#and even if after you are gone there are wicked things done in your name
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thinkin' abt a little john wick conclave au where thomas lawrence is an aging assassin who keeps trying to retire but then is forcibly brought back for "one last hit" (first said to him half a dozen hits ago). lawrence is tired and depressed and he might be really good at his job (and that might be the only thing he's good at) but that Saddens him. because is his only purpose in life to be a Butcher?
not to mention he just recovered from prostate cancer and is now thinking a lot about the afterlife and god and sin etc etc. he's sure he's destined for hell no matter what he does now. is there even any point in changing?
one day he's in rome, surrounded by all these churches. and he enters one. he goes into a confession booth. every week, he confesses minor sins that turn into lovely but frivolous discussions with the anonymous priest, who lawrence can only identify through his gentle voice and bright, easily elicited laugh that reminds lawrence of morning birdsongs. over the weeks, this blossoms into a strange kind of friendship.
finally during a discussion about their favorite kinds of tea, lawrence interrupts the priest's recommendation of kahwah, which they had so often in their time in kabul, and was so delicious, and they just can't find anything close to what they had here, isn't that a shame, and i beg your pardon, what??
i kill people, lawrence repeats. all the time. i want to stop but i can't. i want to retire but they won't let me. i'm afraid being a murderer is how i spent most of my life, and i'm afraid it's how i'll spend the rest of my years, too. i'm the lowliest of sinners. i'm the evil that should be wiped clean from the earth. if god cast me down into the fires of hell for eternity, again and again, i would gladly welcome it.
and there is a heavy silence during which lawrence tenses, waiting for a horrified outburst or some rage.
but the priest says, with infinite compassion in his tone, you are still here on earth with us. and so god, in his mercy, has given you time to beg forgiveness and find redemption. make amends, however you can. take no more life, not for any reason. you say you want to stop. then stop. i believe you have good in your heart. you would not have come here if you did not.
thomas says, yes, yes i will, i swear on His name. i'm sorry for having wasted all your time these past weeks, i should not have done so.
and finally he says, goodbye. because there's no point in returning and attempting to continue this friendship, not when the priest must be so disgusted and would want nothing to do with lawrence any longer.
the priest says nothing in return and it hurts but lawrence knows he deserves it. he deserves far, far worse, and god, why can't he be punished now or just die and suffer eternal torment, and then, maybe, maybe, his soul could feel some bloody relief. but the priest said, make amends. can't make amends if you're dead.
so lawrence returns to his miserable apartment, to try and make amends, whatever that means. he decides to leave rome and begins to pack. he wanders the streets in a daze and gives all the euros he has on him to a beggar. on saturday, the day he would've gone to confession, he buys kahwah from a bemused shopkeeper.
he returns to find his next assignment on his kitchen counter in the form of a usb stick. he doesn't want to open it. but if he leaves it alone for too long, they'll send agents to track him down and he'll get an earful from aldo. better to open the assignment and fool them now. he'll disappear from rome right after.
lawrence plugs in the usb stick. there's a name he doesn't recognize. he clicks through the research on his next victim that ray had meticulously assembled. there is a video. he hits play. a voice starts speaking. and lawrence spills his hot cup of kahwah all over his keyboard and trousers but he doesn't care because fuck it all, he does know his victim after all.
it's the priest he sat next to week after week, chatting about the merits of herbal medicine and whether agatha christie or arthur conan doyle wrote better mystery novels and about the incompetence of world governments. it's the priest he just confessed to about his true nature, that he wasn't just some englishman adrift in rome, but a cold-blooded killer. it's the priest that heard this and offered him a way out, anyways.
it's vincent benitez.
the video continues, as benitez smiles and waves at a young child, his dark eyes luminescent and kind.
now he has a face and name to the voice, lawrence first thinks, in a daze. he’s even more beautiful than i imagined him to be.
his second thought: what the hell did benitez do to piss somebody off that badly that they want him dead?
#the answer: just being himself tbh#pt 2 ft. lawrence crashing out while he tries to protect vincent without killing more ppl#and starring vincent's nerves of titanium#imagine thomas lawrence to look more around the age ralph fiennes did in james bond#ok that's all i had the energy to type out for now#lawrenitez#thomas lawrence#vincent benitez#conclave#conclave au#assassin conclave au
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♰ ₥ØĐɆⱤ₦ ĐɆ₥Ø₦₴ ♰


♰ Pairing: slasher!yunho x chubby!fem!slasher fucker!reader
♰ Genre: smut/dark romance/horror
♰ Summary: With a ruthless, brutal killer on the loose the safe thing to do would be to stay as far away from dangerous men as possible. But you've never been the kind of girl to play it safe and when danger comes in the form of a man like Yunho, how's a girl to stay away?
♰ Word Count: 3.4k-ish

♰ Warnings: Yunho's a literal serial killer, neither of you die but someone does, sorta vivid description of a limb being chopped off, voyeruism in a way, slasher fetish, sadism, masochism, dom daddy Yunho, choking, restriction of movement, a lil nipple play, penetrative sex, sex covered in blood, dirty talk, scratching, hickeys, other forms of marking, creampie, manhandling, pet names (baby, princess, good girl), you're both kinda psychos...obviously.
♰ A/N: I'd like to say, "Oh, I wrote this because Halloween is coming up!" but, no, I didn't. I'm just a slasher fucker, okay? A part of this was inspired by one of my favorite horror movies and if you can guess it then let's get married. Love you forever.
On a side note, thank you @dawn-iscozy for suggesting Yunho for this. I didn't regret that decision for a solitary minute.

There’s a killer on the loose. A brutal, wicked man who stalks the night preying upon unsuspecting victims. Some say he only goes after those he perceives as having done something wrong. His own perverse way of balancing the scales, righting the wrongs that the cops don’t have the balls to fix.
Others say it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do. Your chances of being butchered are all the same, sinner or saint. One thing’s for sure, once he has his sights set on you not even god himself can save you from the fate that awaits. You’re gone in the blink of an eye, never to be seen again. At least not in one piece.
You’ve heard the warnings a thousand times over but none of them struck fear into your heart. On the contrary, you have quite the erotic fascination with his art as he calls it in the letters he leaves behind. There’s something about what he does that taps into a fetish for danger that you dare not tell another living soul about. You want to play with fire, scorch the tips of your fingers in his flames. That’s how you ended up here, straddling the lap of a man who claims to be the killer your sick little heart yearns for.
You met at a club. The kind where people go to indulge their wildest fantasies, no matter how depraved. You were wandering around alone in a tight latex mini dress that fit the richness of your curves like a glove. You had your hair pinned up the way you do now, waterfalls of curls spilling down to frame your face. Expertly applied black lipstick adorned your kissable lips, drawing men in enough that they’d lose their minds thinking of all the things that pretty mouth could do. The man beneath you was among them.
He spotted you from across the room, your figure bathed in red neon light as you sat at the bar plotting your next move. You let him buy you a few drinks, loosening you both up enough that secrets began to spill as freely as the vodka in your glass. “I wanna know if I tell you a secret, will you keep it?” the dark haired man whispered in your ear, a hand hovering dangerously close to your inner thigh. You swore that you would, hand over your heart. And that’s when he confessed. Your clear fascination with the man known as the Seoul Slasher had prompted him to reveal himself to you.
You couldn’t believe it. A real live serial killer, an absolute monster, so hypnotized by you he was nearly drooling down your cleavage. Going against every self preservation tactic they taught you in school, you invited him back to your place for a bit of fun. An offer he excitedly accepted. For a man whose entire modus operandi is control, he was more than happy to relinquish it to you. In no time you had him spread out on your bed, arms and legs handcuffed to the bed frame.
The entire room’s dark save for the flickering wicks of a few candles sprinkled about the room. You run a hand down his bare chest, sharp nails nicking at his tattooed flesh. He hisses at the sting, grinding his hips up against your core to add some pleasure to the pain.
You let out a giggle, fingers teasing the waist of his pants, “Tell me how you did it.” You flash your doe eyes, tightening your plush thighs around his hips.
“How’d I do what?” he asks, far too preoccupied with your body to hone in on your words.
“Those last two guys you killed. I wanna know every gory detail. You can tell me while I ride your cock.”
Your words certainly aren’t falling on deaf ears. He heard you loud and clear. He takes a calculated pause before providing you with a less than satisfying answer. “I used a butcher knife. Chopped them up real easy. Some of my best work I’d say.”
“Oh” you pout, shoulders dropping. You fold your arms across your chest, your disappointment hanging heavy in the air. “You really shouldn’t lie, you know? It’s a nasty habit.”
“Lie?” he scoffs, a nervous smile creeping across his face. His deception has failed and he doesn’t have enough brain cells to save this sinking ship. “I’m not lying, babe. I’m telling you. I used a butcher knife.”
You point an accusatory finger at him, applying pressure right between his eyes. “Dirty, dirty, liar” you sing, “You aren’t the Seoul Slasher.”
“And how would you know?” he asks, unjustly offended at the fact that you aren’t stupid enough to buy his bullshit.
You lean in close, the warm flames of the candles reflecting in your eyes like hellfire. “Because I’m already fucking him and he’s not too happy about you going around pretending to be him. It’s just bad manners.”
His smile grows more strained, his nervous laughter tickling the tip of your nose. He can’t tell if you’re serious or not but this is getting a little weird. Even for him. You watch him for a moment before erupting in soft, sweet laughter that mocks him. Reaching underneath your pillow you pull out a gag and shove it right into his mouth, shutting him up for the first time tonight.
“Baby, I’m done playing now!” you call out like a housewife announcing that dinner’s ready.
You sit back up, climbing off of him, and skip your way over to the dresser on the other side of the room. You hop up, feet giddily swinging back and forth to the tune of heavy footsteps descending the hallway. The man’s eyes dart over to the closed bedroom door, his heart thumping out of his chest. You can make out a few muffled protests but you dare not take it out. There’s nothing he can say that interests you now. Not that it ever did.
When your best friend first told you that a guy at the club was going around claiming to be the Slasher, you couldn’t believe your ears. Especially not when the real one was sleeping peacefully beside you. Further investigation proved that your best friend had been telling the truth so he had to be dealt with. Then another popped up and another. This one will make for the 4th and you must admit, as annoying as identity theft is for your boyfriend, you get a kick out of luring them here.
They always start out so cocky but once the gag’s in and those footsteps come, getting closer and closer at an agonizing pace, they’re not so confident anymore. At first they freeze up just like the corpse they’re soon to be. The shock does need a few seconds to set in. And then they panic, screaming through the gag and tugging at their bindings, their bodies writhing like a fish out of water. This one’s no different than the others. You can guess his next move like a film you’ve watched a dozen times and all of it’s in vain.
Sweat slicks his brow as the door creaks open and your face lights up like the Fourth of July. You breathe a sigh of relief. There he is. You’ve only been apart for hours but it feels like an eternity. A tall figure steps out of the shadows into the candlelight, revealing a handsome man in tailored black pants and a black button up you pressed yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, tucked just below the elbow where a pair of long black latex gloves begin. He spares the unfortunate soul strapped to the bed a passing glance before approaching you. He leans forward, palms flat on the dresser, caging you in.
“Did I do okay?” you question innocently, always hungry for the praise he never fails to feed you.
Yunho nods, gloved fingers stroking your soft cheek, “Oh, my good girl. You did more than okay. What would I do without you?”
Taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, he tilts your head up, capturing your lips in a kiss that would soak your panties if you were wearing any. He takes a deep breath as he pulls away, not wanting to but knowing that time is of the essence.
“Did he touch you?” Yunho’s jaw tenses, gloved hands flexing to warm up for the night’s events.
You peek around him to check in on the dark haired man. His face is wet with tears and he’s sobbing all over your new gag. You pray he hasn’t pissed himself. You’re not in the mood to have to buy a new mattress again.
You look back to your boyfriend and nod. “In the car he put his hand on my thigh.”
“Thank you for telling me, baby,” Yunho says, kissing you on the forehead. He turns around, eyes darkening as he approaches the foot of the bed. “I’ll start with his hands.”
Kneeling down, he slides a large case from underneath the bed and pops it open to reveal his tools. The spread is a pristine assortment of autopsy tools, not a lowly butcher knife in sight. He delicately runs his fingers over them, settling on the fine toothed bone saw. Your gaze never leaves him as he rounds the bed, aligning the sharp teeth of the saw with what you’ve come to know as the ulna. The bone right on his inner forearm.
Yunho grinds the saw against it and the man’s arm tears open, tattered pieces of flesh splintering off to the side as he carves his way through tough tendons. Blood gushes from the man’s arm, drenching the brand new sheets in a river of crimson. Yunho’s movements are precise and purposeful. The saw taps bone as the body below him convulses violently, the pain beyond anything you can imagine or ever care to.
Your boyfriend pauses, glancing over at you, and you know it’s about that time. You open one of the drawers beside you, fishing out your phone and a pair of over ear headphones. You sync them up, hitting play on your favorite song, and smile lovingly back at him.
He can’t be as brutal when he knows you’re listening. It’s one of few things about his profession he’s never quite been able to bring himself to expose you to. Even with the man’s cries muffled, being dismantled brings sounds out of someone that could give the most vile person nightmares. You can watch all you want but you won’t hear them.
It’d be easy to say that you weren’t like this before you met him. You were a sweet, delicate flower and this charming psychopath came along, corrupting your young soul. But a girl doesn’t get wet watching her boyfriend dismember people because she had her purity corrupted.
You were never innocent, you’d simply presented yourself as such. Yunho just freed you from the prison of feeling guilty about what got you off. Power. Not being at the mercy of anyone. Yunho treats you like a princess. You’re never left wanting for anything. Your every desire is satisfied. So what if your Prince Charming comes with a body count? Nobody’s perfect.
Yunho makes quick work of the body. After the slice to his second arm the man’s already at death’s door and the severing of his knees puts the final nail in the coffin. Yunho tosses the body parts to the ground like the limbs of an old doll. Breathless and blood soaked as he licks splatters of scarlet from his lip, he goes in for another cut.
You’re the only other thing he looks at like he does his work. The excitement of the kill is borderline orgasmic, dopamine coursing through his veins with every gruesome cut. Once he starts he has to keep going, chasing his high until it’s finished and the body’s nothing more than scattered pieces of an impossible puzzle.
Shoving the torso to the floor, he steps back to catch his breath, waving to get your attention. You slip your headphones off, setting them down to navigate the landmine of limbs and entrails to reach your love.
“You need some water, Yunie?” you ask, throwing your arms around him. The blood weighing down his clothes sticks to your arms, cool against your skin. It used to feel a bit strange but after a few times you’ve come to find it refreshing like a cool shower on a hot day.
Yunho shakes his head, a dazed look in his eyes. Usually the adrenaline begins to die down after that final cut but it’s only getting more intense. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he salivates over you like a man on the brink of starvation. “No, I need you. Right now.”
His lips crash into yours at a thousand miles per hour and you don’t even attempt to stop him. Why would you? Bloody gloves cling to your dress, stripping you of the material. You rip his shirt open, sending buttons raining down onto the slippery hardwood floor. Yunho’s hands ravenously explore your body as you rid him of his pants, painting your plush figure in blood like a canvas.
Attempting to feast upon your body through gloves is as close to torture as he’s ever come so he tears them off, groaning in delight as his bare hands sink into your pillowy ass. He picks you up, tossing you back on the bed, your breasts bouncing marvelously as you land.
You grin watching your boyfriend stare down at you like an absolute animal. His body’s everything dreams are made of, his flawless, rigid cock already leaking in anticipation. You spread your thighs, teasing him with the arousal dripping from your entrance. Bringing two fingers between your legs, you stroke them between your lips, spreading yourself open for him.
“You want it?” you moan, back arching as you pinch your sensitive clit.
Yunho positions himself between your legs, palming his cock above a pussy that’s clenching wildly at the ghost of what could be. He places a hand on your thigh, admiring the view. You in a sea of blood toying with yourself for his pleasure. What a sight to behold.
“You aren’t teasing me are you?” he asks, gripping your thigh tighter. His voice is low and rough, feral in every way.
You bring your slick fingers up to the head of his cock, coating it on your juices. “And what if I am?”
You motion to get up, your brain set on tasting his cock on your tongue, but Yunho’s quicker than you, grabbing your wrists and pinning your arms over your head. His free hand wraps around your neck, the veins of his arms pulsing as he applies the right amount of pressure to leave you breathless but not in pain.
“Do you want it?” He bumps his cock against your slit, missing on purpose to drag it between your folds. Your body shudders as much as it can with his full weight on you.
“Mmhmm” you hum, knowing he won’t hurt you but loving that you’re completely at his mercy.
“You know that’s not enough, baby” he smiles, squeezing your throat tighter, “I need to hear it, princess. Tell me you want it. Beg for daddy’s cock.”
He presses his throbbing tip to your entrance but this time he arches into you, giving you the head and nothing more. The stretch of that alone is disorienting, a wave of heat rushing through you. Releasing his hold on your throat, he brings his lips to yours, parting them to taste the desperate pleas that spill out.
“I want you to fuck me, Yunie. I’m so needy for your cock. I have been all night” you whine and his tongue traces your lips. You taste delicious. He inches into you, feeding you a little more then stopping. A little more then stopping. And your body jumps with every motion, pitiful sounds pouring from your lips onto his.
“Fuck me” you beg, an undeniable brokeness in your tone, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck…” Your voice trails off, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out. He lifts off of you, still holding your arms in place above your head, and thrusts into you ever so gently. You clamp down around him tightly enough that it’s hard to move, your pussy's too needy to let go.
Yunho grins, cupping one of your breasts, “I didn’t know watching me kill got you so hot. You’re sick, you know that?” He pinches your nipple harshly and you squeal, twisting in his hold.
“I know” you moan, blowing him a kiss, “But so are you.”
“Fuck, I love you” he growls, pulling you under with another dizzying kiss.
His thrusts grow harsher, your warm, spongy walls drawing him in impossibly deeper. His fingers knead the tender flesh of your breast as he brings his tongue down to soak your bud in equal parts blood and spit. Taking the bud between his teeth, he wraps his lip around it, suckling at it without losing his rhythm between your legs.
“Yunie. So good. So, mmph, aah…” you’re moaning but he gives one particularly hard thrust to your cunt, knocking the words right out of your mouth.
You want to touch him so badly. To dig your nails into his back while he fucks into you. To run your fingers through his hair, tugging at the deep brown strands as his tongue swirls around your bud.
“Touch” you pout, wiggling your hands.
Yunho pops your bud free of his lips, licking his way up your breasts, across your heated skin, along your neck, until you’re eye to eye. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”
“Wanna touch you. Please, daddy” you plead. You’re so helpless. So beautiful.
Yunho watches you squirm, feigning indecision. After an agonizingly long contemplation, he turns your arms loose, the redness on your wrists marking where he held you. Your hands are drawn to him like magnets, scouring every inch of him they can reach just to feel him.
Your nails find his back, digging into the flesh. Yunho buries his face in your neck, moaning at the sensation. “Harder” he whispers, fingers knotting in the sheets beneath you. You dig your nails in deeper, breaking skin, and he’s on the edge of a whimper, the sensation nearly too much for him.
Slipping an arm around your back, he keeps you flush against him, sinking into you over and over. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezed closed. You’re saying something but nothing’s coming out. Only whines and moans, the occasional fractured piece of his name.
There’s no bracing yourself for a cock this long and thick. You just have to take it, let it destroy every bit of you until there’s nothing left. A sense of euphoria surges through you and your legs instinctively lock around his waist.
“That’s it” he coos, fawning over the string of hickeys he’s left on your neck, “Be a good girl and cum for me.” Yunho grabs for your wrists one last time, locking them above your head. He pounds into you so hard the bed creaks, maybe even moves a few inches. “I wanna feel you gushing around this cock.”
Suddenly your breath hitches and your body feels weightless. It’s as if you’re floating above yourself. Watching this gorgeous man fuck you into the mattress like his own personal whore. And you are. You’re more than happy to be. Your senses come back to you in a rush of ecstasy and you’re trembling, crying out as you do exactly as he said. Creaming, gushing, dripping down his length.
Yunho pulls back, kneeling between your legs to drag his cock out and glide it back in. He goes all starry eyed at the sight of his cock glistening in your cum and soon he’s spilling inside of you. Your needy walls milking his cock of the warm, white liquid that overflows from your delicious pussy.
His hand comes down on your plush belly, enjoying its softness as he feeds you those last few strokes. You’re still moaning weakly when he finishes, laying back on the bed and pulling you on top of him.
Curled up safe and warm in his arms, you bask in the afterglow, thoughts of the man your boyfriend dismantled little more than a distant thought now. But ultimately it’s difficult to ignore. Especially when your eyes drift up and you notice something dangling in the corner of your eye.
“Yunie” you say, lightly petting his shoulder.
Yunho strokes your hair, looking down at you lovingly, “Yes, baby?”
“I think his hand’s still attached to the handcuff.”

#ateez x reader#ateez x you#ateez x female reader#ateez smut#yunho x you#yunho x reader#yunho smut#chubby reader#plus size reader#ateez au
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Insatiable - Chapter Five

TW for this chapter: murder, themes of obsession and possessiveness, brief mention of a panic attack, ooc sylus*, mean sylus, down bad sylus - has some naughty thoughts about you
* technically they are all out of character but I have no idea how the love interests act towards others who aren't MC, we have some snippets here and there but it's not enough. a lot is left up to interpretation so if you don't agree with mine, I can't do anything about it
WC: 5.3K
Masterlist
He can no longer live without you. You’re just like the air he needs to breathe. So, let him partake in you.
For his survival.
The city comes alive at night. During the day it feels like a ghost town at times but the night is when the sinners awaken and their appetite is never satiated. The hushed whispers in alleys, the not so odd gunshot you hear in the distance and the pleads of the victims all go ignored. The people here are smart. They know not to get involved.
But it is not the people she seeks. No. The one she’s hunting is yet another arrogant man with too much money and time in his hands. No matter how many of these animals she puts down, another simply takes his place.
The man thinks himself on top of the world, living on the top floor of the skyscraper. He feels like he’s untouchable. He thinks he’s safe.
He hasn’t even noticed her circling around him for days, watching her prey. Taking notice of every detail of his life. Of his betrayal.
It’s what makes her such a great hunter. She’s patient, going days without nutrition just to complete her hunt. Not a single prey has escaped her.
And this man is no exception.
She watches him - lounging around on his sofa - all of it clear to her thanks to the large windows. She’s standing on the rooftop of the building next to him, watching him through binoculars and he still has no fucking idea. There’s guards stationed by the door of the room but they’re useless against her.
All she needs is the view of him to complete the job.
It’s all played out for her, like a scene out of a movie. She experiences it all with a wicked glint in her eyes, her favourite part is coming up, the anticipation might just kill her. He hunches over in pain but no sound escapes him as a vine covers his mouth, silencing him. His eyes are bloodshot as he feels multiple things inside him, swarming and looking for escape.
One does.
It shoots out of his chest.
Then another.
This time through his left ear.
It continues until he looks more of an abomination of nature rather than a man.
He’s left on the couch. Silenced forever.
The last thing she’s ever thought of herself is an artist but she has created a masterpiece.
Sylus stares at his hands. [Name] had left his office a little while ago and he’s been stuck in this haze since. He can still remember the feel of her skin against, the warmth of her body and how right it all had left.
He still feels the anger at your little sacrificial lamb act. How dare you even think about leaving him?
This Eiden was a pathetic little coward. Still hiding behind his sister even when you’re considered dead. Sylus has been watching him the past year. Your brother has never done anything to find you, Sylus doesn’t care if he was hospitalized. The fool had gone and gotten married but couldn’t lift a finger for his family?
There was no memory of you left in your brother’s house, Eiden was all too happy to forget about you and yet you’re still worried about him.
And if that wasn’t enough, Eiden now has his Mara looking after him. How greedy.
His mind is in a disarray. His being filled with turmoil. He’s not supposed to feel this way about you. His love is only for the woman who killed him. And that’s not you.
No more of this. No more of feeling anything for you.
She’s just a tool, he reminds himself.
And it’s time he treats you like one.
You find yourself back in your bedroom.
How you got here was not remembered. It all felt like a blur.
Your gaze is on your wrist. The very one that Sylus had grabbed over a year ago. Your other hand curls around your wrist, trying to mimic the way he had. His touch had felt like acid on your skin back then so what changed?
Why had your mind and body deemed it okay?
I don’t fucking know.
Insomnia has nothing on the current exhaustion you feel. The sleep is just what you need.
The rubbery texture of the mat has become a familiar sensation to you. You often find yourself face planting onto it.
He’s a monster. Relentless.
Your entire body aches and not in a good way!
You had made the mistake of getting comfortable because now your body was subjected to a different type of torture daily.
Sparring with him.
This was the deal you had accepted two months ago. You had served his finances well but his endgame for you was different. You’ve rested this last year and your body is much better.
Just like Sylus wanted.
So, now it’s time to train it. As you feel your muscles ache, you can’t help but think it was a bad idea to confide in him about your evol. Because now, he’s set on seeing how far your endurance can take you. How much you can handle.
And it’s made more infuriating due to the fact that it’s working. The torture forced upon you for years had left you capable of accomplishing more with your evol than you could during your childhood. But your body was malnourished so even that was stunted. It’s all changed now though.
You’re also curious as to how far you can go. For the first time in all your lives you feel powerful. You can feel the potential brimming inside you, almost like it’s just out of your reach. It’s an addictive thing and unfortunately you’re hooked.
Creating plants out of nothing isn’t the limit to what you can do. You remember how your body had moved on its own during your childhood, helping a certain someone calm down from his evol flaring up. Golden vines had wrapped around his body - glowing - and they had healed all his cuts and stopped him from losing control. Of course, you paid the price by sacrificing your body again. But something tells you that the vines are only the start.
It’s why you don’t say anything as he knocks you off your feet once again. Two months of this and you haven’t made much progress. You can see the frustration inside Sylus and it worries you. Worried that he’ll throw you away.
A few months ago, these thoughts would have never crossed your mind. He kept you at a distance, sure, but he had always treated you with respect. In his own way, he kept reassuring you that such a thing would no longer happen…but something had changed.
Ever since he had comforted you in his office, he had been cold. Not just cold but sometimes scary. You have no idea where you stand with him. He no longer spoke to you in a teasing tone, no longer seeked you out and as rare it was for him to join your wacky adventures with the twins, now it never happens. He mostly communicates through Mephisto. The only time you see him is during your sparring sessions. He shows no hint of emotion in his eyes or face and it stings.
You hate that it stings.
His hold as he picks you up is gentle but it doesn’t feel like it. The dread at his touch is back too. But you’re too afraid to give it away. Afraid that if you don’t become what he wants you to then you’ll be disposed of.
“This isn’t working,” his eyes glare at you. He’s brought you closer to his body, face to face. Your black long sleeved shirt is good at hiding how sweaty you are. But your hair is a mess and you’re breathing heavily. He’s wearing a red tank top with black shorts, looking as composed as ever. You don’t even have the mind to admire him like this as your heart sinks to your stomach. Yet another person has deemed you a failure.
No. No. No.
I promise I’ll do better. I promise-
It’s hard to sign any of the words with the speed at which your pleas bombard your mind. None of it matters as he throws your wrist out of his hold and storms out.
You can’t even hear the choked gasps that escape from you. You can’t hear your breath shortening as you forget how to do the action. Somehow you can’t even hear your thoughts as the four walls around you seem to sway and close in on you. You make no noise as you fall to your knees and it kills you inside.
You’re left laying down on the gym mat.
The house is quiet now.
No longer do the occupants wake up to the sounds of clanging in the kitchen, no longer do they smell the food cooking and no longer do they see you.
Sylus hadn’t met you in the gym the next day. Or the next.
You take the hint and stop waiting for him.
You spend all your free time holed up in your room. You only leave for work. You haven’t signed in over a week as you refuse to cross paths with anyone. You left his card on his work desk, only to find it on your nightstand upon your return. You don’t push it by doing it again but you don’t use it.
Mary had sent you a text informing you that the kids wanted to see you but you responded by letting her know you were on a work trip. You didn’t want to put on a fake smile and pretend that everything was okay. That you were okay.
Luke and Kieran try to knock on your bedroom door but you never answer. The door is locked but it would pose no challenge for them to pick it. They don’t. It doesn’t stop them from trying to get you to come out though.
“[Name], come get food with us.”
“[Name], come play this new board game with us.”
“[Name], come commit arson with us.”
None of it works.
Your window is kept locked and the curtains are always drawn. You can hear Mephisto pecking at it but again you don’t respond.
On day five of your self-imposed isolation, you find yourself waking up with too much energy. You can only think of one thing to release it and that’s how you find yourself in the gym, tying up the boxing gloves as you stand before a punch bag.
Hand-to-hand combat was what Sylus had labelled you as a failure in so perhaps working the muscles would help.
The first punch you throw is half-assed.
How pathetic.
His voice speaks for you in your mind.
The second is too shaky.
How weak.
The third doesn’t even make the bag move.
Failure.
It repeats in your mind.
Failure. Failure. Failure.
It continues until you feel the white hot rage.
How was any of this your fault? Had you asked to be brought into this world? To be kidnapped? To be forced to watch your family be murdered in front of you and be the reason why? To be tortured and forced to experience unimaginable horrors? Did you beg for your mind to be broken over and over again?
Had you asked him to save you?
No, he had done so on his own. And now he wanted to throw a temper tantrum when things didn’t go his way.
Because you weren’t what he wanted? Who he wanted?
In your anger you don’t realise as your leg picks up and collides with the punching bag. However, you do notice as the force makes it fall off its hinges and smash against the wall. A good distance away from you.
You stand there gaping as the bag falls down, leaving a sizable dent in the wall.
“Always full of surprises aren’t you?” A voice purrs in your ear.
In your shock you hadn’t noticed the asshole entering and positioning himself right behind you. In a small act of rebellion, you push yourself away from him.
[Don’t touch me.]
Red eyes widen a bit. It’s a surprise to see him open and close his mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say but falling short. He looks to be in contemplation before nodding and taking a step away from you.
You’ve never seen him rattled. A part of you is smug. It’s a beautiful sight.
What would he look like on his knees, your thoughts wander.
“Meet me here again tomorrow?” it’s phrased like a demand but he speaks it like a question. His eyes look over your face but you give nothing away.
You nod.
This time it’s you who walks away.
Sylus is a fool.
He lasted not even four days after he walked out on you before finding himself at your bedroom door, hand raised to knock but staying in place. The only time he’s seen you these last few days is the small glimpses of you at work. You’ve isolated yourself and he knows it's serious when you’ve even shut Mephisto out.
He wanted to use his position as your boss to force you to show yourself, especially when he found his credit card on his desk but after some contemplation, he concluded it’ll do more harm than good.
Pride does settle in him when he realised all the cameras were gone so he can’t even check up on you using them but it’s mostly overshadowed by frustration.
This is all his doing. He had been so focused on seeing results that he had overlooked the mental battle taking place in your mind. He should be happy that his plan worked, he treated you like a tool, successfully manipulated you into being desperate for his approval so why doesn’t it feel like a victory?
Sylus has never heard you talk but he didn’t know one could be silent in other ways and it stings.
He hates that it stings.
He’s conflicted. Maybe it’s for the better that the two of you stay like this because the fact that he has gotten so attached to you in such a short amount of time is exactly why he did this. He can live with emotional pain, he’s been doing so for far too long.
But can he live without you?
He finds himself unable to answer his own mind.
He puts his hand down, into his pocket because he doesn’t trust his own body right now.
And he walks away.
He’s a fool.
He won’t apologise for it.
He saw it all.
The quiet fury in your eyes that you could no longer express with your words. The raising of your leg as it collided with the bag. The sheer force it took for the bag to leave a dent in his fucking wall.
Desire pools in his gut at your show of strength.
It doesn’t help that you look so good in your workout attire. It clings to you in all the right ways. All those memories of pinning you to the mat and having you under him resurface. Sylus hadn’t shown it but he was utterly grateful at his restraint because it would’ve been so easy to have you in those moments.
His body moves on his own and before he knows it, he’s right behind you. He’s tried so hard to forget the feel of you against his body but his mind still yearns for it. He doesn’t touch you but he’s close enough.
You’re too shocked to even notice him.
How cute.
But then he ruins it by opening his mouth and something inside him breaks when you pull away.
[Don’t touch me.]
Your unspoken words ring in his head. Over and over again.
You’ve rendered him speechless and for that he has to give credit where credit is due.
Sylus has walked away from you too many times to count and he can’t help but think when you do it to him.
Is that how he made you feel?
The room has changed the next time you enter.
The gym equipment has all been moved to the corners. Instead it looks more like something out of those spy movies you liked to watch. One area of the room is set up as a shooting range. There are four lanes, each with their own target. On the wall are various guns, none of which you have any knowledge of. You hated them in your first life so you never knew a thing about them. The guns in the game are a bit different, more technical.
There’s another area with training dummies. No weapons around them. Another area is set up as some type of simulator, you think. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the technology of this world.
You hear them before you see them.
“Boss sure moved fast to make this happen,” Luke says. “Seems like we’re no longer the favourite child Lukey,” Kieran pouts. They stand before you, leaning on the other.
[You were never the favourite, that goes to Meph], they let an offended gasp at your declaration. Their antics never fail to make you feel better.
[Why have I been graced with your presence?] you ask.
“Cause we’re your new mentors. Boss’s orders.” They clarify together when you give them a confused look. It’s sometimes astonishing how much they move in sync, almost like they are one person. Not even you and Ei were that close.
“Now,” Kieran claps his hands, “...it’s come to our attention, little lady, that you pack a mean kick. But first, we have something to show you,”
Luke grabs your hand. It’s the first time he’s touched you and he realises this himself and drops it quickly. Before he can say anything, you grab it again.
[What is it?]
You have no idea what expression he has on his face, you can’t see the look in his eyes thanks to the mask they wear but you hope he’s shocked.
No way am I admitting that I feel safe around them, they’ll never let me hear the end of it.
Neither of them say anything but instead drag you to the spot on the wall that had the dent you created. You wish so badly you could cackle when you see what they’ve done to it.
“Ta-daaa!” They give you jazz hands as they show off their work.
The hole is framed and there is a small plaque to the side of it. When you look at it closer, something is written on it.
Baby’s first victim.
“Well, what do you think? It was my idea if you like it. Kieran’s if you don’t.” You hear an offended “Hey!”, followed by a smack. The twins bickering is interrupted by your clapping. When they turn to look at you, you’re staring at them with a wide smile.
[I love it.]
You regret the show of appreciation when two sets of hands start pinching your cheeks, cooing at you.
For the last month, the twins had trained you in every fighting style that specialised in using legs. You pick it all up fast. It’s exhilarating seeing the damage you can do. It’s reassuring to know that you’re strong with or without your evol.
Also you’ve destroyed over a hundred dummies. Pat yourself on the back!
You haven’t seen Sylus in the last month but this time it doesn’t bother you. The only communication you’ve gotten with him is a message Mephisto relayed. “Focus on your training, don’t show up to work.”
You don’t think you would have been able to concentrate when your entire body is constantly aching. Any free time you have is spent either at the orphanage or resting in your bed.
The twins and you have gotten even closer during this month. Close enough to divulge some secrets.
It’s yet another day.
Rather than taking your frustration out on the dummies, the twins want to spar. Which means you have to be wary of how much force you put in your kicks. Kieran decided to go against you first with Luke watching on the sidelines.
But the kick you land on him is too hard, the force of it is known by the loud sound ricocheting throughout the room. Before you can drop everything and see if he’s okay, you notice it. You notice Luke holding his side in pain. The exact same spot you had just kicked his brother in.
You’ll ask about it later but for now, you rush off to find the first aid kit. You examine the area on Kieran, he tried to play it off but the shake in his voice was too noticeable. The guilt must have been clear on your face because he relents when he notices the tears in your eyes.
You don’t want to hurt those you care about. Intentional or not. Physically or not.
Luckily there is no internal damage, just some bruising that should go away on its own. You give him an ice pack. Then you turn to Luke.
[Show me yours.]
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he crosses his arms and looks away.
You move yourself into his field of view and sign. [I’m not stupid, I noticed. Show me or I’ll tell the boss that it was you who drank his favourite wine.]
That sets him straight and he shows you. He’s given an ice pack as well.
It all makes sense how they seem to be so in sync, to the point where they feel everything the other does. It’s great, sure, but it’s a huge weakness.
Take one down and the other does as well.
Not on your watch.
[My evol kills me,] it’s only fair to let them know something of yours in exchange. You don’t have to see their faces to notice the confusion so you explain in more detail.
The three of you go out for some ice cream for comfort after.
This time it’s Sylus who is waiting for you in the room. He’s at the shooting range. You walk over. The boots you’re wearing make enough noise for him to hear. He turns to you and you freeze at the soft smile on his face. You narrow your eyes at him in distrust, making sure to keep a distance. What is he planning…
He only chuckles. “Relax, little bird. I only want to have an honest conversation with you.” Your body language relaxes a little but you’re still on edge. He continues his words when he notices, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m putting you through all this.” When you nod, he closes the distance. His hand reaches out to caress your cheek but stops before it makes contact. He’s gauging your reaction and continues when you don’t give him a reason to stop.
Your breath hitches when his fingers cradle your cheek. “It’s all for your benefit…and mine of course.” His eyes are hooded as they stare into yours. “I want you to slice the necks of each individual that did this to you,” his fingers move to the large scar across your neck. You tilt your head up to give him access. “Each individual that works for them will die by your hand only, I’ll make sure of it,” he promises you. And despite your mind screaming at you to not believe him, you do.
[And what do you gain out of this?] He laughs softly at your question. You know him so well. “I get a super soldier.”
He tugs you towards the shooting range. “Now, let's see how you fare with this.”
Sylus stares at his bedroom ceiling.
The both of you had come to some sort of understanding with each other since then. He had taught you how to use guns and hand weapons, it’s dangerous for you to rely on your legs. He’s working towards getting you to be comfortable using your evol, but that won’t be for a while. You can be very stubborn when you want.
The guns hadn’t appealed to you like the blades had. You had settled on a pair of twin blades, the sword’s blade could extract leaving just the handles, which made them easy to carry. You asked them to be modified further, so they could be hot enough to cut through anything. It was an interesting ask, one that he indulged in. It took a while to develop, to find the perfect protocore that would work with it but he prevailed in the end. The giddiness in your face had made it all worth it.
He’s fucked.
He still doesn’t know the answer to what you mean to him. All he’s aware of is that you can never leave him. You have a power over him that no one else does.
Like right now, you locked him inside his own room. He can easily escape but he’s not going to. Why? Because the image of the puppy eyes you had flashed at him pops up again. He’s about to set up an important deal, so sleep has been sacrificed. However, you noticed this and put your foot down.
“It’s hardly fair, little bird. You never sleep.” You had taken up all the space in his bedroom door, your arms outstretched so he couldn’t leave. [I’m fucked in the head. What’s your excuse?] He only sighed, rubbing the space between his head.
I don’t have time for this.
But when he looked back up, any thoughts of disagreement went out the window at the pleading look you gave him. [Please?]
That’s why he’s currently trying to glare a hole into the ceiling. He can’t believe he let you win. With a huff, he accepts his fate and closes his eyes.
The clock reads 8:00AM when he awakens. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he becomes all too aware of the silence throughout the house.
The uncharacteristic silence.
You don’t live with the twins and have a moment of peace. They don’t make it possible.
He’s rushing out the door. What are they up to? He does not want a repeat of last time. No, he can’t even think about it.
The twins aren’t in their room, or in any of the other miscellaneous rooms in the house. He knocks on your door and opens it when no one answers. It’s also empty. Maybe the three of you have gone out together again, he calms himself down.
Coffee.
He walks to the kitchen, passing by the living room but stops in his tracks.
Found them.
They’re currently sitting down in the armchairs, tight ropes all around them. Their necks are slumped forward but the snores coming out of their mouths stop any panic. His eyes move over the couch. You’re sitting down on it. Still in your pajamas with a robe around you and fluffy slippers on. There’s a tablet in your hand and a steaming cup of coffee on the table. One hand is typing on the tablet while the other is giving head rubs to Mephisto, who is sitting on the couch’s arm rest. The bird looks very comfy at the affection he’s getting.
You look up when he enters, a warm smile on your face. You set the tablet down and get up to greet him. [Morning. Did you sleep well?”]
“I did,” he hums before pointing at the nuisances. “What’s all this?” You look at the direction, a mischievous look in your eyes. [I needed their help with something which they did! But they were being too loud and I was afraid they would wake you up so I handled it.]
“By drugging them?”
You give him a beaming smile in response. [Aren’t I a genius?] If you had a tail, it would be wagging. He smiles while imagining the sight.
His hand brushes the stray hair out of your face. “Yes. Yes you are.” It moves down towards your wrist, his fingers lace with yours and he’s pulling you towards the kitchen, making sure to grab your cup of coffee. Mephisto follows behind. “Come. Let’s have breakfast together.”
You instantly move to the fridge but look up at him when his hand slams the door shut. Sylus moves you towards the bar stool. “I’m cooking today. Just sit there and look pretty.” He turns around and opens the fridge door. Simple eggs with toast will do. With the ingredients in hand, he moves to the stove. In a few minutes, the sound of the eggs sizzling can be heard with the toaster also on. He can feel your stare on him.
As it should be.
He keeps an eye on you when you get up, heading to the coffee machine. You’re making it for him. The two of you are silent as you work, only the sounds of the equipment you’re using can be heard. You move towards him, and he accepts the cup. It’s just how he likes it.
[I’ll be back.] By the time you come back into the kitchen, he’s putting down the two plates on the table. The tablet is in your hand.
You sit down with him, looking for something on him and slide it to him when you do. He picks it up and reads it.
“This is…How-”
[I’ve been watching him for two weeks. As soon as you wanted the deal.]
He puts the tablet down on the tablet. “Why?” arms crossed as he stares at you.
[Because he was too clean. Nothing on his finances, not even the hidden ones. No one is that clean when they live here. Certainly not someone that rich. I figured he’d mess up and I was right.]
He continues to stare at you. A sign to not stop.
[He has a mistress. Which wouldn’t be a problem but his wife has an iron tight prenup. One that’ll leave him with nothing if his infidelity is proven. That’s why I got the twins to…persuade him to take the deal. With a 5% loss to profit for him.] You wait for some sort of reaction from Sylus, you normally wouldn’t intervene with his business like this but you noticed the exhaustion in his eyes. Sure, it would've been easy for him to get what he wanted by brute force but that’s not how the world of business works. A reputation like that would only cause issues.
“Don’t do such a thing again,” he warns you. “That’s not why you’re here,” he pauses, “but good job.”
Later during the day when you return to your room, there’s a big stack of folders waiting for you. On them is a sticky note, ‘A reward,’ printed on it. When you open the folder’s it’s all the information he had promised you, about Eiden. But any thankfulness goes away at the dates listed. Sylus had been watching your brother for a long time, before the whole drama in his office. He already had all this information when he promised he’ll look into your brother. But he kept it these last couple of months. When you had disappointed him.
You can’t believe you trusted the words he spoke to you. You had hammered yourself down and begun anew for him. You’re letting him turn you into a killing machine. Your gaze falls back onto the sticky note.
Reward.
The word is sitting there, mocking you. What else is he keeping from you? Hiding it away and only letting you when you’ve satisfied him.
With a new found resolve, you crush the note in your hands. Two years. He had invested a lot in you these two years so that’s what you’ll give him. The next two years, you’ll do whatever he wants. You’ll be whoever he wants. But as soon as the time is up, you’re gone.
Not just from him, from them all.
AN: We have Zayne in the next chapter!! Finally!!!
#lads fanfic#love and deepspace#yandere#caleb x reader#lads#lads caleb#lads rafayel#lads zayne#loveanddeepspace#mc x reader#aceecee#lads xavier#lads sylus#love and deep space#love and deepspace x reader#sylus x reader#zayne x reader#xavier x reader#rafayel x reader#yandere x reader#yandere character#yandere love and deepspace#non mc reader
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𐕣. 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇
summary. time inevitably approaches all, but an otherworldly suitor has other plans for you.
⤷ contents. yandere!vampire!chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, unhealthy relationships, blood // wc. 2.0k
⤷ notes. a very happy birthday to @ddarker-dreams! i wanted to write something cute and evil as a thanks for all the chrollo treats she's given out! hope you enjoy! <3
Dusk began to creep in across the horizon, dimly counting down the few hours before night would fall, allowing the silver moon to take its place among the stars. Golden rays began to dim, passing through the extravagant window in the room you’d been staying in, casting a faint glow across furniture and floor alike.
Perhaps ‘staying’ wasn’t the correct word to use, though. It made you sound like a visitor, which you certainly were not. The metal lock on the door, the same shade as the setting sun, sealed you into a plush and comfortable tomb, only allowed to wander beneath illuminating moonlight.
It was the only time he was allowed out too, after all.
You remembered the first time you met that man—Chrollo, as he called himself, though perhaps he had gone by a different name in years past. He called you glorious, a singular rose in a field of boring dandelions, waiting to be plucked and worshiped by a kindred soul. As the daughter of a farmer, his honeyed words made you feel warm inside. Night after night you would meet with him in the woods beside your village, listening to him speak about poetry, books, and the world outside your own quiet one. He made you feel alive—like setting a helpless dove free from a poorly made cage of twigs.
If only he told you the dove was just flying into a golden prison. Maybe you would have run then, told your mother and father about the wicked and beautiful stranger in the woods. But his stories and words wove you into a web too tight to escape, and too alluring to even want to.
You sighed, both out of boredom and out of anguish. Your sleeping habits had changed since you’d been brought to this ancient castle. Now you would wake up just before sunset, giving you time to prepare yourself for Chrollo’s bothersome speeches. Back when you were younger you would have found them poetic—dashing, even. But now, all you wanted was for him to leave you alone. Return you back to your family, your friends, and your village.
The first time you’d ever begged him for that he just smiled, wiping tears off your lashes and running his hand gently through your hair.
“They’re gone,” he had cooed, coaxing your back. “There is nothing for you to return to, my dear.”
His words only brought more tears, and broken sobs along with it. A cacophony of anguished screams and hopeless crying continued night after night, and Chrollo had left you alone for them. He returned on the third night, comforting you through your discordant howling and tears, not saying a single word. Only gently stroking your hair and humming a lullaby ever so softly, bringing your wailing to a whimper as you dozed off to sleep, tears still running down your face.
You should have hated him after those words, hated him until the sun and the moon and every last star in the sky burnt out. Until your bones turned to dust and that dust turned to nothing, as all good things should. But instead, you let him comfort you, as he had done before. You let him hold you and sing to you and your hatred dissipated almost as quickly as it came. Now, the only person you can hate is yourself.
The resounding chime of a bell echoed throughout the castle, finding its way under the door and into your ears, and one look outside confirmed what the bell had just screamed to you. The moon, illustrious and horrid—a grim reminder of your fate, stood proudly amongst its brothers and sisters in the inky sky.
Oh, how you preferred the sun.
A loud knock on the door—one you’d grown to expect—caused you to stretch out of bed and to the middle of the room, throwing the closet open.
Dresses in onyx and sangria were all you had, each only slightly different in design. Some had lace trims, intricately made and without flaws. Others had slits so high you were certain your mother would have chased you out of the village herself. All chosen by Chrollo, of course. You didn’t even know what sangria was before you’d met him, a drink too rich for you to ever experience on your own.
“I’m not decent,” you called out, scanning your limited options. A faint chuckle was barely discernible through the thick wooden door, a sign that Chrollo would wait, though not for long.
You shuffled out of the loose nightgown and tossed it into a basket. With Chrollo breathing down the door you had almost no time to carefully choose your dress of the day—not that it particularly mattered to you. But it was better than letting Chrollo have control over another aspect of your life.
A simple black gown, without lace or an indecent alteration, was your choice. The neckline was plunging—far more than anything you wore—but you had learned to push your own feelings down.
“Modesty only matters when around others,” Chrollo had told you. “But here, it is just you and I. There is nothing to fear, my treasure. I am no beast.”
The fangs that creeped out from his smile warned you otherwise.
With a resigned sigh, you walked over to the door, gently rapping your fist against the thick wood. The door slid open with a loud creak—just like every other antique in the ancient palace. Your gaoler smiled upon seeing you, taking the time to look at your body.
“You resemble an ancient tome of poetry, appreciated only by its author,” Chrollo said, stepping into the room.
“Are you calling me old?”
“I apologize if you took it that way,” he chuckled, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I merely mean to say that you are a sumptuous artifact, deserving of being remembered by history for all time.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms and ignoring the shiver that never failed to arise when Chrollo was with you. “I prefer a simpler life, thank you.”
“I believe this one suits you far better. If you gave it a chance, I’m sure you’d come to realize the same.”
“I liked my old one.”
“Come now, my dear,” he sighed, moving a cold hand across your shoulder blades. “You always insist on speaking of the past. Why not look towards the future? It has so much to offer you.”
“Have you grown bored of comforting me?” you spat, pulling away from his touch. “Where are your soothing words, your golden gifts? Have you found a new game to play?”
Chrollo frowned, not bothering to reach for you again. Instead his arms rested at his sides, peacefully. Lifelessly.
“I have grown tired,” he emphasized, “of your refusal to move on. I have given you so much, only for it all to be rejected. I thought time would sway your choice, but it appears that I have failed to consider your…stubbornness.”
His expression had changed in the blink of an eye, now sporting his usual disconcerting smile.
“Walk with me,” he commanded, already stepping out of the room.
Your feet moved against your will, gliding across the floor and after Chrollo. It was something you hated, even more than his smug attitude and unneeded grandiose vocabulary. You could always reject him with your words, but in the end he had the power to cut your actions short. An obnoxious monster, as always.
“I have been thinking,” Chrollo began, trailing the dark halls, “about us. And my offer. I believe that I have been…entertaining your behaviors for too long. Time is a fickle thing for beings like you, and I fear you may not have much left.”
“I’m not dying,” you snorted. “Or are you just worried that I might start wrinkling early?”
Chrollo laughed at your words, “I am not afraid of fine wine, my dear. Just that your behavior will soon spiral out of control. If something were to happen, I would hate to have to chase you down. That is all.”
Your walk ended in the garden, bushes towers high above you and Chrollo. It was a place that, despite its beauty, you weren’t too fond of. It was a maze of Chrollo’s making—intentional, knowing him. If something were to enter through the garden, they would never make it to the castle before Chrollo got to them. And more importantly, you would never make it out.
A clearing stood before you, a wooden pavilion with a dozen chairs surrounding a table. Where fancy ladies would meet for fancy tea and gossip about the fancy going-ons in the palace. Like in storybooks you would read as a child.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Chrollo said, approaching the table. Upon it laid a goblet, and, despite the distance separating you, you could make out the sharp gleam of a knife.
“Choices must be made my dear, and I’m afraid that this is one I must make myself. I cannot bear the thought of being without you, and I seek to make our union permanent.”
Chrollo raised a hand in your direction, willing you to stand right before him.
“I could sink my teeth into your throat,” he chuckled. “We would become closer, that way. But you are wearing a 12th century royal Gorteauan gown, and I’d simply hate to ruin it.”
Your blood ran cold as he grabbed the knife, bringing it between you. It was almost as sharp as his fangs, but just as dangerous.
You knew what it was for, undoubtedly. Chrollo had talked about it plenty—about turning you into what he was. About stripping your mortality and bringing you a step closer to eternity. To paradise, to Eden, he claimed. You always pushed against his wishes, though. Insisting you had more life to live, that you were too scared, anything to halt the inevitable. But Chrollo was inevitable, and at the end of the day, his wishes all came true. Never yours.
The knife made purchase with the palm of Chrollo’s hand, causing droplets of crimson blood to spill out from the wound. He brought his hand up to your face, close enough for you to smell the iron from the cut.
“You only need to ingest a little bit. More than a lick, of course. But I’m quite potent,” he smirked.
If you weren’t so terrified, you maybe would have chuckled. Maybe you would have ran.
Chrollo’s smile slowly fell as you continued to do nothing, “Go on. I would hate to force you to do this as well.”
You took a shuddering breath and looked at the pool of blood, “Will…will it hurt?”
“Not a bit,” Chrollo assured you, his smile returning. “It will be painless. You’ll fall asleep afterwards, and your old life will feel like a dream. A rebirth, if you will.”
He continued, “Just think of what you will be now. No longer and Eve, now a Lilith. You will have power, permanence among the living, and me."
“...And it won’t hurt?”
“Not a bit,” he smiled.
You slowly lifted his hand, still freezing cold, closer to your mouth. You let the blood touch your quivering lips, staining them crimson. Perhaps you looked alluring, shaking like a deer with your reddened lips. Especially to a beast like Chrollo. A beast you would soon become.
With one final anguished cry, you drank of his blood. It was as cold as his body, perhaps even colder. It did nothing to freeze your nerves, nor stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Those, too, began to feel colder and colder.
Chrollo held you close, running his free hand along your shoulder, whispering sweet comforts in your ear. Already the world seemed to be getting darker as each touch felt more dull.
“Now, now, my dearest angel. Imagine what new heights we can reach,” he chuckled, wiping stray blood from your face.
“We have all of eternity to see them. Together.”
#chrollo lucilfer x reader#chrollo x reader#yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader#yandere chrollo x reader#chrollo lucilfer#chrollo#yandere chrollo lucilfer#yandere chrollo#yandere x reader#yandere hunter x hunter#yandere hxh x reader#mdni
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// NAMEMC SPOILERS
My boissssss what have the watchers done to youuuu! God can you imagine the horror. Once death meant you were free. Safe from whatever sick game you were forced to play but now even that isn't sacred. There is no rest for the wicked.
Mumbo was gone for two weeks and Skizz got buried a week ago. Mumbo was mourned and Skizz is still probably being mourned only for their friends to be forced to see their bodies being dragged out from their graves and forced to do whatever sick and twisted things the watchers want them to do. Sick and twisted I tell you, SICK AND TWISTED!
CAN YOU IMAGINE HEARING YOUR FRIENDS GIGGLING AND LAUGHING LIKE NOTHINGS CHANGED AFTER LOSING THEM BUT THIS TIME IT'S NOT BECAUSE OF A JOKE YOU MADE BUT BECAUSE THEY'RE HUNTING YOU DOWN. THIS ISN'T LIKE THEY'RE ON RED THIS ISN'T THEM. THEY HAVE THEIR BODIES. THEY HAVE THEIR VOICES. THEY MIGHT EVEN HAVE THEIR MINDS BUT THEIR EYES DON'T SHINE ANYMORE WITH THE SAME JOY OR LOVE EVEN THE RED NAMES SHOW! THEY HAVE NO LOYALTY! NO SENSE OF FRIEND OR FOE! THEY HAVE NOTHING TO GAIN BECAUSE THEY ARE DEAD AND THEY JUST WANT TO SEE CARNAGE! THEY ARE NOT RED NAMES AND EVEN THE RED NAMES FEAR THEM FOR EVEN REDS UNDERSTAND SOLIDARITY AND FRIENDSHIP.
Imagine being Grian...
The reds are no longer the biggest threat on the board and they are scared. Imagine being a green.
#skizzleman#trafficblr#mumbo#grian#sub one club#the spanners#wild life smp#wildlife spoilers#Rip TangoTek i just know Skizz is probably going to be hunting him down#Can you imagine if Listener!Martyn could hear their true thoughts#their screams for help#their apologies that they cry out within the deepest part of their minds#the body horror...#god i can't wait for this coming Saturday#namemc spoilers#life series#life series spoilers#mumbo jumbo
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eons adrift ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ wanderer x gn!reader
˗ˏˋ꒰ 🎐 ꒱ "i'll come and find you in every life celestia will give me." "that's not possible, you and i both know that." "watch me!"
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ cw: character analysis-ish, mildly proofread, drabble but it's kinda messy, its more like an idea than a fic LOLLL im sorry, hurt/comfort
scaramouche took you for a naive fool, just as he was when oh so stupidly believed those words as kunikuzushi.
you are but a human. a mere breath of his everlasting eternity. a few hundreds of years and he would forget everything about you.
insignificant, you humans were.
frail.
vulnerable.
so so easy to break.
as he walked into the path of darkness; consuming him and turning him into someone he doesn't recognize in the mirror no longer—kabukimono, kunikuzushi, the love of your life, was long gone. memories like the leaves that turn yellow and crumble to ashes as winter approaches.
yet the winter will remain in his empty chest for as long as he walks teyvat. churning into a blizzard of ice cold pain, destroying everything around him as it grows. he continues to walk this wretched path he chose.
but then he met someone, rekindling the spark that was once there beneath his porcelain skin. trying to light up a burn out wick, to bring an end to his winter and bring forth the beautiful spring he was once.
scaramouche never thought he'd love again.
even after all through the pain he went from the doctor's experiments, after roaming the great expanse of the abyss, after becoming the balladeer, the 6th of the fatui harbingers, he still felt.
love.
happiness.
pain.
sorrow.
and regret.
he hates it, but he loves them, just as much as he loved you.
though he allowed someone new worm their way into his heart, he kept them in arm's reach. he cannot bear to be vulnerable to someone else. they were human, they were to die; he is a puppet, he is meant to live on forever.
but then he heard them say things only you would say. giving him lavender melons you bought off the market, accidentally calling him names only you would know.
he remember that promise you made him before you died.
"i'll come and find you in every life celestia will give me."
scaramouche did not understand what he felt when he realized that his new lover, was in fact, just a reincarnation of you. and just like that, your name burns back itself into his mind—a name he thought he had erased into obscurity, along with his past.
he was a fool, scaramouche thought. he laughed at himself, a laugh void of humor, nor joy.
it was your name, your first incarnation, just in a different language.
it appears that scaramouche didn't like this feeling. of bitter butterflies in his stomach, the familiarity when you try to get close to him, the same smile you had, the light full of love in your eyes—it was all too much for him.
so he left you in the snow of his ever growing blizzard. buried under the thick layers of freezing ice.
and again, to your next reincarnation. a fatui, a vendor, an adventurer, a knight, a scholar—male, female, neither, or all of them; tall, short, plump, slim, dark or light skinned,
he cannot bear to lose you just as he first did.
slipping by his fingers, to the one thing he is not affected by.
death.
he doesn't accept the fact that your love has led you back to him, again and again.
why do you even keep coming back? don't you know he's part of the fatui? don't you know what he has done? don't you know what he has become?
and yet you'd knock on his door, calling his name with your voice full of warmth, arms wide for him to take and allow himself to be called yours again—all he had to do was open the door.
he has kept a lock on it ever since he met you again.
worn down and rotten; chains all rusted, handle jammed and barely working. he approaches the door once again. this time, as wanderer. a better version of himself,
one that's finally willing to open the door to you.
but you weren't there anymore, waiting for him on the other side.
how could you? you were never there in the first place.
not with this version of himself.
not as the wanderer.
and maybe that was for the best. even though he cries himself to sleep at night for all the things he has done to you. weeping, as he curls onto the sheets, praying to the stars above in hopes you'd hear his heartbroken apologies, yearning for your love, your touch, your smiles—
this was his punishment for hurting you, for being a fool. he was underserving of your love, after all.
"hey, wanderer, was it?"
a new voice, someone unfamiliar. he refrained from sighing, for buer's sake, and instead took a deep, refreshing breath. he turns, and the stranger smiles brightly at him.
immediately, as if the winds of spring has hit him all so suddenly in the face. the fragrance of blooming flowers that was once buried under the snow, the sun shining brightly in the skies, and birds chirping symphonies.
like the mornings brimming with new found hope, the smell of dew sticking onto his clothes as he trace his fingers all over the a tree's trunk. like the the juices of a fruit he sank his teeth into, dribbling down the corners of his lips and down his arms.
warmth tingled on his skin, and his heart leaps.
"nice to meet you!" you say your name, a name he has heard hundreds of versions before, all so different and yet they all felt and tasted like honey dripping down his tongue. "i hope we get along."
"yeah," he says, almost breathless, as the tears begins to well in his eyes. his fingers tremble, and his smile grew wobbly. tipping his hat down to avoid your gaze, his voice cracks. "i hope so too."
his door was wide open, waiting for you come in.
you grin, and take a step inside.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
author's note: "i thought this was a dottore only blog? SHUT UP!!!!! SHUT UP!!! 🥹🥹🥹🥹 IM MAD AT MYSELF TOO BUT THIS IS FOR @fatuismooches also new format because im too lazy to open my files :/ not back yet, i just wanna write this for the pookie 💗💗 ty for listening to me ramble like a madman ur single handedly gettin me thru it ong LMAOOO /lh
#favoniuslibrary#˚₊໒🔪꒱kai writes₊˚#╰┈➤ wanderer#wanderer x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genhin impact#scaramouche x reader#listening to mitski's new album to this#this is like#so so bad but bear with me#i dont feel well ok 😭😭#idea came to me while im in the shower
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Demon! Dreamcatcher - Giving You A Helping Hand
a/n: i wrote this to help me with my dami b-day fic... so spoilers for that, perhaps? (this has nothing to do with the fic, i just had brain rot from my own idea... and wrote this instead of the fic 🤦♀️) I'll get back to requests and that fic eventually, I hope. 🫠
tw: lots of blood and gore for headcannons, demon eats human, the same human gets brutally murdered again and again, my opinions about what sin each girl represents, someone spits on a dead body, lots of death, DC are murder wives (literally)
��� Masterlist ♡
Prompt - okay, this was pathetic. You couldn't even fight off one person who sent a right hook into your jaw. You didn't want to call her since she'll probably kill the person in front of you, but they started it by pulling out a switchblade.
Yeah, pleasantries went out the door a long time ago. Fuck, this was a bad idea.
Yet you still summon your girlfriend to your side.
○●○●○●○

• Your girlfriend didn't have the most elegant summoning pose - she was in the middle of biting an invisible dish.
JiU - Demon of Gluttony
• Annoyed, she turns to you before smiling and going to greet you...
• -before she notices the small cut on your face.
• Her head snaps to the other direction, noticing the other person who looks terrified at Minji's sudden change in demeanor.
• "I've always wondered what human meat tastes like."
• She lunges and tackles the person to the ground, and you close your eyes as blood and guts fly everywhere
• Not a bit of human flesh lands on you before Minji calls your name.
• You open your eyes to see her wiping her face of blood (as if her clothes and hands aren't soaked in the color red).
SuA - Demon of Pride
• "C'mon, my dear, I've still got leftovers back in hell. Shall we enjoy them together?"

• She's happy you called her - why wouldn't you call the best demon girlfriend to assist you?
• Oh, someone's bothering you? SuA simply opens a portal to hell behind the person and nonchalantly flings them into the portal.
• "Don't worry, babe, I won't touch them. Cerberus will tear them to pieces. :)"
• You forget how terrifying (and hot) she is at times.
• SuA, without dropping her smile, approaches you and gently places her hand on your cheek.
• With a bit of mischievous demon magic, the cut on your face is healed without a scar to be seen.
• She grabs your hand and drags you to a nearby bar.
Siyeon - Demon of Lust
• "Let's go have fun and forget about that miserable person, baby. Doesn't that sound like a much better way to end the night?"

• Your girlfriend drips charisma as she appears in a brilliant display of pink smoke.
• Her eyes glance between the two of you as a wicked smile appears on her face.
• "Well, what do we have here?"
• Siyeon corners your opponent and pins them to a wall with one of her hands as the other strokes their face.
• "You're going to regret ever touching them, you wretched little thing." Her voice drips venom as your attacker's face changes from pleasure to fear.
• The darkness of the night hides the gorey scene as Siyeon, in a brutal display of power, rips every body part from the other person.
• Once she's done, with a snap of her fingers, the blood on her, the ground, and the cut on your face are completely gone.
Handong - Demon of Wrath
• "Now we can enjoy the night together without any disturbances, right?"

• There's no warning after you summon Handong. She simply goes into attack mode after spotting the other person.
• They scream in terror and pain, but she simply scoffs at them
• "Should've thought about that before you punched them, huh?"
• Of course she knows about that, your girlfriend knows about every time someone wrongs you so she can correct things in your favor.
• With nothing but her hands, she's literally ripped them to shreds in what must be a world record.
• "Didn't even put up a fight." She rolls her eyes before landing another punch to their body. "Tsk, what a shame."
• You're the one who has to pull her off of them, with a gentle reminder that the other person was dead a long time ago.
• "I want to make sure that there's no chance that resurrection can happen, my dear." She hisses before spitting on the body.
Yoohyeon - Demon of Greed
• She's not always like this, you swear.

• "Hey, I was busy planning another bank robbery that would be totally foolproof! What are you-"
• She pauses as she looks at you and then the other person.
• "Well, you'll work as bait for Cerberus so SuA doesn't interfere in my plans."
• She snaps her fingers and the other person disappears, but you swear you can hear them scream in the background as you talk to Yooh.
• "They'll have a quick death, I promise!" She squeezes your hands as you nod and agree.
• In her hand, she offers you a bandaid. When you go to grab it, however, she snatches the bandaid away from your grasp.
• "Let me do it, babe!" She whines before opening up the bandaid. "It's the least I can do."
Dami - Demon of Envy
• She's awfully cute for a terrifying, murderous demon.

• She has a less flashier entrance than the other demons, and a less visible response to the other person.
• Her way of handling things is much less brutal. She simply places both of her hands on the person before gently pushing them against the wall.
• Their eye color changes to orange before running off while muttering on about coveting things or people (you can't really tell).
• Dami's attention turns to you as she wipes away any bruises, marks, or blood with the touch of her hand.
• "Are you alright, my dear?"
• Once you've fully reassure her that you're okay, you ask her why she didn't murder the other person in front of you.
• "I know that violence will scare you away, and that's the last thing I want. You shouldn’t be scared of me, darling."
Gahyeon - Demon of Sloth
• For someone who was created to be an incarnate version of envy, she sure doesn't show it off a lot.

• You've summoned her to you, but she's sleeping while standing up.
• So much for getting help from the demon representing sloth. You should probably know better at this point.
• When your attacker tries to approach you with the knife, Gahyeon holds out her arm and catches the other person's arm.
• She then proceeded to harshly throw them into a wall, giving them a quick death with a lot of head trauma.
• Without waking up, she sleep walks over to you. (How does she not fall over her own feet?)
• "There's something on your cheek." She mumbles in her sleep as you touch your face. "You should fix that."
• Thanks, Gahyeon, that's really helpful.
• "I'm going back to bed and I need a pillow." She says before pulling you into her arms. "You're coming with me."
• You can't break out of her grasp as she sinks into the ground, but you give up and accept your fate. That's simply how your girlfriend is.
#kpop x reader#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop#kpopidol#kpop fanfic#girl group imagines#girl group scenarios#girl group x reader#girl group#girl group au#kpop au#girl group fanfic#dreamcatcher x reader#dreamcatcher au#dreamcatcher imagines#dreamcatcher scenarios#dreamcatcher reactions#dreamcatcher#jiu x reader#sua x reader#siyeon x reader#handong x reader#yoohyeon x reader#dami x reader#gahyeon x reader#jiu scenarios#sua imagines#siyeon imagines#handong imagines
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Hannibal Lector: A New Face
A/N: I'm currently not done watching Hannibal so there are A LOT of mistakes and it probably won't make any sense lol please tell me out of the kindness of your heart if you want me to fix anything or want to let me know. Also some scenes are improvised by me, I don’t own any characters except for my OC(which is, well, you), all credits to Hannibal NBC and Red Dragon series. LOVE YOU ALL
Warnings: mentions of violence, sexual violence, blood, murder, use of Y/N(cause I can't think of a cool name), Fem!reader, kind of POC reader?, psychopath reader, trauma, mental illness, BLIND READER

Will Graham was gifted a special talent, the talent to see and read a person's mind, no matter how wicked or broken it was, he was able to know exactly what and why and how. His talents were greatly appreciated from the FBI, especially solving murder cases.
He had some of friends, but there was one particular and close friend he had, her name being Y/N.
She seemed to be also have a special natural-born talent. After an unfortunate event, she was permanently blinded and needed to have a walking sick with her, but she still was able to memorize and observe the smallest details of practically anything she felt and heard. Her talent was also what the FBI needed, but she never actually applied, or even participate on those kinds of stuff, unlike Will.
In fact, she was just a plain old professor, teaching philosophy, she gave lectures in colleges and universities for a living.
At first Hannibal thought she was boring, until he actually got to meet her.
When Jack got to know Will, it wasn't that long after he also got to know Y/N. Will constantly mentioned her, about her abilities and how she would have thought about some things. Will knew better than to actually mention FBI cases to her, but the other way, there wasn't anything stopping him. If Will was doing lectures, not with the FBI, Jack automatically sought her for help. She reluctantly accepted, not because of the work itself but for Will, thinking that he would heal when she solved some cases for him, giving him a break. She had control of her lectures, so she was at least more flexible than Will. And with all seriousness, she was good. It was different from Will’s way of investigation, but she was able to collect evidence according to the case and end up with a conclusion, which actually helped Jack a lot, since Will’s investigation relied on his assumptions, that he himself couldn't really make sense.
"Whoever that killed these girls probably has some kind of women that look like those victims. It can be a daughter, a long gone crush, a mother...someone that they have deep connection, whether it's positive or negative. That makes them most likely a male." She explained, after listening to all the information she needed.
"We already assumed that this was a male, unintentionally. Any other observations?" Jack said.
"It's most likely a daughter, though. Young, all from different campuses. He chose these campuses specifically, I'd say, probably one his daughter goes to, or is planning to go to." She continued. "However..." She stood up, walking towards the board with the pictures, wandering her walking stick from side to side.
"He...he has a thing for killing. he's not doing this for pleasure, it's...it's more like art. Precise, like....." she turned around. "...like those people who hunt wildlife." she said.
"...what?" Jack asked.
She bit her lips, not knowing how to say it. "...like those people, I can't, I can't explain it." She looked towards Will, or just turned around where she sensed he was, for help.
Will nodded. "..yeah, I get it. I can see that, wildlife hunters."
"He probably also owns some personal space, like a cabin, out in the woods where he can dissect and dress the animals he hunts. That's probably where he killed these girls too. He would have been used to it, if he used to, or still currently is a hunter." She muttered.
"Yes, where he can butcher, cool, and storage animals, and apparently people. Even if someone accidentally saw blood or, smelled something from there, it makes sense because it's for that purpose, except it's for animals." Will continued.
She nodded and looked back at Jack, her eyes not really focusing exactly to him. "...did that help?" she asked.
"...quite." Jack looked at her only white eyes.
“im glad,” she gave him a faint smile. “But I’ve been trying to ask…is there someone else here? Apart from Will, me, and you?”
“allow me to introduce myself, Ms. Y/L/N, I’m doctor Hannibal Lector. I apologize for my unintentional ambush,” Hannibal stood upon respect, even if she couldn’t see.
“ah, so you were the one. I thought I was having delusions,” she turned her head to face him, her white eyes staring somewhat at Hannibal. She walked towards him and reached out her hand, which Hannibal accepted gently and respectfully. “No need to apologize, Dr. Lector.” She gave him a smile too.
“I should say you’re quite flexible on communicating, even though you’re visually impaired. Different from Will, you try to have eye contact with people. No offense, by all means,” Hannibal muttered his short observation.
“I’m not offended, it’s true. But there’s no need to psychoanalyze me, doctor.” She let go of his hand and reminded him, slithering away from Hannibal’s attempt to make her step out of her circle.
Hannibal wasn’t able to get a hold of her. She rarely talked, but rather tried to hint the FBI about the evidence. He tried inviting her to dinner but she was always somehow reserved. She surely seemed careful about who to let in her circle.
Hannibal tried to step into her personal space by packing up food that he made and giving them to her. He planned to do that to Will too, getting to know him and partially using it to show her what kind of a person he was. His plan was this: pack breakfast for Will, then let Will tell this event to her, and then eventually making her comfortable enough for him to make breakfast for her too. It was getting two rabbits by one stone.
Hence, that was what happened. A second of silence surrounded the two, as they chewed and swallowed the food.
“Agent Crawford told me you have a knack for the monsters,” Hannibal mentioned.
Will put down his fork and looked at him. “..I don’t think the Shrike killed the girl in the field.”
Hannibal also put down his fork and leaned a bit forward. “The devil is in the details. What didn’t your copycat do to the girl in the fields? What gave it away?”
“..everything. It’s like, he had to show me a negative to prove that-“ he sighed. “Y/N would’ve explain it better,” he muttered. “it’s like he had to show me a negative so that-so that I could see the positive.” He rubbed his face.
“….Y/N?” Hannibal muttered.
“Crawford wants her. I don’t want her to be, but I feel like she can see more than I can.” Will looked around. Hannibal noticed this.
“…May I ask you a question, Will?” Hannibal said, his breakfast long forgotten. Will just waved his hand, nodding his head. “Do you live with someone else here?”
“..yeah, we, Y/N and I thought it wouldn’t be that bad of an idea, rather than getting separate rooms…” Will explained. Hannibal nodded. So that was the thing he felt was off about the house. He was honestly surprised, but didn’t let that out.
“where is she, then? Sleeping? I would love to share this meal with her too, if she can,”
“She leaves at 4 in the morning to go to her job.” Will replied, taking another bite of the food. “and she’s strictly vegan, so I don’t think she’ll be able to eat any of these,”
“I see. Her job, which is..”
“Teaching. Modern philosophy at Johns Hopkins.”
“ah, Johns Hopkins. I should’ve known.” Hannibal almost gave him a smile.
With the additional information, it was too easy for Hannibal to roll Jack Crawford up and persuade her to be one of his patients too. He added a little bit of extra reasoning with her injury, telling Jack perhaps the right therapy may make her sense more, and less be obstacled by her blindness. It wasn’t his initial goal to help her sense like a not-visually-impaired person, but he was confident it was possible.
He decided to pay a visit to her lectures.
(Should I make this a series??)
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I may have a thing for Perpetua carving his name into the reader and imagine if she tried to heal it up and he found out
I’ve been undead the literal nasty weather this week, so forgive me my tardiness. I took my time cranking up the temperature on this one.
I hope you enjoy it!
P.S. I set the scene by taking my F!Reader’s job description and the scar she got in my fic (read here) and applying it to a gender neutral reader. I didn’t want to assume your gender, Anon, so I played it safe.
Read the second part here: PART TWO
Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x GN!Reader
Words: 1200
Rating: 18+
After months on the road, you have grown accustomed to living life in the fast lane.
During tonight’s ritual, you made time for everything from sharing snacks with the rest of the backstage crew to sneaking into the pit to sing along to the latest psalm performed by the man everyone came to witness: Papa V Perpetua.
What you didn’t make time for was applying cream to the V carved into your underwear line, under your belly button, where your pants have been synched all day. You had less than five minutes to retouch Papa’s make-up between wardrobe changes. And, tonight, you wasted one soothing your healing scar.
“I wasn’t sure I’d find you back here,” you heard his voice behind you, but you didn’t hear him come into the dressing room.
Materialising out of the darkness was a habit of his.
“Papa,” you jumped, adjusting your shirt by tucking it back into your pants. “You caught me,” you smiled, but it’s a nervous gesture.
“I could pick you out of any crowd,” he smiled and it was wicked. “I’ve never seen you lose yourself like that. Except for when you’re my captive audience.”
With his headpiece placed on the make-up table, he sat in his chair. He also invited you to sit on his lap the same as he’d done for weeks now. But, for the first time in weeks, you were stiff while he was stiff.
”Hold still, please,” you cleared your voice. There was a lump in your throat and you weren’t sure why. The longer Papa peered into your eyes while you retraced his lips with black face paint, the worst you felt about hiding from him.
When his eyes finally released yours, you didn’t even have time to feel relief. They had landed on the cream. “Is this for me?” Then, they narrowed with the realisation that it wasn’t for him.
“Scaraway?”
“Papa, please stop moving.”
Papa wouldn’t stop, lifting you off him and throwing you up onto the make-up table as he shot off the chair. His gauntlets were ice on your abdomen, one of them pulling your shirt out of your pants while the other pushed the underwear down.
Your scar - his mark - was still shiny from where you applied Scaraway. You couldn’t deny it, and you didn’t try to.
“I’ve been sweating and, and, and, and my clothes have been chafing and—“
Papa had his eyes on the fading V as if he was trying to tear into your flesh with his eyes.
“And you wanted it gone,” he concludes, as if he hadn’t understood any of your urgent explanations and expletives. “Who were you dancing with in the crowd? Or is it someone in the crew?”
“Nobody,” your voice was faint, your skin burning under his cold claws as it teased it. “There is nobody else.”
“You’re on in one minute, Your Unholiness.” There was a knock at the door, a crew member bringing the both of you crashing to earth where Papa V Perpetua had an encore to perform.
“I’m ready,” he called, retracting his claws and his eyes, not even sparing you a glance as he picked up his headpiece off the table where he had placed you too. “Wait for me.”
And you didn’t dare move until you saw the door close behind him. And you didn’t leave until he was done with the second encore.
The anticipation made the air thinner, but it also amplified your senses. You were enveloped in his cologne and his sweat, both musky. It was hot, it was humid, and it was exactly where you belonged.
By the time Papa returned to you, his captive audience of one, you were panting. And you were ready for him to claim you all over again.
“Have you been good?” He asked, also out of breath. He took his headpiece off first before shrugging off his robe.
“Yes, Papa,” you nodded, enthusiastic and electrified by his very presence.
“You haven’t touched yourself, have you?” He slipped off his priestly collar, exposing his neck where your love bites have yet to fade. “Have you?” He snapped your sights back into his, where his eyes were both black, ready to swallow you.
“No.” You sat back up on the make-up table, where he caged you between his arms as his palms slammed on either side of your thighs.
“Show me,” he commanded, volume barely controlled.
With a bit of your lip to turn down your own volume, you wiggled out of your pants and underwear. The table rocked under you before Papa put more of his weight on it, and pushed you back into the mirror.
“Oh,” he blew air over between your thighs, the skin prickling in the wake of his breath. His eyes were on the V and how it moved with each twitch of your muscle. “You have been good. So good for me.” His hands, still strapped with the silver gauntlets, settled on each of your hips. Each sharp thumb met in the middle, where the two lines formed the V. “Who do you belong to, hmm?”
“You.”
“Who?”
Desperate, you dig your nails into his arms, but he denies you.
“Did I give you permission to touch me?” He hissed, not paying attention to how loud he was talking or how hurriedly you were panting.
“Forgive me,” you surrendered, sliding your hands off him and above your head, holding onto the frame.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You, Papa.” You threw your head back, knocking it against the mirror when he sunk the sharp edge of the metal talon into your flesh.
“You belong to me,” he pressed his lips against your exposed neck, teeth scraping along the skin as he spoke. “Say it.”
“I’m yours, Papa,” you declare, as if dictated to you through the tongue sliding down your throat.
“Your body is mine.” His other hand moves over your skin, past your pelvis, to cup your sex. “This is mine. Only mine.” His teeth bite down on the thin skin of your exposed neck.
“Yes,” you dropped your head, dizzy, after his mouth released you.
“You will know it every time you undress,” His thumb traced the scar, deep enough to draw blood. “Anyone who dares to undress you will know it,” Papa spits on the open wound, shocking a scream out of you, and rubbing his fluid in like a predator marking his territory. And he spit again to aid the glide of his gauntlet along your sex.
“You’re all mine,” he declared, licking your blood off of the instrument of your sweet, sweaty, bloody torture. Then, taking a step back, he looked upon his work with possessive pride.
Spent, you slumped forward to see the V was once again in vivid red. Before you could collect yourself, your thoughts or your trousers, the talons returned, lifting you off the table and turning you around. And, before you could brace yourself, they were on the small of your back.
“Papa?”
“We can fit my entire title on this beautiful canvas, don’t you agree?” He spoke behind the shell of your ear, a sensitive spot which had you trembling from head to toe with chills and sparks.
Your body was ready to be marked by him all over again.
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As much as we all love Scorpio, there's no denying he deserves to get told off at least once. Maybe more.
This takes place in Scorpio's route, a little after the prologue. The gods have been on earth for a few weeks at this point.
Gender neutral mc, no gendered language used. I am using my own name here, though.
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Sting Him Back (Scorpio x MC)
I really don't know why I chose him. He's never been anything but rude to me. I try to be nice, but I'm really getting sick of it. He won't even call me by name! He just refuses. It really is infuriating, now that I think about it. If I have to sit through another round of his insults-
"Hey! Stupid human, can't you hear me?! I said get over here and help me!"" Scorpio barks out, startling me out of my thoughts.
Deciding that I've had enough of him, and of being nice, I fire back, "I DO have a name, you know."
"There's no reason for me to use your name. Stupid human."
"Oh, I've got a reason. It's called respect!"
"Why should I respect a filthy human like you?!"
"Because it costs you NOTHING to be polite! Absolutely nothing! You're making a big deal out of this for no reason!"
"Tch... Who do you think you are, talking to a god like that?" As he speaks, he flashes his upturned sneer at me. Holy hell it pisses me off when he does that.
I have an idea, just to spite him. I've already turned around, my back to him. Standing with my arms crossed over my chest, I pretend like I don't hear Scorpio. I casually make eye contact with Leon and show him a confident grin to silently communicate my plans. He catches on and is unsurprisingly thrilled to play along.
"That Scorpion is stubborn as ever, isn't he," Leon comments.
"Hmph, you're telling me. He's unbearable," I reply back.
"HEY! FILTHY HUMAN!"
I stare at nothing in particular, arms crossed, like I'm deep in thought and didn't hear him.
"Stupid human, look at me when I'm talking to you!"
I give no response. This is about to get fun.
"...Hm? Say something, Scorpio?"
"Yes, I told you-"
"Oh, silly me, must be hearing things."
"DAMMIT HUMAN, YOU BETTER ANSWER ME OR EL-"
Sounds like a good time to have at him.
I whip around to face him, speaking with a mocking tone, "Ohhh, was that supposed to scare me??? Why should I fear a scoundrel like you with no decorum whatsoever?"
"EXCUSE ME?!" comes his indignant screech.
With a sickly sweet smile, a honeyed tone, and a falsely sincere hand to my heart, I say to him, "Oh, of course, you're excused!" My sweet grin turns wicked.
Oh yeah, Scorpio's ticked. Realizing he won't win this, he yells, "UGH!"
And with that, he stomps away, dramatically slamming the door shut behind him.
"Aww, you don't wanna play anymore? That's too bad," I purr out. I'm quite satisfied with myself, if I'm being honest.
With his signature smirk, Leon praises, "I'm impressed, Goldfish. You've got quite the backbone."
Ichthys is shocked, and it shows on his face. "That. Was. AWESOME, WINTER!!!" Now grinning, he adds, "You tooootttallllllyyy told Scorpy off!!!" After his cheers of delight, Ichthys couldn't help himself from sticking his tongue out.
Teorus squawks in agreement, "Yeah! Who knew Goldie could get scary!!!
Dui chimes in next, beaming, "No one can say you aren't brave, Winter."
Huedhaut pipes up with, "I must admit, I admire the snark. Well done."
I play along with Huedhaut, my smile present in my voice, "That's quite the high compliment, considering it came from you."
~~~
Later that evening, I'm still hanging out at the mansion. Scorpio hasn't come back out since he stormed off.
I'm chatting with Dui when I hear something. Scorpio has come back to the living room, presumably thinking I'd be gone by now. The moment he sees me, he stops dead in his tracks and actually growls. I can't say I'm surprised. I am a little amused, however...
Now, Scorpio and I are just staring at each other. Breaking the silence, with heavy sarcasm in my tone, I ask, "What, are you back for more?"
He just scowls, turns on his heel, and walks right out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is my first fic ever, and I really had fun writing it!
And it wouldn't feel right if I didn't thank @fateinthestars , @star-crossed-mid , @pyxianox , @izaberu-chann , and @eclipsegalaxy ! They all helped me out in writing this! Thank you guys <3
I think I'll have a little epilogue to this at some point, I have no idea when.
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Understand
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
E/R, modern AU.
Enjolras wove expertly through the crowded bar, having done this far too many times, especially recently. He saw the man he was looking for half-slumped at the bar, a row of empty shot glasses in front of him, and Enjolras sighed heavily.
Grantaire spotted him as he approached, and even now, even after everything, Grantaire’s entire expression lit up as he did. “Enjolras!”
His smile was wide and wicked, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the bar, but even his ebullient greeting couldn’t quite hide the fact that he slurred a little on Enjolras’s name. Enjolras pursed his lips, just slightly. After the fight that they’d had, he had fully expected Grantaire to drink his cares away, but Grantaire seemed long past the point of cares.
“C’mon,” Grantaire said, patting the barstool next to him. “Sit. Drink. You’re a few behind.”
It occurred to Enjolras, as Grantaire tugged him onto the barstool next to his and slung an arm around his shoulders, that he hadn’t seen Grantaire this drunk in quite a while. Drinking, sure, even tipsy, but since the first time they’d stumbled back to Enjolras’s together, Grantaire’s drinking had never reached this level.
Which was definitely not a good sign.
Grantaire propped his chin on his hand and smiled at Enjolras. “So what’re you drinking?” he asked, his voice too loud. “Shots? You wanna do shots, Apollo?”
“No thanks,” Enjolras said, nodding to the bartender and muttering, “Water, for both of us.”
Enjolras gave him an even look. “I think you’ve probably had enough fun for the both of us,” he said firmly, pressing one of the glasses of water in Grantaire’s hand. “Drink this and then I’m taking you home. It’s been a long day.”
Grantaire snorted and rubbed a hand across his face, his smile disappearing in an instant. “It has been a long day,” he agreed, looking and sounding exhausted. “Long day, long week, long month…” He trailed off and forced a smile back on his face as he leered at Enjolras. “Long boyfriend, if you know what I mean.”
He tipped an enormous wink at him, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Normally the lecherous thing works for me, but not here, not now.”
The smile again slid off of Grantaire’s face. “Then what do you want, Enj?” he asked, sounding tired and upset and everything Enjolras had expected when he had gotten Bossuet’s text advising him that Grantaire seemed to be attempting to drown himself in vodka. “You want to dissect every single thing you said to me during our fight this morning? Because I already did that somewhere around drink 4. You want to ask me why I picked a fight in the first place when everything seemed to be going so well? That was the topic of conversation at drink 6. Oh, or perhaps you’d like to remind me that you expect more of me, or at the very least, you expect me to pretend like I care – oh look, I beat you to it.”
His voice had grown in volume as he had gone on, and Enjolras winced at the vitriol in his words, acutely aware that people were beginning to stare at them. “Keep your voice down,” he told Grantaire, aiming to keep his own voice calm and soothing, but Grantaire clearly wanted no part of it.
“What, are you embarrassed by your drunk, loser boyfriend?”
Grantaire practically flung the words in Enjolras’s face, and Enjolras flinched, biting back his initial instinct to contradict Grantaire. Partially because he didn’t actually think that Grantaire was a loser, but most because he knew when Grantaire was picking a fight, and the last thing he wanted was for Grantaire to twist his attempt at comfort into something it wasn’t. “The only one you’re embarrassing is yourself,” he said instead, struggling to keep his voice even and controlled. “Now you can either come home with me or I’m calling you an Uber, but I’m not doing this with you here.”
For one long moment, Grantaire just glared at him, and Enjolras shrugged, pulling out his phone so that he could order an Uber for him. Suddenly, Grantaire’s hand shot out, closing around Enjolras’s wrist, and Enjolras glanced up at him, Grantaire’s expression inscrutable. “I love you, you know,” Grantaire said, his voice still several decibels too loud, as if he didn’t care that the entire bar could still hear him. “But for the life of me, I can’t understand why you would ever love me back.”
Enjolras stared at him, completely taken aback by the words that had just come out of Grantaire’s mouth. “Are you…are you serious right now?” he asked, his voice cracking, just slightly, and when Grantaire shrugged, Enjolras twisted his wrist out of his grip so that he could reach out and take Grantaire’s hand in both of his. There were a million things he wanted to say, a million reasons he wanted to give, but instead, he did the only thing he could, and turned it back on Grantaire. “Why do you love me?”
Grantaire stared at him. “What?”
“You heard me,” Enjolras said. “You don’t understand why I love you? Well, then I want you to explain why you love me.”
“I– that’s not the same thing!” Grantaire spluttered. “You’re – you’re you!”
He gestured so emphatically at Enjolras that he almost toppled off his barstool, and Enjolras rolled his eyes as he helped right him in his seat. “And you’re going to have to do better than that.”
Grantaire just shook his head. “I don’t understand how anyone could not love you,” he told Enjolras, with the kind of honesty brought on by far too many shots of vodka. “I don’t understand how Combeferre and Courfeyrac can spend as much time with you as they have and not just fallen head over heels in love with you.”
“I imagine the amount of time they’ve spent with me is probably why they haven’t,” Enjolras murmured wryly.
But Grantaire ignored him. “You just—” He shook his head admiringly. “There is so much broken in this world, so much that it’s, it’s incomprehensible for any person to even begin to make a difference, and somehow, you do. You give every part of yourself to trying to make the world better in whatever little way you can, and you never let anything, including and especially me, stop you from trying.”
Enjolras nodded slowly. “And that’s why you love me?”
“Yes.” Grantaire barked a laugh and scrubbed his free hand across his mouth. “No. I don’t know.” He dropped his hand and tilted his head to look up at Enjolras. “I love you because you make me want to be someone more than I am.”
Enjolras squeezed his hand. “And I love you because you make me better.”
Grantaire made a small note of dissent. “Be serious.”
“I am.” Enjolras pronounced the words with as much iron as he usually saved for his calls to arms. “You make me better. You make me want to be better. You ground me and remind of exactly why I do this. And you soften my rough edges and keep me from working myself to the bone on a half-brained idea that probably won’t even accomplish what I was intending anyway.”
He echoed Grantaire’s words from earlier in the day back to him, but gentler, sweeter, with a teasing lilt and no sharp bite, and when Grantaire smiled, just slightly, Enjolras smiled as well, lifting Grantaire’s hand to his mouth to press a kiss against the back of his hand. “I love you because you helped me figure out how to be whole.”
There was something unreadable but impossibly soft in Grantaire's expression as he looked at Enjolras. “I want to kiss you,” he told him.
Enjolras laughed lightly, feeling for the first time since he’d set foot in this bar like they were still them. “What are you waiting for, my permission?” he asked with a grin.
“No,” Grantaire said, swaying just slightly in his seat as he searched Enjolras’s face before confessing, “I’m drunk and there seems to be two of you, and I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to kiss.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately before leaning in to kiss Grantaire on the forehead. “C’mon,” he said, his voice rough. “Let’s get you home before you say something else you’re going to regret in the morning.”
Grantaire let Enjolras pull him to his feet, patting automatically for his wallet. “Wait, I need to pay my tab—”
“I got it,” Enjolras told him, having slipped his credit card to the bartender almost as soon as he had sat down.
Grantaire leaned heavily against him. “You better have tipped well,” he said.
“Believe me, I did,” Enjolras muttered.
Grantaire blinked up at him. “I love you,” he repeated, as Enjolras wrapped an arm around his waist and steered him towards the exit. “And I’m not gonna regret this in the morning.” He considered it for a moment. “Well, maybe just a little.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “Well, you’ll have to call me in the morning and let me know.”
Grantaire frowned. “Why don’t you come home with me and find out for yourself?” he asked, with just a little bit of a whine in his voice. “Save me from having to make a phone call.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Enjolras told him. “Not tonight.”
“Not like that,” Grantaire said, a little impatiently. “I mean – just come home with me, Enj.” Enjolras’s resolve was already wavering when Grantaire added softly, “Please.”
Enjolras sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But if you regret it in the morning, it’s your fault, not mine.”
Grantaire gave him a bright, genuine smile. “I won’t,” he promised.
“Good,” Enjolras said, pressing a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head. “Because given how shitty your mattress is, I might.”
#enjolras#grantaire#exr#enjolras x grantaire#enjoltaire#fanfiction#modern au#established relationship#fluff and angst#but mostly fluff
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Nightmare Academia P.15 | Spencer Reid x Reader
♥ Summary: In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, a prank has unforeseen consequences. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]
♥ Warnings: ghosts. also, maeve, a little bit
♥ A/N: yeah, i added a ghost subplot. why? because i wanted one
♥ Word Count: 2244
Series Masterlist
♥♥♥
You knew what prank could you pull with the weight of Reid’s expectations on your shoulders.
It was simple really- simple and perfect. It would be subtle, but once he noticed, oh, it would be so annoying.
Book by book, you were going to steal the entirety of Spencer’s personal library and replace it with your own. Would it take a million years? Yes. But fuck, it would be so worth it to see him get grumpy about this. You would give him exactly what he’d asked for.
Something to be mad about.
Sneaking into Spencer’s office wasn’t difficult. You knew when he would be out, and you knew how to pick a lock. After breaking in, all you had to do was pick a book and leave one in the space left behind.
You went for a classic- Pride and Prejudice. You slipped the book into your bag, careful not to damage the delicate thing. In its place, you left some random romance from your shelf. You’d read it years ago. There was no substance, only smut, and a paper thin plot that would drive Reid up the wall if he read it.
Once the deed was done, you bolted from Reid’s office. If anyone asked, you would have told them you didn’t even know where it was. That would’ve been a lie, but whatever, you were being sneaky.
That evening, you returned to your own office. As you slid into your chair, the lights flickered. The lamps, the lights above you, all of them. Making a mental note to get that checked, you stashed Reid’s copy of Pride and Prejudice away inside your desk. There it would stay, lying in wait until all of Reid’s collection was in your possession.
The second the book was stored away, Reid’s face appeared in your doorway- an occurrence which grew increasingly common with each passing day.
“Reid! Hi! What’s up, do you need something?”
“Yeah, actually. You haven’t seen my copy of Pride and Prejudice, have you? I can’t find it anywhere, I thought you might know.”
The look on his face told you he already knew.
“No, Reid- whyever would you assume that I’d know where your things are?”
“Because you steal my things. All the time. Constantly.”
You grimaced a little bit, “Fair point. Well, I haven’t seen it, but I’ll let you know if I do. Should be hard to miss, right? You’ve probably- I don’t know. I can’t think of a book-related insult right now. Pretend I said something horrible.”
He rolled his eyes at you as a smirk crossed his lips, “I thought I told you to stop going easy on me.”
“You did. This isn’t me going easy, this is me being stupid.”
He sighed, “You’re not stupid-”
“Bold assumption.”
Spencer paused after that. He didn’t say a word. He just stood there for a moment, lingering in your doorway like a ghost.
“Y’know, if you’re going to steal my books, you should at least bother to give them a read-through.”
“Hehe, a Reid-through. Like Reid. Because your name is- anyway. Good night, Reid. Good luck finding your book. Get the hell out of my office.”
He let out a soft laugh, “Good night, (L/N).”
“Good night. Loser.”
You could hear his bark of laughter echo through the hallway.
You leaned back in your chair after he was gone. The book seemed to hum from the desk drawer. You thought, for a second, about taking Reid’s advice. Of course, you didn’t.
Why would you ever do what Reid asked of you? Exactly. You wouldn’t. Just like Reid said, you would never take his words to heart. Besides, you just assumed that he’d anticipated your wicked scheme and placed plastic bugs or some other shit inside the pages for you to find. You would not be foiled by something as simple as a plastic bug! Not this time!
Over the next few weeks, your crime spree continued- and you had plenty of crime to commit. Reid had an insane amount of books on criminology, philosophy, psychology, sociology, and a handful of classic works of fiction- and you were 100% sure he had fully memorized each and every one of them.
He even had a weird amount of your personal favourites. Books you loved, books you had written analyses on- Pride and Prejudice wasn’t the only one. Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room, Ginsburg’s Howl, Shelly’s Frankenstein. Of course, you nabbed them. You took everything you could get your terrible gremlin hands on, stashing the product of your crimes away in your office.
With every book you stole, you filled the empty spaces left behind with books of your own. Slowly, Spencer’s collection of books became yours, and yours became his, and he didn’t even seem to notice.
Then you found The Narrative of John Smith.
The book was lying on his desk when you found it. It was far too easy to just grab the thing and run. You returned to your own office at the end of the day, body electric with the joy that petty theft brings. You placed the book in a desk drawer, planning to forget about it like you forgot the rest of his collection, but something wouldn’t let you. Something was different this time. The book seemed to burn in your mind, begging to be taken from its hiding place.
You took Reid’s advice.
You opened the book. Inside was the text you expected to find- the Narrative of John Smith. There was nothing too special inside. No annotations- no little notes scribbled in the margins, no phrases highlighted or words circled. There was just one quote, on the very first page inside the cover in handwriting that didn’t belong to Reid.
"Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another."
Thomas Merton. It was a beautiful quote- but as you ran your fingers over the inked letters, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d stumbled onto something you weren’t supposed to. This note felt like a secret, some hidden part of Spencer that you weren’t meant to see.
You could feel eyes on the back of your neck. As you shut the book’s cover, a chill ran up your spine. Goosebumps covered your arms. You tried to shake it off. Surely this was just a manifestation of your guilt for finding a secret of Spencer’s- the lights flickered.
You felt a breath against the skin of your neck.
There was no one there. You spun around searching, but your office was empty. You were completely, entirely alone.
You nearly threw that fucking book across the goddamn room.
You didn’t, of course, but you almost did. You weren’t sure how Spencer managed to find a haunted copy of The Narrative of John Smith- the book itself was uncommon enough- but of course, he fucking did.
Honestly, when you thought about it, it made sense. If you were to pick one person to have a haunted book, it would be Reid. His eyes held a million tragedies inside of them. The man himself looked like the ghost of a Victoriran child that died of tuberculosis. It wasn’t surprising at all, then, that the man himself would be haunted.
You did want to return the book, though. You could complete the rest of your prank without it. Stealing all but one of Reid’s books would still be a good prank, you were sure of it. Even if it wasn’t, was it worth risking a haunting for the sake of a joke? Nope. Nah. Not in the fucking slightest. You scuttled back to Reid’s office as fast as you possibly could.
The halls were empty this time of night. Spencer’s office was in the same condition. The door was shut, but not locked, and the lights were off. You slid inside as quietly as you possibly could. Your heart pounded in your chest as you moved through the dark. Those unseen eyes were still following you. You placed the book down on his desk.
The moment you did, the lights in Spencer’s office flickered on. Your heart stopped in your chest- behind you, someone cleared their throat. Without a second thought, you picked up the book and actually threw it across the room.
It landed, with a thud, against Reid’s face.
“Ow!”
“Oh shit!” you exclaimed, covering your mouth with your hands, “Holy fuck, I’m so sorry- are you okay?”
Spencer shook off the blow relatively quickly, “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m- (Y/N), what are you doing in my office?”
“I’m uh- I was… You have a lot of interesting books.”
Spencer raised an eyebrow, “So you were stealing my stuff, again?”
“Maybe. Hey, just by the way, I think your book is haunted.”
Spencer just rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. He didn’t say anything else. Instead, he looked down, away from you, turning his attention to the book you’d thrown in his direction. The cover had opened exposing the first page. The Thomas Merton quote glared at you from the page, dark ink visible even from the other side of the room.
Spencer stayed silent for a moment. You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear his breath hitch.
He knelt down slowly, taking the book into his hands. His fingers wrapped around the cover carefully, like the tome was a delicate, precious thing, “Where did you find this?”
His voice was low, almost ominous- Spencer almost didn’t sound like himself.
“It was on your desk this morning. I just grabbed it, I didn’t- I swear I didn’t plan on throwing it across the room.”
“Good,” he got up without looking at you. His focus was on the book, on the first page, on the quote, “Don’t do that again.”
“I won’t, I promise. I’m-”
“Don’t apologize again. Just… don’t take this,” he walked towards you, keeping his eyes on the pages in his hands. You backed up, pressing your body against his desk. You gripped the edge of it tightly, nails almost biting into the wood.
Spencer stopped just in front of you, towering over your body with every cursed inch of his height. When he finally looked at you, when his eyes met yours, there was something uncannily close to grief in his eyes.
“I know I told you to make me mad, but- don’t do this. You can have whatever else you want. You can take whatever else you want. Just… don’t take this.”
“Okay. I’m s-”
“What did I just say about apologizing?”
“Right, right, my bad.”
He placed the book down on the desk. He left his hand there, flat on the desk’s surface. His arm caged you in, slightly. You could feel your heart begin to race, and you fought a silent, internal battle to get it to stop doing that.
“That’s a little too close to sorry for me.”
“Ah, right. I’m… sorry, fuck.”
He shook his head, “A PhD in English and you can’t find anything to say?”
“Leave me alone, Reid. I’m tired and scared.”
He scoffed, turning away from you to lean against his desk, “Scared? Of what, ghosts?”
“More or less.”
You couldn’t see his face, but you could practically feel him rolling his eyes.
“What would a ghost want with you? You haven’t killed anyone, right? You aren’t someone’s unfinished business?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then you’re perfectly safe.”
“Oh? And when did you become a ghost expert?”
“Probably that time I died.”
You paused, eyes widening as you processed exactly what Spencer said. Last time it was, “I’ve been shot three times.” This time it was, “I’ve died once.” You were suddenly sure that this man was trying to drive you insane.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said, (L/N).”
You blinked.
“Spencer?”
“Mhmm.”
“Are- are you a ghost?”
He didn’t answer you. The two of you stood there for a minute, just listening to the buzz of the fluorescents outside.
“(L/N)?” He broke the silence.
“Yes?”
“Get the hell out of my office.”
“Right-! That’s- I’ll go. I’m sor- fuck. Yeah, okay, bye.”
Reid said nothing. He just watched you leave, not smiling until you were safely out of the room. He reached back, then, for the book.
It wasn’t there.
He turned to his desk, searching the top of it for the familiar cover, but he found nothing. The book was gone. He looked to the doorway, half-expecting you to be there with the thing clutched in your hand but the doorway was empty.
Something hit him in the back of the head.
He stumbled forward, letting out a sharp cry. When he turned to see what had hit him, he found what he had been looking for.
The Narrative of John Smith.
“Reid, are you okay?” you appeared in his doorway no, but the book wasn’t in your hand. It was on the floor, pages open to the carpet beneath it, “I heard you scream, and I-”
“I didn’t scream,” Spencer reached out, picking the book back up.
“Yeah, you did. You made a little aaa noise. Is everything okay?”
Spencer didn’t answer right away. He just looked at the ink on the book’s first page.
"Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another."
“Hey, (L/N)? About those ghosts-”
♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x gn!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#x reader#nightmare academia
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Are you… vulnerable?
Yandere Dark Tom Nook x gen!reader
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Warnings: 18+ MDNI content, NSFW, Yandere dark, no consent, jealousy, possessiveness, kissing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, mature, smut, obsession.
“Are you… vulnerable?”
Tom Nook stands before you, towering over the bed where you lie, drenched in sweat and stripped bare. His silhouette fills the room with an oppressive weight.
You instinctively shuffle backward on the mattress, your breath hitching. The Tom you knew is gone. His fur bristles wildly, his claws glint under the dim light, and his eyes burn with a manic intensity that wasn’t there before.
He closes the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing ominously. Without sparing you a glance, he finally speaks, his voice a slow, deliberate drawl.
"You know… I get it. You’re angry. Angry that I took your place as mayor of Crossing. Angry that I assigned you to lesser tasks."
His words cut deep, but it’s his movement toward you that sends a chill down your spine. His massive frame leans over you, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. He reaches out, his paw grazing your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.
"I even felt bad at first, knowing that being the leader of Crossing was something Ynchtome Crossing himself gave you. But…" He pauses, his claws lightly tracing the curve of your jaw.
"… I heard he forced your hand, didn’t he? Tell me, darling, isn’t that true?"
Before you can respond, his mouth crashes onto yours.
You freeze, shocked and disgusted, before thrashing against him. Your hands pound at his chest, but it’s like striking stone. He chuckles, the sound low and guttural, vibrating against your skin.
Finally, he pulls back, letting you gasp for air. But his grip remains firm, his gaze unwavering.
"I know the things I’ve done to you were cruel. The stunts I pulled with Isabelle and the others to ruin your reputation… it wasn’t easy for you, was it? Being branded as someone who ‘abandoned’ their post? But don’t worry. I took care of anyone who dared to hurt you."
He begins unbuttoning his sweater vest, his actions slow and deliberate, as if savoring your terror.
"Remember when I took you to work at my little shop in the woods? How I made you run deliveries? Then I turned you into nothing more than a property manager. And finally… you became my personal tool."
His shirt falls to the floor, and he climbs onto the bed, his weight pinning you down.
"At first, I wanted to punish you for leaving me. That’s why I made you wear that tight uniform, just to see you squirm. To watch your beautiful face burn with embarrassment. To teach you one thing…" His lips curl into a wicked smile.
"Never leave me again."
His clawed hand trails down your leg, forcing you to remember every moment of degradation.
"You always found a way out, though, didn’t you? Even in that pencil skirt, those stockings, and those heels, you still managed to escape. That day, I wanted to throw you onto my desk, make you scream my name, and take you right there. But no. You slipped through my fingers again."
His knees settle between your legs, the tension unbearable.
You stare at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than the monster above you. The memories flood back — the years of manipulation, the endless games he played, how he twisted your role as mayor until you were nothing more than his pawn.
Meanwhile, he grew stronger. He grew richer. He grew untouchable.
A sharp sound breaks your thoughts. The unmistakable rasp of a zipper being undone.
"If I have to mark you…” His voice is hushed, almost reverent. “If I have to taint you, claim you, tear into your flesh so everyone knows you belong to me…"
His paw grips your waist firmly, his claws digging into your skin.
"… then I will do it. Without hesitation."
You feel the tears spill before you realize you’ve started crying. You know that after tonight, after this moment, you won’t be able to get up on your own again.
This little piece came to mind while working on The Choice of Crossing and Bonus 1.2 of Dear Ocean, which I’m currently finalizing. It’s almost done, and I can’t wait to share it. In the meantime, I wanted to keep my account alive, as it’s been on pause for a while. This short fanfic is here to tide you over, hoping it will please you and make you look forward to what’s coming next.
#animal crosing new horizons#animal crosing new leaf#animal crosing pocket camp#animal crossing#yandere#yandere tom nook#yandere animal crossing#smut
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for dragon deity au, would reader build a sort of resentment towards deities in general? Like I know for a fact I would, if I was treated as less then, and used as a sick sort of food source, especially if just now their trying to take back their actions
Yeah, Reader would be, in the non-cursed words: Royally miffed. They would be scared, they'd feel sick, and they'd feel completely alone and helpless. They aren't even an adult yet, and they just found out the people they've been with, who they've been nothing but respectful and kind and loving to, might have been planning at some point to sacrifice them and gain their power for themselves. They'd leave, as fast and as far as they could, and they would not look back.
The platonic yans are... worried. Guilt-ridden. Paranoid.
They used to devour the essence of other dragon deities and demigods, and while they hadn't done so in about a century or few before meeting Reader... They had thought about if they should do it with them. And then after spending time with them, and getting to know them, and feeling loved by someone who wanted nothing from them and only looked up up them... Well, the guilt ate at them, to the point they couldn't do it. They couldn't, they wouldn't, do that to Reader. They know they've done awful, horrible things... They've had their fair share of wicked deeds and cults and paranoia... But... Reader is a kid. A really small, breakable, mortal kid, who they know has their own blood running through them. And they've been horrible in the past, they've waged wars and won them, they've made and conquered and destroyed empires and civilizations, in their name and for their own gain and greed... But this is Reader. This is someone who is one of them. Their own flesh and blood. (They've taken in mortal-born demigods before, they didn't sacrifice all of them... but... they weren't really worthy of them, were they? They'd started over with them, raised them, gone through the "rebirthing"... But they didn't exactly stop being awful to everyone else, did they?) So they more or less do a blood oath, unbreakable and unbending, and cannot be broken or taken back: They will not sacrifice another one of their own for their own gain. They will become better, or risk sacrificing their own god-hood and lives.. They'll start from the top, they'll actually be the parents they should be, and do everything they can to fix and rebuild their own odd family...
(I don't like the platonic yans bring mean for long, but for the sake of the plot and horror themes of this au, they initially act like some ancient, bloodthirsty deities who had sacrifices and cults done in their names...)
(I do promise they get better! They do! But, uh- yeah, having to come to terms with eating the essence of your own kind is a very bad thing, and that they shouldn't do it, and they shouldn't have done it at all (an obvious no-no, but it's a horror and dragon and deities au, so for the sake of the plot and elements-) They decide they have to start making efforts efforts change, stick by those changes, and start being better people- dragons- deities- whatevers... And... there are more than just sacrifice rituals, though, and they plan to try and fix things, starting with a few of those... One for oaths unending, one for honor-and-truth-binding them and their souls to their new objectives, and one for rebirth... And with those, they can start anew, make a new Era for their kind...)
(Ask any questions you have or share anh theories you have, and I'll answer them the best I can, okay?) (I also apologize if I have given y'all a new trauma au that keeps you brainrotting at night- I might need to do a cuddly creatures au after this-)
#honeycomb thoughts#platonic yandere marvel#yandere platonic marvel#platonic yandere xmen#yandere x-men#platonic yandere#platonic yandere marvel x reader#platonic yandere x reader#platonic yandere xmen evolution au#platonic yandere xmen evolution
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Name: Santiago Mendoza Species: Balam Occupation: Line Cook Age: 38 Years Old Played By: Amélie Face Claim: Gabriel Luna
"Trust without doubt will always end in pain."
TW: Parental death
Santiago knew from an early age that the ways of his parents were not something his grandparents, or any of their extended family approved of. Living among the humans, embracing their human side, the Mendozas only chose to hide when it was a necessity and wanted their children to have a normal life with human friends, human teachers, human connections.
For 22 years, Santiago trusted that it was not reckless at all. In 22 years, he had had quite a great time in school, where he was rather appreciated by his schoolmates. After all, the jovial young man was positively normal. He had loving parents, a generous heart, a warm smile and though he was not one to excel in his classes, even teachers appreciated him for being helpful and polite. Not fit for long studies (or so he had decided), he enrolled in culinary school and began working as a line cook in a Wicked’s Rest restaurant on the sea front. It was late, after his shift, that he returned home to his father, Rafael, who urged him and his siblings to help him pack the essentials.
Their mother, who enjoyed going on runs in the nearby woods, in her jaguar form, had been murdered by hunters, he said, and it was the only version that mattered to Santiago though the truth was much simpler: a pair of frightened humans had done the deed.
They moved to a secluded cabin, away from humans who would always pose a larger threat to them than beasts, whether supernatural or not.
And there, in the woods, the young man spent more and more time in the jaguar's form, hunting with his father and siblings. It was a hard transition, after so much time spent trying to live a normal life. His whole life had been built like this: he had human friends, human coworkers, a human employer. There was also this girl, perfectly normal, whom he liked but never told. All that was in the past. It was probably for the best. You couldn't build your life like that.
His father thought the worst of all humans, he didn't think the same. But he thought of his father's grief, of his own grief, and he told himself that he wouldn't want his eventual children or his eventual wife to lose him early and go through the same torment that he was going through now. So, Santiago thought it best to stay away.
And yet, when Felix begged him to help him keep in touch with his friend from school, he didn't have the heart to refuse. Their father was furious, but he took responsibility. After all, Felix was still a kid, and so was Leo, his school friend.
He hadn't imagined, however, that the situation would deteriorate like this. It was one thing for Felix to want to continue to have some semblance of normality in his life, it was quite another for him to want to leave the cabin altogether, with Leo.
With Felix gone, Rafael couldn't bear to see his family once again deprived of one of its members, and had them move again, further away still, to a remote property with steep access routes that didn't invite outsiders to explore.
Haunted by guilt, Santiago made a promise to his father that he would bring his youngest child home, and returned to where it all began, where his mother had lost her life, where Felix had first met Leo: Wicked's Rest.
Although he has agreed to keep his head down and refrain from making himself conspicuous, Santiago hopes he won't have to stay in the middle of the crowd for too long. After decades away from it all, he's not sure where he fits in. And, after all, once he's reasoned with Felix, he'll have no reason to stay here.
Character Facts:
Personality: Determined, caring, jovial, bold, fearless, protective, uncompromising, creative
He has found himself a job at Bottomless Booty. He hates puns, and he doesn’t see what’s fun about pirates either. He feels like a part of him dies each time someone orders Biscuits with “Gravy Jones” or Spaghetti with a chance of cannonballs.
Though creative at heart, his declining palate (also known as years of eating raw meat) has him following recipes by the letter which he detests.
At the moment, he's renting a flat, on the last floor of an old building, under the roof, not far from the restaurant. There's only one room, the bathroom is on the landing and shared with the neighbor next door.
In high school, he spent most of his time in the art room. One of his favorite pastimes, away from society, was to draw his surroundings and his family in his notebook.
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Let's Talk Whump!
Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today.
Here with us today is the fabulous @angstafterdark !
Hello! Good to have you here! How about we start off with a fact or three about yourself?
Oh man, hello. If we're not talking about whump, I'm really bad at talking about myself. It's not that I'm boring, I'm just shy and awkward. I'll do my best though!
My name is Vee or V or ✌🏿. My favorite color is red. I love emojis even though I'm still trying to figure out what half of them mean. I'm very passionate about getting more POC and well written women into the media I read and write in. I firmly believe everyone wins when there's more diversity!
What does whump mean to you?
Catharsis, a healthy way to get the pain in your brain out so you're not harming yourself or others. For me, whump isn't the only thing I look for, I like a little plot with my pain. Whump and all its tropes and genres are seasoning to great storytelling!
And how did you find the whump community?
I stumbled into the community completely by accident and during a pretty rough period in my life. I started out in writeblr and somehow found @sweetwhumphellacomf's Prince and Paladin series with Eos and Valerie and it just hit everything I loved about storytelling! Dex is a fantastic writer and that series will always have a special place in my heart. So after I read it, I started reading more, got hooked into a discord server, started to actually interact with Dex and other whump writers, started writing my own stuff and went from there!
Do you feel like your view on whump has changed since you joined?
It's definitely changed! I've gone in a different direction with my writing and become a lot more open to certain tropes and people I once thought were weird or taboo. I think, personally, that's helped me grow as an author. I've had to do research to write some topics with sensitivity and care and that, in turn, has led me to other blogs and people I have the pleasure of calling friends!
And now my favorite question to ask! Do you have a favourite whump trope?
Whipping, Bedside Vigils, Creepy Comfort, Captivity, Whump Emotional/Psychological Whump, Sickfics/Fevers. I've really been into the BBU (box boy universe) lately. As someone who loves engaging with others about OCs and writing stuff, my favorite thing about it is its collaborative nature. It's so fun and contrary to popular belief, people are very aware and sensitive about the triggering tropes and topics that are often explored in that sandbox. There's also the ability to explore the real world struggles of POC communities, minorities, and other vulnerable populations and thats something I’m really passionate about.
The BBU universe is amazing with its sandbox structure and I think a lot of the whump community has really connected through BBU’s shared universe. Do you have a favourite piece you've written?
I have two blogs so I'll link two if that's alright! I love this one! Taron and Zizi were my first whumpees. They hold such a special place in my heart. And this one! (slight nsfw)! Wick's fear here was so fun to write and so palpable.
I love Taron’s distress and internal conflict in the first one. So good! Do you have a regular writing routine or just whenever the inspo strikes?
Oh gosh. I have a kid, a fulltime job, and a pretty busy life so getting writing done is kind of hard. I try to take Mondays off from parenting and working and I usually find myself at Panera Bread for a few hours. I really like sitting in one corner of the place. I’ll usually put on my wireless headphones and put one song on repeat. The song depends on which story or character I’m writing for.
I do like having a snack when I'm writing but sometimes I get into the zone and completely forget about what I'm eating. It's a problem!
And do you find it easier to write some things than others?
Comfort is really easy for me to write. I don't write it a lot but when I do, it flows really easily. I love a good comfort fic but I usually slip in a bit of angst. I gotta have my angst.
Take us behind the curtain, is there anything new you’re working on at the moment?
I have several stories in the works but I'm currently working on the escape portion of LIKE A BULLET LOVES A GUN. Someone dies and that's all I'm gonna say about that.
I've also taken up drawing again. It's not great and I hate not being immediately good at something but I'm trying to stick with it!
Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?
I usually save my witty lines for my writing. I’m not great at being funny when I’m under pressure. Sorry.
Advice time! What would you like to share?
Yeah! I have two pieces of advice!
The first: Have a writing buddy! Write with someone you trust who is going to be supportive of you and excited about what you're doing. The second: no matter how discouraged you get, NEVER DELETE YOUR WRITING OR YOUR BLOG! Be your own fan first. Reread your own writing (you write it for a reason. It made you happy). There's absolutely NO shame in reblogging your own work and screaming in the tags. It's not annoying and it's not egotistical.
Finally let’s shout out your favorite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you. We're hyping everyone up here!
Oh God. There are so many! Whether it's screaming in the tags of my writing, giving me space on discord to be my sometimes messy self, collaborating with me, or just being a sweet, positive force in the community, I'm genuinely grateful for each and every one of these blogs.
@mottinthemainpot (who nominated me) @wildfaewhump @flowersarefreetherapy @siren-of-agony @ashintheairlikesnow @justplainwhump @noirineverysense @just-horrible-things @gritpyre @winedark-whump @studyofwhump @clockworknightmares @redwingedwhump @amethystpath-writes @gottawhump @girlsjustwannadrawwhump and @oddsconvert
I also gotta shout out a few of the discord servers I’m a part of so shout out to the whumpawoman server, especially to @whumpstash and @mirasmirages who are the most amazing and supportive co-mods!
Shout out to The Whump Oasis and every one in there as well!
Anything you'd like to add?
Yes, thank you. albino-whumpee would’ve been on that list of whump blogs that I’m grateful for. I'm still so grateful for the conversations we had and their beautiful commissioned artwork. I hope wherever they've ended up, they're happy and pain-free. Please consider visiting the memorial @whumptr0pes put up for Moya and donating to The Trevor Project in their memory.
Oftentimes when we're writing whump, we’re dealing with our own traumas and insecurities. It's cliche to say but you never know what someone is going through so kindness and understanding always has to be a priority even if - especially if - someone is writing about a topic you don't personally enjoy or can't engage with for whatever reason.
We all write and enjoy topics that can trigger someone else and it's important for us as a community to support each other. Please, please, please don't hesitate to reach out. There is always someone in your corner.
(Note: This topic may still be extremely fresh for some folks and it can be extremely triggering, but we here at Let's Talk Whump want to make it known that we are all a big family (the whump community). No matter what differences we may have, no one should ever feel alone. That being said, if any of you are struggling at home, feel lost, hurting, and don't know where to reach out, attached is a website that has international suicide hotline numbers and resources available from countries A-Z.
https://blog.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines/ )
Thank you so much for sharing, @angstafterdark. It was so good to have you here today!
And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!
* @angstafterdark is an 18+ blog only. Minors please do not interact with their works or with their blog.
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