back up your thighs.

The flip of your skirt is fumbling, hasty; his hand pushes up your skirt, dragging his palm over the skirt as it covers your stomach and then it turns its attention back to your underwear. His knuckles brush against the hems of underwear, barely catching it as he pushes away the other thigh he'd been neglecting. “Shit,” he breaths when his thumb presses against the cotton material, “you’ve been this wet the entire time?” He presses his bulge back down onto your thigh, “gonna take care of you, promise.”

You nod as his finger drags against you, slow and teasing. His pace staggers, both his hips and his fingers momentarily as his hand moves to stabilise over your thigh; a shudder works through his spine and he's folding over, head falling onto your shoulder as he works through ‘fucks', each one louder than the last. True to his words, after Law has his own numbing taste of pleasure, he turns his attention onto you. One hand fumbled with his belt, undoing it as best he could with his other hand occupied with your pleasure.

Law is no stranger to sex, he's had his own share of lovers, but this, the way he grabs at you and the way he discards any acts to play nice, how he usually proceeds in these moments a mystery to himself— no warm–up, no teasing, no building you up until you're wired and squirming, vibrating. Just a man you've turned lost to his arousal. His hand digs into your flesh, the roughness of the touch chafing against the soft skin of your inner thigh; his eyes blurry and unfocused as he grabs at your underwear and pulls it to the side.

Guttural— the sound that leaves Law is breathed deep out of his nose, gasping against your skin and he, without second thought, sinks a finger right into you. His eyes are stubborn on the hand that’s enviably close to your warmth, watching the change of his skin from tan to pale as your hand goes to grasp his wrist again. Your legs fold upwards, feet finding purchase on the island as Law curls a single finger against the walls of your cunt. Pulling back gives you temporary reprieve— the next thrust comes with Law working a second finger into you. He's methodical with it. He watches. The tightening grip you had on his forearm, the way your head tilts back, lips part open with breathless gasps, everything; there’s little sympathy in how Law watches you— no hesitant strokes, no gentle caresses. This is the Law you'd been egging on, focused on the now, the here, the immediate, the tangible. It's not what he wants, rather what he needs. So, he forces a third finger into you and watches as you yelped, head turning from side to side as your thighs tighten, knees hitting each other.

He finishes tugging down his zipper and the hand moves to atop your knee, Law’s thumb and pinky finger press deep on the side of your knee. “C’mon,” he taunts almost, “how can I take care of you if you’re hiding from me?” His eyebrows raised, urging you sweetly when you turn your gaze to him, lips hooked under your teeth and eyebrows furrowed— you oblige. The reward you get from listening to him is ruining; all three fingers curled up inside you, pulling a shriek from you when you feel his blunt nails drag slow against you. His attention is offered to you in ways that turn your head numb, his finger still fucking into you at that gruelling pace, his body bent down between your legs to gaze down at you. Corners of his lips tug up into a smile, “still hungry?”

You’re not sure, your teeth had been grinding ever since Law’s fingers found their home in you, since you’d found a doghouse at the threshold of his entrance, but you’re not foolish enough yet to deny whatever Law was willing to offer to you so you nod. “Yes, yes, so hungry, yes.” All you see is starbursts, kaleidoscopic flickers that splinter at every angle as Law turns his head, offering you his neck once more. His hand grasps the back of your head, pulling you up gently to his neck; you feel as though you’re drinking from his cupped hands, licking up water before it falls through the gaps of his fingers. You press your dull teeth against his burning flesh first, then you urge your fangs to grow, prodding through his muscle.

You’re hungrier than you’ve ever remembered, even before you became a vampire, it’s reminiscent of a hunger from when you were first born; there’s hunger that isn’t quelled as your mouth attaches to Law’s neck, as you suckle on his blood, as you chafe yourself against his stubborn, moving fingers. There’s an ache in you that reminds you of the day you were born, once covered in blood and twice covered in dirt, Law becomes, to you, a necessary evil in the face of your single, insatiable hunger.

122 notes · View notes

rocketbirdie · 3 days ago

Text

thought dump about the mh wilds beta below the cut. I am playing in japanese with english subtitles on PS5; I play solo; I am, to nobody's surprise, maining the lance. Thought and opinions are in no particular order and kind of not fully coherent:

Settings stuff:

Even the largest HUD and text sizes are too small. Not everybody has a huge honkin screen. That being said, the accessibility settings that DO exist, I am very happy with. I was pleasantly surprised to see an option for dark background behind captions, which goes to show just how goddamn low the bar is LMAO

Slightly related: Sunbreak spoiled me rotten by letting me have total control over which HUD elements are on the screen at all.

PLEASE for the love of all that is good in this world, PLEASE LET US GET RID OF THE RADIAL MENU in the full game. I am the #1 radial menu hater of all time and I do NOT want it hijacking my camera movement.

Thank you capcom for letting me use O=confirm in a world where playstation stubbornly adheres to its pretentious little X button <3

General gameplay stuff:

Where are the ridiculous hairstyles. These people all look too Normal. TEETH OPTIONS????

NO MORE GENDER LOCKED BULL SHITT YEEEEHAAAAW

The story and characters are boring as dirt which is par for the course for MH, but man is it a teensy bit embarrassing how hard they're trying to push it.

THE WORLD FEELS SO ALIVE!! I love seeing packs of both small AND large monsters living in their environments. Everything is so detailed and the map is immense, but not so huge that it's completely overwhelming.

Giving the hunter and palicos voice lines is an affront to gog.

Slinger. eeeugh. It's fine I guess, I just would rather not have it at all. I am a cultured hunter who prefers to fling hot dung with my bare hands

Oh Sweet Lord They're Making Me Pick Dialogue Options In A Monster Hunter Game

WHYYYYY with the always online thing? what is the obsession with this from triple-a devs???? "Online single player" should not be a thing, let alone the last option on the list. What happened to just single player. NO I DO NOT WANT TO USE AN SOS FLARE. Hello can anyone hear me

They did confirm that there will be a pause button in the full game. Right? God I hope so

HOOO BOY I hope they do some major adjustments to the Seikret movement in the full release. Even with the discrete analog stick movement setting on, it's so uncooperative at times. HATE how hard the game tries to make automatic movement happen. I want manual control at all times, and auto-running is not the convenience they think it is. Frustrating enough that I found myself avoiding riding the Seikret on some hunts.

I understand wanting to have a seamless open world experience but man... the lack of any strong distinction between hub and quest, and the fact that you don't just automatically return to the hub after the hunt, is really screwing with my head. It feels wrong and not in a "just give it some time you'll get used to it" kind of way.

LANCE:

Lance feels pretty good in this game!! The shield is very reliable even without any relevant armor skills. I love the finishers they added to the end of the classic 3-poke combos. Gives it just the right amount of extra zest without going overboard.

i won't lie though. i miss sunbreak lance's stupid overpowered shield hop -> leaping thrust combo. even if it's probably for the best that it's gone :(

Counterattacking feels off?? Like it's hard to tell when an attack just connected with my shield, there isn't a strong enough punch to it. Is this the "floatiness" that people were complaining about in the last beta test? Because I totally get it.

Also I have never had any trouble in any prior MH game with cancelling out of the dash attack. Why is it suddenly SO difficult to stop dashing. Petty whiny add-on: let me do the shield dash instead pleeeease pretty please

Combat in general feels kind of weird... I think it's because of the emphasis on realism? I'm perfectly fine with sluggishness in my monhun weapons, but this just feels bogged down. Thought I was going crazy until I tried the hunting horn (another main of mine from GU and Sunbreak) and sheathe->normal running was significantly faster than self-improvement's running speed, which is.... yikes............

side note: gypceros is just as obnoxious as he has always been! A+

#a lot of this sounds kinda bitchy but it's because I CARE ok????? I LOVE YOU MONHUN #i will say though. this demo has definitely reaffirmed my status as a B-team truther 100%#my most scathing opinion is that realism has no place in monster hunter #and that both world and wilds are severely lacking a certain cartoonish whimsy that i dearly miss.#i will take a break now to let my brain and eyeballs rest and maybe return to hunting again tomorrow but this is a good start #monster hunter #mh wilds

34 notes · View notes

misstycloud · 1 year ago

Text

How to stop your husband from being weird: situation one- digging in the middle of the night.

One of the things that I have noticed about my dear husband, Arlo (bless his soul), is the constant digging in our backyard; he leaves in the middle of the night and when I dare glance out the window, I see him. His back is always facing towards me, so I can’t get a good look at his face. He is a very expressive person and I can tell what he thinks from simply looking at his face, hence why this is somewhat concerning.

Had I known that my dearest would wake up during ungodly hours of the night, get dressed, fetch the garden tools from the shed, and then proceed to dig a massive hole, then maybe I would have hesitated to say ‘yes’. (Do not be worried, I love my husband deeply and this was just a little joke.)

Joke aside, it is still very annoying. Does he not know this will keep me awake too? I have work to do and I can’t keep on going if my sleep is this disturbed. I would have to be some sort of abomination- a vampire perhaps?

That is not all; I find dirt particles inside our house; I clean for nothing apparently.

I have tried bringing this up(somewhat hard to ask your spouse why they are leaving you all cold and lonely in the middle of the night) with Arlo, but every time he changed the subject. The audacity! He even asks me if I’m ill and is in need of a doctor. I tell him ‘I am quite fine thank you very much!’ and remind him my eyesight is good, I’m not imagining things and I know he’s been up to something in the yard. I also know he’s not preparing to pot new plants for summer so he better not try that with me.

Last time I tried prying the answer out of him, he finally relented and gave me what I wanted.

His explanation: I have been finding a lot of roadkill and other deceased animals lately. I didn’t want you to have to see it. You know I work so many hours, I don’t have time during the day, that’s why I bury them at night. It’s horrible, but understandable since they’re rebuilding the library and trucks loaded with materials drive by often.

Whether I believe this explanation or not doesn’t matter. There is factor agreeing with his explanation and there are ones that goes agaisnt it.

Those vouching for him: it is true that trucks drive by often these days since the library really did catch on fire recently. It was an unfortunate accident casued(according to the police) by some teenagers. They played around with a lighter and things escalated beyond their control. The saddest part is that I can’t go to the library anymore, I suppose I’ll have to find new hobbies to entertain myself until the library is rebuilt and restocked with books. Another thing is that I do like animals and it definitively wouldn’t be fun to see a run-over one in real life. My husband is very caring and wouldn’t expose me to something he knows I hate, therefore it makes sense for him to bury them in secret. Besides, his job is demanding and he actually wouldn’t be able to do so in the day.

All of this form one solution that is: burying the dead animals in secret from his wife(me) during nighttime as to not disturb me or his work hours. (If we look away from the fact I wake when he does)

Factors indicating he’s lying: how come I have never found a roadkill if they are so common nowadays? It’s unusual for him to come home before me, and if he’s that busy with work, it wouldn’t make sense for him to find all of them before I’ve even caught a whiff of something foul nearby. You see what I mean? Secondly, there is not reason why he should be the one doing all this work. Surely there are professionals dealing with here things? In that case then he should call them instead and tell those truck-drivers to be more careful.

Ultimately this is very suspicious, but what else can I do? Statistically, there is a high chance(I believe?) that your husband will have at least one weird hobby. I will have to live with that and I have said to him ‘I love you more than anything and if this is something you wish to do then o won’t question you.’

He was almost in tears, it was adorable. He said, ‘Yes, my love, thank you. I also love you more than anything in this world and I would be damned if something came between us.’

Afterwards I lectured him on not bringing in dirt in the house again, though. This was his answer: of course not, my darling!

To summarise this incident: my husband still visits the outdoors at night, however not as often as before. I warned him, too, of being careful because a bunch of men have been going missing lately and I’d be devastated if his name came up on of of those reports. I shouldn’t say this- but I will- I’m kind of happy those men are gone. I recognised their names and/or faces from the papers, you see. It turns out that all of them were ones I’d met previously. I won’t bore you with the details, but they weren’t pleasant encounters.

Everyday I have checked the floor for dirt and have found none. This is very good news for my ‘cleaning-spirit’. Whenever I feel Arlo leaving the bed I have decided to relax my mind and go back to sleep again. Then, if I’m still half-awake, I will feel him laying down beside me once more and together we drift off to dreamland.

The lesson I learned from this is that you don’t have to ‘fix’ everything about your partner, and they are allowed to have their special hobbies. There is a difference if you’re being harmed in the process, though. If that’s the case then you should immediately speak up about it and you compromise. Remember, communication is key!

———

Written by: (Y/n) (L/n)

#male yandere #oc #obsessed #yandere oc #possesive #misstycloud oc #Arlo oc #yandere husband x wife reader #How to stop your husband from being weird

164 notes · View notes

howi99 · 4 months ago

Text

A story of a Knight and a Yokai (part 2)

(this is a crossover between Touhou and RWBY. More specifically, the fan manga Osana Reimu.)

RK: *sitting at a table* I must say, the way everything looks reminds me of Mistral or Menagerie.

Crazy Woman?: *sitting at the opposite end of the table, beer in hand* That's a weird name for a country.

RK: *sigh* Yeah, it's a place where a lot of faunus live. People with animal traits.

Crazy Woman?: Oh! Wait, isn't calling that place Menagerie a bit pejoratif?

RK: Oh completely, the human fear the faunus and vice versa. Long history of racism and slavery.

Crazy Woman?: I see those seem to be universal constants in the multiverse. *Sigh* I hope you are better than that.

RK: For the past centuries, my best friend was a giant Jackalope. I am not really picky about the physical aspect of a person.

Crazy Woman?: I see.

RK: ... *Scratching his neck* So... You got a name?

Crazy Woman?: Wait, i forgot to present myself? *Look at the beer in her hand* Uh, must have drank more than i should. *She still takes more* Ah~ *she looks at him* My name is Minako, pleasure to meet you.

RK: *looking ashamed* I'm sorry i can't give you my name, but you can just call me Knight. That's what most people called me.

Minako: *laugh* Ah, don't worry, most people just call me the miko, so i get it.

RK: *nods*

The door to the living room open

Rumia: *Twiggs and dirt in her hair, transporting a little girl under her left arm* Found her!

Little girl: *wave at them* Hello!

RK: *look at the little girl* So you must be Reimu i assume?

Reimu: *nods happily* Yes! And who are you mister knight?

RK: *small laugh* Eh eh eh, you just used my name. You can call me Knight, or mister knight if you prefer.

Reimu: *nodding excitedly* Ok!

Rumia: *slowly putting her on the ground* She hid herself under the temple, gosh it wasn't easy to get her out.

RK: You don't seem upset

Rumia: *shrug* It was my fault in the first place. Beside *pat Reimu's head* she really was well hidden.

Reimu: *pouting* She found me because i couldn't stop laughing at her...

Minako: *laughing* That's my girl!

Rumia: *look at Jaune* So, now that everyone's here, i think it's time you tell us your story, right?

Reimu: *stars in her eyes* Oh?! Stories!?

RK: Take a seat, it's gonna be a long one. Or i guess today will be mostly an explanation.

Rumia sat down at the table with little Reimu on her laps

RK: *take a deep breath* Alright... So, as you both know, i'm not from this world nor the "real" world, as Minako explained to me.

Reimu: *questioning look* So you aren't from earth? Are you from the moon then?

RK: *shaking his head* No. See, where i'm from, the moon was shattered by the god of darkness when he left our planet with his brother, the god of light.

Reimu: god of darkness? Light?

RK: Don't worry, i'll explain everything in due time. *Refocusing* So, in my world which is called remnant, i was what we called a huntsman. Now, huntsmen are people who protect others from the creatures of the Grimms.

Reimu: Like mom with bad Yokai!

RK: Well... no. See, the creatures of Grimms are amalgamation of negativity. They don't need to eat, sleep, and live only to bring fear to the people.

As he said that, both Minako and Rumia look at each other.

RK: *doesn't notice* Some of them are controlled by an evil immortal witch called Salem, one of the few people that survived the gods wrath. But that's for another time.

Reimu: aw...

RK: So, anyway, huntsman. I don't... Remember much about that time of my life. I remember our quest to find relics so Salem couldn't put her hands on it. We uh... Weren't good at it.

Rumia: Wait, your world was destroyed!?

RK: What? No! No no, but she got 2 out of 4 relics... Both of which we had in our possession before she could take them.

Minako: You weren't good at that saving the world shtick, uh?

RK: *sigh* It was more that the people around us were being complete nutjob.

Reimu: *look at Jaune with expectation* Then, what happened? How did you get into the other... Other world?

RK: *remembering everything that happened on the light bridge* I... *Glance at his sword* I made a mistake. I felt through the world and when i woke up, i was in the ever after. *Look at Reimu then Rumia* You explained to her what i told you coming here?

Rumia: *doing a so-so move with her hand* I did my best with the little i had. You still haven't explained your semblance and the likes.

RK: Ah yes, i forgot about that! So, semblance and aura. Aura is the soul while semblance is the manifestation of said soul as a power. Mine was Aura amplification, which gave me the ability to amplify the aura of other people, which healed them and made them stronger. I could also use it on myself.

Minako: Wait, why are you using past tense?

RK: *little smile* Don't worry, i'm getting there. *Get more serious* My semblance evolved, at a point where i can heal any damages, however grave they are. I know, i had ample occasions to test it.

Reimu: *interested* Oh, like what?

RK: Well, i fought a dragon and lost 2 left arm and a leg.

Rumia: *suspecting bullshit* They grew back instantly?

RK: Oh no, the fight took a month, the bas- *look at Reimu* The lizard had thick skin, so i kinda needed to get inside to vanquish it.

Reimu: *gawking* You got eaten by the dragon!?

RK: *point to his right leg* That when i lost my leg. *Smile* But he didn't chew me good.

Reimu: Whoa...

RK: So anyway, the ever after. You remember the gods? Well, that's where they are from originally. At least, from what i understood. They made the creatures living there, the god of light making the peaceful creatures while the god of darkness made things like the jabberwalker, the dragons and things of the like. But one day, they got bored and decided to make another world, my world.

Reimu: Ooooh...

RK: The ever after doesn't work like the real world. Some days, an hour will take a second while on others, a day will take weeks, months even. The people that lived there range from talking mouses to giants the size of a mountain. And then, there's the tree.

Reimu: The tree?

Rumia: That's the thing you were talking about before going all depressed on the road, right?

RK: *nods* Indeed, The tree is gigantic, and when i say gigantic, i mean taller than a mountain and larger than a city. I... I was accompanying two kids that also fell through the world, i was supposed to guide them and show them the exit but...

Minako: Did they...?

RK: *shaking his head* No, but one of them, a girl named Alyx, poisoned me after being fed lies by a stupid cat. And now? ... Well, since i didn't stop existing, either they managed to get out, or my sudden appearance in your world means I couldn't exist there anymore and was sent somewhere else.

Minako: And what do you think?

RK: Honestly? *Start getting up* I believe i'm too old for that. *Glance again at his sword, then shake his head* But i still need to help people. *Whispering to himself* That's all i can do to redeem myself...

Rumia: *hear what the knight said, but choose not to comment* And what are you going to do? It's not like you will be able to get into the human world since you don't have any paperwork.

RK: You'd be surprised at how good i am at falsifying documents. That's how i became a huntsman in the first place.

Reimu: Oh! I wanna know that!

RK: *smile* Sorry, that's gonna have to wait. It's already getting late and i need to go find a place to sleep.

Reimu: You can sleep here! We got so many beds!

RK: *awkward laugh* I wouldn't like to intrude more than i did-

Minako: *finish her beer* Nonsense! Don't worry so much about that! *Gets up* Beside, you don't have a job or any real money, do you?

RK: I... Guess not.

Minako: *put one hand on his shoulder while pointing herself with her thumb* Then let me help you. You already gave me enough with the donation you made and it's not like we are drowning in visitors.

RK: I... I see. *Nods* Then i will take upon your offer.

Reimu: *beaming* Then does it mean...?

RK: *sigh of false exasperation* Ah, guess i have a bit more time to talk about myself. So, wanna hear the time i entered initiation with knowing how to fight or would you prefer when i saved a village from a sleepwalking giant?

Reimu: *not keeping in place with all the excitement* Giant!

RK: *laugh* Ah ah ah, fine! *Sit back down* So, it all began when a little mouse came to my house.

___________________________________________

Later

Rumia: *slowly caressing Reimu's hair as she sleeps on her lap*

RK: *getting back from the restroom, shaved and proper for the first time in years* Ah, i missed that so much~ it's like i'm one century younger.

Rumia: *chuckle* Not regretting your stay, uh?

RK: Well, if we forget the poor attempt at cooking Minako did, not in the slightest. *Look at the sleeping girl then at Rumia* You know, you both remind me of my sister's. Had you not told me you were a Yokai, i would think both of you were siblings.

Rumia: *slowly shake her head, with a sad smile on her face* She gave me something i was looking for since i was born. To me, she might be the most precious friend i could ever ask for.

RK: *sitting at the door frame, looking at the sky* ... I had a friend, long ago. *Chuckle* Well, i say friend but she was mostly friends with my best friend... She reminds me a lot of her. Always curious, always smiling when she was happy or pouting when she was sad...

Rumia: *slowly taking her eyes of Reimu, to look at Jaune*

RK: These friends... They are the kinds you only meet once in your life.

Rumia: *for a split second, under the moonlight, she could see someone looking over Jaune. A girl with a pained expression.*

RK: They are a gift, but... It's also our responsibility to take care of them. To make them free to be who they want to be. To let them free of their choices...

Rumia: *placing her sights back on Reimu* I will protect her, i'd gladly accept anything so she would be safe.

RK: *nod* Good.

Rumia: ... *Feeling the silence awkward* So, you have sisters?

RK: Seven of them.

Rumia: *wince* Yesh, is that why you know how to cook?

RK: *almost bursting out laughing, but instead just chuckling very hard* Pfft, no, i was really bad. No, i just took some years to actually learn in the ever after. My first attempt almost killed me.

Rumia: How?

RK: *blushing a bit, with a timid smile* I might have caught on fire with cooking oil?

Rumia: *now trying to not laugh at him* O-ok, that's something i want to hear in detail!

Reimu: *Stiring up, making both Jaune and Rumia nervous until she stops and continues her sleep*

Rumia: *who was holding her breath* But maybe not tonight.

RK: *smiling* I'll gladly talk about this tomorrow. *Yawn* Well, it's really late now, i think it's time i get some time off from being awake.

Rumia: You sounds like you haven't slept in age.

RK: That would be because i didn't. Sleeping in the ever after is... Not the best of experience. *Get up* Tell Minako i'll make breakfast tomorrow... *Look at the drunken miko sleeping in the corner of the room* Or don't. I don't think she needs you to tell her.

Rumia: *chuckle* I'll tell her, don't worry.

RK: *nod* Alright. Goodnight.

Rumia: Goodnight.

Around an hour after Jaune left, the Miko "wake" up

Minako: ... You saw it too, didn't you?

Rumia: Yeah... The way he looks at his sword and the fondness in his eyes every time Reimu asks him a question...

Minako: It's no wonder why he appeared on the road of reconsideration. *Sigh* he was lucky that Yukari found him interesting enough to bring him here.

Rumia: *scratching the back of her head* Tsk, i wouldn't say he's lucky to have her attention. Beside, what was her idea to drop him in the middle of the road?

Minako: We both know how she is. She probably thought it. You did go sprint to him.

Rumia: *blushing* Well yes, she said he was an anomaly, i didn't want Reimu to be in danger.

Minako: Aw~ what a nice big sis~

Rumia: *Blushing even more* S-shut up!... *Sigh* I never expected him to be from another universe entirely.

Minako: Me neither... I'll need to talk to him tomorrow, you'll be able to look after Reimu?

Rumia: Of course, i still need to go catch insects with her, remember?

Minako: *chuckle* True. *Look at both of them* Goodnight you two.

Rumia: *smile* Goodnight.

#jaune arc #touhou rumia #hakurei miko #reimu hakurei #rwby #rwby au #touhou x rwby #touhou

42 notes · View notes

twistedteddy · 1 year ago

Text

Rengoku x f!Reader

✧*̥˚ Please Reblog *̥˚✧

Warnings: body worship, p-ssy eating, soft Dom, praise, sweet sex, bath sex, f! Dom, Pet names

As always not proofread

Kyujuro has always been a devout demon slayer. Even so if you'd ever been to his home you'd know he was an even more devout husband. During his days off he'd massage your legs and feet every tie your returned home from helping the other women tend the fields. Bathing you with water he'd warmed over your fire place and change your clothes for you. Praising each scar ans callous he found on you the same way you'd do for him whenever he came back from a mission. He firmly believes scars tell stories. Lives. Each scar is a memory to be held to your body forever. Something to be proud of. When the two of you married you used a beautiful gold endowed knife to carve a scar onto the top part of his hand and he did the same to you. It was a sweet gesture but as far as you were concerned if he was leaving the village he was leaving wearing a ring too. No way your puppy dog of a husband is going out there with the chance of other women thinking he was single.

Exaughsted you walked through the door od your home after slipping your sandals off. Covered in dirt and mud from the rice fields.

"My love! I have returned home. I am so glad to see you" Your husband rushed at you all at once and knocked you to the floor- you hadn't even noticed his shoes by the door you were so tired. His golden eyes looking into yours with a huge smile as he places small pecks all over your face. Giggling you pushed his chest "kyo~ I'm tired honey help me up." And help you he did. Loudly exclaiming how much he had missed you and how being so far hurt his very sould and you couldn't help but smile. Even as tired as you were him being there lifted your mood.

After about ten minutes he had you in a bath. Using a rag to wash the mud from you and brushing your hair. "Hm come join me" you muttered looking up at him as he was carefully rinsing your hair. "My love you're tired and if I am being honest seeing you so bare after being gone nearly a month is..already making it a bit difficult for me to control myself." Ah the pretty boy. He'd always been a gentlemen before a lover. "Please love?" You said holding his hand to your face and he quickly began stripping down. How could he say no to those eyes?

You moved forward to allow him to get behind you before pulling your back into his chest. Just wrapping his arms around you wanting to hold you close. "I feel as If I miss you more each mission I am made to leave." You smiled softly and leaned your head back onto his chest so you could look at him. Then changing your mind and fully turning your body to look at him, taking his hands in your own and placing them onto your waist. "It's a symptom of your love for me and mine for you. I mean how would it look if you didn't miss your wife? Hm?" He laughed that booming laugh before kissing you passionately.

Pulling your warm smooth body to his and running his fingers up and down your back. You placed your hands onto his chest and groped at his pecs. He moaned as you gently licked his nipple and pinched the other. His hands gripped your hips and pulled you in so that your bare cunt was pressed against his hard cock and you gasped against his puffy chest. "My love please I- I need you" He nearly whimpered his booming voice now a cracking pitiful mess after so little contact. "Aw you need me baby?" You whispered dragging a hand up to gently wrap around his neck as you lifted yourself up a bit to let him properly prod your pussy. His entire body tensed and he stared down at you gasping as you finally let him into you. Both of you moaning at the familiar squeeze.

Gently moving your hips in a slow grind you moaned into his neck and wrapped your arms around it. He moaned rather loudly at the sensation of your soft body against his, your hair stuck to certain spaces amongst his chest and wager and sweat covered you both. He leaned down and kissed you passionately lips eating yours, teeth clacking, and tongues twisting as your pace quickened and you started lifting yoir self two, three, four inches at a time. The water sloshing and moving while he groaned and begged you for more. His own hands finally lifting and hips pistoning up into yours.

Your body's aches were ignored at the feeling of tightening in your stomach, your hand reached down and rubbed your clit in time with his thrusts and all at once you came with a damn near scream. Kyo bit down into your neck and held your hips firmly pressed into his as he filled your womb a moment or two after. Kissing and licking at you while he seemed to cum for forever.

"Mm good boy" you whispered hand weaving into his hair and gently kissing the curve of his ear.

#rengoku kyojuro #kny kyojuro #kny #kny smut #marriage #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny hashira #smut #cute #men with muscles #huge pecs #kny x reader #kny x y/n #kny x you #lovers #kny fic #kimetsu no yaiba x reader

112 notes · View notes

spencersawkward · 8 days ago

Text

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 13

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her new friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid. (Baby Spence)

pairing: Fem!OC x Spencer

word count: 7.4k

content warnings: slight angst

A/N: Hi! AHH it's been so long! sincerely, I'm so sorry about that-- I've been thinking about this fic and honestly I got a bit stuck for a while and had to pull myself away to reconfigure my thoughts about it. but I'm back in it now and have been writing furiously lol. anyway, thank you for your patience on all of this. I see all of your sweet comments asking me to update and I HATE leaving y'all hanging so… this chapter is extra long (7.4k words? too much? probably!). I hope you're all living your best lives and thriving :) ok love you bye!

masterlist

despite working for the FBI, there is one crime I have committed.

I was never much of a partier in college, but when I started, it was nearly impossible to stop. like a snowball, my singular drink (which I'd initially decline) would morph into my fourth, fifth, and was complemented by a joint or two.

even before I had a job as serious as this one, I was high-strung and intense. everything was about making it to the top-- of my class, of my social group, whatever would get me to the point of success I craved.

but this also meant that slowing the momentum of my work at all was risking a complete spiral. I am, unfortunately, emotional when drunk. too many drinks and insecurity sets in, following me around with self-doubt and thoughts of grand failure. because what if all the work truly amounted to nothing?

I was anxious and self-medicating. this frequently resulted in my waking up in the fetal position on the floor of whatever apartment or house I was in, fists tightly clenched and memory foggy. smoking wasn't a stress reliever for me; it was sealing the fate on a terrible night. my brain chemistry seemed to reject the same drug that worked for so many others.

but I just kept doing it because those first few minutes felt deliciously worry-free.

one of these nights I was in a friend of a friend's apartment in college. I'd been drinking straight from the bottle because we'd just finished finals and every nerve in my body was fried.

I was aware of the slow nausea making its way through my stomach, the burn of alcohol in my throat. I was also aware of the twitching that often came with smoking too much. my fingers would clench and unclench, toes wiggle beyond my control. another reason not to keep doing it, and yet.

I barely knew anyone at the party. the friend of a friend was someone I had spoken to maybe once or twice. really, I had no relationship with anyone else there. but it hadn't seemed important at the start of the night.

despite the blur of the evening, I clearly remember having an existential crisis on their thrifted couch. everyone was talking and the music was loud, but the words were like sludge to my senses. I wanted to leave, but even through the haze I felt like maybe wandering the streets alone at night wasn't a good idea.

so I just wandered anywhere to get away from the noise. I tried several doors, a few of which were locked, until I pushed one open to someone's bedroom.

it was full of plants and smelled earthy, like dirt. it reminded me a little of home. although I shouldn't have gone into this person's personal space, I didn't have much sense of decorum at the moment. so I shut the door quickly behind me and walked over to a plant on the window sill. I sat next to it, pressed a large, healthy leaf to my nose and inhaled.

from my spot on the floor, I noticed a box under their dresser. it was old, like from their grandmother or something. polished wood with a gold clasp that held it shut.

my fingers raked over the carpet and grabbed it, pulling it towards me on the floor and, without a moment's hesitation, opened the box.

inside, there was a small collection of knives.

not kitchen utensils or huge murder-y serrated ones. they were lovely, delicate blades. the handles were perfectly molded to fit a person's hand, some of them carved with beautiful spirals and curls, some inlaid with silver.

I remember touching them with my fingertips and not worrying about them slicing my skin open; I was awed by how ornate they were. I wanted to slip them under my arm and leave.

I lifted one out of the box and handled it for a few seconds. it was a small knife-- the kind that's better for self-defense than anything else. the metal was cool in my palm, and the handle wooden and smooth with wear. the bottom was rounded and opalescent. the colors that refracted under the light mesmerized me, until I was tilting the weapon just to see each soft pink and blue and purple melt into the other. I was entranced like a child.

enough time passed there with my eyes glued to the shifting hues that my body stopped twitching and I felt more lucid. not sober, but not barreling into tearful realizations about my issues.

despite myself, I took the knife with me. I pulled off my hoodie and bundled it inside, carefully put the box back, and left the room without a backward glance. something cruelly sentimental inside me just needed to keep it. like a security blanket.

…

as I watch Spencer working through a chocolate-sprinkled donut, washing down each bite with a sip of coffee like clockwork, I wonder what he would say to my miniature crime. I suppose recreational cannabis use was also illegal, but that's far less interesting.

I remember Spencer's reaction when I pulled out the cute resin knife at the BAU Halloween party, and how I said there was no special reason I collected pretty blades. I still don't think it's that special of a reason. I just admire good craftsmanship and the illusion of safety.

Spencer catches me intently watching him eat and frowns at me mid-bite. there's a touch of chocolate at the corner of his mouth which brings a smile to my face.

JJ brought the pastries in for us from some famous LA donut shop, all wild flavors and frostings. she brought one normal one for Reid, though. he wouldn't have touched any of these other ones with a ten-foot pole.

I indulge in a Thai tea donut while Hotch catches us up on the plan for the day. yesterday, after talking in Lila's trailer, it turned out that we were too late to check on Michael. they found him dead in his office, very obviously the stalker's latest victim. I feel awful for Lila; they were close, and he genuinely cared about her wellbeing.

it's for that reason that Hotch has told us not to tell her just yet. it could make her reckless, and that might ultimately make it more dangerous for her until we catch this guy. we've settled for telling her Michael's been wrapped up in questioning and has to keep his distance for his own safety. I don't like lying to her, but it would be so much worse for her to do something impulsive and get herself killed, too.

it's best for me to keep my own distance from Reid as possible so I can stay focused. I try to stand near Prentiss so that Hotch will assign us together for the day, careful not to be next to Reid or Morgan. if anything, Derek will catch on further and bother me about my emotions. which are confusing and also irrelevant.

"did you want some of my donut?" Reid appears out of thin air next to me, ready to break off an untouched part of his treat to share. it's clear he thought I was checking out his food earlier.

"huh?" my brows knit together as I look down at his fingers. I suppress the elation at his willingness to share food. "oh, no, it's okay. I'm full."

he shrugs and I'm about to duck away from him when Hotch speaks.

"Reid, I want you to stay near Lila as much as possible. she seems to have a rapport with you," he says casually. the muscles in my jaw jump with irritation.

of course, part of me tries to logic my way through the irrational: Lila is a television star. it's not that she's out of Spencer's league or anything, but he's certainly not the type of guy people like her would be dating. I thought celebrities only dated each other.

I cling to this thought until Hotch's deep frown lands on me.

"Williams, go with Reid."

"why?" the question escapes my lips before I can think better of questioning my boss's orders.

"she's been apprehensive to protection already. having another woman around might help." Prentiss answers for him, her arms crossed over her chest. Hotch nods and moves on. there's something lacking in the explanation, but when we're dismissed, Emily makes a quick comment in my ear.

"if she decides to break protocol, do you really think Reid is gonna be able to stop her?" she lets out a chuckle at the end. I try to reciprocate the expression as my chest squeezes.

…

Spencer puts on his sunglasses in the car while we drive through the Hills to Lila's house.

"I feel like a movie star here," I say, turning down the music as I navigate the narrow roads.

"I actually think being a producer would be better," he replies.

"less attention?"

"less than an A list celebrity in most cases."

"same fat paycheck, though."

"exactly."

I laugh. the song fades into a different one, a popular one that I've had stuck in my head for a few days, and Spencer turns it up.

"you like this song?" I turn to look at him. he's drumming his fingertips against his thigh along with the beat.

"it's good."

I just suppress a smile and keep driving, trying my best not to comment when I see his head nodding to the chorus. but it's so cute, I can't hold my tongue.

"you're dancing!" I laugh.

immediately, he stops. "no, I'm not."

"Spence, it's okay to like it." I roll my eyes.

he ignores me.

"come on," I urge, turning up the volume even more. I have a terrible voice, but I sing along quietly for a second. he only joins in after a moment of hesitation.

we aren't screaming the chorus or even being very loud, but it's comfortable and fun to share the moment with someone else. despite the reason for our presence here, we're driving through the Hollywood Hills and how often does that happen for us? I let myself enjoy these three minutes.

sunlight glares through the windshield and hits our faces, that chemical boost that comes from warming air. our voices blend into the music, every memorized lyric coming out of us on instinct.

there's something pure about it, like we're sharing a secret. because it's funny that two FBI agents know a pop song this well, even funnier that one of them is Spencer Reid, Nerdiest of Them All.

my fingers tap on the wheel with the beat. at the risk of shattering this delicate moment, I glance over at Spencer. I can't help it.

he's smiling, cheeks flushed. the free-spiritedness of it unfurls something within me.

I realize that I've been collecting these seconds like diamonds, stuffing them in darkened corners of my mind, papered over with larger memories. they'll always burn through, though, moments when my eyes seek him out, the fewer ones when his seek mine. I'm hungry for the sight of him in a way that can't be sated; every glimmer in his pupils, every clench and turn of his chin— they accumulate endlessly.

I could live on this stretch of road forever.

but then I see our exit ahead, and I think of Lila's starlet grin. I'm reminded of every sinking feeling that's made up our time here. the song fades out, swallowing the sensation whole.

"what did Emily say to you earlier?" Spencer asks out of nowhere, after we've fallen into a sort of silence. my mouth opens and closes as I try to think up something to say.

"I--" the words dry up as soon as he looks at me. "I don't remember. it wasn't important, though, I don't think."

he nods, gaze lingering. he doesn't believe me. but I don't know what to tell him. his hands fidget in his lap. I can imagine the gears in his head turning, combining rational possibilities with his own insecurities.

"what do you think of her?" I try to make my voice sound level.

"of Lila?"

"yeah."

"I think she's nice."

"nice?"

"yeah. I don't really know any celebrities, so I was surprised by that," he shrugs.

"she's beautiful."

I wait for him to concur, or to dare to disagree. but the pause he gives is heavy and I know he's trying to select his words carefully.

lucky for him, we pull onto Lila's street before he can make any definitive statement about her attractiveness. I drive slowly, pulling into the dusty driveway of a beautiful home. it's modern, settled on a clearing that I'm sure boasts a beautiful view of the city.

I turn off the engine and glance over at Spencer, whose spine is suddenly so rigid that I nearly question the reality of his singing a song a few minutes ago.

"you okay?" I ask.

"yeah," he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and looks at the dashboard. "yes," he repeats.

"great. let's get this over with." I get out of the car.

Lila is already standing in the threshold of her house, watching the two of us.

"hello." she gives me a half-hearted smile.

"hi," I sigh. "sorry to keep you here tonight."

"I know, it's just for my safety," she shrugs and lets the two of us in. "hi, Spencer."

he gives an awkward wave and grips the strap of his messenger bag with a nervous tightness.

"did you bring work with you?" she laughs at the heavy-looking bag.

"yes," he says with total seriousness.

I clear my throat. "we should probably get the layout of the house first, Reid."

he purses his lips and nods. I catch Lila staring at him for a nanosecond too long, try to run the possibilities in my head. it's completely feasible that she's just trying to understand his awkward tendencies, like many of the people we deal with. I don't trust myself to draw conclusions about this particular thing, given how laced with bias they might be.

it's something of a relief as she shows us around the place-- it's not as big as it looks from the outside, but there's a pool out back that overlooks the hills. there aren't many points of entry and she, predictably, has a security system. my concern with modern houses like these is that there's usually tons of glass, creating a perfect opportunity for Peeping Toms and overzealous paparazzi.

sure enough, a decent portion of the back of the house is glass. the openness of it makes my hair stand on end a bit.

when I turn around, Spencer and Lila are looking at an art piece she's got hanging on her wall. it's a photographic collage, vertical slashes of brightly colored scenes that have been pasted together onto a long canvas. it's not very attractive, but judging from the way Lila explains its significance, it must be sentimental for her.

"I like it because it's like life, you know? like, obscure and difficult…" she trails off. Spencer nods in a way that could be understanding or unimpressed, I can't tell. for a profiler, I'm remarkably confused watching his interactions today.

"you should get a dog," he replies instead. "like a guard dog of some sort."

"allergic," she shrugs.

"Lila, have you ever had any security issues at this house before?" I break in. she turns to me and shakes her head.

"no, never. it's usually pretty quiet up here." her body language is relaxed. normally someone with a stalker would be more nervous, even apprehensive, about staying in a house with so much visibility. I know I would be. but she doesn't seem bothered at all. I guess it isn't that surprising, given how she's acted up to this point: refusing to stop work or change her lifestyle in any way. I still can't tell if I find this admirable or just stubborn. maybe a bit of both.

"can I get you guys some tea or something?" she smiles.

"uh, sure," I agree. my body is overactive right now and I need something to hold. Spencer declines her offer and waits until she leaves the room to speak again.

"the glass is a bit worrying." he points to the sliding doors leading out to the pool in the back.

"that's what I was thinking, too. maybe we can do a quick sweep and see if there are any other vulnerable spots," I suggest.

he nods and Lila walks back in. "your tea is steeping. do you want me to show you guys that layout now?"

"that would be great." it comes out sounding a bit sarcastic, though I don't mean it to. I'm still thinking about the glass and how creepy it would be to just have people be able to watch inside-- security system or not, I don't like the risk.

she guides us down the hallway, the walls of which are accented with random contemporary art pieces. the only real photos I see are in her bedroom-- framed pictures of her with her family, with her best friend. it's the same woman who works on her set and handed her that envelope earlier today. I don't remember her name, but it's obvious they're close.

there are only two bedrooms: hers and a guest room, which is tidy and doesn't seem to be used very frequently. I try to think of a polite way to say what I'm thinking.

"it doesn't look like you've decorated much here. did you move in recently?" my fingertips brush the wooden doorframe of the guest room as we start to make our way back to the living area. the small space is turning out to be advantageous; there aren't many extra points of entry or big windows that could be broken into.

"no, I moved in last year. I'm just not home very often since I work a lot. I'm sure you guys are familiar with that."

Spencer lets out something like a laugh and I give a half-grin. "we definitely get it."

she briefly takes us outside to give a better overview of the security system, and then we return to the main part of the house. Lila brings me my tea and we sit down to talk in more depth.

"there aren't a lot of opportunities for someone to break and enter," Spencer assures her. he's leaning his elbows on his knees. "we just need to watch out for a few things."

"the wall of glass, for example," I point to her backyard. "and we'll need access to your security footage from the past few weeks."

Spencer stands up and pulls out his phone. "I'll have Garcia get on that."

"great. if you have stuff you need to do here, Lila, you're welcome to do that. we're just going to be around in case you hear or need anything."

Spencer has gone to the kitchen to talk to Garcia, so it's just me and Lila sitting across from each other. the sun has started to set, pouring pinkish light into the room and making her hair appear even more brilliantly blonde.

"I just have to run some lines, really. maybe one of you can help me with that," she raises a brow and for a moment I can't tell if she's joking or being earnest.

"I'm not really sure that's a good idea. the whole reason Dr. Reid and I are here is to monitor the house."

"and me, right? what better way to do that than running lines?" her tone is flirtatious and it becomes evident that she just has this kind of personality. naturally playful. it's charming and I can see why people find it appealing. but right now, when her life is being directly threatened, it must be a way to deflect the fear. her pupils tend to dart around and it gives her away.

I soften a bit. her refusal to adjust her life set off alarm bells for me before, but now it's obvious that it's her way of managing the panic; if she doesn't shift her routine, it's easier to pretend it's not even happening.

thankfully, I'm saved from responding to her request by Spencer returning to join us.

"Garcia is running through the footage for any suspicious activity around here, but so far everything looks normal," he says. Lila smiles at this, this one a bit less showy and more as though processing everything.

this must be jarring for someone who doesn't work in this field. and she's only going to have it even worse when she finds out about Michael.

it's like a punch to the stomach when I remember we'll have to tell her soon. the sooner, the better. hopefully we can find this person within the next day or so; drawing it out is just cruel.

"so, Spencer, I was just asking Agent Williams if either of you would be willing to run lines with me to pass the time," Lila recovers from her moment quickly, tossing her hair and glancing between the two of us. the difference between her calling him Spencer and me "Agent Williams" makes me want to cringe.

"you can just call me Clea," I correct her. she brightens at this.

"right. well, my question still stands."

"I don't think that's really appropriate--" I start, just as Spencer replies with a shaky, "Sure."

we lock eyes and I frown. he can do whatever he wants, I guess, but having two agents on high alert is better than one. Prentiss's words from earlier come back to me: do you really think Reid is gonna be able to stop her? and she's right.

"I'll be fine, don't worry. if you want, we can just do it here in the living room. so it's easy to watch over me," Lila grins.

when she runs out of the room to grab her script, I turn to Reid.

"really? running lines?" I can't keep the annoyance out of my voice.

"what? we're supposed to be keeping her in our sight," he defends himself, voice pitching up a bit.

"yeah, but you're gonna be distracted. this isn't the time to flirt." it comes out of my mouth before I have a chance to think, the frustration of him not following protocol and this other, indefinable thing welling up inside me.

Spencer's lips part like he wants to respond, brows furrowing together, but then Lila comes back in and peeks between us.

"everything okay?" she's trepidatious.

my gaze cuts quickly to Reid, who is still watching me, then right back to her. "yeah, everything's fine. I'm gonna do another outside sweep."

it's sort of unnecessary to do one, but honestly, I just need some fresh air.

as soon as I'm out the door, I take several deep breaths. regardless of whatever strange sensation keeps pulling at my gut, I don't enjoy being on a different page from my partner. it doesn't matter if it's Prentiss or Morgan or Reid-- we're supposed to be a team, and the way Spencer just gave into her worries me.

I have faith in him, but I like control. need it, really.

the California air is dry and much cooler at night. not uncomfortable, but breezy as I step around the perimeter of the house. at this point, the light has faded to a soft plum. the lights of Los Angeles start to sparkle down below, making me somewhat isolated. something about it causes my skin to crawl.

my gun is cool in my hand. the primal instinct that I usually get when someone is around isn't there, so I let myself breathe. when I make it to the back area, Spencer and Lila are visible through the glass doors. he sits across from her on the couch, holding a script. she's standing in the center of the living room and speaking animatedly. rehearsing.

I shove down the part of me that is guilty about Michael in the same way that Reid seems to do. it can be so hard to draw the line between what emotions are appropriate to indulge and the ones that are too dangerous. where my own moral boundaries stand. I hate lying, and letting her go on flirting while her close friend is in a morgue drawer nauseates me.

Lila laughs at something Spencer says-- though he doesn't appear to be making a joke, given his stoic expression-- and comes to sit next to him on the couch. when she touches his shoulder in an innocent way, I turn away and decide to go back inside.

about an hour later, Lila goes to her room to change into pajamas and I'm left alone with Spencer. he hasn't seem fazed at all by the constant doting from Lila, aside from the occasional stuttering and shifting when she gets too close or compliments him in any way. as soon as he and I are alone, he nods at the phone on the couch beside me.

"any word from Hotch?"

"uh, no," I clear my throat, unsure of what to say. "actually, I should probably just call and make sure."

if I needed to know anything, the team would have reached out, but I get up before Spencer can reply. instead, I excuse myself to the hallway and dial Morgan's number.

"what's up, Williams?" he answers on the second ring.

"hi. nothing, honestly. I'm just calling to check in-- I haven't heard from any of the team members for a bit."

"we've just been at the precinct. has Lila been asking about Michael?"

"no, no. I think she was satisfied with what we told her earlier," I curl my fingers into my palm, nails digging into the skin. "how are we gonna break it to her?"

"I don't know. maybe Spencer can after this whole thing is over. she seems to trust him, so maybe it'll be easier to process."

my breath catches, but I nod as if Morgan can see me. "sure. yeah."

"you alright?" his voice softens slightly, and it only reminds me that I need to clean up my behavior right now. it's hard to hide things from him, and the last thing I need is to have him needling me about my relationship with Spencer after we close the case.

"yeah, sorry," I smile, prepared to change the subject, when a sudden noise jolts me out of my thoughts.

a splash-- loud, from the other room.

the pool.

"shit, I gotta go." I hang up, running out to the living room area.

the doors are open, and there are two heads bobbing in the rippling water. Lila slicks her hair back and it's only then that I realize the other person in the water is Spencer.

Spencer, whose wet hair sticks to his face and who is still fully clothed.

my heart stops and restarts in my chest at the abruptness of the situation, but it starts hammering as I stand in the threshold. Spencer flips his head around to me, innocent, like he didn't mean for this to happen.

"she pulled me in!" he brushes the hair out of his eyes and seems to plead with me. Lila smirks at him, fully locked in on his expression.

I'm speechless. I believe him, but Lila's erratic behavior is starting to irritate me more and more. she's reckless and flirting with an FBI agent while he's on the job-- yanking him into the water when her own life could be at risk.

I know people cope with things in different ways, but there has to be a line.

"your gun." my voice comes out softly as I point to Reid's torso. the weapon is still submerged.

his face goes even paler than usual and he practically leaps to drop it on the cement by the edge of the pool. as he finds the underwater steps and trudges out, my gaze finds Lila's. if she realizes that I'm irritated with her, she makes no indication of it.

"sorry." her laugh is bubbly. she's wearing a bikini, I notice, as she slowly makes her way to the steps to come join us. the "pajamas" she went to change into earlier.

"you know, you've aged me ten years in the past 48 hours." Reid pulls the hem of his button-up out of his pants and wrings it out. his hair, dripping, hangs around his face.

I try not to notice the way the wet fabric clings to his body.

"I just thought you deserved to have five minutes of fun," Lila replies, as if we're supposed to be chatting over cocktails instead of keeping her safe.

"yeah, well, fun isn't part of our job description tonight." my tone is sharp, but at this point I don't care. she's frying my nerves, and Spencer isn't putting his foot down enough.

"do you have towels?" Reid is practically shaking in the cool evening air.

"use mine." Lila grabs the one she must have brought out with her and hands it to my coworker.

I spin on my heel and go back inside. I'll have to tell the girls about this when we're back in Quantico; they'll understand.

Morgan calls me as the two of them get changed into warm clothes-- Spencer's thin, lanky build apparently makes him the perfect fit for Lila's old sweats.

"what the hell happened?" he asks immediately.

"nothing. Lila pulled Reid into the pool, and it just made this big splash noise that startled me. everyone is fine."

"why'd she do that?"

"no idea. she's been acting like this whole night is prime time for flirting with Reid." it takes everything to keep the venom out of my voice.

"that's weird. maybe she's just trying to distract herself."

"maybe. I don't know, Reid should still be more strict with her. I feel like I'm insane."

"you're not insane. he's just awkward around people. but I get it-- I'll talk to him when we get back." Morgan's voice is soothing over the phone. my fists unclench a bit and the muscles in my back relax. he always has my back.

"thanks," I let out a long exhale. "I just wanna catch this guy so we can go home."

"we will. stay focused. Reid's a good partner-- I think he's just been thrown off his game by the added social factor here. victims aren't usually trying to get into his pants."

I try to let out a laugh, but my cringe causes it to come out strangled. even the thought of that makes me physically ill. "true."

Spencer wanders back into the living room with a hoodie and sweats on, hair still air-drying.

"I should go, Morgan. I'll call you if anything interesting happens."

"I'd hope so, pretty girl. stay safe."

"how's it going with him?" Spencer asks, plopping down.

"fine. I was just explaining Lila's little prank earlier."

"she didn't mean any harm by it." Spencer watches my features as though he can see right through me.

I dislike that, so I avert my gaze and straighten up in my seat. "just be careful. one wrong move and either of you could end up with a bullet in your head. this guy is obviously the jealous type."

Spencer winces at the harshness of the image, but nods as he leans his elbows on his knees and stares down at his clasped hands. "you're right."

"sorry. I guess that was extreme," I bite my lower lip. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

his eyes lift to mine for a moment. they're so pretty and dark, ringed by long lashes. his mouth is set in a soft but steady line. for the first time in the last few hours, I don't want to glance away. he doesn't seem to, either.

but then he catches sight of the artwork from earlier behind me, the one with the strips of different photographs arranged in a puzzle-like way.

his pupils flicker rapidly between the images and I turn to see what he's trying to piece together.

"Lila?" his voice resonates through the house and the woman in question emerges from the hallway. she's wearing a silk robe.

"yes?"

"you went to Julliard, right?"

"yeah, why?"

"and you lived on Houston Street."

"mhmm."

Reid stands and inches closer to the piece. with his brows furrowed, it's easy to see the gears turning in his mind. "I think I see images of you in this. I need to take it apart."

Lila keeps peeking between the agent and the photos, as if trying to discern exactly what it is he sees, but it's a waste of effort to try. his brain is beyond explanation.

"sure, yeah, I guess," she agrees.

before long, we're leaning over the counter as Reid rearranges every slice into a series of complete pictures. my chin rests on my fist as I try to make out what I can from the composite.

"it looks like someone's been stalking you for years, Lila," I say gently. "this is, like, your life story."

"movie theaters, theater playbills, everything since college," Reid continues. he points to the respective scenes, including several dramatic shots of the actress in different performances.

Lila's hand covers her mouth. she points to one of the pictures. "that's our country house."

"who gave this to you?" I frown.

"Parker Dunley. we met a while ago. he runs a gallery here in LA." she points to another person's face in the piece, a man in one of the corners.

I pull out my cell and call Garcia.

"at your service, madam," she answers.

"Garcia, I need a sheet on a guy named Parker Dunley. can you send it to Morgan and Prentiss and have them go to the address?"

"absolutely. new suspect?"

"yeah. he gave Lila some collage a while ago and it's literally full of pictures of her."

"oh, ew." she replies, then hangs up.

I push my phone into my pocket and try to give Lila a reassuring smile. for the first time, she seems truly shaken. with a face to attach to the monster, it must be more real.

"we'll get the guy. don't worry." I infuse my voice with as much certainty as I can muster.

she nods, stays silent. Reid glances at her, clearly not sure how to comfort the woman.

unfortunately, all we can do for the next few minutes is wait as the rest of the team goes to talk to Dunley. Reid and I continue to look over the art in case there's anything important we might have missed, but Lila just paces back and forth across the kitchen floor.

it takes maybe fifteen minutes before I get a call from Hotch.

"hello?" my voice wavers slightly.

"Williams. it's not Dunley. it's a woman named Maggie Lowe."

my heart falters. "wait, what?"

"Dunley lied. Maggie made the collage and told him to give it to her. she's a crew member on Lila's show."

"oh. okay, thanks," I say stupidly, then hang up to address Lila. "do you know someone named Maggie Lowe?"

"Mags?" Lila pauses in his pacing and frowns at me. "yeah, of course I know her. I've known her for years. I got her a job on my show."

my mouth opens as I prepare to tell her that her close friend is, in fact, her stalker, when her own phone rings.

Spencer glances between the two of us. "what is it?"

"that's her calling right now." Lila's eyes drift from her screen up to us and my stomach knots up.

"is she calling from a cell?" Spencer asks.

"yeah."

"Lila, we think Maggie's the unsub," I break in.

"the what?"

"the stalker."

"what? no way." she shakes her head.

"answer the phone." I gesture to the device, which is still ringing.

"that's crazy. she wouldn't do that." Lila ignores me, coming over to the counter.

"answer the phone. act completely natural," Spencer approaches her earnestly. "keep her on the phone as long as you can. the longer she's on, the more likely we'll be able to trace the call."

she gives him a disbelieving look. the ringtone continues to blare, and I watch as Spencer puts his hand on her arm. it's kind. "trust me."

as she brings the receiver up to her ear, I walk away to call Garcia.

"oracle of Quantico," she answers. "speak if you deign to hear truth."

"Garcia, I need an emergency trace on a call to Lila Archer's phone."

"sure, go ahead."

Spencer grabs my phone and rattles off Lila's number-- which I've, of course, forgotten-- and hands it back to me.

"okay, just keep her talking," Garcia instructs over the sound of her fingers on the keyboard.

I turn to Lila, who has a concerned expression as she walks around the living room and speaks to Maggie.

"you're tired?" she asks softly over the line. "Mags, I saw you today."

there's a pause, and then she continues. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer leans against the counter and gives me a worried look.

"Maggie," Lila sounds hurt and confused. "that was only for a weekend."

"Williams," Garcia speaks again, full of dread. "is Lila's address 6028 Pike Street?"

my stomach twists. "yeah." the word drags out of my slowly. there's only one reason she'd bring that up right now; I know what she's going to say next.

"she's calling from inside the house. I must have missed her on the security cams while I was talking to Hotch-- I'll get you some backup."

"thanks, Garcia."

my body is still slack for a second before I get Reid's attention, who seems to understand me without a word. we both turn to the actress.

"Lila," I whisper.

she raises her brows at me.

"Maggie is in the house."

"how did she get in?" Reid asks her.

"she has keys," Lila swallows, now off the phone. her stalker must have dropped the call.

Reid and I both reach for our guns.

"Lila, just stay with us," I instruct, trying to figure out where to search first.

she must have snuck in when we were out by the pool and just waited inside. maybe she's in the bedroom?

we start to move into the hallway, Lila between Reid and me so that she's covered on either side. I can hear our collective breaths, Lila's shaking. for a second, I feel crushing pity for her. the only paternal figure in her life and her own best friend, both gone in different ways.

this flies out of my mind, however, as we make our way into the bedroom. it seems undisturbed, a large space with a balcony that looks out over LA.

we're nearing one of the hidden corners of the room, where her walk-in closet resides, when there's a rush of air behind me. I spin around just in time for Maggie to smack my gun out of my hand.

it all happens so fast, I barely have time to register the movement. instead, I watch uselessly as the weapon thuds to the ground just a few feet away. but I can't go grab it, because her own gun is pointed right at me.

"why'd you have to bring these people here?" Maggie sneers, eyes shining with tears. she's disheveled, blonde hair wild as she scrutinizes us.

we're silent, Lila too shocked to speak first.

"put the gun down, Maggie," Spencer uses a gentle tone with her, but I know what he's doing without even looking. setting his gun on the ground; with a barrel pointed at all three of us, it's too much of a risk to have some kind of stand-off.

"don't call me Maggie," she scoffs. "you don't know me."

I want to speak, but I don't know what will defuse the situation. she's got the weapon leveled right at my face, and she's obviously impulsive. the wrong thing might just make her lose it.

"you shouldn't have brought them here. we have to get out, now, baby," Maggie continues instead, for a second twitching the gun at her intended victim. "come on."

"Maggie, don't hurt her," I raise my hands and move just enough to step in front of Lila. "you don't need to hurt her."

"you don't know anything," she replies with exasperation. when she walks over to Lila and pushes a piece of hair behind her ear, my spine goes rigid. the difference between how she speaks to use and how she speaks to the object of her desire is like two different people speaking from one body. "I would never hurt you. I created you."

"no, you didn't." Lila keeps her attention on Reid as Maggie brushes a hand over her locks, down her back.

"yes, I did." her tongue pokes the inside of her cheek, holding back her own rage. "I know I did. you stupid, ungrateful--"

with her laser-focused on Lila, I realize that she's completely forgotten about me. it would be easy to grab my gun, but I really don't want to shoot her. especially not in front of Lila; she's lost enough. I wrack my brain for another option.

"I can't believe that I loved you." Maggie's voice is breathless as she pulls away to aim the gun at Lila. she's shaking with anger.

I have no idea if she'll actually go through with it and shoot, but I can't risk it. my body lurches forward and I use one hand to grab her gun, the other to grab her wrist, and shove my shoulder into her body.

we topple to the ground, the gun easily falling into my possession. her grip was so weak; too anguished to be effective.

Reid pushes Lila behind him as he leaps to my side, grabbing the gun from me and putting it in his waistband. Maggie tries to wrestle with me, screeching like a banshee, but I weigh more than her and I've already got her wrists pinned to the ground.

mascara stains her cheeks. "kill me," she begs with the desperation of a cornered animal. "fucking kill me. please. I'll be so much happier."

I can't find the words to reply. the entirety of my short time in the BAU, nobody has ever asked me to kill them after being caught. it's awful, the sensation it causes deep in my chest.

for a second, I'm almost overwhelmed with the sadness and nausea that wrestle within me. I would never kill her like this, but part of me wishes I could take her out of her misery in some other way. I wouldn't want to live if I was haunted by this, either.

instead of giving her an answer, I bite down hard on my bottom lip until it bleeds inside my mouth. she tries to wrench herself away and I have to press my nails into her skin, breaking it. despite being small and weak, she's scrappy.

I'm not sure how long we're there, our gazes digging into each other, before I hear sirens and the team enters the bedroom. Reid pulls me off of Maggie. I'm slightly limp, so he pulls me into his chest to steady me.

my knees are like jelly, but I watch them take her out of the room in handcuffs. Lila is standing in silence by the balcony door, blankly staring as Morgan tries to help her regain herself. the fabric of Spencer's sweatshirt is soft against my cheek. I have no idea why this is affecting me so much; I can't relate to her in any real way, yet I can still feel the tiny amount of blood that I drew from her wrists under my nails. it makes me feel dirty.

"are you alright?" he asks quietly. his hands move to my arms, wrapping around them, and I realize how pathetic I must appear right now.

"yes. yeah, sorry, I think my arms and legs fell asleep from holding her there." I force out a laugh and pull away as if it's easy. he's so warm.

"oh, sure." his features are contorted with worry as he looks down at me.

I can't deal with the intensity of it, so I shift my body and he drops his hands from my body. a shiver runs down my spine that I also can't identify. the world is moving slow and fast all at once, nearly blurring the edges of my vision.

"let's go home, yeah?" I plaster on a smile and give his shoulder a short, friendly squeeze. we still have to somehow tell Lila that Michael is gone, but my body physically can't take that thought right now. it'll have to wait until tomorrow.

when I walk away without waiting for his response, there's an elephant's weight on my chest.

taglist (add yourself here or lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @reidsconverse @donald4spiderman @awritingtree @gingeraleluke @bewitchedbibliophile @xoxospencerreid @spencerreidat3am @azuriteannie @written-disasters @si1verscreens @pleasantwitchgarden

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #mgg #baby spencer reid #baby spence #bau!reader #spencer reid x bau!oc #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #cm #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid angst #cm angst

19 notes · View notes