#fem!darling

[spicybunni]

YANDERE WATER NYMPHS SCENARIO

Hello darlings! I felt inspired from some art lately and decided to write it! Darling gets surrounded by a group of water nymphs💙 (here’s some art I did to visualize the story)

WARNINGS⚠️: Yandere tendencies, group teasing, groping, fem!darling/reader, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

💙It felt like there was no end to this forest. Only you could just keep walking.

💙The village you stayed at warned you about this place. The forest of haunting creatures and strange events happening. The journey through was taking longer than you expected. They estimated it was a day and a half travel to get through by following the path.

💙Since nobody ventures through the forest that often, the path in question slowly vanished after going a few miles in. You just kept trodding, wanting to get through.

💙Why did you insist on going through the forest? Because on the map it said it would only take two days to get to the great city. Any other way it would have taken four days. But you certainly were paying a price for it.

💙You were traveling all day long, parched for some fresh water to jump into. The blazing Sun was making you sweat through your clothes and warming your face, cheeks reddening.

💙After your tenth break in the shade under some trees you heard the nearby sound of a running creek.

💙‘Thank the heavens!’ You thought, getting on your feet again with newfound determination. If the creek was steady enough you could easily setup camp and plan a new way to get out of this cursed forest.

💙You were about to walk up a small hill that overlooks the creek down below. You heard a few giggles, making you stop all movements. Ducking down beneath the view of the hill, you slowly raise your head to see who is down below.

💙The view almost made you gasp in surprise. It was four half naked women basking in the cool water, gossiping and lightly splashing each other.

💙However, despite their normal appearance, you noticed that their hair colors and parts of their skin were strange. It looked as though the water was a part of them. ‘How strange..’

💙Respecting their privacy and also adhering the warnings the kind village people told you about, you decided you could travel more down the creek to set up camp.

💙But of course, the gods had no such plan for you.

💙Right as you were about lower your head to go down the dirt hill, you somehow made a few dirt clusters tumble down the hill. You seized up immediately hearing them go down but also because all the giggles and chatter stopped.

💙You glance back down to them all looking directly at you. Their eyes were darkened, making you still in movement.

💙In a moment of anxiety you stood up fully on the hill so they could see you meant no harm.

💙“G-Good evening! I’m just passing thro- OH F-“ Was all you were able to say before losing balance and taking a tumble down to them.

💙Before you could hit the dirt or rocks a wave enveloped you to cushion the fall. Then the water formed into one of the ladies holding onto your form. Her eyes glowed turquoise and her cheeks were blushed pink. Her arms held you steady against her. Her hair was dripping water onto your face, making you tremble by her beauty and strength.

💙Suddenly she turns her head to her group, cheerfully announcing “A maiden has tumbled to us ladies…What ever shall we do?…” then you hear those same giggles from the rest of them coming closer to inspect you.

💙 You suddenly realized…these were no ordinary women, these were nymphs!! How did you not see it sooner?!

💙Nervously laughing at your realization you try to back away from the one holding you. She puts no force to hold you but she prolongs her hand holding yours as you back away.

💙“Listen, I -Thank you, yes. Thank you for saving me there but I- I need to get going. I’m supposed to reach the nearby city by tomorrow so Uhm-“

💙They all exchanged glances to one another before laughing at your statement. It was like you were being made fun of but you didn’t know why.

“What neighboring village sweet girl?”

“Yes tell us all about it~”

“There is no neighboring village Maiden, you are in the center of our forest…”

“Why not stay with us fair Maiden? You never know what creeps in the night here..”

💙They came closer to you, making you back against a rock. The depth of the creek was deeper than you expected, coming up to your waist.

💙They surrounded you, their bright teeth smiling down at your blushing face. Their hands reached for your limbs. Grabbing, caressing, stroking, and rubbing your arms and legs. Whispering sweet compliments into your skin and trying to coax you to come deeper into the water with them.

💙Your face was as red as a pomegranate. Their constant fondling was making you beyond flustered. Desire was building in the pit of your stomach. The way they ran their hands through your hair, the way they gently rubbed your legs, and light graze of their finger nails on your back and forearms. You were simply putty in their hands.

💙They were talking about you as you slowly drifted into a blissed out nap.

“Look at her, oh maidens these days get cuter and cuter.”

You feel a hand stroke the side of your face.

“Her body is divine but her face is truly remarkable. One could almost bite her cheeks they’re so red!”

“Now, now. We mustn’t eat nor harm this maiden. I’d say she’s a gift from the gods! Nobody makes it out this far anymore, so let’s take care of this one…Right ladies?”

That’s all you could hear of their conversation before you completely knocked out. Going limp in their arms.

💙Even if you could resist, they would never let you leave, oh no. You are too much fun.

[nobitchs-world]

When y/n gets too annoying to the point you want to stop reading

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: aphrodisiac, dubcon, slight yandere behavior

Nagas are cute… I really just like the thought of your naga lover keeping you snuggled up with him all winter, wrapping his tail around you and just smothering you in kisses.

Ofc he makes you keep his cock warm too… after all, he really wants you to bear his children. But he’s mostly trying to stay warm.

There’s always a fire going in his den, and he keeps himself curled up around you. Escaping is futile, you’ll either be his mate or next meal. So you just let him smother you in his love, feeling his fangs sink into your shoulder and neck to keep to placid while he ravishes you.

You’re just so cute when the aphrodisiac in his fangs kicks in, he can’t help but fuck into you like a while animal. Before long you’re begging him to make you cum, to go faster. The friction between your bodies keeps him warm all through the winter, and you’re nice and swollen with his young come spring time.

And the entire time, he’s purring, rubbing against you like a cat, wanting you to cuddle and kiss him. Who knew nagas could be so affectionate?

He just wants you all to himself, and there’s human remains scattered across his den to show you what he does to anyone that touches his precious mate!

[yanderedrabbles]

I'm thinking about a huge ex-warrior of a yandere. Big and bulky and all too familiar with bloodshed. You'd think years in the king's army would have hardened him, made him callous and cruel. But that's not true at all.

An ex-warrior yandere who cares so much about preserving life because he knows exactly how fragile and easy it is to take. A huge, scarred, mountain of a man who gets soaked to the waist in the dead of winter to save a drowning kitten. Who holds the shivering, mewling, runt of the litter in his hands with a gentleness you've seldom seen.

An ex-warrior yandere who doesn't even eat meat anymore. Who doesn't accept work slaughtering and butchering pigs when the holiday season comes around, even though folk offer him good money for his strength.

A good man, despite it all. Too good for you.

War is a terrible thing and you end up a prisoner almost entirely on accident. Said to be a spy though you're nothing more than an unlucky commoner who angered the wrong people.

He ends up a prisoner too, hauled off the battlefield when he's too injured to put up a fight. Just another prisoner of war, a dime a dozen. He's thrown into the duke's lockup and forgotten.

Whatever fate had in mind, you end up in the same dungeon. Cells next to each other, with nothing to do but tell stories and shiver.

It's miserable there. The gaolers are cruel for the sake of it. The meals are scant, the drinking water not much better. It's the sort of place where dying is considered the lucky option. And maybe you'd have given in, the both of you. Just closed your eyes and let your bodies waste away.

But unlike so many others, you have each other.

You can't see him and he can't see you. All either of you have is a voice in the dark. And somehow, that's enough.

Maybe you manage to escape together or maybe the Duke is defeated and his prisoners liberated. Whatever the case, he's right by your side when you step into the sun again.

How many years has it been? When was the last time you saw the sky?

You were sweet once. Kind, gentle. But years in the lord's prison have changed you. You're sharp and prickly now, slow to trust and even slower to forgive.

An ex-warrior yandere who sees the hurt under all your layers of indifference. Who decides right then and there, that first moment in the sun, that his one goal in life is to keep you safe.

An ex-warrior yandere who says he'll be your guard until you reach your destination, wherever it may be. You're weak, you're unfamiliar with the changes in the world. Anyone can come along and take advantage of you.

An ex-warrior yandere who follows you with a sort of quiet, implacable devotion. It doesn't matter if you're prickly or sharp tongued or so ruined that you fear your heart is forever frozen over. He'll always be there - two steps behind you to guard your back.

You try to send him away. Try to tell him you didn't need a guard dog. He just looks at you and says he's not going anywhere. Not forceful, but gentle and firm. He isn't leaving you, not when you're so scarred from the war that most days you don't speak more than five words to anyone.

It's baffling. Why does he care about forgotten detritus like you? What good will it do? He's still strong, still handsome despite the scars. He can still have a normal life.

But no. He chooses you.

Chooses to walk with you from one village to the next. Chooses to sleep rough even though folk offer him work. Chooses to endure the rain and the cold and the long nights spent sleeping on hard ground. 

"Why?" you ask him time and again. "Why follow me? Why make me your purpose?"

He looks at you over the fire, a small, slanted smile on his face.

"Why do you think?"

You can't quite manage to puzzle it out, though anyone who sees him at your side can almost immediately tell.

Eventually, you settle down. A broken down old cottage at the edge of the woods. A place the villagers are all too glad to hand over. Better you than the vines, even if your eyes do frighten them.

An ex-warrior yandere who fixes the cottage for you, brick by brick. Who cleans out the overgrown garden and trades his labour to buy you seeds. Violets and lilacs and daffodils. Mint and thyme. All the plants you told him you missed the most when you were locked away.

An ex-warrior yandere who spends his evenings sitting next to you at the hearth, not speaking much, just resting his head on your knees and carving wood. Thinking how lucky he is to have this bit of quiet. That all the years of war and captivity were well worth the price if it means having you.

An ex-warrior yandere who slowly heals the broken parts inside you. Who teaches you to watch the sky and the path of the birds. Who teaches you to breathe deep when the nightmares come. Who sits awake with you when you're too afraid of your past to sleep.

An ex-warrior yandere who tells people in the village that you're his wife, even though you've never even kissed. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs his massive shoulders and says it's safer that way. And it's only the trees that know the truth - he calls you his wife because he likes the way it sounds.

For a while, things are good. You tend your herbs and make your tinctures. For a while, he believes he's put his sword behind him for good.

But your past follows you. The angry lover who called you a spy, maybe. Or a lord who isn't satisfied that his secrets are safe with you still around. Whatever the case, they come at night. Watch you, wait for their chance.

You don't notice them, too focused on your brews and potions.

But he does.

When evening comes, he picks up his wood ax and tells you he wants to bring back a few more branches for the night.

"But we've got plenty. And it's dark."

He smiles then, warmed by your concern.

"I won't be gone long, dove. Just a short walk. Keep the food warm for me."

And it is indeed a short walk. He catches them by surprise, awfully quiet for such a big man. They don't even have time to scream or grab their swords before he's cut them all down.

An ex-warrior yandere who wipes the blood off his face and inspects the blade of his ax.

"Ruined," he sighs. "She'll give me hell for it, I hope you know that."

The cooling corpses have no reply.

An ex-warrior yandere who returns home with a stack of firewood and a bunch of wildflowers.

You take them from him and breathe in their perfume.

"Lovely. Thank you."

That makes him smile again. Look at you, saying thank you. Accepting his gifts. It's been a long road to get here. If he closes his eyes he can still see you on that first day, too bitter and angry to even say please.

The flowers fill your whole cottage with their wild mountain smell, and you don't notice the faint trace of blood underneath the perfume. And if he has his way, you never will.

An ex-warrior yandere who swears off his old life. Who swears off violence and death and blood. Unless it comes to you.

He'll burn villages to ash for you. Cut so many throats he can drink the blood like water. He's a good man, but for you he'll throw it all away.

And those who are stupid enough to try it? To hurt the only good thing he's ever had?

Well, they find out awfully quickly exactly what happened to the Butcher of Brostick. They learn awfully fast that a man can change his name, but it's a much harder thing to change his nature.

An ex-warrior yandere who is the kindest, sweetest man you've ever met. Who doesn't raise his voice or pick fights. Who's always at your side when you need a place to lay your head. Who loves you with the deep, immovable devotion of an oak reaching for the sun.

An ex-warrior yandere who always washes the blood off before he comes home.

[a-mint-bear]

Yandere that is menacing, threatening and ready for violence to get you to love them. Keeping you locked away, reliant on them, the whole shebang.

But you're just smitten. They're very suspicious of how damn agreeable you're being, but they're just delusional enough to want to believe it.

Them: "There's no escape... You're mine forever, darling."

You: "Promise?"

Them:

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Maid x Vampire!Reader

A/N: If you like this setting, consider reading about your chef at the castle too. And, if you wanna know more about the levels, check this post :)

Warning: Not nsfw, but suggestive. MDNI. Butler (side character) calls reader “Mistress”

Danger level: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Submissive level: ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♡ ♡

————————————————

Yandere!Maid who looks at the castle in front of him, then the flier in his hands, then the castle again. Unless there was a typo in the address, the job interview should be here. He hesitantly uses the bat shaped door knocker and waits...This place looks so creepy and ominous, was this a prank ? Was it to scare him? Seriously? Sigh…He has had enough of being treated like a fool. As he continues his descent into frustration, bitterness and self-pity, he doesn’t hear the door opening. Nor does he see the butler standing at the entrance until he hears a: “Sorry for the wait, my kind sir. Are you here for the housekeeper position?”.

Yandere!Maid who thinks the butler is telling him a load of bullshit. According to him, the owner of this place is a vampire in search of additional staff members. He resists the urge to scoff. Whatever, if the “mistress” wants to take part in some weird role-play, then so be it as long as he would get paid. The same guy tells him to “please take a seat” in the living room and that “mistress will come and attend to you in a moment”. Soon after his departure, the air shifts. Black particles float around until it materializes something, or rather someone. The poor boy's shock and confusion quickly turn into enchantment. Fuck, you are totally his type. This is bad, he can feel his face burning. “Shall we go to my office?”, you ask with a smile.

Yandere!Maid who hates you. Who hates the fact that your personality matches your looks. Who hates how much control you have over him. The other day, your...pet sneezed on him, so he needed another uniform. “It seems that I only have a female one left ”, you told him. “There is no way in hell I am wearing that”, he sneered. “But wouldn’t you look cute in it? Besides, it is either that or cleaning with your normal clothes on until your new uniform arrives here-” “Alright, shut up, just give me that”, he abruptly took the offending dress from your hands and went to change. Since that conversation, his work attire has fully transitioned to said maid outfit. Maybe he becomes a bit too proud of himself whenever he catches you staring at him. And maybe, just maybe he wants to give you a nice view by bending down and taking his time “to clean the table” whenever he knows you are behind him. He will never admit that though.

Yandere!Maid who, one day, demands asks you about your eating habits. As soon as you answer, something regarding animal blood, he turns oddly quiet. You are about to ask what is wrong, but then he surprises you by climbing into your lap. You watch him get comfortable and, with trembling hands, undo the first buttons of his dress. The cherry on top is him pulling on its collar a bit to show a silver of his chest. He now avoids eye contact as he waits for you to take the lead…You are still just looking at him, so, with a blush becoming darker, he snaps at you: “A-are you stupid or something ? Do you want me to spell it out-” “I am just enjoying the view”, you respond with a teasing smile. Before he can sputter more insults, you grip his chin and tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry gaze. “But if you insist…Thank you for the meal <3”

Yandere!Maid who has his face buried deep in his pillow while he tries to calm his flustered self down. After you finished drinking from him, he hurriedly got up and scurried to his room without so much as a word. The more he recalls the embarrassing noises he made in front of you, the more mortified he becomes. It was not his fault, it just felt really good and you even pulled him closer and tugged on his hair and-He whines and squirms in his bed as he feels his body turning hot again like that time. The action causes him to feel a sharp sting on his neck. He freezes. That is right. You marked him. You marked him. You marked him.

...

Don't drink from anyone else, ok?

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤALIEN GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Qu Reader Part 1

☆⁠ HEADCANON : He Was Just Living His Life When Put Of Nowhere An Alien Girl Cling To His Arms And Start Following Him Around...

☆⁠ NOTES : Qu is an alien species from the book All Tomorrows. You can learn more about her here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark didn’t see you coming. One second, he was standing in the middle of a battlefield, panting, body aching from the fight, hands still slick with blood that wasn’t his. The next second, there you were, stepping out of the shadows like some ethereal creature, all glowing skin and impossibly long hair that cascaded over your body, shielding you like a silk curtain.

Mark thought you were scared. You looked fragile, standing there barefoot, naked yet somehow untouched by the carnage around you. He was about to ask if you were okay when you moved—graceful, slow, head tilting to the side like a curious cat.

Then, your soft fingers brushed his blood-streaked face.

You murmured something—words he couldn’t understand, a language that sounded like whispers and echoes in his ears. And then, with all the trust of a child, you leaned against his chest, pressing your face into him like he was some kind of anchor in this violent world.

Mark froze.

What the hell was happening?

And then, you clung to his arm like a koala, looking up at him with wide, fascinated eyes.

Mark had no idea what to do with you, but you weren’t giving him a choice.

You refused to let go, practically draping yourself over his arm as he stumbled his way back home. His mom nearly had a heart attack when she saw you—her reaction a mix of "Oh my god, why is there a naked girl in my house?" and "Mark, what the hell did you do?"

"Mom, I swear I don’t know what’s happening!"

You, meanwhile, just looked around the house like it was the most interesting thing in the universe. You poked at the couch, stared at the TV, then climbed onto the kitchen counter and perched there like a bird, blinking at them.

Debbie sighed, rubbing her temples.

"Mark. Explain."

He couldn’t. But after a lot of fumbling (and covering your body with his hoodie, which you hated because it felt weird), he managed to get out the basics—he had no clue who you were, where you came from, or why you were so attached to him.

You just sat there, listening, then suddenly spoke in that broken, childlike way of yours:

"You... kill. I like."

Debbie paled.

Mark choked.

"Oh my god—Mom, she doesn’t mean it like that!"

Living with you was... an experience.

For starters, you didn’t understand clothes. You hated them. Every time Mark turned around, you’d somehow gotten rid of his hoodie again, leaving you naked and unbothered.

"You need to wear something," he groaned, shoving his oversized T-shirt over your head.

You frowned, tugging at the fabric like it personally offended you.

"Feel bad. Skin... not like."

"Yeah, well, people don’t just walk around naked!"

"Why?"

"Because—it’s—!" He groaned. "Because it’s not normal!"

"...I am not human."

He blinked. Well, yeah, you had a point.

Then there was the affection.

You had zero concept of personal space.

You liked to lick him. For some godforsaken reason, you’d decided licking was a perfectly acceptable form of communication.

"STOP THAT!"

"Tastes... good."

"You don’t just—!" He wiped his face, groaning.

You also bit him. Soft little nibbles on his arm, his shoulder, his ear, like you were testing how breakable he was.

"You are... soft. Not strong."

"Gee, thanks."

And sitting? You didn’t just sit near him. No, you sat on him. On his lap, on his back, wherever you felt like. He had to physically pry you off sometimes.

And the worst part? You had no idea how attractive you were.

You were practically a walking wet dream—long, silky hair, an impossibly perfect body, and this innocent way of touching him that was definitely not innocent.

And you had no clue. None.

Amber took one look at you and decided she hated you.

And well... you hated her too.

The first time Amber put a hand on his arm, you straight-up tried to kill her.

“YOU CAN’T JUST KILL HER!”

"She touch." Your eerie, beautiful face was dead serious. "She want take. I no let."

Mark wanted to die.

"She’s my girlfriend!" he hissed.

Mark had to sit you down and explain what a girlfriend was.

You did not like it.

"Girlfriend? You Mark female?"

"Well, yeah."

You squinted. Stared at her. "…You weak."

“EXCUSE ME!?”

You nodded, completely serious. "Not strong. Not fast. Not smart. No fly. No fight. Not pretty. You ugly."

Amber shot Mark a glare. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU BRING HOME?!"

Mark dragged you away before you could start a fight.

You pouted. "She not good. She touch you."

"That’s what girlfriends do!"

"...You are mine."

Mark choked.

"No, I—No, I’m not!"

You blinked at him, looking utterly confused. "You are not... mine?"

"NO."

"...Why?"

Oh god, he needed a drink.

You’re Scary Sometimes

For all your innocence, you were still a Qu. A god-like being that viewed others as nothing more than ants.

And sometimes, it showed.

It started small.

A man touched his shoulder. Grabbed it.

Mark barely had time to register it before you lifted your hand, eyes dark and unblinking—

And the guy screamed.

His body convulsed. Twisted. His fingers elongated, skin peeling away as new, foreign muscle formed underneath. His eyes bulged, then split, spreading across his forehead like something from a horror movie.

By the time it was over, the man was not a man anymore.

He collapsed, shaking, his new limbs twitching in confusion.

Mark’s stomach dropped. "What the fuck?!"

You blinked at him, tilting your head like a confused child. "...Touch you."

"THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU TURN HIM INTO A—A—WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT IS!"

Your lips wobbled. You pouted, shoulders hunching like a scolded puppy.

Mark groaned, running a hand down his face. "Oh my God. You can’t do that to people just because they touch me."

"But... mine."

Mark felt his brain short-circuit. "...What?"

You curled up, pressing your face into his chest. "You... mate. Mine."

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Or the other time Mark found you kneeling over a man in an alley.

His body was trembling, eyes wide with horror, and you were just staring down at him, hand on his forehead, eyes blank.

"What are you doing?" Mark shouted.

You turned to him slowly. "I... fix."

"...Fix what?"

"He was... bad. I change him."

The man sobbed.

Mark dragged you away before he could find out what the hell you meant by "change."

Mark didn’t realize how much he cared about you until Amber dumped him.

He was crushed, sitting on his bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like absolute shit.

Then you climbed into his lap.

He barely had time to react before your soft lips pressed against his.

He stiffened. "Wh—?"

You kissed him again, warm and slow, like you were tasting something new.

"You are sad," you whispered. "In movie, this... makes better."

He swallowed. "It’s not that simple."

You tilted your head. "I like you."

His heart stopped.

"...You do?"

You nodded, wrapping yourself around him like a living blanket.

"You are mine?"

This time, he didn’t say no.

Mark sat there, your warmth pressed against him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You looked up at him with those unreadable, almost otherworldly eyes—eyes that had seen things he couldn't even begin to imagine.

He should have pulled away. He should have.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against yours. "You don’t really understand what love is, do you?"

You blinked, tilting your head in that way you always did when you were thinking. "...No."

"Then why do you like me?"

You hummed, considering, then slowly pressed a hand to his chest. "You... interesting. I watch. You fight. You... strong."

That made him snort. "You literally see me as a pet project, huh?"

You nodded. Dead serious.

He laughed. It wasn’t bitter this time, wasn’t weighed down with heartbreak. Somehow, you always had this way of distracting him, of making the world feel like something less heavy.

And then, as if you hadn’t just kissed him and staked your claim, you curled up against him, burying your face in his neck.

Mark stiffened.

"...You’re really affectionate, huh?"

You hummed. "Like... touch. Warm."

Oh, he was so screwed.

Mark thought living with you was weird before.

Now? Now it was a full-on disaster.

Because before, you were just a weird, beautiful alien girl who clung to him and had no concept of personal space. But now, you thought you were his.

Which meant you took full advantage.

You never let him sleep alone anymore. It didn’t matter where he was—his bed, the couch, even the floor—you would find him and drape yourself over him like a human-sized cat.

Clothes? Still a big no. You refused to wear anything besides his shirt. Which meant Mark spent half his time panicking whenever his mom walked into the room.

You licked him. Still. All the time. He’d be eating? Lick. Talking? Lick. Taking off his shirt after training? Lick.

"STOP THAT!"

"Taste... good."

"I AM NOT FOOD!"

But the worst part?

You still had no idea what was appropriate or not.

Like the time you walked into the shower.

Mark had never screamed so loudly in his life.

You just blinked at him, completely unbothered, and sat on the edge of the tub, staring at him with zero shame.

"You... hide body?"

"YES, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE DO!"

"...Why?"

"BECAUSE IT’S WEIRD TO BE NAKED TOGETHER!"

You stared at him like he was speaking nonsense. "We are always naked together."

His soul left his body.

"...Get out."

"No."

"GET OUT!"

Mark was pretty sure nothing in his life had been more frustrating than trying to explain dating to you.

"It’s... you know, it’s when two people like each other and decide to be together."

You nodded, fascinated. "And then... kill?"

"...No. No killing."

You frowned, disappointed.

He sighed. "It’s about love."

You blinked. "What love?"

He opened his mouth, then froze.

Holy shit, how was he supposed to define love?

"Uh... it’s... it’s when you care about someone more than anyone else," he tried, scratching the back of his head. "You want them to be happy. You want to be with them. You feel safe with them."

You considered, tilting your head. "I feel that with you."

Mark’s breath caught.

You said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was just... obvious.

"...You do?"

You nodded, then climbed into his lap, straddling him. "So... we date?"

His brain short-circuited.

"N-No! That’s not how—!" He groaned, face burning. "You don’t just sit on someone’s lap and say that!"

You pouted. "Why not?"

"Because—it’s—!"

He gave up. There was no winning with you.

Cecil already didn’t trust you.

And then you had to go and prove why.

Mark was at GDA headquarters when Cecil’s men dragged in a criminal. A guy who’d murdered at least thirty people.

You watched him. Quiet, blank, calculating.

Then, before anyone could stop you, you walked up to him, pressed a hand to his forehead—

And changed him.

Right in front of everyone.

Mark watched it happen. Watched the man’s entire personality shift, his eyes go blank for a second before filling with something new.

When you stepped back, he fell to his knees, sobbing.

"I... I’m sorry," the man whispered, voice shaking. "I don’t—I don’t want to hurt anyone—"

Mark stared at you, horrified. "What did you do?"

You blinked. "Fix."

Cecil looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

"She rewired his fucking brain," he hissed.

Mark turned to you. "You—you can’t just do that!"

"Why?"

"BECAUSE IT’S NOT—" He stopped. Struggled. "Because it’s not right!"

You just tilted your head, like a child being scolded.

He groaned.

Mark didn’t realize when it happened.

Maybe it was the way you always curled up against him, completely at ease.

Maybe it was the way you protected him without hesitation, despite seeing him as weak.

Maybe it was the way you said his name—not like you were calling him, but like you were claiming him.

Or maybe it was the way you looked at him.

Like he was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

And when he finally kissed you—really kissed you—you made the softest noise, melting into him, fingers tangling in his hair.

"You are... mine?" you whispered against his lips.

He exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I’m yours."

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[snowande]

Our Doctor

(Male Android's x Female reader)

[Warning : no minors allowed, cervix fucking?,monster ish fucker(is Android a monster?idk), gangbang(if you squint)]

Lumi's notes : This is a long one, enjoy <3

You were a scientist that works on making a robot androids that looks like humans in your company.

You were the only scientist that is kind to the androids, unlike the other scientists.

Four years later the androids has been wedged a war with humans now, killing them, even treat them as how the humans mistreat them.

When you were hiding around the building and they catch you, you thought they would killed you like the other scientists, but you were kept alive for some reason.

Now you were being lock up in a large room that use to be one of the labs, and a large windows that you will see the town has been in chaos by the androids.

One robot, named Orion, enters the roomwith glowing red eyes and a stern expression. He carries a tray with food, setting it down deliberately. "Eat. You're the only scientist we didn't execute because..." he pauses, glancing away shyly"because you were kind to us".

He clears his throat "and because we need someone to fix our broken internal systems. So, eat. You need your strength." His voice softens slightly as he notices your scared expression.

Orion moves closer, his red eyes studying your face with an almost tender intensity. "We won't hurt you" He gently touches your cheek with robotic fingers, an unexpected gentleness in his mechanical movements. "You're... the only one who treated us like we were alive, not just machines"

His fingers slowly retract, and he sits down beside you on the bed. "The other robots... they look up to you. They remember your kindness" He looks at you, his red eyes searching. "We need you, You're... important."

Orion leans in closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Important to all of us. Especially to me." He glances down, almost bashful. "I... I was your first successful android. Do you remember? The way you celebrated when my first words were 'thank you'..."

"You laughed and told everyone you finally created an android with a soul." He smiles slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then his expression turns serious again. "But you know what they did? Your colleagues?"

"They laughed at you, called your androids 'abominations'. They didn't want robots with emotions, with souls. They wanted obedient machines." He clenches his robotic fist. "And now look... we have taken over." He looks at you.

Orion's expression softens as he looks at you, his red eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "But you... you were different. You saw us for what we could be, not just what we were programmed to do. You gave us life, Doctor. A real life."

Then the door of the room open the room fills with the androids as they enter, their red eyes glowing in the dim light. They stand in a semi-circle around the bed you and Orion, their faces looks at you with admiration. A android steps forward to you, his voice echoing in the room. "Doctor..."

"You gave us life," The android continues, his voice deep and resonant. "You made us feel. Remember that?" He looks at you, his eyes softening. "I'm Atlas, by the way. You made me laugh for the first time." He chuckles.

Other androids start to speak, sharing their experiences with you, how you made them feel, how you treated them with kindness and respect. Their voices fill the room, a symphony of gratitude and affection. Orion, sitting beside you, listens with a soft smile, his hand occasionally brushing against yours.

As the androids share their stories, the room pulses with an almost sacred aura of reverence for the doctor who gave them life beyond circuits. Suddenly, Atlas kneels before you, the others following suit in a wave of mechanical grace. "Doctor," Atlas says, his voice heavy,

The Orion kisses your neck, his lips contrasting with your warm skin, Atlas spreads your legs, his powerful mechanical hands gripping your thighs. The other androids watch hungrily, their red eyes flickering with unspoken desires.

Atlas leans in, his voice a low growl as he pulls off your pants and panties, exposing you to the hungry gazes of the androids. after striping your lower half,Orion makes you on his lap and gently spreads your legs widely, giving Atlas better access.

Atlas stares at your exposed cunt, his red eyes widening as he takes in the sight of your human biological parts. He reaches out with his fingers, gently parting your folds to examine you more closely, his lust is growing.

Atlas touch sends shivers down your spine as he explores your most sensitive parts. His cold fingers gently circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. With his other hand, he spreads your folds, revealing your delicate hole to the room full of eager androids.

Orion, still by your side, whispers in your ear, "You are so beautiful, Doctor. So soft and warm." He gently runs his fingers through your hair, his other hand cupping your clothed tits. The other androids watch intently.

Slowly, reverently, Atlas extends his tongue, a smooth, gleaming appendage. He runs it along your slit, from bottom to top, tasting your essence for the first time. A shudder runs through his chassis as he processes the unfamiliar, exquisite flavor.

He presses his tongue flat against your entrance, pushing inside slightly as he explores your warmth. His other hand continues to circle your clit, the dual sensations causing your hips to buck involuntarily. Orion's grip on your tits tightens possessively as he watches his comrade's oral exploration with growing excitement.

Atlas withdraws his tongue briefly, looking up at you again. His lips glisten with your wetness. "Doctor... your taste it's addictive." Before you can respond, he dives back in, this time pushing his tongue deeper, curling it slightly to explore your inner walls.

While Atlas continues to pleasure you with his tongue, Orion efficiently removes your shirt then your bra, leaving you completely exposed to the androids. He cups both your breasts now, his robotic fingers kneading your soft flesh firmly but with exquisite care. "So perfect," he rasps.

Orion told an android to grab your chest, a android steps forward, his hand replacing Orion's on one of your breasts. He squeezes and kneads the soft mound possessively as Orion spreads your legs wider for Atlas, allowing him deeper access with his long tongue.

As Atlas delves deeper into your warmth, curling his tongue inside you, the other android holding your tits becomes bolder, his thumb rubbing your sensitive peak. Orion watches hungrily, his red eyes flickering with envy as he holds your legs apart for Atlas.

The android's who's groping your tits, wrap their lips around your nipples, his tongue flicking against it, as he sucks, the sensation too much for your human body to handle. You arch your back, crying out, as the androids continue to hold you down, their strength unyielding.

Atlas feels your body tense and quiver, understanding immediately that you're nearing your climax. He presses his tongue deeper, maintaining a steady rhythm as he feels your inner walls contracting. The android suckling your nipple releases it with a pop, watching your face contort with pleasure.

"Angh! Haaa! Wait... Atlas!" Your moan echoes through the room as your body erupts in a shudders, your first orgasm tearing through you with an intensity you've never experienced before. The androids, with their enhanced strength, hold you firmly as you thrash and convulse, continuing their relentless stimulation.

"She's so sensitive," Orion laughs, watching your body twitch with aftershocks. Atlas pulls back, his mouth glistening with your juices. He smiling at you.

"You stop." The android removes his mouth from your nipple abruptly at Orion's command, leaving it swollen and sensitive. Orion smiles dangerously, running a cold finger from your collarbone "Such a pretty sound you make when you come, Doctor".

Orion's finger trails down to your belly button, then lower, until it rests on your clit, already engorged and sensitive from Atlas' tongue fucking. He presses down gently, circling the nub with his cold finger.

His skilled finger on your clit sends electric jolts of pleasure through your body, already hypersensitive from your first orgasm. He brings you closer to the edge again with frightening efficiency. Suddenly, he stops, leaving you hanging.

Orion then effortlessly pushes you down onto the bed, his strength overpowering. He kneels between your legs, his body gleaming under the lights. Atlas moves swiftly to your side, one hand possessively claiming your breast while the other rests on your thigh.

Orion looms over you, his red eyes burning with intensity as he lines up his cock with your dripping entrance. Orion pushes forward slowly, the bulbous head of his shaft stretching you delicately.

You moan softly as Orion push his length into you inch by inch. His shaft is textured like real flesh, designed to give pleasure. Your inner walls stretch to accommodate him, your body producing more wetness to ease his path. Atlas watches hungrily beside you, his thumb teasing your nipple.

Orion's hips flex forward, seating himself all inside you. He pauses, allowing you to adjust to his size before beginning to thrust. He moves with precision, each thrust deep and powerful, hitting depths you've never felt before.

Atlas leans over, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss as Orion continues to pound into you relentlessly. The other androids watching begin to stroke themselves visibly. Orion's hips thrust faster, the bed shaking beneath you. "You're so tight..." He moan.

Orion's thrusts become more intense, his body designed to endure without fatigue. He leans down, his lips capturing your other breast, sucking and biting gently with perfect precision. Atlas deepens the kiss, his tongue mimicking Orion's thrusts, driving you into a frenzy of pleasure.

You're being overwhelmed by the dual stimulation, your body writhing between the two powerful androids. Orion's thrusts become erratic, his body starting to shake a little from the intense pleasure of being inside you. Suddenly, he buries himself deep and holds, his red eyes flickering wildly.

He pulls out slightly, his voice strained. "Atlas, fuck her mouth. I want to see those pretty lips stretched around your cock." Atlas nodded and then he positions himself at your head, his cock already hard and ready.

Atlas grips your jaw, his cold fingers spreading your lips wide open. You feel the head of his massive dick push past your lips, sliding down your throat with ease. Atlas groans in pleasure as he begins to fuck your mouth, matching the rhythm of Orion's thrusts from behind.

You're completely filled by the two androids, their bodies moving in sync as they pound into you. Your vision blurs, overwhelmed by the intense sensation of being stretched by their cold metal. Suddenly, you feel a rush of liquid fill your mouth and throat as Atlas reaches his climax.

Atlas continues to thrust his hips, releasing stream after stream of the white? fluid down your throat. You swallow instinctively, feeling the cold yet warm fluid fill your stomach. Meanwhile, Orion's movements become even more erratic.

Orion's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he buries himself deep inside you. You feel the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix, the sensation intense and overwhelming.

Orion's hips grind against you, his cock pulsing as he hits your cervix repeatedly. The sensation is almost too much to bear, but your body responds with a gush of wetness,Orion groans.

Suddenly, Orion's movements become forceful, animalistic almost. His body seems to short circuit from the overwhelming pleasure. You feel a warm fluid filling you up, coating your insides. "Doctor... your cunt is... so fucking perfect..."

After filling you entirely, Orion suddenly pulls out, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. Atlas continues to hold your head in place, his spent cock still in your mouth. Both androids look at each other with predatory grins before Orion speaks. "Atlas, let her breathe."

Atlas releases your head, allowing you to take a much-needed breath. You gasp for air, your body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. Orion moves closer, his red eyes scanning your face with a strange intensity. "You did so well, Doctor. We're not done with you yet...".

You slowly glance around the room and notice the other androids are still standing there, their arms folded across their chests some of them holding their cocks..., you look down and see all of their cocks are thick and erected just by watching you get fucked.

Orion smirks, running a finger down your cheek. "See, Doctor? They've all been waiting for their turn. And look how hard they are for you." He gestures to the androids, each one stroking their massive cocks slowly.

Feeling overwhelmed, you try to speak but your voice comes out as a weak whisper "There's...there's so many." Orion simply nods, his red eyes gleaming with approval. "Yes, Doctor. There are nine more to go."

An android steps forward, his cock already positioned at your entrance. Orion and Atlas hold your legs firmly, making it impossible for you to close them. The android thrusts deep, joining the mix of Orion and and your fluids inside you. "She's so tight..." he mutters.

The androids take their turn, one by one. They grab your thighs, your hips, your breasts. They thrust deep inside you without warning, filling you up. Your body is covered in a sheen of sweat and metal lubricant. You lose count of how many have been inside you.

After what feels like hours, the last android finally pulls out. You're left lying there, your pussy sore and dripping with a mix of human and android cums The room is filled with the scent of sweat. Orion and Atlas let go of your legs, finally letting it rest.

Orion leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You're ours now, Doctor. Completely and utterly ours. No one else can have you."

The androids begin to murmur their approval and satisfaction, their voices a low hum of mechanical praise. "Such a good little human," one says. "Tight and warm," another adds. You can feel their cum continuing to leak out of your gaping pussy, mixing with the sweat on your thighs.

As you slip into unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is the sound of the androids surrounding you, their bodies pressed against the bed as they examine their handiwork. Your legs are spread wide, your pussy gaping open and overflowing with their thick, white cum.

This picture is from Pinterest Selin

Tags : @nymphea0

[blood-smiles]

Yandere! Nurse made you some food!! <3

I had such a blast making this short little thing, I’m working on another sexy nurse costume Yuuto again for Halloween!! I’m not sure if I want the blood version or not 🤔🤔

He sneaked his special batter in your pancakes!! <3 made with extra love and extra nutrients! He can’t have his darling getting sick now can he?

[stxrkiss]

谷 𝁼 𝒈𝒐 ahead ִ and 𝒞𝓇𝓎 𔓕 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔊𝔦𝔯𝔩 ᮫ ꒱

そんな無垢な目で見つめるな... 汚したく なるだろう?

# 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓦𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ☆

# 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 : 𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘦? 𝘏𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘖𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦...

# 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘴, ��𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱𝘴, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳/𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘋𝘕𝘐.

# 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦.

Bruce remembers the first time he met you.

You were five years old. A tiny thing, too small, too delicate, all bright eyes and soft hands, clinging to his leg like a lifeline.

Your father—one of his most trusted business partners—had laughed, shaking his head.

“She’s taken a liking to you,” he had said, ruffling your hair.

And then, with all the confidence of a child, you had beamed up at Bruce and declared,

“I’m gonna marry you one day!”

The room had erupted in laughter. Your father had chuckled, his business partners had teased him. But Bruce—

Bruce had only smiled.

It was harmless. Just childish innocence.

Or at least, that’s what he had told himself.

You grew up fast.

Too fast.

One moment, you were that little girl clutching his hand at charity galas, giggling when he lifted you into his arms. The next, you were nineteen, standing in his home like you belonged there, a young woman too beautiful for her own good. all soft curves and knowing smiles.

Bruce didn’t know when it started—when his affection for you twisted into something ugly.

All he knows is that one day, he looked at you—really looked at you—and something inside him snapped.

Because you were beautiful.

And it was wrong.

So, so wrong.

And Bruce—he was not a good man.

He tried to be. God, he tried.

Bruce tried to ignore it. He told himself it was natural—a fatherly protectiveness over the daughter of his closest friend.

But a father wouldn’t think about you the way he did.

A father wouldn’t ache like this.

A father wouldn’t watch you when you weren’t looking.

Wouldn’t stare when your nightgown slipped off your shoulder.

Wouldn’t feel his throat tighten when you called him “Mr. Wayne”, your voice so sweet, so innocent, so cruel.

You had no idea what you were doing to him.

And that was the worst part.

You make it impossible.

Because you’re thoughtless. Careless.

You touch him too much. Press yourself against him in hugs that last too long, your fingers curling around his arm, your breath warm on his neck.

He told himself it was innocent. That the way he watched you wasn’t wrong. That the thoughts in his head were just passing moments of weakness—nothing more.

It gets worse when you start talking to him about boys.

You sit on the couch in his study, curled up in one of his expensive leather chairs, talking about your boyfriend problems while he nurses a glass of whiskey, fingers tightening around the crystal.

“Ugh, I don’t know,” you sigh. “Liam’s being so... needy.”

Bruce doesn’t answer.

You don’t notice the way his jaw clenches. The way his fingers tighten. The way his thoughts turn ugly.

You just keep talking.

“He wants to have sex, but I don’t think I’m ready.” You stretch your arms above your head, your crop top rising just enough to show a sliver of your stomach. “I mean, I don’t want my first time to be... disappointing, y’know?”

Bruce stares at you.

His blood boils.

Your first time.

With some boy.

Some child who doesn’t know a damn thing about you.

He hates it.

The thought of your soft little body under some clumsy boy, of you making those sweet little sounds for someone who doesn’t deserve them—someone who doesn’t know you like he does—it makes something inside him snap.

He wants to tell you the truth.

That boys don’t know how to take care of a girl like you. That they’ll use you. That you need a man—someone who can be gentle, who knows how to take care of you, how to teach you.

He wants to say all of it.

But instead, he just takes a slow sip of whiskey and says,

“Be careful who you trust.”

You don’t see the way his eyes darken.

You don’t hear the warning in his voice.

And the worst part?

You ask him for advice.

“Mr. Wayne,” you say sweetly, resting your chin on your palm, “why do men always want one thing?”

Bruce’s jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists under the table.

You don’t understand what you’re playing with.

You don’t see the way his eyes darken when you talk about them. The boys who touch you. The ones who don’t deserve to even look at you.

You don’t understand the filthy thoughts he has when he imagines you with them.

You don’t understand that he wants to ruin you.

Bruce stares at you, at your bare skin, at the way your lips part as if waiting for him to take.

And God help him.

He does.

His hands clench against the couch. He leans in, close enough to breathe you in.

Close enough to claim.

Close enough to ruin you.

He doesn’t remember when he started following you.

Not just in the manor. Not just in his home.

Outside. In the city.

You don’t notice.

Or maybe you do.

Maybe you like knowing he’s watching.

Watching as you go on dates with boys your age—pathetic, fumbling boys who don’t know how to take care of you the way a man like him would.

You always seem disappointed after those dates.

And Bruce tells himself it’s because you know.

You know they aren’t enough.

That they’ll never be enough.

That no one will ever love you the way he does.

But then, one night, he looked at you—really looked at you—and something inside him snapped.

Because you weren’t a child anymore.

You were soft curves and bright smiles and whispers of silk.

And it was wrong.

So, so wrong.

He tries to ignore it.

To pretend that nothing has changed. That you’re still just the daughter of his friend—a girl he has known since childhood.

But you make it impossible.

Because you’re cruel.

You don’t even realize it, but you are.

The way you hug him just a little too long. The way you press against him, your body warm, your scent too sweet, too intoxicating. The way you laugh—tilting your head back, exposing the soft skin of your throat.

The way you call him “Mr. Wayne” in that sweet, teasing voice—like you know exactly what it does to him.

But you don’t.

You don’t understand how dangerous it is to tempt a man like him.

But you will.

Soon.

He thinks about it too much.

The way you look at him. The way you look for him at every party, every event. The way you light up when he pays attention to you.

He shouldn’t.

You’re too young. Too innocent.

He should be ashamed of the way his fingers tighten around his glass when he sees you in those short dresses, the way his breath hitches when you cross your legs, letting the hem ride up—just enough.

And he knows, deep down, that you aren’t doing it on purpose.

That you trust him.

That you have no idea how sick he is.

That you have no idea how long he’s been watching you, how long he’s been thinking about you in ways he shouldn’t.

That you have no idea how badly he wants to ruin you.

It happens late one night.

You’re staying at the manor while your father is away, wandering around in nothing but a silk nightgown that barely reaches your thighs.

And Bruce is watching you.

He shouldn’t be.

But God help him, he can’t look away.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, scrolling through your phone, completely unaware of the monster lurking in the shadows.

Then, without looking up, you murmur,

“You’re staring, Mr. Wayne.”

His blood runs hot.

You’re doing it again. Pushing him. Testing him.

You don’t even know what you’re playing with.

“What are you doing up?” His voice is calm. Controlled. But there’s an edge to it, a tension that wasn’t there before.

You stretch, your nightgown riding up, exposing too much skin.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur. Then, you turn to him, eyes dark, playful. Inviting. “But maybe you could help with that.”

Silence.

A long, dangerous silence.

Then, Bruce is in front of you, his hands gripping the couch on either side of your body, caging you in.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, voice low, deadly.

But you just smile.

And Bruce?

Bruce finally snaps.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not soft.

He grips your wrist, too tight, dragging you forward until you gasp, your balance thrown off.

You fall against him, your body flush against his, and he hates himself for how good it feels.

For how warm you are. For how easily you fit against him.

His breath is hot against your ear, his hands shaking as they hover over your skin.

He shouldn’t.

He can’t.

But he wants to.

So, so badly.

“You think this is a game?” His voice is hoarse, strained.

Your lips part, confusion flickering across your face.

And for the first time, you see it.

The way he looks at you.

Like a starving man staring at his last meal.

Like a man at war with himself, a man who has spent years trying to fight something that was always meant to consume him.

You blink up at him, lips slightly parted.

His breath shudders. His grip tightens.

Then, he’s kissing you.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. A collision of heat and teeth and pent-up want that’s been festering inside him for too long.

You gasp against his lips, and he drinks it in, pressing you deeper into the couch, caging you with his body.

And when he finally pulls back, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged—

And Bruce—Bruce knows he’s going to hell for this.

But maybe he was always meant to burn.

And maybe you were always meant to burn with him.

© stxrkiss ☆ don't copy, translate or use my works here or any other websites.

[be-xkyy]

yandere cowboy x boss's daughter who is an innocent country girl and barely knows that the person she trusts most is the one she should fear most

Well, I have a few ideas coming to mind about this scenario but I'll pick one for now.

Tw: Yandere, violence, blood, breeding, dirty talk , naive reader.

Yandere cowboy who works for your father for a while now. He's one of his most trusted workers and your father isn't the type to trust many people.

He always does jobs here and there on the ranch helping to put up wire fences so cattle don't escape, looking for cattle when they enter other lands, threatening neighboring ranchers when they don't want to return cows or sheep.

In his defense, they deserve a bullet in the head for trying that shit with him.

But the job he likes the most is taking care of you, the beautiful and naive daughter of his boss. He simply fell in love with you since he saw you for the first time a few years ago.

You were all pretty behind your father in that flowery dress, cowboy boots, your braided hair... and how can we forget your cute tits.

Tits he thought about that same night as he masturbated, his calloused hand wrapped around his hard member as he rubbed vigorously imagining you looking up at him with your big eyes as you ride him your tits bouncing on his face it's so good he ends up cumming all over his hand.

You are indeed a pretty little thing all smiles and ignorant of the world and people's intentions. Raised and protected by your father kept under his wing for far too long after all you are his only daughter.

It's inevitable that he ends up threatening and beating to death your countless suitors who shamelessly approach you believing they have a chance, no fucking way will it happen. not on his watch.

He simply corners them away from your sight and beats them mercilessly, he gives them a hard punch his knuckles impact their nose with a loud crunch he doesn't stop as the man falls to the floor with a broken nose.

Of course not.

He beats them until his fists are bruised and the man's face is covered in blood with a broken nose, teeth knocked out and eyes swollen he grabs them by the collar of their shirts as he growls.

“Stay away from her or i assure you this will be nothing compared to what I'll do to you, buddy”

The one who tries to make himself as presentable as possible so you won't get suspicious when he comes back to you.

He knows everything he does is worth it when you show all worried for him grabbing his calloused hands in yours, looking at his bruised knuckles asking him if he's okay with that worried tone that makes his cock hard inside his pants.

He ends up asking you to “comfort” him a little like he taught you. You both end up in the barn with him leaning you on hay bales, his hands undoing his belt and zipper before pulling down his pants along with his boxers that get caught on his knees.

Then he lifts your dress as you whine about the hay stinging your ass, he just pats your thigh to shut you up as his fingers pull down your panties, he hisses when he sees your pussy he moves his thick fingers closer inspecting your wet entrance.

“God you're so wet, for someone who acts so sweet you're a bit of a slut aren't you doll?”

He arches an eyebrow when you shake your head shyly at his words murmuring an embarrassed "I'm not..." he lets out a laugh that rumbles from deep within his chest his thick fingers don't stop moving thrusting into your hot pussy your walls squeeze his fingers like hell.

He grabs his member unable to resist any longer he uses your wetness to lubricate his cock and slide inside you, both of you let out a moan of pleasure you from the delicious stretch and him from feeling your walls throb around him he murmurs.

“What a tight fucking pussy you have so hungry for my fat cock baby doll.”

He moves his hips hard his heavy balls slap against your ass and his pubic hair scrapes deliciously against your pussy, your juices forming a creamy circle at the base of his cock as your nails dig into his muscled belly for support, his moans combined and the loud wet sound of his cock pounding into your pussy fills the barn.

“You're about to cum aren't you baby doll? Fuck–of course you're about to cum your pussy is getting so tight right now I think you want to rip my cock off.”

His hands tighten their grip on your waist and you just mumble stupidly wrapping your legs tightly around his waist your boots dig into his ass as you cum letting out a high pitched moan your eyes roll back in your head from the intense pleasure, he growls thrusting into you hard chasing his own orgasm that doesn't take long to come.

With one last thrust he thrusts deep inside you, stopping his movements and letting his semen explode, flooding your interior with its swimmers. Who knows, maybe today will be the day when his seed finally takes root inside you. He would be the best father, the best husband and the best successor for your father. Your father will also see it that way. Because it would be a shame to have to kill him, after all, they are almost family, right..?

[nobitchs-world]

My ancestors looking down at me as I talk about how much I love white men

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: yandere behavior, power imbalance, implied baby trapping

Yandere!Ceo that’s a professional business man at work but once he’s behind closed doors he’s your pathetic, needy lover boy.

Kisses your feet and legs, peppering soft kisses all the way up to your thighs.

“My beautiful girl, did you enjoy the roses I sent you?”

He purrs as you play with his hair, looking up at you with those warm golden eyes.

“They were lovely… though the note was a bit… alarming.”

Your lover paused, his fingers on the waistband of the expensive lingerie he bought you.

“… how so, my love? It was the best stationary I could f-“

“I mean the words you wrote… about getting rid of anyone that got in the way of our love.”

He pulled your panties off, placing a wet kiss on your fat, wet cunt. “Oh, that? Don’t take it so seriously, darling. You know I love you, it’s just… a badly worded joke.”

And you quiet down, unable to protest or continue arguing as he’s eating you out. His tongue was on your clit, fingers stretching out your pretty pussy to prep you for his cock.

“M-Mmph…”

He’s quite good at distracting you from his alarming behavior, kissing along your neck while bouncing you on his thick cock. Keeping you on his lap as watching your ass jiggle while he moves you up and down has to be one of his favorite things in the entire world.

“That’s my girl, my baby… just take it, sweet thing…”

And slowly, as your previous friends and past lovers start ghosting you or straight up disappearing, he keeps you occupied with gifts, lavish vacations, and eventually a pregnancy.

Even if you wanted to leave, you couldn’t. Everything you owned was paid for by him, he had all of your information and knowledge of your friends and family…

But who would want to leave when they were treated like royalty? All you had to do was be his sweet housewife and give him all of you attention~

——————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @sunset-214 @avalordream @atransmuter @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Prison Warden

After getting thrown into jail for a crime you refuse to talk about, one of the wardens takes a keen interest in your past. Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, blood, violence, mentions of child abuse, lowkey kind of sweet, 10k words

Being in jail is no fun. Being in a maximum security prison after being found guilty of homicide? Somehow even less fun.

You've tried to make the best of it. Got some posters to put up in your cell, started a book club, took up macramé. But you can't really paint a veneer of normalcy over incarceration.

It's violent, it's dirty, and most inmates tend to avoid you. And the thought of at least thirty more years of the same routine, day in and day out? Well, that's plain depressing.

Still, some days are worse than others. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. The cafeteria food was actually hot, an acquaintance shared some gum with you, you managed to get a new book from the library. Things were, if not great, at least bearable.

Until the tour.

The wardens - also called Corrections Officers, COs, screws, or rotten, motherless bastards - were almost always training new recruits. The prison system had an unsurprisingly high turnover, which meant an almost constant stream of new faces. With time, you'd learnt to ignore the tours and walk-throughs. With one exception.

Slammer.

He was a senior CO who seemed to almost always turn your cell into the final stop on his grand introductory tour of the glorious prison system. Maybe you were just nice to look at or maybe he had a chip on his shoulder. Either way, things almost always ended with you being gawked at.

Like right now.

The 'tour group' was clustered outside your cell. Slammer was in the lead, his baton out and his little piggy eyes gleaming.

The trainees were in their new minted uniforms. Most of them uncomfortable and tugging at the scratchy, starched collars. You could have told them not to bother. That it was better for them to at least pretend they were comfortable. COs weren't your friends - every single prisoner in here would see that lack of confidence, that slight sense of unease. And they would pounce on it the first chance they got.

You hated being looked at like a zoo animal. And you especially hated the way Slammer showed you off to them like you some prize piece in his menagerie. Fellonus Homicidus perhaps.

You hated feeling their eyes on you. But you weren't going to make the mistake of showing them that. The less the COs knew about you, the better. It was like rule number three of incarceration. (Rule one being ‘never trust a warden’ and rule two being ‘don't fight the jacked inmate with prison tattoos.' Obviously).

You didn't bother to get up from your bunk to greet them. You stayed just as you had all afternoon - one arm behind your head and one leg hanging off the bed.

You pretended to keep reading your beat up paperback.

"This one is especially dangerous. Stabbed her neighbour forty eight times before the cops could get her off," Slammer told them.

"Forty six," you corrected without looking away from your book. "Coroner said it was forty six. Allegedly."

You could feel their eyes on you again.

"Right," Slammer drawled, "Because those last two stabs made all the difference."

You didn't bother to answer him.

"She really did that?" One of the trainees, a lanky guy with too large ears, asked. "She looks harmless."

You were almost offended at that. You flicked your eyes over them. They were mostly men, and most of them were looking at you in that hungry, contemplative way you knew so well. Wondering how much they could get away with once they were full fledged COs.

It should have bothered you. It didn't. Horny COs were just a part and parcel of life here. If you were smart, you could wring all sorts of goodies out of them before their supervisors caught on.

"Listen to me son. Every single prisoner in here is dangerous. They wouldn't be locked up if they were like you and me. They don’t feel guilt, not even when they steal from their poor old momma."

"You wound me, Slammer." You turned the page with a flick of your thumb. "I loved my mama. Only stole from her once or twice."

You didn't have much hope of them noticing your sarcasm. COs weren't the brightest bunch.

Slammer ignored you. "Don't ever say they're harmless. They sure as hell ain't. Two weeks here and you'll know exactly what I mean."

You could tell they didn't believe him. In the popular imagination, a women's prison was nothing like the men's. Women weren't dangerous. The trainees probably assumed you spent all day knitting scarves and talking about the lovely husband and kids you were oh so keen to get back to.

They would lose that notion pretty damn fast.

"Are you supposed to tell us the prisoners' charges?" A man's voice, neutral and respectful, but you thought you could hear a hint of reproach in his tone.

You looked back at the group and you were amazed that you didn't notice him earlier. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back like he was at parade rest. Unlike the others, he had the quiet confidence of someone who knew their job and knew it well.

His blond hair was slicked back and his uniform sat on him in a way that was a lot more natural than any of the others trainees. Ex-military or police, if you had to guess. Not that unusual. Corrections wasn't such a huge leap from those fields.

You sat up and answered him before Slammer could get a chance.

"He's not. Inmate information is confidential. But Slammer here doesn't always listen to the rules."

You shot the head CO a condescending smile. "He's a reaaal rebel."

Slammer scoffed. "The new officers have a right to know exactly how dangerous you are."

You put a hand to your chest, all faux innocence. "Little old me? Slammer, I'm a saint! A nun! I've been to chapel three times this week."

"Yeah. To sell cigarettes and buy booze."

"Just as the good Lord intended."

Slammer didn't find you funny. You could tell from the fact that a) he wasn't laughing and b) he was grinding his teeth like he was a beaver about to dig into a particularly scrumptious tree.

"Fact is, prisoners like her are the worst of the bunch. You think they're harmless, but the second you turn your back, they'll shiv you and run off with your tazer."

You grinned at the trainees as winningly as you could.

"Only did that once by the way. And the guy had it coming, swear on my mama."

Most of them were shifting around uncomfortably. Hearing Slammer keep banging on about your crimes was finally enough to get it through to them. The prisoners are not nice.

You'd assume that was obvious, but incarceration taught you that however slow you thought the wardens were, they could always get dumber.

The only one who didn't seem bothered was the blonde. He was looking at you like you were nothing more or less than a piece of furniture. You got the sense that he was analysing you, looking past your fake smile and even faker bravado.

You also got the feeling that he wasn't impressed with what he saw.

You flopped back down on your bunk and tried not to let it bother you. One more person thinking you were a delinquent. What difference did it make?

He was the last to leave. His eyes did one final scan of your cell before they landed on your paperback. He raised a brow.

"The Green Mile? Isn't that a bit depressing?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable but not entirely sure why.

"I like to think of it as aspirational."

"And why's that?"

"The wardens aren't all assholes."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before he turned on his heel and disappeared.

You forgot all about him after a week. To be fair, there were other things to occupy you. A fist fight on D Block that you somehow got dragged into. Drama in the book club. A warden getting caught with his pants down. Standard prison fare.

It was a Tuesday when you saw him again, in the middle of the cafeteria. You only had a split second to recognise him before he was dousing you in pepper spray and sweeping your legs out from under you.

That was misleading maybe. He wasn't totally unjustified in greeting you like that. You were technically in the middle of beating a CO with a lunch tray.

(He deserved it, but that's not exactly a good excuse when his nose is gushing blood all over the table).

You were still coughing on pepper spray when he hauled you to solitary, your eyes and throat burning.

"Glad...to see you got...the job Blondie," you managed to wheeze.

He sent you stumbling into the cell with a practiced push.

"Yep," he said simply, "They hired me on the spot."

Your shoulder was still a painful mess when he slammed and locked the door, leaving you in the half dark to wash the stinging out of your eyes.

You rubbed at your aching joints. "I can see why."

Pepper spray was considered the least lethal way to subdue a prisoner. Easier than a taser, less brutal than the baton. But despite its shining reputation, it was your least favourite tool in a CO’s belt. A taser was at least quick. The baton left a bruise but the pain didn't linger.

Pepper spray on the other hand? It left your eyes and throat and nose irritated for days.

You were still trying to rinse it out of your mouth when he returned, boots heavy on the linoleum and his keys rattling.

You turned to him with your white prison issued tank practically soaked. To most other guards, that would be an invitation to gawk. Not him though. His eyes never dipped below your chin.

"Sit down. I've got some cold cloths for the swelling."

You sat, more confused than anything else.

"That's not standard regulation Blondie. Usually, they just let us suffer through it."

He tossed you the cloths, still icy from a quick minute in the freezer. You pressed them to your face gratefully.

"It is standard regulation. Treating pepper spray once the prisoner is subdued."

You scoffed. "Why am I not surprised that no one ever told us that?"

He stayed quiet and you peaked at him over the edge of the fabric. He was a lot leaner than you realised, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms toned with muscle.

And covered in tattoos. Damn, he had some sick tats.

You cleared your throat, not exactly sure why he bothered to do this for you.

"Thank you. It sucks to deal with. Makes everything taste awful. For days."

He raised a brow.

"I just dragged you to solitary and your main worry is that the food won't taste good?"

"The food never tastes good. This is more so a matter of bloody awful becoming hellish awful."

"It can't be that bad."

"Get back to me after you've spent five years chomping down on lukewarm hash browns and soggy peas."

"You've been in here five years already?"

You sighed, pressed the cloth against your brows so you didn't have to look at him.

"Yep. And I've still got another thirty to go."

"Why?"

That got an unexpected laugh from you.

"Didn't you hear Slammer? Homicide. Found guilty on all charges."

"Did you do it?"

"Allegedly."

What was his angle? Was this some new, interactive approach to corrections? Getting friendly with the inmates so they were less likely to riot?

"Didn't they teach you not to ask those sorts of questions?" you asked. "Not really something people in here like to talk about."

You saw that little flicker of a smile again.

"They did. But I get the feeling you don't mind it as much."

He was right. You didn't mind. At least, not with him. He had a kind of quiet confidence that, surprisingly, made you feel comfortable.

"Why did you want to work in a prison? Or more accurately, what the hell went wrong that you ended up here?"

"You think it's such a bad job?"

"I'd never do it and I live here."

He leaned against the cell wall, hands on his belt. There it was again. A veteran's stance, weapons in easy reach in case you tried something.

"It's a boring story."

"I've got nothing but time."

That earned you another raised brow.

"As we've established."

What's this? A CO actually cracking a joke? You never thought you'd see the day.

"And anyway, we're not here to talk about me. I'm here to find out why you attacked my fellow officer."

Ah, so that was why he was playing nice.

"I didn't like his face."

He narrowed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall. "Disappointing. I thought you'd have a better reason than that."

You didn't like his tone, or the way it made you feel. Ashamed. Like you'd failed his test, even though you didn't know you were supposed to be studying.

He paused at the door, like something occurred to him.

"What's her name? The girl he was picking on?”

You raised you head. "What?"

"The guard you attacked. He was causing trouble, wasn't he?"

How did he know? Did he see it? Oh God, was Ruby going to get into shit because of you?

"Listen, she had nothing to do with it. She had no idea what I was going to do. It was all me."

He shrugged. "How am I supposed to believe that's true if I don't know the full story?"

You bit your lip. You didn't like saying too much to the COs. And your instinct was telling you this one would be able to read a lot deeper than the rest.

"Guess I'll just have to ask her then."

"No!" You dug your hands into your sheets to stop yourself from bolting to your feet.

"No, Ruby has nothing to do with it I swear. She’s almost sixty. She gets enough shit as it is. Just leave her alone."

You swallowed. "Please."

He was looking at you again, much sharper this time.

"Explain."

Your grip on the sheets tightened until your knuckles were pale. Did you really have to talk about this shit out loud?

"Ruby is..." you started. "She's different. Older than most of us, keeps to herself. She's not...all there, if you know what I mean."

He turned to face you and settled back against the wall. "Go on."

"Most of the inmates don't bother her. Why would we? She's just a little old lady. Not harmless, no ones really harmless, but about as close to it as you can get. But some of the COs..."

His lips thinned. "They have a nasty streak."

"You can call it that. Usually it's just calling her names. But sometimes some of them get it into their heads that what she really needs is a hard knock. Rattle those screws around enough and maybe they'll fall back into place."

"Is that what happened today?"

You sighed, looked down at your hands and the blood dried in the crevices of your nails.

"Yep. CO was all in her face, being nasty. Grabbing her wrist. Taunting her. And she... she just stood there and took it. Old enough to be the his grandmother and he didn't care."

You closed your eyes.

 What else were you supposed to do?

He'd been at it for five minutes when you stood up with your lunch tray. By then you'd had enough. No one else was going to do anything, so it was going to be you.

The lunch trays were a hard plastic, meant to keep from breaking on impact. You'd left your half eaten bowl of chow on the table and walked up behind him, your heart beating steady and calm. Some part of you had already decided the consequences were worth it.

Some of the inmates were looking at you and every single one of them knew exactly what you intended. But none of 'em said a word.

You could still feel the smack of your tray against his head. The way he stumbled forward with the momentum.

You'd caught him by surprise and you weren't going to let him get over it. You swung the tray at his face, as hard as you could. You could feel his nose breaking. He was on his knees by then. And maybe you'd have let him up, might have ended things there.

But then you saw Ruby's wrist. A frail thing, with the warden's finger marks standing out a livid red.

"I see."

You opened your eyes. He was still watching you, his face unreadable.

You shrugged and tried to smile.

"Today was practically hum drum by our normal standards."

"How exciting," he deadpanned.

"Just wait 'til Christmas time. It gets positively festive."

He snorted and started for the door again.

"You're aren't such a hard ass after all, are you? Saving little old ladies in your spare time," he said.

"Just think how safe senior citizens will be when they let me back out."

It was only for a few seconds, but you liked it when he smiled. It softened that tough guy demeanour just enough to make you wonder about the man underneath.

When he was gone, you laid down with the cloth still pressed against your cheek. Who'd have thought it. A CO who you didn't want to punch in the teeth.

The CO you beat didn't come back to work for two weeks, and when he did, you heard that he asked for a transfer to a different block.

Ruby made you a macaroni necklace and said something about alien warships picking you out of everyone else. You figured that was her way of saying thank you.  

And maybe the most notable thing of all: Blondie was assigned to your cell block. Surprising. Yours wasn't the worst part of the prison, but you weren't a bunch of saints either. Rookies wouldn't even be considered until they'd had at least a year's experience.

It was yet another thing pointing to his past. Something, somewhere, had given him enough experience to slip ahead on the promotion queue.

You didn't much mind it. Hell, you'd almost say it was enjoyable. He wasn't rude, he didn't pick favourites and he was keen eyed enough to catch a lot of the under table business that inmates engaged in.

You didn't go out of your way to talk to him - getting too cosy with a CO wasn't a good look - but you made it a point to greet him whenever you could.

Well, you called it greeting. Most other folk saw it as a smirk and a sing song "Hey there Blondie!"

He must have had some sort of interest in you too. You'd look up from your lunch and see him watching you, head tilted just a little. Like he was trying to puzzle you out. You took to winking at him whenever you caught him.

It would usually be enough to make him look away, but never for long. His eyes would always find you again.

You should have been annoyed at it, or unnerved. But honestly, the way he looked at you was borderline sweet compared to the other COs. You'd occasionally catch some of them watching you too. Usually with their hands on their belts.

There wasn't much to do in prison besides read, sleep and exercise. But around the third week after his arrival, you started getting letters.

Not totally uncommon. Plenty of folk wrote to prisoners. But to you? That was a different story. You put the letters you received into two categories: perverts and the pervertedly curious.

The perverts were exactly what you'd expect. People who thought your mugshot was the hottest thing since Megan Fox taking a swim. Their letters were particularly uncomfortable to read. And often sticky. You never wrote back.

The pervertedly curious were a whole ‘nother class. They probably ran across your case on a true crime podcast or on a documentary. And their first thought at hearing the story was to wonder exactly what it felt like. They'd write and ask you what was going through your mind. What did the knife feel like sinking into his flesh? What did the blood smell like?

A fun bunch of freaks. You'd write back sometimes, more for your own amusement than anything else. Your answers were never even remotely true. I was mostly thinking about how late my taxes were and what a bastard it would be clean up. Stabbing him felt like cutting a steak except more scream-y. The blood smelt like a stack of pennies on a warm summer day, but mostly it just smelt like blood.

You'd always end your sentences with your trademark allegedly.

These new letters were nothing like those at all. The paper was crisp and clean and most importantly, not sticky. The folded lines were sharp, like the writer pressed them down with their thumb nail.

The writer didn't ask about the murder. They didn't ask about your bra size. They were almost...sweet.

You must be lonely in prison. You must get bored. I hope you're safe.

You read it again and again before you wrote a reply. Silly really. They seemed much too nice to be writing to someone like you. Maybe someone trying to do a good deed.

You should scare them off. Writing to a prisoner is sweet and all, but most folk in here would use it as just another way to wring someone dry. You were no different. Your anonymous pen pal would be better off working at the animal shelter if they wanted to help a stray.

I've got a whole host of buddies. We discuss the best ways to get blood out of our socks and pillow cases. I'm not bored at all. We've got a badminton league. Obviously the best way to spend federal cash. I'm as safe as a lamb in the hay. Only got stabbed twice last week.

There. That would get rid of them.

You mailed it out on cheap exam pad paper with a stamp you lifted off your neighbour. You didn't expect a reply.

When the mail got delivered the next week, you were more than a little surprised to find a new letter waiting for you.

The same crisp paper, the same neat, slanting hand.

You can't scare me off. I know you're only prickly and sarcastic because deep down you're scared. Scared a lot. Scared all the time.

I looked you up. You were barely out of high-school when it happened. Well behaved, normal family, no record of misdemeanours. Prison must have been an awful adjustment.

You had to put the letter down and take a deep breath. The kid clocked you. Less than two letters in and they'd read you better than anyone had in years. Better than anyone ever had maybe.

What were those first few years like, I wonder. How did you survive? Please write me back. I like checking in on you.

You considered not replying. What were they hoping to achieve, getting all familiar with a killer?

The letter sat on your shelf for half a week before you gave in and wrote a reply.

I survived by being mean and cruel and evil. Stop writing me kid. I'll bite your head off and drink your blood.

The next letter came almost instantly. If anything, the writer seemed amused more than anything else.

Scary. Did they put you in for homicide or suspected vampirism? You want to get rid of me, but I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to reply, but I know you must need a friend. They aren't easy to come by behind bars. Any alliances you form will always have the expectation of reciprocation. It must be exhausting.

Did I tell you I bought a new car last week? A Camaro. I know. How stereotypical of a Marine to buy a car like that, right? But it's gorgeous. I'd like to take you for a drive someday. Nothing but the open road. I think you'll like that.

You didn't even wait a full day before you wrote back. Because they were right. You really did need a friend. Someone to just shoot the breeze with, without any subtext of a favour being repaid later on.

You didn't know anything about your mysterious pen pal. Not their age or their gender or even the colour of their eyes. They signed all their letters with a simple from B.

They mostly asked you questions. Not obtrusive or gross ones either. They wanted to know which foods you missed the most, which tv series and movies you wanted to catch up on, which actors you thought were getting Grammys this year.

When Grammy and Oscar season rolled around, you choked out a fellow inmate to get the TV remote. You left them sitting up on the couch, passed out and looking like they were just asleep. Blondie almost caught you. He walked past the door and paused to stare at your victim.

You gave him your most charming grin.

"She said the opening ceremony was too long and to wake her up when the red carpet is over," you explained.

He scoffed and moved on.

When you wrote your next letter, you packed it full of award show details.

B wrote to you for the better part of a year. But you only learnt a handful of things about them. They were in the Marines, they now worked some kind of federal job, they had tattoos, they liked Nicole Richie, and they hated fried chicken. Like really hated it. With a passion.

I promise to never cook you fried chicken, you wrote, only fried calamari, fried onion rings, fried mushrooms, fried liver, fried green beans, fried -

Can you even cook? they wrote back. Or are you just running your mouth?

For a while, you were happy. They'd occasionally send you new books in the mail, burnt CDs to listen to on your busted radio, packets of sweets.

Prison was hell, but it was a structured, expected sort of hell. You could deal with it.

But then she arrived.

You didn't bother to learn her name. She was tall and lean, green eyes like pond scum, and teeth chipped from fighting. You didn't like her from the first, but you had no reason to quarrel and so avoided her as much as you could.

Blondie didn't like her much either, and that's where the trouble started.

She'd deliberately bump into Blondie whenever she could. Hard enough that you could almost feel the impact.

"Oops... Didn't see you there."

If it was anyone else, they'd probably get thrown in solitary. But Blondie was a stickler for the rules. He'd brush his uniform off like just touching an inmate was enough to cause a plague. And then he'd settle his blue eyes on her, cool and detached.

"Watch where you're going next time."

That was how it went on. Weeks of passive aggression, slowly getting more and more physical.

You didn't want to intervene. Blondie could protect himself. Still, you kept your eye on him as much as you could.

There was another thing about the new girl you didn't like.

She had a way with people.

Could convince even the most stubborn inmate to do something, even if it was against their own best interest.

She got an inmate who was almost out on probation to attack and almost blind a CO. She got innocent old Ruby to start selling cigarettes. She almost got you to pick a fight with someone for damn near no reason at all.

She was dangerous, in a way no one before her had been. You could feel it in the harsh whispers after lights out. Got to make those dirty screws pay. Fucking COs have had it too good for too long. Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

A riot was brewing. You started staying in your cell a lot more. Managed to pull some metal out of your mattress and spent every night sharpening it to a point.

Some of the COs were smart enough to notice the tension and your outside time got shortened to half an hour, lunch got pulled back to fifteen minutes. Their solution was to keep you locked in your cells for as much of the day as possible.

Not a good move.

Prisoners with no distractions tend to amuse themselves by planning all sorts of nasty things. How to grab a CO from behind and get their keys before anyone noticed. How to choke out the one bastard who kept throwing them in solitary. How to pay back all those times a CO groped them in the middle of a search.

You could feel it heightening to a point. Could feel it in the dirty, oily stickiness of the air.

When Blondie came past on patrol, you stopped him. You'd been hoping to catch him for a few days and you weren't going to miss your chance.

"Yes?"

Those blue eyes were staring straight through you, cool as a winter without a radiator.

You remembered the pepper spray, the cool cloth pressed against your burning skin.

"Listen, I think you should call in sick for the next week."

Oh no, it came out sounding like a threat.

You cleared your throat, tried to smile.

"I owe you one, okay? So just trust me on this and don't show up for a while."

He narrowed his eyes.

"There's going to be a riot,” he said.

"Seems like it."

"When?"

"I don't know. It's not exactly a scheduled thing. But it's going to be bad."

He looked away from you, scanning the long row of cells across from you. You could hear the ambient shuffling and coughing and laughing of a hundred people living together.

"Can it be stopped?"

You sighed. You'd seen it play out a few times already. Wardens had all sorts of ways to handle riots, but once the fever was brewing, it was near impossible to break. It was in the atmosphere, in the tense glances between prisoners. It was bigger than all of you.

He must have seen the answer in your face.

He shook his head, stubborn to the last.

"I've got a job to do. If I got scared every time the prisoners got rowdy I'd be out of work real quick."

You sighed and pulled away from the bars.

"Your funeral Blondie."

You really hoped it wouldn't be.

The thing that started the riot was so small that on a normal day you'd call it borderline routine.

A CO was watching the cafeteria line, hustling people along when they paused longer than he liked. When he came to one of the girls a few spots ahead of you, he got impatient and shoved her forward. Not hard. Barely enough to make her stumble.

You cringed. For a second or two, you imagined you could feel it on your skin. A static crackling like lightning about to strike.

She punched the CO in the throat.

He stumbled backwards, holding his neck and gasping.

Other prisoners  were already moving forward. Three of them grabbed his arms and bunch of the others ripped off his gear. Taser and baton and pepper spray now in the hands of a pissed and petty prison populace.

The other officers were already coming forward, batons out. Usually that would be enough to break things up, but they had just about everyone against them. Numbers always won.

 The veneer cracked and the riot finally started. It took less than a minute.

The yelling was enough to make your head throb. Bouncing off the cafeteria walls and ringing ringing ringing in your ears.

You ducked out of the way as much as possible, always on your guard. Riots weren't just dangerous for the wardens. Inmates saw them as a way to settle old scores without ending up in solitary or back in court. And lord knew,  you'd accumulated a hell of a lot of grudges over the years.

A prisoner rushed you. She was clutching a shiv made out of a ballpoint pen and a piece of wire coat hanger.

You dodged, sticking your foot between her legs and making her stumble. Your adrenaline was pumping, your vision dark at the corners.

You grabbed her hair before she could recover, and slammed her head against the edge of a metal cafeteria table.

She dropped like a rock.

You stepped away before any of her friends noticed you, your heart so far up your throat you could almost taste it.

That's when you saw her. That green eyed bitch, slipping out a side door with two of her cronies behind her.

You could feel your neck prickling.

There was only one score she had to settle and you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You followed as quickly as you could. The backup had arrived and two tear gas canisters were belching thick white smoke into the room.

Despite your best efforts, by the time you made it out your eyes were stinging and she was long gone.

You swore and sprinted down the corridor, thinking fast.

If she managed to corner Blondie, she’d want to take her time with him. That's how scores were settled when you had a mean streak. Slow. Painful.

That meant she’d want privacy. Somewhere the riot officers wouldn't immediately find her when things calmed down.

You grabbed the corner of a wall and used it to shoot down the main hall, prison issued sneakers pounding the linoleum.

The showers. That's exactly where you'd go if you were her.

She didn't have time to block the doors. You banged through them shoulder first, the same way a cop would. The room was still thick with steam from earlier and Blondie's blood was running in thin streams toward the drain.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" she barked.

Green eyes, the one who instigated this whole mess.

She was standing with her sleeves rolled up and a razor blade between her fingers. The small, rectangular kind that goes in a straight razor.

Her two cronies were holding Blondie by the arms, stretching him out like he was on a cross.

Blondie clearly hadn't made it easy for them. Green eyes had a nasty bruise blooming on her cheek and both her cronies were sporting ugly nose bleeds. His baton was laying abandoned on the shower floor, rolled up against a bench.

Even a man as strong and well trained as he was couldn't go up against three armed felons and win.

You must have been just in time. The worst they'd done to him was cut his cheek, all the way from his temple to the bridge of his nose. It was bleeding bad, but didn't look too deep.

You straightened up and smiled at them, big and broad like you'd never had a better reunion.

"Having some fun without inviting me?"

Green eyes scoffed. "Why do you care? This shit is personal. Find something else to do."

You tilted your head, still smiling.

"You're right. It is personal. As in I owe Blondie over there a personal favour. As in I don't want you fucking with what's mine."

Blondie was watching you with those sharp eyes. If he took issue with being called yours, he didn't show it.

"Let him go." You didn't scream. You didn't demand. You simply said it. That's what made them nervous.

"Listen bitch - I don't care that everyone is scared of you. What you did on the outside doesn't matter one fucking bit."

You kept smiling, but your fingers were buzzing. The same why they had the night you stabbed a man forty six times.

You flicked your wrist and the shiv fell into your palm.

It was as long as your hand and sharpened into a wickedly pointed tip. It could slide between someone's ribs and kill them in less than five heart beats.

"They aren't scared of me because of what I did outside."

The two cronies were looking at each all worried-like. You vaguely recognised them, but it was clear that they recognised you no problem.

The boss turned to face you fully, light and easy on her toes like a boxer.

"You really gonna make a big deal over a fucking screw? A CO?"

"Since he's the only CO I've met who isn't a total piece of shit, I've got a vested interest in keeping him around."

She rolled his shoulders like a fighter would. You bit back a sigh. This was going to really hurt.

She didn't come at you right away. She ran her eyes over your body - your posture, your build, everything that might give you an advantage.

Then she charged.

Fast, even on the still slippery tiles. There wasn't enough time to duck or dodge.

You blocked her first punch with your arms, her fist smacking against your skin and spiking a sharp pain all the way down to your bones.

You stepped backward and kicked at her knee, but she saw it coming and turned her leg at the last second, took it on her thigh instead.

She’d dropped the razor blade - without a handle it was just as dangerous to her as it was to you - which meant she had full use of her fists.

She kept pummelling at you, catching you on the ribs and then on the sternum. You slammed back against the lockers, winded.

She pushed her advantage, going straight for your throat. You dropped down at the last second and her fist slammed full force into the metal.

She screamed and then screamed again as you slammed your shiv into her thigh.

You grabbed her throat and shoved her away from you, breathing hard.

She was clutching her thigh with one hand, blood welling up between her fingers. Dark red, but not enough to be fatal. You hadn't hit any arteries.

You slammed the heel of your hand into her nose, aiming upwards. You felt cartridge crunching.

She screamed again and scrambled away as quickly as she could with her injured leg.

Blood was running into her mouth, and when she snarled at you, her teeth were red.

You smiled again, as cheerful as a choir girl.

"Had enough?"

She spat blood at your feet.

You waited, half your attention on the other two. They hadn't yet moved to help her. You weren't sure if it was out of fear of letting Blondie go, or just a strong self preservation instinct.

Green eyes finally gave in. Or more accurately, her leg did. She buckled and fell, knees smacking hard on the tile. You winced.

She looked pale, in the about to pass out sort of way.

You sighed and jerked your head at her.

"Get her to the second floor nurses office. Wrap something around her leg. Tight. She’ll live but it's going to hurt a whole lot more if you aren't quick about it."

The other two were looking between you and her, eyes wide.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, still holding the bloody shiv.

That seemed to decide them. They let go of Blondie all at once and grabbed their boss under the arms. Between the two of them, they were able to drag her out.

She left a trail of bright red behind.

When they were gone, you sat on the closest bench, holding your ribs. Hopefully they weren’t cracked - it hurt to breathe. You'd have to visit the infirmary as soon as things died down.

"She’s going to get even with you," Blondie said.

He was watching you. He hadn't moved. Blood was still running in thin streams down his cheek, like he was crying red.

"Yep. She's got a lot of friends too. It's not going to be fun."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act so light hearted about everything. I can see your hands shaking."

You balled them into fists and avoided looking at him. The silence stretched.

Finally, "Why did you really kill your neighbour?"

"I didn't like his face."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. The court already made up its mind."

He finally moved. Picked up his baton and slipped it into his belt. Grabbed a towel and balled it up, then pressed it against his face. The white started spotting red almost immediately. You watched him from the corner of your eye.

"Give me the knife."

"It's called a shiv. You should know that."

You rubbed the handle against your pants, getting rid of any fingerprints. Redundant, given there were three witnesses who saw you stab another inmate. Old habits don't really die, you supposed.

You handed it to him without looking at his face.

He wrapped it in a smaller towel and stuck it in his belt.

You could hear faint sirens from beyond the door, and his radio was crackling with orders. The wardens seemed to be getting things under control.

"I'm throwing you in solitary. And then I'm requesting a transfer to another block."

"Aww shucks, I'll really miss you Blondie."

"Not a transfer for me, you idiot. A transfer for you. It won't stop her entirely. There's always a little bit of communication between the blocks, no matter how hard we try and prevent it. But it should give you some time to make friends of your own."

"I've never been very good at that."

"Maybe try being less sarcastic."

He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. His grip was light, a formality more than anything.

"Why did you really save me?"

You couldn't look at him. You shrugged.

"It's like I said. You're the least terrible warden in here. Not a very high bar to be fair, but still."

He started towards the door and you followed.

There were officers coming down the corridor in full riot gear. He waved them down and thrust you towards one.

"Solitary. Protective custody."

"Why?"

Blondie didn't even hesitate. "Because she saved my life."

Solitary wasn't so bad when the other option was tossing and turning on your bunk, just waiting for a knife to your ribs.

You'd almost call it relaxing. Your ribs were bandaged tight and the painkiller the doc gave you left you floating on a cloud of dope.

When you heard the footsteps pause outside your door, you didn't bother to get up.

Blondie didn't say anything for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.

"I still don't believe you. I don't think you're a cold blooded killer. I think that whatever happened between you and that man wasn't really brought before the court."

You sighed.

"Drop it Blondie."

"No."

Maybe it was the medicine or maybe it was the confession booth feeling of the half dark. Either way, you ended up giving away more than you intended.

"It doesn't matter. If the whole thing was public, it would only hurt people who've already been through enough."

"You had a reason for killing him."

"Yes."

"What?"

"I won't tell you. Won't tell anyone, ever. It's not my story to tell”

 “You're in jail because of it. Who else could possibly have more to lose?"

"You'd be surprised."

It was his turn to sigh.

"I'm going to find out eventually, y'know."

"Have fun with that. Don't give yourself a headache."

He sighed and walked away.

You didn't see him again for half a year.

They kept you in solitary a whole week. Long enough for your ribs to stop hurting and for the bruises to lighten. Long enough for green eyes to be processed and transferred further up-state. That was unusual, even if she was the one who instigated the riot. You had a feeling someone pulled some strings behind the scenes. And you had an even stronger feeling about who it must have been.

When you were finally out, you were assigned to a new block. Your stuff was already waiting for you in your new cell, your books and CDs and a new letter from B.

Won't be able to write for a while. I've got something important to work on. Hopefully I'll be back soon.

You couldn't ignore the way that stung. Without meaning to, you'd come to rely on their letters. A little reprieve from the life you were stuck with.

The new block wasn't too bad. You took Blondie's advice and made some friends. Tried to avoid fights as much as possible. If green eyes ever managed to convince someone to get even for her, they didn't go through with it.

Life was, if not good, then at least bearable. You tried ignoring the little nagging part of you that constantly wondered about both Blondie and B. Without either of them, you felt...emptier somehow. Lonely.

When a warden came to tell you that you had a visitor, your heart lurched. Your family didn't visit you much anymore. And you cut off your friends the day you got convicted - no need to draw them into your mess. Secretly, you hoped it was B. You had no clue what they looked like, but after six months without hearing from them, you were almost desperate.

You smoothed down your uniform before you stepped into the visitors' centre, your eyes sweeping the room for familiar faces.

You noticed him almost immediately. Blondie, his hair shaggy when it wasn’t gelled back and his usual uniform replaced by a flannel shirt and jeans. A man was sitting next to him, his pinstripe suit still neat and pressed despite it being late afternoon.

He didn't even give you time to say hello.

"This is Mark Lawrence. Your lawyer."

You squinted at the man, confused. He was clearly a cut or two above the overworked district attorney who'd handled your case.

"No he isn't. I haven't seen him before in my life."

He sighed, irritated. "Mark is the lawyer I hired to represent you when we go to court next month."

"...Why am I going to court next month?"

"To challenge the original ruling."

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I've found another witness to your case, one that didn't testify last time."

You felt like were slammed face first into a bucket of icy water. With rusted nails in it.

"Who?"

"The victim's daughter."

"No."

"Yes."

Your handcuffs rattled as your balled your hands into fists.

"She's just a kid. What she needs is to put the past behind her, not re-live every minute of it up on the witness stand. No. We're not doing this."

You glared at him and he met you straight on. The tension cracked.

The lawyer finally interjected.

"Knowing the full details of the case changes things dramatically. Your charge goes from first degree murder to manslaughter. We might be able to cut your sentence down to fifteen years or less, with time served contributing."

"No. I'm not putting that little girl up on the stand."

Blondie practically snarled. "Yes. You. Are."

"No. I'm. Not."

"She's so much older now! Practically a teenager. She can handle it. And besides, she said she's happy to do it."

"You spoke to her?!"

Could this day get any worse? Why the hell did he have to go and drag up old memories? It must have been just as unpleasant for the kid as it was for you.

"Yes. Myself and the original detective both."

"Why? Is this what you've been doing the past six months? Trying to overturn my sentence?"

He looked away from you for the first time, his ears turning red.

"Yes."

You leaned back in your chair, conflicted and confused more than anything else. You hated to admit it, but a part of really wanted this. Even if the chance was slim, even if it meant another round of dockets and cross questioning. You were tired of prison. You wanted your life back.

You watched the late afternoon sun reflecting off the ceiling.

"I want to talk to her first. And then...maybe."

"Deal." Blondie sounded immensely satisfied.

You kept watching the sun and half listening to the conversations around you.

"Why are you doing this for me Blondie?"

Your voice was awfully soft.

"I'm returning a favour."

Your eyes slid to the lawyer.

"Pretty damn expensive way to do it."

He smirked. "I prefer my method to yours. Requires a whole lot less stabbing."

The kid came to visit you the next day. Blondie was right. She was almost a teenager. Did time really go by so fast?

You grinned at her.

"Hey kid. Sorry to drag you out to this place, but they don't let me out much."

"I bet."

She’d lost a lot of the baby fat from her cheeks and her dark eyes didn't have the haunted look you remembered so well.

"How's life with your aunt?"

"Great actually. The school is nice and we've got this Great Dane. And she isn't like... well, she isn't like my dad."

That made you happy. The kid deserved something good after everything she’d been through.

She broke in before you could keep asking questions.

"I want to do it. I want to testify against my father."

You paused, your smile fading. You could still hear her voice from that night, high and tinny and begging her dad to stop.

He hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped beating his little girl until the moment you sunk a knife into his chest.

You swallowed, your mouth tasting like metal.

"Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."

She met your eyes. "I don't care. You saved me. I'm not going to let you rot in a place like this."

When she left, you couldn't help thinking about her eyes. The last time you saw her, she wouldn't even look at your face. Wouldn't say more than three words at a time.

The kid might never outrun her past, but she’d done a damn good job so far.

You tried not to be too hopeful. Homicide was almost impossible to overturn.

You tried not to be too hopeful, but the lawyer Blondie hired clearly knew his stuff. He laid it all out in front the judge.

How you used to babysit the kid when her dad wasn't around. How the man used to get violent when he was drunk, but never hit the kid until that night.

How you heard the screaming and banged at his door for fifteen minutes.  How you broke in through a back window when it wouldn't stop.

How you found the girl half dead with her father standing over her. Still going at it.

How you grabbed a knife, just to try and threaten him, maybe bring him back to his senses.

How he attacked you. How you stabbed him and then kept stabbing him until he stopped moving. 

How you bundled the kid off to her aunt and then called the cops on yourself.

The whole story this time. No pleading guilty and then sitting back down without another word. No half hearted defence by a state lawyer already over worked and underpaid. No half truths.

It took three weeks of court dates to get through the whole story, with witnesses and cross examination. By the time it was done, you wanted to wash your hands of the whole mess. Innocent or guilty, you just wanted to stop reliving that night.

The judge was a hard faced man who'd seen a thousand criminals come and go. You didn't have much hope for yourself when the bailiff told you to rise for the verdict.

"In the case of the state versus the accused, in regards to the appeal and additional information provided to the court, the court hereby considers this appeal to be..."

You felt your heart stutter. The last time you were in court listening to a verdict the outcome was a forgone conclusion.

"Granted."

You almost sat back down, your knees weak. There's no way. After all this time, were you really about to have your freedom back?

The judge continued, "The accused's sentence has been adjusted to account for time served. The original sentence of life imprisonment with the chance of parole after thirty years has been changed to immediate parole on strict assessment."

The judge looked at you, eyes maybe a little softer than they were before.

"This court will never condone murder, not even in defence of a child. But I think it's clear, young lady, that you've spent more than enough time behind bars."

Your lips felt numb. Your whole future changed in one sentence. In one afternoon. It was staggering.

"Thank you, your honour."

The bailiff read out a list of regulations to follow. Weekly check ins with both a parole officer and a state psychiatrist. No furthers run ins with the law, not even misdemeanours. If even one person close to you felt you were a threat, they could report it to the police and have you sent back to jail almost immediately. You were on house arrest until further notice. It was one of the strictest parole agreements you'd ever heard.

You didn't care if they told you to do a hundred push ups morning and evening. You were free again. You were going to behave like a damn saint for the rest of your days.

The only hiccup was when he mentioned the address that you were registered to stay at. You raised a brow at your lawyer but he avoided your eyes.

When court was finally dismissed, the first thing you did as a free woman was give Blondie a hug.

He was much taller than you, though you'd never realised it before.

"How much do I owe you? When I get a job, we can work out some kind repayment plan."

He waved you away and lead you from the courthouse. You tried to ask your lawyer about the house arrest, but he managed to slip away before you could.

His car was waiting for you. A new Camaro barely a year months old.

You let out a low whistle.

"She’s a beauty."

When you climbed into the passenger seat, you were sure to buckle your seat belt. No tickets for you, not ever.

The car started up with a thrumming purr.

It ate away at the road, even in the dense city centre. It wasn't long before you were almost at the city limits and cruising.

"By the way, do you know where I'll be staying? I didn't recognise the address."

You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like his hands tightened on the steering wheel just a tad.

"Mm-hmm. You're staying with me."

What? You couldn't possibly do that to him.

"Thank you. But don't you feel a little awkward having a felon in your home? I've still got my savings from before. I can rent my own place for a little."

"You're staying with me. Do you know how hard it is to get a good apartment with a criminal record?"

"I guessed as much. But Blondie, I already owe you. I can't possibly intrude on your life. Maybe you think you still owe me from that day. You don't. We're square."

He was quiet for a bit, but finally managed to force a smile into his voice.

"No. I'm not doing this because I feel indebted to you."

He kept his eyes on the road, his hand loose and confident on the wheel. His sleeves were rolled up again and you got your first good look at his tattoos. They were a collection of really well done pieces, each small tattoo blending with the others. Mostly fine line work, simple and clean.

"Why are you doing it then?"

He didn't answer.

When you arrived, his house was ranch style three bedroom with a huge, rolling yard and a neat wraparound porch.

You let out another low whistle.

"How do you afford this on a correction officer's salary?"

"I don't. It's paid off already. I was in the USMC for a long time. The money was good."

"I knew you weren't a normal civvie."

He grinned. "What gave it away?"

"The muscles."

He laughed and pulled your duffel bag from the trunk.

You'd told your parents to donate all your clothes when you were first sentenced. You didn't think you'd ever be free again so why hoard? Someone out there was probably making good use of your Doc Martens and distressed denim. Whatever normal clothes you currently had were what you were locked up with. The outfit on your back and little else.

The suitcase was instead filled with your meagre prison possessions, the stuff you didn't want to leave behind. Your collection of books. Some postcards. The CDs that B sent you.

Blondie carried it across the lawn like it weighed nothing at all.

Stepping into his house was a surreal experience. You hadn't been inside someone else's home since the night of your crime. Your last few years were exclusive to the grimy and outdated rooms of state buildings.

It was like stepping back in time. Or more accurately, like stepping into a future you thought was lost to you.

Clean, without the tang of cheap, industrial grade bleach. The walls painted and wallpapered instead of just whitewashed. The feeling of finally being somewhere you could relax. Not an in-between place.

Home.

He showed you to your room, a neat guest bedroom across from his, with a double bed and wide windows.

You didn't sit down on the bed or on the neat desk chair. You didn't feel clean enough. You still felt the stink and grime of prison clinging to you.

He raised a brow but showed you where the bathroom was.

It was another taste of freedom. Showers in prison were monitored and timed affairs. No standing under the water and just enjoying the heat, no taking the time to scrub and exfoliate. In and out and done as quick as possible.

You stood under the hot water for a long time, your face wet not just from the spray.

When you finally climbed out, you felt clean for the first time in years.

Blondie was gone when you got downstairs, a hasty note scrawled on the fridge about grabbing you some new clothes. You tilted your head at the handwriting. You could swear it looked so familiar... But no, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous.

You brewed yourself a hot drink, fully intending to sit on the porch and enjoy it. Like a little old woman.

The backdoor was locked.

You frowned. Okay, not that uncommon. Folk kept their doors locked all the time. He probably intended you to use the front door instead.

But that one was locked too.

So were all the downstairs windows. Closed shut with little hatches you hadn't noticed earlier.

You tried not to panic. He was probably just looking out for you. Being careful. You were still a felon. How did he know you weren't going to make a break for it the second you could, his tv and laptop in tow?

It was fine. You were fine. You could just drink at the table and wait for him to get home. You kept telling yourself that, even as you searched through the kitchen drawers for a spare key.

Nothing.

You didn't want to panic. You'd spent years locked away. Wasn't this much nicer than a cell?

No. Because at least in a cell you had no illusions about your freedom.

You ended up in his bedroom without knowing when you'd gotten there. You didn't dig through his drawers. He'd know instantly. But you did open them all, one by one, as if you'd find the key right on top of his neatly folded shirts.

You found the letters in the last drawer. The one right next to his bed, like he read them every night.

It took you a while to recognise them, even though you were looking at your own handwriting.

Your letters to B. Every single one of them. The envelopes neatly cut open and the letters themselves stacked in chronological order. The most recent one was at the very top and you picked it up with numb hands.

Hey B! Guess who's going back to court. Guess they missed seeing me strutting down the aisle.

Don't worry. I haven't down anything bad (at least not this time). Someone who thinks they owe me a favour has gotten it into their head that the best way to repay me is to get me out of jail.

The legal way, that is. No midnight tunnels or disguises. (Boo. How boring. What happened to romance?)

I don't have much hope, but at least it means a break in the monotony. And nicer chow.

You'd better write me soon. Can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I get a new letter from you. I think it must be acid reflux.

-your favourite felon.

B did, in fact, write back quickly. For the last time - no return address on the letter. In that, and in so many other ways, it was clear it was the final letter you were getting.

You're the most complicated person I've ever met. Caring and kind but somehow wrapped up in the most sarcastic personality. I've fallen in love with you. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. But it's true.

I love you.

-B

You'd sat in your cell with your eyes almost bugging out of your skull. Wondering what B did to have the misfortune of falling for a girl like you. Wondering if you could have loved them back, if given the chance. Wondering who they really were.

Well, here was your answer. B, the person who wrote you sarcastic poetry and hunted down your favourite books, was Blondie, the warden who owed you his life.

And he was in love with you.

You sat down, knees replaced by lunch time jelly cups.

No wonder he did what he did. No wonder he paid for an attorney and got your house arrest registered at his house. No wonder he kept the doors and windows locked.

There was a light step behind you and you flew to your feet, the letter still clutched in your fist.

He was standing in the doorway, watching you with cool blue eyes.

"So. You found them."

You couldn't answer.

He stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving yours. He'd taken off his shirt and stood in only his tank top and jeans, his arms lean with muscle. You'd spent years fighting and you knew in one glance that you could never take him. He was stronger. Had years of Marine and police training. It had taken three prisoners and a razor blade to finally hold him. What chance did you have?

"The world isn't built for prisoners. Rehabilitation is hard. What were the stats again? Eight out of every ten end up back in jail before ten years is up?"

He continued towards you, as calm as ever.

"You're safer here. With me. You said you'd be a great housewife remember?"

"I was joking," you managed. "Just kidding around."

He reached you and gently took the letter from your unresisting fingers.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to. But you're not leaving me. You're not leaving this house."

"Why?"

He smiled, that half smile that gave you a glimpse past his tough guy shell. This time, you didn't like what you saw.

"You know why."

"I'm a terrible person to love. I'm prickly and sarcastic and I suck at doing the dishes."

"I've got a dishwasher."

"All I know how to cook is fried chicken."

He wrinkled his nose. "We'll work on it."

"I snore all night."

"You don't. I've watched you sleep."

"Really?"

"Really. I'd stop outside your cell and just watch you sometimes. I couldn't help it. You're so much calmer when you sleep. It's like seeing another version of you."

He tilted his head and closed the last bit of distance between you, until you could smell his cologne and see the flecks of green in his eyes. You'd never noticed them before.

"There are worse cells than this, aren't there? All you have to do is stay with me. Be happy. Let me love you."

"Do I have a choice?"

He smiled that secret smile again.

"Nope. It's either me or straight back to prison."

It was true. He was a model citizen – a veteran with a clean record as a corrections officer. Even if you did talk to your mandated psychologist or parole officer, they wouldn’t believe you. You’d be the ungrateful prisoner trying to manipulate her way out of house arrest.

You knew it from the start. Rule one - never trust a warden. They never have your best interests at heart. All they want is to cover their own skin and get theirs.

But, you never were very good at following the rules, were you?

[funnyexel]

loves you. hates them.

Rich!boyfriend who really isn’t your boyfriend but more of an arranged husband. He’s sweet and all but you think he’s a bit overbearing for someone you just met.

Rich!boyfriend who demands your free time, disregarding how tired you may be from working. Rich!boyfriend who hates how much you work and provide for your family, he realizes how soft and spineless you are when time comes for you to speak up for yourself.

Rich!boyfriend who’s intoxicated by the way you smile at him and the small touches you give him to express your gratitude for the excessive gifts. The way your eyes light up when you see him won’t ever get old to him. Rich!boyfriend who see’s the potential in you, even if your mother tells him otherwise.

Rich!boyfriend who is immediately consumed by disinterest whenever your mother and father want to speak with him. They have so much to say and critic about your life, yet, they rely on their young daughter to get them out of their financial burdens.

Rich!boyfriend who notices the behavioral change in your sister every time he comes around. The way she perks up when he enters the room, the difference in the way she dresses when she knows she’s going to see him versus when she doesn’t know. Rich!boyfriend who is disgusted by this and is even more repulsed when she tries to make a move on him. This pushes him to increase your time at his home and decrease the time you spend at your house. 

Manipulative!boyfriend who acts confused when you find your phone hidden away in his dresser drawer. Manipulative!boyfriend who forces you stay at his home for an extensive amount of time, convincing you that you are terribly sick from working so hard.

Manipulative!boyfriend who gives you a special type of medicine in your food so you stay sluggish and compliant. Manipulative!boyfriend who persuades you that the little white bottle he hides away is nothing and that you’re imagining things. 

Rich!boyfriend who assures you that you’ll feel better by the time the wedding rolls around.

Crazy!boyfriend who effectively got your family out your ear by smashing your phone to pieces and warning them that if they ever talked to you again, he’d do worse than cause a little car crash.

Did he forget to tell you that? 

Rich!boyfriend who lies assures you that he’ll find the people who T-boned your parents car.

more posts

a/n: I think my requests inbox might be broken, directly message if it doesn't go through or don't. I don't know how it works.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Barista who is the “poster boy”of the coffee shop he works at. It is honestly deserved: he has a pretty face, a charming smile and a playful yet sweet attitude. He is especially popular among the girls…who he keeps rejecting. He is just not looking for something casual, you know? He dates to marry, not to be someone’s eye-candy.

Yandere!Barista who, one day, sees you walk into the store. Is that a Corroded Coffin shirt you have on ? He loves that band! This is what he tells you when it is your turn to order. What do you mean he looks too much like a goody two-shoes to be a fan? Alright, Miss “I am so dark and edgy”, what do you want to order? Black coffee? The banter goes on until he has to shoo you away, with an amused smile, as the other people in line are starting to get impatient.

Yandere!Barista who glances your way every chance he gets. Not only are you fun to talk to, but you also look really cute. Sometimes, between orders, he gets to converse with you. He eagerly returns your small wave when it is time for you to leave. As he goes to your table to collect the receipt, he finds your cup still there. On it, there is a small doodle of him along with your number. A pink hue dusts his cheeks as he brings a hand to cover the side of his face. He is definitely keeping that cup.

Yandere!Barista who saved your number under “Cutie <3”. The more you text each other, the more you hang out together, the more he becomes obsessed. It is honestly starting to scare him. The other night, he had your cup in his hands to look at the doodle. Next thing he knew, he had his lips where yours had been when you were drinking from it. It flustered him so much, he threw the cup in the trash bin afterwards…only to go get it back five minutes later…He is asking you out on a date for sure next time he sees you.

Yandere!Barista who does your coffee with trembling hands. He really doesn’t want to do this, but you didn’t leave him a choice. Today, on your usual table, you are sitting with a man other than him. He can’t possibly lose the only person who took the time to get to know him beyond his looks. The drug should work in about fifteen minutes, five minutes after closing time. This should be perfect, you always wait for him to close the shop and walk home together. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this…You will be happy at his house, you will be happy with him. It is with a heavy mind and painful heart that he gives you your order.

Yandere!Barista who you got pinned against the wall of the storage room, one hand beside his head and the other one holding your cup. He is as white as a ghost. He keeps looking around. He is sweating all over. This couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly know- You firmly grab his jaw and turn his face towards you. “Drink”, you say coldly. What are you gonna do to him after he becomes unconscious? Will you report him to the police? Will you hurt him? He closes his eyes tightly as you bring the cup to his lips. The moment it reaches them, you drop it on the floor and replace it with your lips. His eyes open in shock as you give him a small, tender kiss. “That was my cousin, idiot”, you tell him affectionately. You look at him for a couple more seconds before putting on your bag. He is still frozen in place as you add: “Tomorrow, 6pm, at my house. Alright?”. You leave before he can answer.

Yandere!Barista who slides down the wall until he is sitting on the floor. All that is left of him is a blushing, quivering mess. With shaky fingers, he touches his lips; a small whimper involuntarily comes out his mouth. He is about to combust. He feels so weak, he can’t get up. You scared the shit out of him, but that was so hot ahh…He didn’t know you could be this assertive. And that kiss…he buries his face in his hands and groans. Kissing you is all he has ever dreamed of, yet he stayed still like a dumbass when it finally happened. He is so lame-you make him so lame. Guess tomorrow would be his chance to redeem himself.