#god what a little psychopath

[corpocyborg]

i'll take a #9, #15, and #30 for valerie!

Thanks for the questions!

Ask game here.

I decided to try something different here, so I'm letting Valerie answer the questions herself this time.

09 favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

"Ah, food," she said. "Something I can definitely empathize with Goro on—I appreciate high quality food."

"My favorite food is sushi. Goro was extremely wary the first time I invited him over to try a meal from my favorite sushi restaurant. I hadn't ordered from there in long time—too expensive after I lost my Arasaka salary—but I saved up in the hopes that I might impress him and maybe remind him of home. It actually paid off. He admitted there might be some decent food in Night City after all." She shrugged slightly. "I didn't mention it's technically imported."

"But despite my appreciation for good food, there's not much that I'd really be unwilling to eat. I don't have a least favorite food because... well, having a least favorite anything is just kind of a downer. I don't let myself get down about the state of the modern world. Yeah, I may have to eat pepperoni made out of locusts unlike the beef and pork my ancestors had access to, but I have access to technology that can let me dodge bullets. Honestly, it's a worthy trade-off. So, no, I'm not a picky eater. Oh, and I don't have any dietary restrictions either."

15 how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

“When I was 11, my parents died,” she started. “Collateral damage of some robbery. It was unexpected. We lived in Charter Hill—wealthy neighborhood, pretty safe overall.” 

She paused, taking time to choose her words carefully.

“I lived in a government-run orphanage for a while. Fuckin’ shithole. Not for long, though. I had excellent grades. Had extracurriculars, leadership qualities, all that shit that looks good on a college application. And most importantly, both of my parents had held mid-level positions at Arasaka. I was 13 when they offered me a fast track that would eventually lead to the Academy in Night City. Apparently they keep an eye on the children of former employees, if they’re promising anyway.” 

“Look,” she continued. “My parents were good people. They loved me. But they were always… massively overprotective. Wouldn’t let me get any cyberware before I was 16, even though a lot of studies show you actually adapt better if you get it young. Wouldn’t let me get an after school job, even though there haven’t been child labor laws since before I was born. That kinda thing. A lot of corpos want their kids to follow in their footsteps, but to be honest, I don’t think my parents did.”

“Now, Arasaka Academy was completely different.” She grew excited, and she started speaking faster and more insistently. “They definitely didn’t coddle us there. A lot of our combat training was in virtuos, so we couldn’t actually be damaged, but they didn’t filter out the pain. Need something to motivate you to avoid getting shot at, don’t you? And cyberware? Well, we didn’t get it for free, but you could earn it. That and other kinds of useful prizes if you got first place in some exam or training exercise. Got my first pair of Kiroshi that way. The best part was, once you started earning cyberware, you tended to have an advantage against the students who didn’t have any yet. If you could get the proper momentum, it became easier to keep yourself near the top.”

She’d said all that so quickly that she needed to pause for breath.

“The only problem was sometimes I’d wonder if I should feel guilty. If it was wrong of me to be happier now that my parents were dead. But I was. It didn't take long for me to feel like Arasaka was my real family.”

30 do they smell like anything notable?

"Definitely cigarette smoke, for starters. Must be impossible for the scent not to cling to me with how often I smoke. But besides that, I think I mostly just smell clean. I don't really expect my scent would be particularly notable to most people."

[rhineposting]

saw someone unironically saying "rhinedottir fed nigredo to durin to make nigredo grow better and stronger because durin's stomach is actually nurturing like hummus 😊😊😊" god if you're up there can you revoke this person's rights to speak about rhinedottir, or any morally questionable girlboss for that matter. if you can't accept that a lady had her son swallow her other son whole then just move onto characters who are actually nice instead of rewriting the actually not so good characters to fit your imaginary narrative better.

[caoimheart]

“Looking the most like her sister that any of you have every seen, Amarys casts at Viconia DeVir with unnerving precision, pulling the Weave into a perfect beam, piercing her body and detonating it into a pile of dust”

(and uses her Portent to give her a 4 on the save)

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Can Be Intense

Billy wants these little guys to go into heroics being the best hero they can be. He just doesn’t realize that while he has good intentions, he can come off as kind of intense. Like the time he tried teaching Wally how to vibrate his entire body through an object.

Marvel: *holding Tim by the neck with one hand while his other hand is crackling with electricity* “You better hurry up Wally or else I’ll blow his brains out on the floor!”

Kid Flash: “WHAT DUDE IM TRYING.”

Robin!Tim: “HE’S BURNING MY HAIR! I THINK HE’S ACTUALLY GOING TO KILL ME IF YOU DON’T HURRY!”

Kid Flash: “I’m TRYING!” *only got his arm through it*

Marvel: “Try harder!”

Or the time he tried teaching Stargirl how to fly one of the ships.

Marvel: “Alright, so the best type of practice is getting it firsthand so what you’re gonna do is fly straight through that asteroid belt.” *points to the belt*

Stargirl: *sounds super concerned* “What? I can’t do that!”

Marvel: “Yeah you can! You just gotta believe. Now do it.”

Stargirl: “I just told you, I can’t. I can barely fly this thing already. Flying through an asteroid belt would completely total the entire thing and we might be stranded out here for God’s sake.”

Marvel: *nods head* “I see. I see. I get your concerns. So instead I’ll just…” *grabs the acceleration and cranks it all the way up and they start flying to the belt*

Stargirl: “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” *grabs the steering wheel and starts making the ship dodge the asteroids*

Marvel: “You’re doing great!” *sunny ahh smile as if he hadn’t put the both of them in mortal danger*

Later…

Marvel: “That was wonderful for your first time, Stargirl.” *looking at the dents in the ship*

Stargirl: “You’re a psychopath.” *still a little shell shocked*

Marvel: “Nuh uh. Here, have some candy.” *hands her some candy*

Then there was the time Beast Boy was interviewed.

Interviewer: “So, who would you say is your toughest teacher? Batman?”

Beast Boy: “Oh, definitely Captain Marvel.”

Interviewer: *slightly surprised* “May I ask why?”

Beast Boy: “Well, he’s a psychopath. Like actually. Like don’t get me wrong. He’s really nice. He makes us cookies. He’s like super kind, but when it comes to training, he’s a complete psychopath. Like the other day he said he’d tear off Starfire’s arms if I couldn’t complete a training exercise. I did complete it don’t get me wrong, and he gave me cookies afterwards, but you don’t just threaten to tear off another person’s arms!”

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[rafesfavbimbo]

Part 2 to this.

Read Part 1 HERE.

Part 3 HERE.

Pairing: FWB!Rafe Cameron x FWB!Reader

TW: Angst!!! Pure angst! For Rafe at least >:) Violence! Toxic Relationships!

A/N: Yall know I wasn’t going to let Rafe or Sofia win 💅

-

Rafe is fucking miserable. Honestly that’s a fucking understatement for the influx of overlapping emotions he feels as he watches y/n from afar. Sofia was tucked under his arm yapping away about god knows what. Rafe having checked out since he saw y/n come into sight. All his thoughts consumed by her as the hole she left behind in his chest grew bigger. Here he was in despair and there she was having the time of her life.

Rafe’s attempts to reach out to her after the way he treated her completely ignored. She cut him out of her life completely, not even acknowledging his existence in the slightest. She quite literally ghosted him and left him behind. His desperate attempts at getting her attention and trying to get her to speak to him all failed. He attempted to blow up her phone with incessant calls and text that never went through because she immediately blocked him. He then tried to go to her house which was intercepted by her mom who gave him a nasty scowl and shoved a box of gifts he gave her, and items he left at her place from all the times he was over there into his chest. Their front door slammed in his face and leaving him shut out of a place he felt was his second home. He even tried to stop her at parties or bonfires, all his efforts going inauspicious because her other friends intercepted before he could even get to her. Shoving him away and giving him nasty glares before being told to ‘leave her alone, you bitch. Go back to your little girlfriend.’ He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so iced out before.

So here he stands at a bonfire on the cut, Sofia’s words going in one ear and out the other as he desperately tried to catch y/n’s eyes. Desperate to see her pretty gaze on his once more, desperate for just an ounce of her attention. He almost wanted to whine like a petulant child who wasn’t getting attention, it hurt him so fucking bad that she just completely shut him out. And fuck -he knows he deserves it. He fucking knows he does; he was so coked out of his mind that evening. His adrenaline pushing him to speak to her as if she meant nothing to him when she meant fucking everything.

Y/n was the only person to accept him in his entirety. She accepted all his flaws, his twisted personality. She didn’t just accept it. She loved it. She would kiss his bloody knuckles every time he punched a hole in one of their walls. She would kiss the cuts and bruises on his face after a fight. She would lick his tears and kiss them away when he cried to her as he wrapped her tightly his arms, body pressed to his. She would back him up when people would call him a psychopath, shut them down with that bitchy attitude he had never been privy too. Until now. He’d know she could be a real fucking cunt, but he didn’t ever think he’d be on the receiving end of it. And now that he is, he feels like he’s spiraling.

After weeks of not being able to get in contact with her, he’d found solace in Sofia. Using her to numb the hole y/n left behind his chest. He struggled so fucking much to get used to the stark differences between them both. Sofia would scold him when he punched the wall, scold him when he fought, scold him when he went on one of his infamous rampages. Trying to push him to do better and be someone else. And he fucking hated it, so different from the way you treated him. You didn’t try to ‘fix him,’ the way she did. You just loved him for who he was and he fucked it all up. Even the sex was subpar, deciding to just take her from behind and shove her head into the mattress so he could imagine it was y/n. But he never could. Sex with y/n was like a drug. Completely euphoric; a spiritual experience he was addicted to having. And he felt like a fiend needing another hitt of his favorite drug which was her…y/n.

Y/n couldn’t stop the pang of immense hurt she felt in her chest when she saw Rafe around the island with Sofia, the Kook prince and princess’s separation spreading around like wildfire. Sure everyone knew y/n and Rafe were best friends but they knew that it was so much more than what met the eye. The impalpable chemistry between the two; suffocating any room they were in with great tension. Everyone felt like they just went together. A Kook bitch and Kook asshole who only had soft spots for each other. Y/n was kinder than Rafe but she could go on a real rampage like he did. Her fiery attitude matching his own in every way. So for everyone to see Rafe with someone as fucking bland as Sofia, it was a big shock. Kook girls and boys and pogues alike taking to the fact that the finest girl on the island was now out of the clutches of Rafe Cameron. And they took full advantage.

So yeah, maybe it hurt y/n to see Rafe parading around with Sofia; but she threw herself into the attention granted to her by the other cute islanders and left him as an after thought that constantly nagged in the back of her brain. Here she was dancing and grinding on cute boys and girls as they flocked to her. Her beautiful body looking so damn enticing as she moved around seductively to the beat of the music. Skimpy outfit accentuating her perfectly and the body glitter she had on, glimmering with each turn. She looked like a beach goddess, truly the baddest on the island. People couldn’t believe Rafe Cameron fumbled for a dud like Sofia, all modestly and blandness. The complete opposite of y/n.

Barry had been watching her all night, finally ready to make a move since Rafe wasn’t in the way anymore. The only reason he never has was because that’s his friend/business partner’s girl or at least she was. Also more so because, not that he doesn’t think she’s worth it; but he really didn’t want to face Rafe’s wrath. Him now knowing that she’s out of his clutches has him feeling over-confident, he’s making a move and making it tonight. Rafe could be stupid but he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Y/n was wearing out, having danced off her buzz and needing more to keep her going and keep her distracted. She knew Rafe had been watching her all night, and she reveled in it. She loves it, she wants him to pine after her, grieve the loss of her companionship the way she grieved his. It boosted her pride from the amount of times he’s tried to reach out to her. He deserves to grovel for her attention and time. She’ll never let him live it down. But fuck does she miss him being her plug, needing a line ASAP. So she goes to the one person she knows will hook her up with no charge just with a bat of her wispy lashes and a pout from her pretty lips. Immediately making her way to Barry, hips swaying with each step and making party-goers from tour-ons to Kooks and Pogues alike, both men and women ogling her stunning self. Barry included as he watched her walk toward him.

Barry was one of the many people who’d been staring at her the whole night, his eyes running up and down her figure the whole time she was dancing. Barry wasn’t dumb, from the moment he met y/n he knew she was gorgeous. He was more than willing to accept any attention she gave him, allowing only her to bitch him out of product with a bat of her pretty eyes. She got near him, her lips twisting into a coy smile as she gave him those fuck me eyes that would make any man want to ravage her whole.

“Hi Barryyy,” she sighed out, coming up right in front of him and immediately sliding a manicured hand from his mid stomach, up to his chest. Letting him pull her in by the waist with one arm while the other held a red solo cup full of god knows what. Her arms immediately wrapping around his neck as she leaned her body into him. Plump tips pressed into his chest and nipples hard against him as she leaned her face close to his. Y/n always found Barry attractive, she didn’t mind letting him run his hands all over her. “Whatchu want, beautiful? Hmm?” He drawled, looking down at her beautiful face as she leaned her head back to give him doe-eyes that made him want to take her right there in the sand in front of everyone. “Need some more,” she whined lowly, brushing her lips against his and feeling his hand lower to her ass. Gripping a handful as she pressed into him more, biting her lip with a low moan as she allowed him to grope her. Her eyes fluttered as she moaned out an airy, ‘Baaarrryyyy.” Tightening her arms around him and brushing her lips against his cheek as she moaned into his ear the more he groped her.

Rafe was fuming, he wanted to fucking murder someone at this very moment. That someone being his fucking business partner who was grabbing all over his woman, but what hit him more is that she was allowing it. Liking it actually, her left leg coming up to wrap lightly around his as she let Barry press light kisses to her throat, hand still groping her ass as she leaned her head back. Rafe’s vision tunneled, his heart pounding in his chest his ears rang with rage. He felt his soul shattering, his heart shattering. He wanted to scream and cry and fall at her feet. Bury his face into her tummy that he loved so much and wrap his arms around her as he begged her to forgive him. The red solo cup in his hand crushing in his big palm as the contents of it spilled all over his hand. Not even giving a damn that his hand was all sticky or the gasp falling from Sofia’s lips as he took his arm from around her and shoved her to the side harshly. Tossing his cup and storming through the sand with only murder on his mind. People taking notice and moving to the side knowing he was more than willing to knock them over for being in his way.

Eyes began falling onto the scene of Rafe’s reddened face tightened in anger as he got closer to y/n and Barry. The two in their own world as y/n began grinding her hips into Barry’s bugle pressed against her, his cup having been tossed to the side so he could hold her leg against his hip and grind into her. He loved the way she smelled, her creamy vanilla scent making him want to devour her whole. He was more than willing to take her back to his tonight and give her whatever she wanted. Knowing of her high sex drive from all the times she practically almost fucked Rafe in front of him when they all hung out, getting high together. Y/n kept her head tilted back and eyes closed, she loved the feeling of Barry’s calloused hand gripping her under her tiny skirt, skin to skin due to the little thong she was wearing. She was more than willing to hook up with him tonight and get her mind off Rafe, about ready to tell Barry to take her somewhere private until a familiar grip tugged on her upper arm. Rafe pulled y/n away from Barry harshly, tossing her behind him into the sand as she gasped in shock. Party goers immediately going to her aid and helping her back up as she stabilized herself.

Rafe socked Barry in the jaw, immediately pushing him to the ground and landing punch after punch as his knuckles cracked open and his blood slipped out, Barry’s mixing in as he smashed his face in. Rafe’s vision was red and the only thing that brought him back was the familiar voice screaming in his ear and familiar hands tugging at his arm. ‘Stop! Stop! RAFE STOP!’ Her voice faded in, the ringing in his ears subsiding as he took in his surroundings once again. The bonfire now quiet except for the blasting music, everyone circled around the commotion as Barry groaned under him. Rafe still straddling him until he stumbled up, allowing the tugging on his arm to guide him. He looked around at everyone screaming out a, “the fuck are you looking at, huh?!” Glaring into the eyes cutting into him as people backed up. Another infamous rampage that would be the talk for weeks to come.

Rafe turned to the source of the tugging, taking in y/n’s pleading face as he grabbed her and manhandled her over his shoulder. Storming his way through the parting crowd, Sofia watching with teary eyes and an aching heart as he completed disregarded her. Y/n squirming around on his shoulder while she kicked her legs and pounded on his lower back. Screaming at him to let her down as he completely ignored her and headed straight for his truck.

He heard a voice that wasn’t y/n’s angry yells calling his name. Ignoring it as he got near his trucks passenger seat and opened it quickly, tossing y/n in and slamming the door shut. Immediately locking the car and slamming on his window with a “don’t fucking move!” Trudging to the drivers side and about ready to get in when a grip on his arm tugged at him. He turned around with rage in his eyes as he took in a crying Sofia; her voice cracking as she yelled at him with tears streaming fown her cheeks. “What is wrong with you?!” she cried, smacking at his chest as he stared at her emotionless.

Coldness in his eyes as he took the hands pounding into his chest and gripped them by her wrist. Huffing deeply from his nose as he caught her eyes with his, his wide open and crazed as he told her one thing, ���you were nothing. Nothing but an easy fuck. You’re fucking pathetic, you’re fucking easy, and you’re a lousy lay. Keep your boring ass away from me, alright?! We’re done. Go bother some other sucker.” He said with complete harshness in his voice, his words cutting into her as he took his grip on her wrist to push her away from him. Her body stumbling and landing into the sand as she sobbed harder. Her entire soul shattered and heart stomped on. He didn’t give a single fuck, his mind consumed with one person who was staring straight through his window with rage in her eyes. Not daring to leave cause y/n knows he would chase after her and tackle her into the sand. He got in his seat and immediately drove away, away from all the chaos he caused because he’s an insolent, impulsive child who doesn’t know how to express himself correctly.

“You think that’s funny? Huh?!” He pressed y/n, turning to look at her with those crazed eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest, bringing one out to check her manicure as she scoffed and rolled her eyes. Already knowing how to handle the monster Rafe was when he was full of anger. He drove fast and recklessly, his gaze continuously whipping between her and the road as she refused to speak to him. Staring out the window as she ignored the tension that was almost suffocating in the car. Rafe reached his hand over and gripped her chin to make her face him, looking back at the road as she struggled with getting the painful grip of his hand off her face. “When I ask you a question, you fucking answer me!” He squeezed her face harder, making her cry out as she began clawing at his arms with her nails; angry red streaks tainting his skin as he sped up.

“Fuck you!” She spit out, bringing her hands to smack at his face as they struggled with each other. Rafe eventually pulling away to grip both hands on the wheel and pulling the car quickly into his lane when it veered over into the other one. Almost hitting another car that was honking harshly at him. “I’ll kill both of us right the fuck now! You think I won’t?! I’ll fucking take you down with me, baby!” He screamed at her as she kept smacking at him. Biting his hand when he tried to grip her face again and digging her teeth in. Making him hiss and pull it away quickly, drops of blood leaking out from how deep she bit into him. “Do it then you fucking pussy! You’re so fucking pathetic!” she screamed at him.

Fortunately, Rafe pulled into Tannyhill’s driveway and brought the car to a screeching halt. Quickly putting the car in park; hopping out and storming to the passenger side as he tugged it open and dragged her out of the car by her arm. Slamming the door and manhandling her all the way to the front door of his house, till he opened it and pushed her forward. Watching her stumble in and almost fall to her knees but quickly catching her balance and turning around to face him. The same crazed look in her eyes as he brought out her monster that matched his to play.

Y/n rushed at him and tried to knock him in his jaw, Rafe’s reflexes quick as he grabbed her wrist and tugged her into him with it. Other hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing harshly as he cut off her air supply, her feistiness subsiding as her face turned red and her free hand began clawing at his wrist to make him release her. He finally did and she stumbled back gasping harshly for air as she caught her breath. Her spotty vision going back to normal as she looked at him. The two breathing harshly, chest quickly rising up and down as they sized each other up. She walked to him quickly, her cute sandal-heels clacking as she brought her hand up and back-handed him so hard his bottom lip split open from the diamond ring on her finger.

When Rafe turned his head to look at her again, she back handed him again. Watching him as he let out a pained groan and brought his hand to his pounding cheek. Feeling the cut she left on his lip and cheek; dabbing the blood dripping out with the tip of his middle finger as he looked at her. Her eyes daring him to test her again as his monster submitted to hers, the two staring at each other as his eyes began water, tears dripping down his cheeks as a pained sob left his mouth. Falling to his knees as he crawled to her and grabbed her by her lower back, tugging her to him as he buried his face into her bare stomach. His heavy tears wetting her smooth skin as he sobbed all his frustrations and heartache out.

“M’sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!” He cried out, his voice full of emotion as he sobbed into her. Apologizing for everything. For making her feel used, making her feel like she was nothing to him when she was everything. Sorry for all the hurt he caused her, both mental and physical; he knew he wasn’t good for her. He’d always known and he was proving himself right. Sobbing into her harder as his hands splayed flat against her lower back to push his face deeper into her stomach, “please y/n! Please!” He looked up at her then, on his knees with a red face as tears continued to run down his cheeks, snot dripping from his nose. Completely hysterical as she clenched both her fist by her side, starting at him down her nose with no emotion in her eyes. Cold and the complete ice queen he knows she can be.

“I can-I can’t fucking taking it anymore! It’s driving me insane! You’re driving me insane! I’m fucking sorry! I never meant to hurt you y/n, please believe me! I-I was so fucked up that day and Sofia wanted me so bad! It made me feel good! Good to have her falling at my feet! But she isn’t you baby, please!” He choked out, baring his soul through his mouth and pleading eyes as she continued staring down at him with no emotion. He wrapped his arms completely around her, chin resting on her stomach as he cried up to her.

“You’re everything! Everything to me! From the moment I met you, I knew it! I-I didn’t know how to handle all the emotion you make me feel, you make my head go haywire! It’s overwhelming an-and fuck! I didn’t know how to handle it, you’re so much better than me! You’re too good for me! You know it, I know it! The whole fucking island knows it! And Sofia was easy! She fell at my feet and made me feel like a fucking god! But baby, you! You make me feel like I belong, like i’m not alone an-and you love me for who I am! You always have and I always knew it! Because I love you the same way baby, love you so much mama! You’re everything to me, y/n! Everything! I love you! I love you! And you love me!” He finished, tears still pouring out of his eyes as her hands unclenched. Rafe was ready for her to caress him, tell him it was going to be all okay in her usual coo and tell him that they were okay. That she loved him just the same and that they could move on and start over. But what he expected to be an affectionate caress was actually a harsh shove.

Y/n pushed at his shoulders, pushing his face away from her stomach as she began clawing at his arms around her. “Get off,” she said coldly; continuing to push him away as he tightened his grip and shook his head side to side. A fresh batch of tears pouring down his cheeks. “Rafe get the fuck off of me!” She screamed, shoving him for the last time as he let go. His arms feeling to his sides with defeat as he stared at her with red eyes. Watching y/n as she stepped back and let out a sarcastic laugh. Shaking her head with a scoff at the end and crossing her arms over her chest.

“You are so fucking pathetic.” She bit out, voice harsh. Not one ounce of the affection she use to regard him with left in her voice. Rafe whimpering at that, opening his mouth to continue groveling until she spoke up again and raised a hand to signal him to be quiet. “Don’t. You had your chance to speak, now listen to me.” Rafe’s mouth immediately shutting closed into a tight line as he submitted and listened to her intently. Eyes pleading, as her hand lowered and she stared him down.

“So what? You treated me like shit because I didn’t what? Fall at your feet like that pathetic little pogue, bitch!” She shouted at him, her crazed eyes cutting into him. “Awww poor baby,” she mocked, “doesn’t know how to be a man and express himself so he acts like the little bitch he is! You’re so fucking sad, you know that? I loved you Rafe. So much! I gave you me in my entirety! I gave you all of me! Not just my heart, body, and soul but my mind! I let you know the darkest parts of me! Things no one else knows! And you did what? Tossed me to the side because some boring bitch gave you a bit of attention? Because she kissed the ground you walked on like the pathetic low life she is!” She spoke firmly, her face in a scowl of disgust as she stared him down like he was nothing.

“You’re just as fucking stupid as her! You’re both pathetic. I want nothing, and listen to me closely.” She walked to him, gripping his face in her hand and digging her nails into him. His lips squished as he stared up at her pathetically. “I want nothing to do with you. You’re nothing to me anymore, nothing. You’re just a pathetic coke head with daddy issues and mommy issues who never grew up. You don’t know how express yourself at your grown age and act like a man. Grow the fuck up Rafe! You’re a little boy, a stupid little boy. I was so blinded by my love for you that I didn’t realize how much of a bitch you really are. This is the first and last time I’m gonna say this. Leave. me. the fuck. alone.” She snarled at him, teeth bared at him like a lioness ready to attack her prey.

“I’m the best thing to happen to you baby, and you threw it all away for some bottom barrel pussy and easy attention. I’ll be fine, I’ll prosper. I can have anyone I want and do whatever the hell I set my mind too. I don’t need you. I never have and never will. I let you in because I wanted too, not because I needed too. The only difference between us is that I only wanted you but you need me. You need me. You always have and always will. But I’m done with you. For good. Go back to your sloppy little bitch and stay the fuck out of my life. You two low lives deserve each other. I’ll find the man who can stand by me without being so fucking intimated.” She spit out harshly, releasing the grip on his face as she walked back away from him slowly, giving him one last glare as she turned on her heels and headed for the front door. Ready to walk out of his life and leave him in the dirt.

Rafe shuffled forward on his knees as he pleaded with her, spitting out one last, “please y/n! Please baby! You’re right, you’re so fucking right! I need you baby please don’t leave me! I’ll do anything!” He sobbed out once more, watching as her hand stopped on the handle of the door as she pondered his words and turned back to him. Rafe feeling a lightening in his chest as hope grew. Ready for her to take him back, light building in his eyes. Until it all came shattering back down when she let out a mocking laugh. Eyes cutting into him with that condescending look that made anyone in her line of sight feel so little. Him included.

“Had I known me fucking you would get you so attached, I would have never done it. Now clean yourself up, you’re killing my fucking mood more than you already have.” Throwing his words back at him as she turned back around and opened the door. Slamming it behind it and walking out into the cool air of the night. Leaving Rafe behind, for good. Him shattered to nothing while she found a renewed sense of life. Her chest lightening as she felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

She’d be okay. Better than okay, she’d be great. She was a strong woman and no pathetic man was gonna break her down and make her into nothing. She would prosper and give herself a better life. Already making plans to leave the island, leave this place full of tainted memories behind and find a place to make new ones. She would start over and create her own happiness. Her confidence bursting back into her as she walked down the driveway with a renewed sense of pride. Hope for better running through her. And as for Rafe … his soul died. His spirit broken, heart shattering to a million pieces in such a way that could never be properly put back together. Pieces of it missing forever, the biggest piece of it walking out of his life. And y/n only thought one thing. Fuck Rafe Cameron.

taglist: @drewstarkeys-world @maybankslover

A/N: PHEW! That was intense! I’m sorry if yall wanted them to reconcile but nuh uh! Let that boy grovel in his misery! I hope you all enjoyed! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments! It would be deeply appreciated it! Much love 🐰🌸💕

[benjinotes]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - chapter I

previous -> next

(daella targaryen x benjicot blackwood)

don’t translate.

The sound of music mixed with loud laughter reached Benjicot's ears, but he seemed strangely annoyed with his surroundings.

Seated at one of the wooden tables in the main hall of his family's small fortress, he observed the reinforcements with a distant gaze, too bored to even hear the conversation of his friends and guests around him.

The torches along the walls were the only thing that illuminated those cold, dark walls, and strangely enough, the extreme intensity of the fire that surrounded them was the only thing that kept him in a better mood. With his index finger, Benjicot began to trace some patterns on the dark wooden table with his fingers, trying to ignore the sound that was in the place and instead listen to the storm that was outside.

He knew what that rain meant; the gods were angry, and deep down, he wanted to know who was stupid enough to anger them in such a way.

When he was still a little boy, Benjicot used to hear his mother tell him that every time a young soul dies, heaven weeps and welcomes him with open arms, and for a long time, he wanted to believe it. However, he ended up adopting the more rational version that his faith allowed him to have and that his father taught him: divine things don't cry, divine things punish.

The first mortal blow he dealt someone was also on a rainy day like this. He was still able to remember the raindrops that ran down his fingers, mixed with the blood of the first man he had killed, and how the sky seemed to thunder when he delivered the first blow to the enemy soldier's stomach. It was sickening; he knew that, but for some reason, he enjoyed the feeling of the gods' punishment mixed with the blood he himself had spilled. He was a hypocrite.

Benjicot was not stupid; he knew that many people were afraid of him. After all, there were rumors that he was a bloodthirsty psychopath and countless other slanders that he refused to listen to. But honestly, he didn't care about any of that. The battlefield was the only place where he truly felt himself. The chaos and danger, the clash of steel, and the screams of the dying—all of it made him feel strangely exultant. It was ironic, almost paradoxical, that the thing that made him feel most alive was being so intimately familiar with death.

But the guilt never consumed him, because he always knew he was fighting for the right side.

"Are the rumors true?" One of his friends suddenly asked, causing Benji to quickly look up questioningly, waiting for him to continue. "Rumor has it that you are going to marry Princess Daella Velaryon, the daughter of the rightful queen." The black-skinned man, Helion, spoke in a whisper as he watched the conversation at the table gradually die down to eavesdrop on the small interaction.

At the sudden question, Benjicot licked the inside of his cheek in a brusque manner and slammed his fist on the dark wooden table, causing some of his companions to jump at the sudden noise. He could have sworn that his aunt was giving him a scolding look at that moment, but honestly, he had already lost all the good humor he had, and dealing with Alysanne's "lectures" at that moment wasn't going to help anything.

The truth was, he wasn't upset by the question, but rather by the lack of answers he had to offer. The raven had left two days ago; however, the answer had not yet returned to Blackwood Fortress, which made him anxious and irritated about the possibilities he was not sure he possessed.

Of course, he knew that what he had asked the queen was too much. Someone like him didn't deserve to marry Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, and he knew he was at least crazy enough to make such a request to the queen. However, the possibility of angering the Brackens with someone from royalty made him ecstatic and almost satisfied, and he knew he had to take the risk before someone else did.

"I still don't know." He replied sincerely, leaning back a little and resting his arm on the back of the chair next to him. "My father sent the proposal to the queen two days ago, but unfortunately, we still haven't received a response." angry, and the table erupted in laughter that almost made him hit the table again, if someone hadn't interrupted him first.

"Are you angry because the queen didn't answer you in two days?" One of his table companions laughed loudly, and Benjicot grimaced when he saw wine run down the man's beard. "Do you really think that with the coming war she has time for that?" The man asked mockingly, and Benji had to control himself not to rub his face on the stone floor.

"Besides, the journey to Dragonstone is considerably long." One of the other men said this as he massaged his full belly, and Benji sighed in defeat as he realized that the man was probably right.

He hated it when old men were correct.

"But let me ask you something, is she pretty?" A man asked curiously, and the lord's son gradually became irritated by the question, especially when he saw the other men at the table leaning forward waiting for an answer, an answer he didn't have.

Benjicot had heard rumors of the beauty of Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, but although he felt inclined to believe it, part of him didn't want to. After all, he didn't like most of the rumors that the winds whispered about him, so he didn't want to believe them. the ones they made about his possible future wife, even if they were good.

Furthermore, he was almost certain that she was beautiful; after all, according to his logic, all princesses were beautiful, all dragons were scary, and all Brackens were idiots. He trusted this assessment almost completely.

"Of course she's beautiful, you idiot! She's a princess!" replied Helion loudly while wiping the grease from his fingers on his clothes, making Benji laugh loudly at the man's inappropriate behavior. One of the things I most appreciated about that soldier was the fact that they both always shared the same opinion.

With the insult hurled, the other man began shouting obscenities in response, triggering a loud and chaotic exchange of insults across the table and causing the rest of the men in the room to whistle and enjoy the fight. Benjicot, in turn, gave a short laugh before turning to the table where his father and uncles were sitting, furrowing his eyebrows when he saw one of the fortress servants handing an envelope into his father's hands.

He frowned when he saw his father smile as he opened the letter, and for some reason, his heart seemed to beat faster, which made him lean on the wooden chair and debate whether he should go to his family table.

However, before Benji even had time to react, Samwell Blackwood stood up and slammed his hand on the table so hard that his wrist turned red, and in an instant, the noisy room assumed an unusual silence.

Everyone had their heads held high as they watched the lord with the letter in his hand, and when his smile widened, whispers were heard around the hall. "I have great news!" The lord spoke loudly, raising a glass of wine in his hand, and Benjicot could see his aunt from afar, trying to hide a smile. "My son, Benjicot Blackwood, is now betrothed to Princess Daella Velaryon of House Targryen!" The man shouted, and the room erupted in applause.

The lord's son could feel the pat that the other men were giving him on the back; however, he didn't care about the pain or the congratulations that came his way; his head was blank, and he could hardly believe that he was engaged—even more engaged to a princess. He was sure he was going to vomit at any moment, and the pats on his upper back were indicating that he should do so.

"And!" Samwell shouted once more, and the hall fell silent as they waited for further news. "Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen has requested our presence in two weeks!" The lord celebrated, and once again, the hall exploded with screams and whistles.

This time, Benjicot found himself swept up in the moment, though whether his scream was out of excitement or nervousness, he couldn't quite tell.

𝟓 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞. 📍

The comforting warmth of the hot water in the bathtub enveloped Daella's body like a warm hug, while the soft light from the candles in the room delicately illuminated her face, where tears glistened and her cheeks displayed a subtle blush, yet she remained there, immersed in the quietness of the place, and stuck in her thoughts as she fought not to start sobbing.

Even though five days had passed since the raven brought the news, Lucery's death still haunted her. She could barely find an appetite or sleep, and she was almost certain that this bath was the first one she had taken since receiving that news, and she was only taking it because she was forced by Baela to do so.

She could feel her cousin's slender fingers through her hair, giving her a massage that almost made her feel comfortable enough to let some of the sobs that were stuck in her throat escape, but nevertheless she decided to remain silent, having no energy for another breakdown.

Many of the candles that had previously illuminated the space were now extinguished, leaving the place gradually enveloped in shadows. With each passing minute, the room seemed to sink a little more into darkness, creating a heavy and unsettling atmosphere. This caused Daella to make a sudden movement forward, as if trying to escape the darkness that was thickening around her. The sudden gesture immediately captured her cousin's attention, who watched her with a look of deep questioning in her eyes.

"What's wrong? Have I hurt you?" Baela inquired worriedly, picking up a sponge she had beside her stool, concern still visible on her beautiful face. "Cousin?" The girl called her, concerned; yet, Daella only sighed and gently returned to her area in the water.

"I'm sorry, I'm just..." Daella began, but the words caught in her throat, causing her to bite her lip before she began to speak. "Do you think it was dark when Luke died?" She asked suddenly, and the other girl gave a sad sigh, the concern from earlier turning into understanding, but before she could even respond, Daella placed her chin on her knees and began to speak.

"He didn't like the dark." She began, and Baela could hear the tree in her cousin's voice, and she quickly got up from her stool to sit on the floor next to the bathtub, ignoring the water there. "Luke was afraid of the dark; I don't want to think about the fact that he could have died in the dark, alone and scared." The princess admitted it, and Baela gave a shaky sigh as she placed a comforting hand on her bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have brought that up." Daella spoke in a sigh, and this time she could help but let out a strangled sob, which made her cousin move even closer to her.

"You don't have to apologize to me, cousin." Baela began, her voice bringing some comfort to the Velaryon girl, who looked at her with red eyes. "You're grieving." She finished softly, and the Velaryon gave a dry laugh.

"You're grieving too." Daella replied, her voice unexpectedly harsh, and cursed herself immediately for the unintended edge in her tone. Surprisingly, the other girl seemed unfazed by it.

"Yes, I am." Baela admitted, biting the inside of her cheek hard and ignoring the almost regretful look the other girl was throwing her way. "But not as much as you; after all, it was your brother, and I can't even imagine the state I would be in if Rhaena died." She admitted it, and the other girl looked at her gratefully.

"But you can be sure of one thing." She spoke in a joking tone, which made Daella look at her with an eyebrow. "I would at least take a shower." She finished and laughed loudly when she saw the face Daella was making.

"You are so funny." The Velaryon said sarcastically as she threw a few drops of water in the face of Baela, who was trying to keep the composter while moving back to the bench amidst laughter, and the princess couldn't help but smile when she heard the outrageous laughter.

"I know, I know, I'm hilarious, but now seriously, let's wash you!" Baela managed to say it through laughter while squeezing out a mouthful of foam from the sponge.

"Why are you the one washing me, and not one of the maids?" Velaryon inquired curiously, and her cousin arched an eyebrow.

"Because they obeyed you when you said no, and also because you wouldn't come if you weren't dragged." Baela said, however, that her voice didn't have any hint of joke or mockery; she was genuinely worried for the simple fact that Daella was in such bad shape that she didn't have the strength to do basic things like that. "And besides, your fiancé arrives here in 2 days." Baela spoke in an obvious tone, and Daella turned around in a sharp tone, wetting the other girl once again.

That really caught her attention, and she couldn't help but bite her lip in nervousness upon hearing those words. Her betrothed, a man she had never seen in her life, was coming for a visit, and she didn't know what to do.

Daella wasn't stupid, she knew the rumors that were circulating about her future husband, and as much as she wanted to admit it, she felt a little afraid of him, for others he was a bloodthirsty idiot who only felt good in the world. battlefield, it was dirty and rough and noisy, and even though she wasn't a big fan of rumors, she couldn't stop questioning whether it was actually true.

Deep down, a part of her screamed that if it were true, her mother had never accepted the proposal, and whether she wanted to or not, she was holding on to the hope that this was real.

"That was actually the same reaction I had when I found out you were getting married." Baela tried to calm the situation, gently taking the other girl's arm to wash it. "Wait until Jace discovers this fact too!" She giggled, and the Velaryon girl wrinkled her nose as she imagined the mockery she would suffer from her twin brother.

Lucerys would probably mock her too if he were there.

"In two days?! No one had told me he was even coming!" Daella sighed loudly.

"I just know he's coming because I heard my father talking to our grandmother." Baela said softly as she rinsed her cousin's hair. "I don't even know if I was supposed to know that."

"But the queen isn't here; how can he come and talk about business if my mother left a few days ago and hasn't returned yet?" Daella questioned. She knew Rhaenyra needed time alone, but she couldn't help but worry about the hours her mother had already spent outside Dragonstone.

"Well, I guess that's not a problem anymore." Baela whispered under her breath, her ears catching Syrax's distant roar echoing outside the fortress. Hastily, she scrambled to fetch a towel, handing it over to the other girl who was now craning her neck to peer through the small window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the capricious dragon.

A sudden knock on the door made both girls startle, but their tension dissolved as they recognized Rhaena's familiar voice. She entered, carrying clothes in her arms and scanning the room for her sister and cousin.

"Come on."She urged gently. "The queen is probably waiting for us."

wattpad link.

english is not my first language, so pls be understanding.

tags: @marytvirgin @aelora-a @maidr-00

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“Seven Above.” // Highly Religious Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

DD:DNE ;; Reader discretion is heavily advised.

WARNINGS: noncon & dubcon, forced breeding, forced beliefs, breeding kink, religious themes and psychopathic aemond, dark!aemond, misogynistic views, pressure to fit into the gender norms, forced pregnancy, multiple orgasms, brainwashing(?), mindfucking, + not proofread. PLEASE BE EXTREMELY MINDFUL OF THE CONTENT WARNINGS

Block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to refrain from seeing my dark works.

WC: 2.1k

A/N: fic contains dark content, do not proceed to read if you are easily triggered or find the topics mentioned above triggering. // dividers by @cafekitsune

Aemond was a man of the faith of the seven

He was extremely religious, his mother’s belief in the faith has also made him follow it, though he studied about dragons and old gods of Valyria, he didn't particularly follow them. His need for impressing his own mother, followed by his grandfather made him follow this faith more.

The only problem? He was way too religious and strict, but also hypocritical, he had shamed Aegon for being married to Helaena, but also desired her for himself, he would taunt his nephews for being bastards, yet also had one for himself with a common whore he could not remember the name of. He doesn't acknowledge them as sins however, saying that they are forgiven by the gods as he visits the sept daily.

Alicent did not know what to say, for when she would speak to him about what he's doing and points out his wrongdoings, he simply ignores her and tells her that her job as a woman isn't to judge, but rather understand and nurture, to which she couldn't argue against. So she remained silent.

Everything was going the same as usual, until Aemond was summoned by his grandfather, who had selected a proposal for him.

“The woman is Y/N of the L/N house, a woman loved by many, it will benefit us if we formed an alliance with her family, what do you think of it Aemond?” His grandfather questioned, to which Aemond nodded, saying it isn't too much of a bad match considering they had more to gain than lose, and so the proposal was quickly made.

Aemond only saw you on the day of the wedding, when your house arrived in the throne room, where Aegon sat in the middle, handling the matters. You had not shied away from looking in his eye, to which he was caught off guard by, his mind quickly realising how you are the feisty type.

The ceremony went well, Aemond refused the bedding ceremony and took you to your martial chambers before bedding you. He was gentle of course, he didn't do anything that was too painful.

One thing about Aemond is that, you should never get on his bad side, he is cruel just as he is lenient, you heard of what he had done to his own nephew, to riverrun, to the strong house, leaving absolutely no one alive from that bloodline, no woman or bastard was spared.

The first month flew by quickly, Aemond had gotten to know you better, and he quickly realised that you both don't share the same ideologies on most of the stuff, you even dared to speak back to him, to which he excused you of. Arguments with him on small things have started to happen, his opinion contradicting yours, and his refusal to understand your point of view made you extremely unaccepted, yet you still tried to convey your feelings to him, hoping somewhere deep down in your heart that he'd understand. After all, you had grown to love him a little. He was far better than any husband, most of them didn't even let their wife speak to them.

That was until the topic of children had come when you were dining together.

“Wife, Have you gotten your moon's blood yet?” He asked and you nodded, “Yes, husband, it passed a few days ago and it is regular.” you tell him confused as to why he is asking this, “Are you perhaps barren?” He asks, which makes you feel shocked, and quite offended, “No! Why would you ask such a thing like that?” You ask, eyes slightly wide with shock. “Then why aren't you with child yet?” He questions as if you had any control over anything that happens after intercouse.

“It is only the second month, and besides….” You bite your lip and he raises an eyebrow, “What is it?” You sigh heavily, “I do not know how to ask of you this.” You tell him honestly, “What is it that you need wife? Dresses? Jewellery, do not be shy to ask, I am your husband after all. It is my duty to provide.” He rests his hand on yours, squeezing it in a reassuring way.

“I–” you take a deep breath, “I do not want children, at least, not yet.” you spit out.

It's almost as if everything had frozen in place, the air becomes silent with only the crackling sounds of the fireplace being heard. The tension becomes more imminent in the air as the Aemond continues to remain silent and not do anything, except directly stare at you.

His grip on your hand suddenly tightens, making you wince and you look at him pleadingly, “Have you gone mad?” He stands up, forcing you to stand up as well and you grip his arm tightly, not wanting to fall before balancing yourself, “Please- I am not yet ready, let me prepare myself mentally first.” You beg him and his other hand grabs you by your throat and pulls you closer to him, his grip on your throat begins to tighten, causing you to lose bloodflow to your head.

“I have done nothing except do my duty, be the ideal husband, provide for you, all while allowing you to express yourself yet it seems I was too lenient on you.” He growls, “Because here you are, asking me, to allow you to not have children. It is your sole duty as a wife and a woman, and you could not even provide such a thing?” He let goes of your throat, making you engulf a huge amount of air as you tried to calm down.

“Every woman is the image of the mother, she should have a natural nurturing personality towards anyone, especially to their own children, yet here you are refusing to be a mother to your own child or rather having one of yours, it is disgusting.” He says meanly and you glare at him, “I never said that I never wanted to be a mother, I asked you to give me time to which you are– hmmgh!” You are dragged by Aemond to the bed and thrown on it, you quickly lean on your elbows, fear gnawing in your stomach as you look at Aemond who seemed so furious at you, your heartbeat accelerated as he just stared down at you, like a predator staring at its prey.

“Your sin is forgiven, wife, I remembered how some women think they do not want children until they do, and then they become the best mothers and perfect wives known to man, maybe you are of that same category.” He keeps on talking, and you stare at him, confused and in fear, what in the seven hell was he talking about?

“It is no surprise if that is the case, luckily, there is a cure for that, and that is to get you pregnant, and I shall do just that, simultaneously fulfilling the duties as your husband.” He leans down and caresses your cheek. Your eyes widen when you catch his expression in the illuminating moonlight. He was smiling, yet the smile did not reach his eyes, Your stomach began to churn as goosebumps arose on your skin, he doesn't seem like the man you married anymore.

Before you could make an escape, Aemond pounces you and pushes you down onto the bed, you thrash in his hold trying to push him off but he holds your hands together and pins them up before grabbing your cheeks harshly and spitting on your face, “Behave, I'm treating you.” You began to tremble knowing he had gone completely mad.

“Let go of me! Aemond!” You scream and he pushes his hand over your mouth, “Shut the fuck up.” He tells you before grabbing your dress and tearing it off your body, the bodice coming along with it, causing your tits to spill out. He gropes and squeezes them, “I wonder how nice they'd look when they swell with milk hm?” He coos, before descending his lips onto your nipple, you use your now free hands to push him away but he doesn't budge, you try to pull him by his hair but he bites harshly onto your nipple causing you to let go of his hair in pain, he pulls away and looks at you angrily.

“Behave.” He says sternly and you flinch, never having heard Aemond use that specific tone before, it was extremely scary. “Aemond, please.” You plead him but he doesn't care, simply ripping off the remains and pushing you up the bed and prying your legs open. “You'd look so beautiful, all round with my child in your belly, I pray to the mother to bless us with a child.” He undos his breeches and your eyes widen in horror, knowing what is about to come.

You watched in silence as he lined himself against your entrance, prodding the tip at the very beginning of your hole and began to push inside, you shut your eyes tightly and clenched the sheets below you, a pained cry leaving your mouth at the stretch of your cunt by his cock, unprepared.

He soon fully sheathed himself inside you, and wastes no time before beginning to thrust, whines and gasps leave your mouth at his actions, you grip onto his shoulders as he jerks you up and down, you felt ashamed when it started to begin to feel good, your body in dilemma where you push him or pull him closer.

However that sense of choice is taken away from you when he grabs your hands and pins them above you, all while pistoning his hips into yours, “Seven above, I pray that the mother blesses my dear wife with a child in her womb so she may be cured of her sinfulness, I pray that the maiden guides her into realising how she should truly perform her duty as a woman, and may the crone remove useless thoughts and guide her to the correct path.” He prays closing his eyes and your eyes widen in pure shock, shocked by the fact on how he can pray in a situation like this?

His thrusts feel so sinful, and you're convinced you've lost your mind because of the fact that you are getting pleasure from this, his lips find yours in a passionate kiss as he ends the prayer, kissing your forehead afterwards and pulls back, “You'll make a good mother, I'm sure of it.” He coos in your ear before pressing a kiss to it as well.

You soon began to recognize the familiar feeling of a rope tightening in your abdomen, the telltale sign that your peak was nearing, Aemond's hand groped your tits, pinching your nipples and rubbing his thumb over them, providing you with additional pleasure, and before you know it, you are toppling over the edge as your peak hits you, arching your back and moaning out his name loudly.

He too finishes inside you, filling your hole with his seed, before pulling out, his face hovers over your stomach and you watch as he presses a kiss on the location of where your womb would be located, “May the mother bless us.” He mutters.

You thought that would be the end, yet you were wrong, you gasp when you feel his finger scooping up his seed which leaked out and push it back into you, essentially beginning to finger you, he takes you by surprise again when you feel his warm tongue on your clit, causing your hands to fly out and grip his hair as you breathed heavily.

His tongue and finger worked simultaneously, introducing you to a sensation of a new type of overstimulation, making you peak once again.

Time blurred together and yet Aemond did not stop, you've lost count of how many times he made you peak and how many times he finished inside you, but at the end of it, you surely felt full and fucked out, your mind filled with nothing but the thought of having his children, which he kept muttering over and over again, causing you to pick up on it.

“You'll be a great mother.” He pulls you into his arms as scoot closer, burying your face in his chest, “Yes, Husband, I'll give you as many children you want.” You mutter before finally drifting off to sleep.

Aemond smirks, knowing that he has now achieved his goal, now he can slowly start shifting you into the type of wife he wanted in the first place.

It was no surprise when you found out that you were pregnant with a child, only for you to give birth to triplets.

“A blessing from the mother.” Alicent beamed, yet that sentence only made you flinch.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[youngbounty]

Wonder Girl: Okay, future Tim, what are you up to THIS time?

Future Tim: I’m just here to prevent a tragedy and, no worries, I don’t intend on killing anyone. That future version of me was terrible. I’m just here to give you the codes to prevent a future disaster.

Superboy: Oh, thank god! Did you hear that, Robin? This future you is co- what the hell are you doing and why are you dressed as a mini Joker?

Robin: I’m so tired of seeing murderous psychopaths of me as Batman that I’m preparing to take desperate measures (Gets out the gag gun with a flag popping out reading “haha!”). Everyone else has a better or gooder version of Batman: Jason, Dick and even the Demon Spawn! Why is it that the only future version of me as Batman is one where I’m crazier than the Little Demon and the only good future version of me is when I become a Mini Joker!?

Superboy: Take it easy, Tim. This is a good version of you as Batman. No need to be Joker’s lab rat…. Right other Tim?

Future Tim: Yes

Robin: 😠 I’m watching you… and no, I’m not taking off the clothes… or losing the gun… or my clownmobile.

Wonder Girl: You have a clownmobile?

Robin: Preparing to take desperate measures.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | you’re almost a victim… (part 2)

♡ fandoms; House of Wax, Scream (kinda), Hannibal/Silence of the Lambs, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of violence and cannibalism, kidnapping, stalking, suggestive content

♡ notes; I’m kinda surprised this prompt won out for a part 2 but very happy lol, I had some fun ideas.

the whole gang is not here, just some kinda kinky guys again- I feel like this doesn’t work super well for every single slasher? only some of them are psychopaths AND perverts

•┈��•✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Bo Sinclair

> bo was having a rough day

> your friends had been putting up one hell of a fight, killing the first four was a huge pain in ass

> so by the time there’s only two of you left, he hasn’t even gotten a proper look at you

> it’s not until you come back to the gas station, wide eyed and begging for help that he finally notices you

> god you’re cute- you can be last

> he drops the nice guy act and gets you to the chair- rough as always and threatening you the whole way

> but then he notices it’s all a lot easier than usual today

> he glances up and can’t help but grin

> your cheeks are bright red and your chest heaving- you like being restrained

> “i’ll be good- promise—“ you mumble before he can be a smart ass

> he gags you anyways, but he praises you as you open your mouth for him to stuff the rag it in

> he can hear you whimper as he does and he’s just itching to leave so he can come back

> he leans over, one hand planted between your legs to steady himself

> he can hear your breathing catch as he simply kisses your forehead, snickering as he leaves

> you were really something

> a pretty, obedient little something that would last way longer than a day if you kept it up

Danny Johnson

> he’s worried you saw the flash of his camera through your window that morning

> he’s normally so careful, he can’t believe he slipped up like that- honestly he’s surprised you didn’t call the cops

> you must have been too groggy, or maybe it wasn’t as dark as he thought it was at the time. maybe you noticed but didn’t put two and two together

> he needs to kill you soon anyways. he’s been watching for a while, and he’s wasting time

> he settles back into his usual spot where he can see perfectly into your bedroom

> he sees you frown just a tad as you pick up the phone call from an “unknown number” - but you still pick up

> “Hi there, doll .”

> he’s called you more than once, this “ghost voice” that’s been terrorizing you- and god is it a nice voice

> a nice voice that says vile things. some of them just violent, some…well some things you like too much

> you can see you make an expression he doesn’t expect. you bite your lip, cheeks pink

> he’s seen that look before…not for Ghostface, of course, but for Danny

> you were easy enough to befriend, and it just gave him more opportunities to keep tabs on you

> like most people he charms, you clearly have a crush on him, and that little lip bite is about the same face you make when he flirts

> maybe he’s just seeing things

> you couldn’t be that perfect.if you were he would have to keep you around

> he continues on and on, observing you carefully

> and you just keep getting more and more flustered, even when he’s threatening to choke you stupid

> “you know you’re so cute when you blush like that,”

> what you say next comes just about as close to scaring him as you can get

> “Thank you, Danny.”

Hannibal Lecter

> you weren’t quite as close to victimhood as one might assume

> but he was a fast killer once he had a mark set- you had to impress him more than a bit to be considered and then ruled out

> you start as his patient

> you’re a meek thing, easy to read and fragile

> you’re practically asking to become an entree

> if you taste as good as you look, you’d be his best dish yet

> it’s not hard to get you alone outside of an appointment

> you’re delighted when he invites you to a dinner party- you’ve heard great things about his little get togethers

> and he even lets you help him get ready, setting the tables

> the conversation become macabre as you discuss some recent murders that police suspected were committed by a cannibal

> that he committed for the sake of the dinner party, naturally

> he corners you before you can realize it - he likes playing cat and mouse

> you giggle nervously and look up at him

> he’s got a hand on the wall above you, and he notices your eyes linger on his toned forearms

> many patients and victims have crushes on him, it’s not surprising or a deterrent

> though it surprised him the gristly conversation wasn’t bothering you

> “yknow, it must be nice to know you’re safe from that serial killer in the neighborhood. If he is a cannibal, he’s most likely to chose someone more sedentary.”

> you leave him there, as if you hadn’t said something so delightfully offputting to find a vase for the table

> maybe he could do some further studying….

[miss-dollette]

Makarov • Baby Daddy Headcanons

While Makarov is a psychopathic maniac without a care for anyone, he'd definitely never abandon his own. This man values loyalty above anything and will never forsake one of his own, especially his baby mama and his child.

A visit from Makarov would be rare, but when he visited, he always made sure to bring a gift for his baby, and sometimes, even for you. Nothing cheap, of course—a necklace worth thousands. See it as a reward for being an oh-so-good woman and bearing him a child.

Don't bother with work. Call in and never come back. Makarov has you covered for the rest of your life. He'd move you away from the dingy city and have you cozy with your baby in a house you'd never be able to pay off on your own. But you wouldn't need to worry about that - Makarov made sure to pay in cash to whatever sketchy realtor he knew would never reveal your location. If they did... let's just say they'd never sell another house again.

The new addition to the Makarov family would love their father. They'd cry all day in your arms, never stopping until their father's rough cheek scratched against their own, and he shushed them in his rough Russian manner.

The first time you handed over the tiny Makarov to their father would become a bittersweet memory.

"Make sure his/her neck is supported," you softly said while passing the baby into Makarov's arms, mindful of the delicate strength his/her little neck had yet to develop.

"Perfect," you said as Makarov gently held the baby in his arms, his neck crooked down as he watched his baby's eyelids flutter, their little pink cheeks, and tufts of hair on top their head. The baby tiny fist lifted into air, and Makarov placed his lips upon their tiny knuckles.

You leaned in and placed your lips on Vladimirs rough cheek.

He'd definitely pretend he wasn't obsessed with his newborn baby's scent. You'd walk into the nursery, and he'd shoot up from the crib and act like his nose wasn't all up in his baby's scalp.

He'd be fiercely protective of his family. No one, not even his closest allies, would know. Maybe Yuri, but he'd only tell him long after you gave birth.

If he had a son, he'd definitely plan to raise him in a macho-man way. Your son's fifth birthday gift would be a Russian prison knife from the Gulag. And no, he wouldn't care if you made a fuss about it being dangerous for a child.

"Now, why the hell would you give him that? What were you thinking?"

"He's nearly a grown man, and every grown man needs a knife."

"He's five!"

"I was gifted a rifle when I was five, so be grateful!"

Now, if he had a daughter, that would be a whole 'nother story. She would definitely be his little tsarina. All she would need to do is ask, and she'd have it in her little palm.

"She'll become a spoiled little brat if you keep spoiling her like that,"

"What, like you?"

"Not funny."

"Seems funny to me. Come, My Little Tsarina, let's go pick out one of your future cars."

He grew up poor and constantly surrounded by critters sneaking around in his home. He'd bring home stray cats to make sure no rats or mice would go near his baby.

Will sometimes sleep over. You'd both sleep in the same bed, and his razor-sharp training from when he was a soldier would come to good use. Any noise your baby made would wake him instantly.

He's paranoid as hell, so be ready for him to patrol the house multiple times a day. Your baby will grow up thinking it's normal for his father to have an automatic assault rifle in hand, walking around with murder in his eyes, ready to blow apart whoever dared target his family.

The baby would giggle every time their father passed by, and you'd watch boredly as he walked past. It got boring after the first ten times.

If there ever was a break in, God bless the idiot who did so. Not even his bones would be found.

Other than that, he's a cutie patootie when it comes to his baby. But like, a scary cutie patootie.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Escape the Friendzone 2/4 (Word count 5.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Massive arms go about her as she's pulled against a lean chest. It's an awkward, tense hug. He smells of open air and coppice, with a whiff of acrid sweat on top as she lays her head somewhere between the bumps of muscle of a warm chest.

Not even the body heat makes him appear more human: his heart is not pounding as fast as she thought it would after making it clear he would score some tonight.

She fears she's dealing with a sociopath. Might even be a psychopath.

"Are you still afraid?"

"I don't know." Her breaths are everything but steady as she inhales the intoxicating scent of a madman.

"Don't be scared. I will only hurt those who wish to hurt you."

His pledge renders her weak; it makes her legs shake. She gets far more than she bargained for when pulling him in to give her a little late-night comfort.

Friends with benefits is a situation bad enough, but this is not okay. The guy's fixation seems boundless, and if she tries to wriggle out of this… relationship and starts seeing someone else, it might end up in König scrubbing the potential future love interest's guts off his shoes.

And something in the idea isn't even wholly appalling.

Good God…

"I don't want you to hurt anyone," she whispers like it isn't his day-to-day job – to hurt and kill people. She is on the verge of collapsing to the floor and stays upright only because he holds her in authoritarian embrace.

"Little angel, it's what I do." He releases her only enough to bow his head and look into her eyes. His stare betrays slight distaste. Those eyes are calm mirrors of how can someone be so naive.

"You come to me if someone is mean to you," he orders in a stern voice that makes her feel faint.

"Alright," she breathes a fluent little lie. He's satisfied with her answer, however, and presses her head back against him with effortless control.

She imagines him knifing someone with a listless stare from sparing a glance her way; she fantasizes him strangling some chauvinistic moron in the darkness after they have been "mean" to her. Quickening breaths betray her sick thoughts to him because he pulls her even closer. She can feel the enormous cock pressing against her body with a promise of violence.

"Angel… I wish you would stop teasing me."

"Yeah?" Her laugh is restrained, and her heart is racing inside her chest – like it's some kind of a good idea to have a heart attack while a murderous psycho turning into a boyfriend is in the same room with her. "Where's the fun in that…?"

"Do you always tease men like this?"

"No," she swallows a mouthful of woodland and musk. "Just you."

"Hm."

"König… Can I see your face?"

The man finally seems to find his reserve again. He detaches from her, and she can hear the audible gulp inside the hood.

"Maybe later."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other like he usually does when he's a bit nervous. Probably to ease the discomfort from still being forced into those pants with such an astoundingly large, swelling erection, too.

She can't come up with anything that might explain why the man is so uncomfortable with showing his face. From the small glimpse she saw in the showers, everything looked completely normal. There is some other reason why he wants to wear the mask, most likely some mental block, and she would simply have to wait until he's ready and willing to take it off.

"How about a kiss?"

He doesn't shake his head or escape her as she hesitantly steps toward him and raises a hand to the hem of his hood.

"If I just…"

He does nothing as she starts to raise the mask. The look in his eyes is somewhat haunted, though.

She lifts it just enough to reveal a clean-shaven chin and a pair of thin, tightly shut lips. She briefly notices that there's a scar on his jaw before his mouth opens to call her in. They're polar opposites of each other: she feels breathless and limp when their lips meet while he's a statue of rigid power. Even his mouth is tense as she catches his bottom lip between hers and tries to soften that immortal stiffness. Distant notes of hops catch her tongue just before he pulls her back into a crushing hug.

The guy is not the most perfect kisser. He's very avid, though. In fact, his eagerness is what makes it a scary experience, what makes the kiss clumsy. He smashes his lips on hers with force, then opens his mouth so wide she fears he will devour half her face.

The ungloved hands slide down her back and cup her ass. He's gentle, but she still feels like she's levitating, half an inch above the ground from his groping. He moans like they are already having sex, but before she can disconnect herself from the violent kiss, he does it for her.

"I want to fuck you," he pants across her lips, eyes half-lidded and drunk. "Can I fuck you?"

The man has no conception of how to dance these dances. He simply declares his wish to shove his junk inside her and kill those who might do her harm. She feels dizzy in his arms, like dew that will evaporate under too much heat.

"Yeah, yes," she tries to sound sane, although there's nothing sane about this.

So much for being just friends or being nothing at all…

Her heart is beating faster and faster; it wants to rend itself out of her chest. She feels ample sweat between her thighs, then realizes it's only her own wetness that has broken through the cotton of her underwear. The dress is so tight in the middle that she can't simply try and throw it over her head, and the buttons at the front seem to have suddenly become too big to slip through the holes.

He doesn't take any of his clothes off while watching her undress. The instant she opens her whimsical veil of blooms, he moves close and shoves the fabric down her shoulders so that it drops sadly on the floor. Then he flicks a knife out.

Shit… Shit what the fuck–

"No–Don't–!"

The blade is forced with a flat surface under the middle of her bra. He pulls the fabric away, turns the blade - it's a miracle she's not bleeding by the time he cuts through the center front like it's butter. Her breasts fall free, and the destroyed lingerie hangs cheaply on the side before it gets dragged away too. She looks at his work, her exposed tits and the crude, fat knife he swiftly returns to its sheath.

"That was my favorite br–ah…"

The man is terrifying, even when he sinks to his knees. He dives for her breasts, licks the undersides and sucks her nipples like he's famished. Her head rolls back, and she feels fainter still as he gropes her like she's his toy, chews a nipple until she shudders and cries in pain. Then he goes down, down, panting hot breaths on her skin as he goes, the hood grazing and tickling her skin.

His hands shake slightly as he tears down the last piece of covering fabric from between her legs. She can't even step out of the briefs before a blazing tongue is pushed to her clit, all but delicately.

Perhaps he's not a virgin, but he's not a veteran, either – still, it draws a filthy moan out of her.

She has to take support from his head to prevent herself from falling when the tongue simply forces its way between her legs. It curls to meet her folds, slick with her wet. She knows she's practically leaking at this point, and hears how he licks his lips.

"Of course the angel tastes like heaven too," he rasps in her mound, sounding rather… bitter. Almost annoyed.

She thinks it's only the beginning, but he suddenly rises like a Kraken from the sea, like a Godzilla about to destroy an entire city.

"Get on the bed. All fours."

She chokes the whimper that tries to escape her, then turns and crawls onto the bed as if they are running out of time. His urgency is hers now, and she presents herself to him, waiting for the man to thrust in without remorse, but it's his mouth she feels first.

"Uh–Oh my god…"

He licks her with a flat tongue, torturously slow while she's on display. They're long, profound sweeps, as if he wants to sample her rather than give her pleasure. Although he does give her an immense amount of it.

She falls on her elbows, face down on the bed, exposing more of herself to him in the process. Her pussy has been neglected for so long that the feel of his hot tongue on her is absolutely breathtaking, thigh-shaking. She pushes herself back a little, lets him taste his own medicine for once.

And of course it only makes him more unhinged.

"You're wet like a…" he laughs a short, dry laugh straight into her folds, and she finally whimpers at the sound. "You want it so bad?"

"Yes…?"

It's a sad little confession but more than enough for him. He freezes behind her, and something in the way the air shifts tells her he has risen and is now standing high above her as she's in this crudely vulnerable position.

"I've made you wet this whole time?"

She snivels, opens her eyes, closes them…

"Yes," she sobs in the bed, nearly topples, but he grabs her ass and keeps her in place.

"Ach du lieber Himmel…"

She pants and cries in the sheets, but the sobering silence lasts only for so long.

The sound of a belt being opened shoots her skin full of goosebumps. Only a few seconds later, the fat tip of his cock is swept across her folds: it probes for a second, then slides in.

"A-ah–"

"Scheiße… So tight…"

He hisses and goes all the way in – the journey is long and torturous as he stretches her wide. The thickness only grows at the base, his balls are already tight as they arrive to press against her.

And mercy is not at the top of his list as he realizes she has denied her need and therefore, his. He starts to sail inside her, back and forth, in and out, like it's his job, too. It's total torture. She might just pass out before this is over.

"You little tease…" He seizes control of her hips while using her as his own personal fleshlight. The noise of wet, slick fucking is deafening. The pace is upped soon, and he has to use strength to hold her in place while ramming her from standing while she tries to hold on for her dear life and hold onto the sheets.

"Not so fast, König," she whimpers into her pillow, but he won't listen. The pace is frantic, and his thrusts are deep; he fucks her with despair, with anguish-driven, starved thrusts born from greed.

Nothing has ever felt so good, nothing.

"Just friends, eh?"

She has a hard time deciphering whether he is happy or mad. His voice is pitchy, and she knows, she just knows that he sounds equally as unglued on his missions. Perhaps that's why people rarely talk to him.

"Don't–don't be angry…"

"No? Say that you want me," he commands somewhere behind her, desperation coating the air with pungent sweat and musky arousal. "Say it–say it–"

"I want you," she finally cries, and it feels like an absolution. An amnesty. Remission of sin.

There's panting and frantic sound of slaps of flesh against flesh behind her. The air all around is pure electricity. It makes her quiver and throb and squeeze: him, the sheets, anything and everything.

"I will bring you flowers every morning and fuck you every night. Ja?"

His length is the only thing she can focus on; all else dissolves into a hazy mist. The cock glides in her like he's oiling a gun part, and he could ask her to kill someone and she would only say–

"Yes, yes."

He slides in and out with less and less control, moans and grunts with every thrust now. She's already past the point of no return, even though the orgasm keeps hovering right beyond her reach. She only needs a few more minutes. Or maybe just one...

"König… Not...so–fast…"

He answers something in German, an annoyed string of words she has no clue what they mean. He's probably just swearing profoundly.

"Get...what you deserve..."

That's the only thing she can flesh out from the English that follows. He finally finds some mercy with a choked groan and tries to slow down a little. It's even worse when he does that. He pulls almost completely out, then sinks back in, agonizingly lazy, and that does it: the full length of his giant cock slipping inside her without effort makes her walls clench.

"Oh God…" Her back is arching, her toes are curling, a tight cry disappears somewhere in the pillow, and he won't stop with the – "Oh–fuck–!"

"Yeah," he cheers her on as she screams, cries in the sheets while his cock swims in her. His hands dig into her hips, and she barely has brains left to think it might leave bruises. The orgasm comes in waves, shakes, and he won't let go even when she's only a heap of throbbing, soaking flesh and rapture.

And it's not the end; quite the contrary. He continues to fuck her with abandon: balls slap against her with every jab; they must be covered in her juice at this point, making the sound of sloppy thrusts utterly obscene. She's able to stay in a face-down, ass-up position only because he's holding her there for his cock.

The grunts turn into a wide, thick groan as he approaches the edge as well. The pace slows down almost to a halt before he comes.

"Jetzt…kommt–" he groans through gritted teeth, voice all taut while he grinds through his release. It's a multitude of deep, oddly paced thrusts, a sad attempt to get everything he can, and she's still like a wet gulf sucking him in.

The last throes are sluggish, the madness starts to pass, and she feels like every bone has left her body. There is nothing solid left when the man slowly relents and settles somewhere deep inside her. She can hear how he pants with his mouth open, and it sounds painful, wet, almost drooly. Then he swallows with a breathless gulp, slips out, and lets her go.

She immediately falls forward - topples, crashes, crawls on the bed, tries to rearrange what's left.

Just friends...

Yep.

He crashes somewhere beside her, spent and out of breath. The front of his shirt is covered in sweat; the air is filled with the stale scent of musk and saline sweat and pure, mad sex. She can barely catch a glimpse of the slick, glistening length of him. It feels like a miracle that this thing has been inside her. It’s not that it’s monstrously thick: it’s simply long, curving a little to the side, lean and aggressive even when growing soft.

"You play with fire, Engel. Why did you make me wait so long?"

The masked killer beside her is panting but satisfied for now, and turns his head to look at her. She has to muster all her courage to look back.

"I'm…a bit shy."

"You're perfect," he declares while watching her in her sex daze and ruin. So, at least he's not angry. He finally looks… normal, even with that absurd hood still on, with that intoxicated, admiring stare in his eyes. The ice in his blues has turned into melting snow.

"I noticed you the minute I arrived here."

She can't prevent a hand from reaching out at that, from splaying fingers over his chest.

"I noticed you too," she whispers back before moving closer to snuggle him. His heart is finally thumping in his chest, right under her cheek – from the late exercise or their closeness, she can't tell. A heavy arm goes around her, pressing her further into the nook of his armpit.

"You remind me of one of my knives," he says while holding her close.

Oh good God…

"You are a butterfly knife girl."

"Oh?"

"Ja. Small and cute and a lot of fun. And I can't get enough of you."

So much for getting rid of the man after getting some d. God, what was wrong with her? Any other woman would have put up some boundaries, perhaps gotten a restraining order by now.

"Is it… a good knife?" Her voice comes out as an annoying squeal, and he pulls her closer, ever closer.

"I mainly use it for playing."

She wets her lips in an attempt to calm herself, to comfort herself. She’s just another plaything for a murderer whose hunger seems endless, even if he’s more civil now. Still, she fears this man is only after sex and violence. Her little dresses and petite lingerie won't stand a chance against such brutality.

"What knife are you…?"

"Classic Glock field knife. Tall and ugly."

Behind the thin veil of indifference, there's pride. It borders on arrogance. She catches a dash of bitterness, too: field knives don't pair well with butterflies, perhaps.

"König, you're not ugly," she breaks their odd cuddle to look at him. "This sounds like a trustworthy knife to me."

He looks back at her with an even warmer tinge to the glacier of his eyes.

"It is. You cannot hope for a more loyal blade."

Her gaze drops somewhere in the darkness of his shirt. He's pledging himself for the second time to her, and it causes another storm inside her head. There's warmth on her cheeks, too.

"You are cute when you blush," he observes with pleased tranquility.

Perhaps... Perhaps he doesn't want to hurt things he finds cute.

Perhaps he will take care of them, like he takes care of his knives.

It still takes some getting used to that he allows his hood to be lifted just enough to push his tongue inside her mouth or pussy but taking it off to show his face is too much. She is lying there with him in an odd post-coital dream, thoroughly naked while he's still fully dressed. But she doesn't feel cold, not when pressed against his blazing form like this.

"Did you nick my underwear?" She asks out of the blue, and the hand stroking her waist stops in the middle of an idle caress.

"I might have," he admits without a single ounce of remorse in his voice.

"König… That's not cool," she says, knowing he can hear the lack of scolding in her voice.

"You want them back?"

"I… Gosh. Yes, that would be nice."

What a pervert.

"Or... Nevermind. Keep them," she sighs, trying to brush off the fact that the underwear in question wasn't even clean. "Do you steal women's underwear often?"

"No. Just yours."

A laugh meant to convey her shock is far too laced with joy to make it clear that she finds his deeds preposterous. She simply fails at every turn in trying to express that she's a decent woman. He knows it now, probably saw it long ago; that she's the perfect cheval glass to his perversions.

The hand on her hips moves to caress her thigh, and the drowsy stare observes her with growing mischief.

"Ready to go again?"

"Whuh–Again…?"

He takes her hand and moves it right over his cock. It's lean and demanding, and pulses under her palm.

Tall and ugly, she thinks while her walls dare to throb with hunger.

"You make me hard," he says, almost as a whisper, "all the time."

Jesus… There was definitely no rulebook when it came to this guy.

She gets to watch from the bed how he gives her a show as the man finally decides it's time to take his clothes off. The shirt is the first one to go: it flies somewhere on the floor while he holds on to his hood. The sculpted muscle looks even bigger up close, and the plates are covered with thin hair. It runs thicker below the navel, and his thighs are pure power: they surround the sleek length of his cock like trunks of strength when he finally gets himself out of those pants.

The v-shape of his upper body is something she will never get over. Broad shoulders shrink and curve into narrow hips which in turn swell into powerful thighs, and while perhaps this guy wouldn't win the gold medal at a fitness competition – judged by the way he's lean and athletic but not low fat ripped – he certainly is the most beautiful man she has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. He's a demigod with his herculean strength, a titan who's too big for the world of mortals. A tormented Samson who will never be tamed with treachery or tricks.

The bed sags as he crawls back to her like the gentlest predator. Her legs open wide to receive him – a classic missionary feels like the most intimate choice after the faceless pounding she received earlier. He gathers her legs as he proceeds: forces them up, up, almost next to her arms until he's hovering over her exposed pussy.

She should've known that some boring missionary wouldn't satisfy this man at all.

Her eyes drop to her legs and what's between them: she's in no position to do much of anything, but as the tip of his cock – smooth, pristine velvet – slides across her wet folds once more, she rather helplessly tries to drive her hips up to meet him.

It's like she's drunk or in a dream. The scene is wild and filthy: she's plump and spread open, ready for the taking, thighs almost in her ears as he draws his hips back and finds her opening.

"Please be gentle," she begs with a whisper. He halts for a while to lock gazes with her rabbit stare.

"You are pretty when you beg, little one. But I would never hurt you."

She swallows, and her lips part – his gaze instantly falls on her mouth, then raises back to her eyes, gentle and painstakingly ardent. He's close, so terribly close – and not just physically. Her thighs quiver with anticipation as the thick velvet slides in.

Holy fuck–

She savors the spread, and he's gentle, like he promised. The groan that erupts from inside the hood above makes her walls ache. He's so merciful this time, and she wishes to lift the black veil that still keeps them apart, to see his face as he takes her, to see that scar on his jaw and how his mouth hangs open with hunger, just like hers…

His cock comes out all wet – she can hear it – before plunging right back in, and it makes her mewl.

"Oh God…" Her eyes shut tight from the sensation of being so filled. She's even more starved than she thought. It's scary, far scarier than the mass murderer above and inside her.

"You like that?"

He's breathing heavy, and she knows he's looking at her, the distorting face of pleasure, the way she's biting her lip. Tears try to force themselves out from the passionate, featherbrained proximity, from being so tightly knitted together, like a bunch of happy, overstimulated nerves.

"Look at me," he orders, and she opens her eyes like they're under his command and not hers.

"You like it like this?"

She nods with tears in her eyes, and he won't stop looking at her like she's his most prized possession.

"Gut. I will make you scream again."

The man's dreamy stare follows every twitch of a lip, every bat of an eyelash. She looks down briefly to escape that love – the sight of the long thickness disappearing in her while she is so crudely open for him makes her feel dizzy, even when she's lying down.

Some pillow princess…

"Sehr schön," he comments while watching her face which must look like that of a dumb, anesthetized doll. His cock has that effect, and now that he's hovering over her, staring into her soul while filling her, it makes everything even more painful because it's sweet. She's under lazy waves, and decent men seem the most boring thing on earth right now.

"You like my knives?"

"Ah–what…?"

"You stared when I played with my knife."

She knows he has caught her staring more than once and bites her lip again not to blurt out how she had stared when he had played with... other things as well.

"Mh, yeah… It was beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

The sudden waves of intimacy leave her fragile and weak. His stare is nothing short of a caress. She is open and helpless for him to pound to his heart's content, but he's gentle, bordering on loving...

"I can teach you how to play with them."

Jesus Christ, this dude is just crazy.

"Uh-huh," she agrees to it with her mouth hanging open from the overload of sensation. The lewd sound of his cum pushing out of her with every thrust is an obscene background music for this – or any – conversation.

"I have a collection."

Why the hell would he be talking about his knife collection in the middle of–

"I own at least fifty knives. I can show you all of them if you come to my room."

His gaze is at least as piercing as his cock, and she realizes how serious this is: knives are his life. He finds them beautiful too, he collects them and cares for them. They're a profession, but they're also the most important thing in his world.

Knives are his essence.

And he had likened her to a butterfly knife...

"S-sure."

The sound from where they are joined rises to a sluggish crescendo: drowsy, filthy claps of flesh on soaked flesh. He makes her sick and well at the same time: he drags her to hell and raises her to heaven. He's the remedy and the curse. He plays with her like he plays with his knives: ravenous, entranced, obsessed.

She tries to concentrate on too many things at once: that intoxicating voice, the memory of him playing with death, the cock plunging inside her over and over again, making warmth pool below. She imagines him killing people with his collection, picking his tool for the day. He's not the only lunatic here because even the very thought makes her tight around him.

"You are close?"

"König… Just–" she whispers on the cusp of a deeper, soul-rending orgasm.

"You like it when I talk about knives?"

She breathes laboriously and tries to hang onto the last bits of her sanity, but he knows her, knows her already. He weighs down on her until her thighs come to rest right next to her breasts. He's plowing her in a crude angle, indecent and deep. It's vulgar, and she loves it; loves the way he stares at her, all helpless under him.

"Please, I'm gonna–"

"I can show you my guns too."

Ohmygod–

"I'm gonn–ah–!"

She shatters, her walls clench; her pussy sucks him like he's hard candy.

“Sieh dir das an… You were made for me.”

"Nh– Please…"

Her head tosses on the pillow as if in a dream. She's fathomless, and going to pass out, the cock inside her makes her eyes roll back in her head until she sees white, the color of saints.

"Shy girl… Beg for it."

The voice that answers his command is not that of a shy girl; it's not hers at all. She hears it from underwater, and her reality consists solely of the man filling her, spreading her, transforming her from an angel into something deliciously wicked.

Please, just–

It's not her voice, and yet it does sound everything like her. It begs, mewls a plea after the other in a string of helpless little whimpers.

Don't stop, please pleaseplease…

"Besser als jedes Messer…" he rasps, more darkly now. "You drive me crazy, Engel."

A chant arises in her head: she has sinned and there's no turning back. He feels far better than any promise of heaven. She could never have guessed that being cast out would feel so good.

His release comes with a tight rip, he goes taut like in that shower, only ten times more desperate. The hiss under the hood turns into a pained, strained roar of a grunt. The first time was foreplay, a quick one: this is true release. She almost hopes she would faint as the whole body of the Austrian titan goes hard as a rock. She couldn't be more spent and used, and still, her pussy answers his godly essence by clenching around him, pulling him in like he's the best man there is.

The man of her dreams, the man from her worst nightmares...

His eyes are liquid, the waterline twitches. She sees behind the walls, a millisecond's worth of fragility before his head drops, and the muscles are released from the violent trance. Broad shoulders cage her in like she's suddenly deep inside a mountain pass. Spent and dead and gone, there's no hurry any longer: he is buried deep inside and throbs whatever leftovers he has to give her.

She's filled to the brim, crushed under his weight, banished: and it's only delicious, the feeling of her body disappearing somewhere in the depths of the bed he has plowed her into. She waits dutifully as the man gathers himself, even gets brave enough to touch him. The masked face is buried somewhere in her neck, and his stomach ripples with a few shivers as her hand runs down his spine.

"I want to do this every day," he declares softly while panting through the thick fabric of his self-made shield. She feels pure horror and thrill in her chest.

To do this every day… She will eventually break, like a toy that has been used too much. She's not made of steel like those butterfly knives used mainly for playing.

"König, this is crazy… We're crazy," she tries to put into words the unholy mess raging inside her. He snorts before releasing her from the absurd position. The weight of him leaves her empty as he pulls out, then drags his way beside her to gather her back into his arms.

"Don't be ashamed, little one," he coos through the mask. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Two rounds of intense sex have liberated him, the manic terror has turned into a strange compassion. The look in his eyes is magnanimous and tender, almost droopy. She feels weightless and timid, an angel once more.

"We belong together, you and I," he states with conviction that sends sweet dread inside her heart. "Don't worry. You will never be lonely again."

Her fate is sealed, and she fears a big, fat knife will cut her heartstrings too if she tries to escape his protection. Her jaw trembles at the prospect of him returning to her every day to fuck her bare after an adrenaline high on the field. She sees a future of tears and sweat and cum, a beast lulled into sleep amidst a withering sea of flowers and torn lace.

She tries to find the right words, hopes he will be swift and merciful in his execution.

König, please…

It's not the hood, it's–

"Everyone fears me," he sighs beside her. "I'm glad you don't."

[darkbluekies]

Like a fly in a trap

Rich!female!yandere x reader

Summary: you escape Hedwig, only to be brought back and learn a secret about her family that puts everything into perspective.

Warnings: alcoholic? Yandere, Stockholm syndrome, abuse(?), isolation etc

Word count: 3.5k

A cold breeze finds its way into your bones. You pull the hood closer over your head, heart hammering in your chest. The sun is barely up. You have to catch the bus before her alarm clock rings. When she notices that you’re gone, all hell will break lose. 

You can’t pinpoint the moment things changed, you just know that at some point, Hedwig wasn’t the loving, caring girlfriend you got together with, but a clingy, possessive psychopath. Of course, she never shows that side to anyone … not even you. But you’ve been listening in on the calls she makes when she thinks you’re not listening. Wanting to hire hitmen and demanding for people to get hurt, even if they’ve only done as little as speak to you. You can’t say when she became like that … scared that she’s been that through your entire relationship … only that you’ve just started to notice. 

You’re not even sure where you’re going. You can’t go home. That’s the first place Hedwig would look. You don’t have anything on you that could be traced. There’s no plan, you just have to get away from Hedwig. 

The bus stops in front of you and you get on. You walk through the empty bus, sitting down in the very back and pull the hood of your hoodie closer to you.

Hedwig opens her eyes when the alarm sounds. She can tell right away that something is wrong. The bed is empty … and cold. Quickly, she sits up and looks around, heart stopping. Where are you? She rips the covers off of her body and runs over to the bathroom. Empty. Her pulse is hammering in her head. She can’t hear anything. Hedwig sinks down in the corridor to avoid fainting or throwing up. At this point, she’s unsure what she’s going to do. Her entire body is shutting down. It’s feels like she’s dying. 

With shaking hands she picks up her phone and call you. A signal rings through the room and she grows even colder. Your phone is on the bedside table. 

“Y/N, no … what”, she gasps in pure horror. “Y/N, don’t do this to me. Oh, God. Oh, my God.”

She presses her hands over her heart. 

“Hedwig, dearest, what is wrong?” she hears her father ask. 

She looks up and watches her father through her blurry vision. He’s standing in his pajamas, worried eyes looking down at her. 

“My dear, what happened?” her father asks again. 

“Y/N … Y/N …”, she hyperventilates.

“Has something happened to them?”

“They’re gone! I want them back! I want them back now!” She screams through her sobs. “I want them back this instant!”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart, don’t cry. Daddy will get them back to you.” He hugs her. “Daddy hates seeing his princess so upset. They will be back, I promise you, my little girl.”’

Hedwig wipes her tears and sobs. 

They go down to the kitchen where her mother has woken up, already with a glass of wine in her hand. 

“My little princess, can you please give your mother and me a smile?” her father begs her. “It will be okay, we will find Y/N again. I have called every person I know who works for the police, private detectives … everyone. I have millions of eyes open.”

Hedwig refuses. She holds her arms over her chest while sitting on a chair. Her mother is sitting beside her, sipping on her red wine while her father is walking back and forth in front of her, stressed out of his mind. When he can’t get Hedwig what she wants, he feels absolutely terrible. 

“We will find them, don’t worry”, her father says. “Daddy will do everything to make you happy.”

Hedwig avoids eye contact. If her fathers contacts can’t find you, then she’ll have to contact hers. None in the family knows about the hitmen she knows — and hires often — and neither does she want them to. Worry is eating her up from the inside. She wants nothing more than to hold you in her arms and kiss every part of your soft, wonderful skin. She wants to run her fingers through your hair and make sure that you know that you’re safe with her. She has never been this worried before. 

“This is the last stop.”

You nod and rise from your seat. Your legs have fallen asleep since long ago and you have no idea where you are. By now, you’re hungry and tired, wishing nothing more than to sleep. Carefully, you look around. Where are you? You’re surrounded by fields, forests and small, small cabins. With a sigh, you sit down by the side of the road, to think before you start going somewhere. You should try to find a payphone, perhaps, to call your family. No, they wouldn’t be able to help you. If Hedwig wouldn’t hire someone to kill them, she would either pay them or manipulate her way to get what she wants. After all, you fell for her little girl act for so long. If only you had seen how unstable and obsessive she really was before you had tangled yourself this far deep into the relationship. By now, it is too late to cut things off. She has nestled her way into your every day life. Wherever you look, Hedwig’s there in some way, shape of form. She has infiltrated your life like a virus. 

You hide your face in your hands. Hedwig’s a fucking spider who has intangled you in her web, slowly draining you of life until she can eat you. What should you do? You can’t go home, can’t talk to anyone you know. If you call the police, she will get away with it. Her family is in the elite class, they always get away with things. 

“Hedwig …”, you whisper frustratedly into your hands. “Why have you done this? Why have you given me this much problem? Why me?”

Your stomach growls and you wrap your arms around your body tightly. You have to find food soon. And after that … shelter. 

Hours go by. You’ve curled up by a tree to get some kind of warmth, but there’s none to be found. Your body temperature is dropping every minute go by. You have nothing to keep you company, apart from the moon. And weirdly enough, it feels like it is pitying you. 

You wake up the following morning by someone trying to catch your attention. An old woman. Your vision is blurry, but you can tell that you’ve never seen her before. 

“Hello, are you okay?” she asks worriedly. “What are you doing out here? You’re freezing!”

You can barely hear what you’re saying, you can’t feel your body. 

“Do you know who you are?” the woman asks. 

You can’t move your body, can’t answer. You’re so cold. 

“Do I need to call someone?” she asks. 

No answer. She picks up her phone and calls the police, telling them that she’s found a person who’s been sleeping outside the entire night, that they’re unresponsive and ice cold. She tells the cops a description of your characteristics. You feel like shutting your eyes again, so tired. 

“No, don’t close your eyes!” she says quickly. “You can die!”

You try to force your eyes to stay open. 

The old woman can’t carry you, so she goes to get you blankets and hot tea. While she forces a warm cup in your hands, you can tell that a white car pulls up on the road in the distance. 

That’s not a cop car. 

“Y/N!” 

The familiar, female voice causes you to drop the mug. Hedwig runs all the way over to you and throws herself at your stone cold body. Her warm face hides into your neck. 

“My God, darling, you’re freezing!” she gasps and cups your icy cheeks with her hands. “My sweetheart, I’ve been so worried!”

The men behind her thank the old lady for calling the cops and you suddenly understand what’s going on. Once again, the elite has taken over the cops. One of the men are Hedwig’s father. You gulp. This is bad. 

The old woman leaves. You want to shout out that they’re not going to help you, that it was this girl’s fault that you endured a night out in the snow for, but you can’t bring yourself to do it, not in in front of Hedwig’s father. 

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’m here now”, she says and tries to warm you up with her hands. “You could have died! I’ll never let this happen again, I promise. I’ll never let you out of my sight again!” 

She removes her expensive coat and scarf and hangs them over your shoulders, wires the scarf around your neck and blows hot air on your hands. She kisses your forehead. Two of the men, you haven’t seen them before, carry your body to the car and place you in the backseat, right next to Hedwig. She tells the chauffeur to bring up the heat to max.

“I’ve been so worried for you, sweetheart”, she says and holds your icy hands between hers while continuing to blow hot air. “Why did you do that? You scared me to death, Y/N!”

“You have given us some problems, young lady/man”, her father says from the front seat. “You’ve made my daughter very upset.”

You can’t respond. There’s something about her father that terrifies you. 

“I don’t ever want to see my little princess upset”, he continues. “I will do everything to make her happy, which means that you need to stay. Do I have to take measures to make sure that you stay with my daughter?”

You gulp and shake your head. Something’s definitely wrong about him.

“I will never let you leave me again”, Hedwig whispers in your ear. “I need you. If i don’t have you … I don’t want to live. Don’t ever try this again. Please.” She seems to realize how she sounds and shakes her head. “Please don't think I want to scare you, I just … I can’t imagine my life without you. I have to keep you with me like this. I know you understand, you’re just cold and tired.”

“You don’t have to drag in your father in your dirty business, Hedwig”, you whisper. “That’s low.”

She brings your cold hands under her shirt, shivering. While you do enjoy the heat, you keep your hands in fists. 

“You’re my everything, I had to do what was necessary, I’m sorry”, Hedwig whispers and sniffles. “No one likes me the way you do. You’re the only real person in this world. Everyone else … they’re fake. You’re so special to me.”

You don’t say anything more to her during the entire car ride. When you come back to her mansion, you’re immediately tucked into bed. Hedwig closes the door to her bedroom after her, locking it.

“Here”, she says and placed a silver tray on the bed. “Soup. The chef made it for you.” She sits down and sighs sadly. “Why did you leave me, sweetheart? What have I done? PLease tell me so I’ll make sure to never do it again. I don’t want to be without you.”

“Stop pretending”, you hiss. “You know very well. Talk to me instead of acting like a defenseless school girl.”

“What?”

“I know what you’ve done. I’ve heard your phone calls at night.”

Hedwig’s face drops and grows multiple shades lighter. At first, she doesn’t say anything. Her hands tremble as she panickedly thinks. 

“O-Oh, Y/N …”, she starts with an unsteady voice. “I never- … I never-”

“Why me, Hedwig?” you ask, not being able to bring your voice above a terrified whisper.

“Because- … because I love you.” 

“You can have anyone you want, you really can … so why me?” 

It is unbelievable. You can’t understand why you are worth killing for. What does she see in you that is that special? You could never have anticipated that someone would end human lives … for you. But then again, is anyone worth killing for?

As the realization of reality sets in, along with your exhausted form, you grow tired. 

 “I’ll have to take precautions from now on”, Hedwig says. “I love you so much, I can never let this happen again.”

“What are you going to do?” you ask coldly. “Send hitmen on me? On my family?”

“No, not you — never you. But …”

“My family, right?”

Hedwig bites her lip before groaning. “I just- … I wish that you never had tried to leave! I don’t want to do these kinds of things! They make me feel so dirty! Fuck, Y/N, why can’t you just … love me again?”

You don't answer. A single tear runs down your cheek. You can't even look at her, which drives her insane. 

“Y/N, please!” she begs and reaches for your hand, but you quickly pull away. “Don't do this to me. I love you. I really, really do!”

She starts to sniffle, then sob. You're amazed that just a little touch deprivation causes her to break down completely, but she expects you to be completely normal when people are getting murdered behind your back — on your behalf?

“I want to go home.”

“I can’t let you go, Y/N. I need you here. I can’t live without you.”

“Let me go home. Now.”

“No, Y/N. You need to stay here. I will make you stay here. If you think that I'm going to let the only one that loves me leave, you're wrong.”

“I don't … love you anymore.”

It looks like someone has punched Hedwig right in her ribs.

“Yes you do”, she says quietly, wishing.

You turn your head away.

“I'll let you be”, she says and slowly stands up. “I love you, Y/N. Please don't think I don't.”

You're forced to sleep beside her all night. You've curled up into a ball and she doesn't try to reach for you, like you had expected … but you can hear her cry. 

She leaves for school, leaving you all alone, but not before reminding you that she has people in the house that won't let you leave the premises. She tells you that you can go down to the kitchen to get yourself something to eat, but you wait in her room, as a silent protest, for as long as you can manage. When your stomach physically hurts, you sigh in defeat and walk downstairs.

Someone's sitting by the kitchen aisle. A blonde woman who twirls a wine glass slowly. Her eyes are empty, but her appearance is that of a goddess. You recognize her, first as the popular actress you used to watch, and as Hedwig's mother second. You're about to turn around and walk out when her voice stops you.

“Stay.” Her voice is low, almost strained.

You turn back and take a few, slow steps into the marble kitchen. The woman doesn't look up from her twirling, red wine.

“I heard that she found you”, she says and sighs.

You nod carefully. 

“They're very alike, you know”, she says, glancing at you, “her and her father.”

“They are?” you ask.

“Yes. Unfortunately.” She nods at the chair in front of her. “Sit down.”

Just like Hedwig’s father, her mother had something in her voice that you don't dare disobey. You sit down, still not being able to look at her.

“Do you know who I am, Y/N?” she asks, sounding like she doesn't expect much.

“I do, ma'am”, you answer. “I used to watch your movies a lot when I was younger. You were awesome.”

Hedwig’s mother smiles slightly, a genuine, warm smile.

“That makes me happy”, she says softly. “Thank you, Y/N. I was scared to have been forgotten.”

“What? No, never. You're an icon. I wish you still did movies.”

“Me too.”

“Why don't you?”

Her smile thins out. “Hedwig’s father … he's … well, let's just say he rather wants me here.” And she adds on, sour grimace on her face: “Where it is safe.”

“That sounds like what-”

“-Hedwig would say, yes. I told you … they're very alike.”

A light turns on in your head.

“Did he … did he take you, too?” you ask, carefully.

“Take and take, not exactly.” Her mother seems to think and the dull look in her eyes returns. “If only it was that quick and direct. He nestled his way into my life, infiltrating every part. First, he wanted to invite me on a date, then help with auditions, then he wanted to be my manager, then director, then boyfriend. He had control of every work related issue … always making sure I never worked intimate with any men, turning down things I really wanted to do … isolating me from my costars. When we married, he wanted me to quit all together, and wanted me to stay home with the child I was pregnant with.”

“Hedwig?”

“Yes.”

“When I was pregnant, I was wishing that she wouldn't inherit that side of her father. I hoped and prayed. But she did. I'm sorry, Y/N.”

“I'm sorry that happened to you.”

The woman gives a weak smile. “Don't be. It's happening to you now, be sorry for yourself. I'm hoping in telling you this, that you somehow can get away before it's too late.”

“Can't you … leave?”

She shakes her head. “It's too late for me.”

“No, it's not. You're still beautiful, Hollywood would love to have you back.”

“Thank you, you're very kind, Y/N. But it's not that easy. He controls more than you can ever imagine. He has made sure to be part of the industry so that I can never return.”

You gesticulate with you hands. “Then … do something else! Prove to him that he can't own you.”

“I envy your enthusiasm. But it wouldn't work, he would get into that too and sabotage for me again.”

“Why does he ruin for you? Doesn't he love you?”

“He does. He just wants me for himself.” She sighs. “I don't know how Hedwig would behave with you, if she would let you work-”

“I don't think so. She has talked about letting me stay home with her so that I could spend time on my hobbies and her taking care of our children.”

“I was afraid of that.” She stands up and downs the last of her red wine. “One thing I'm happy about, is that Hedwig has inherited her father's ability to love. They love too much, I think. And that affects the people around them. If you can't leave, Y/N, I'd advise you to play along. Life is not bad here … as long as you don't try to leave. I promise you that.”

Before she can leave the kitchen, you have to ask her one final question.

“Excuse me, ma'am”, you say and watch how she gives you a look. “Did … did he ever kill for you?”

She doesn't answer.

When Hedwig returns that afternoon, she has a big basket in her hands, and a bouquet of roses.

“Please forgive me for everything I've done”, she whispers and places them both in front of you before sinking down on her knees. “I'm so sorry.”

The basket is filled with your favorite snacks, a few boxes of jewelry and a designer scarf.

“I did what I thought would solve the problem”, she whispers, shaking her head regretfully. “I wanted the people that hurt you yo get what they deserved. I don't have a good explanation for the people that … didn't do anything. I just couldn't bare to see you interact with someone that wasn't me.”

“You're a stupid girl, Hedwig”, you say coldly.

“Yes, yes I am”, she sniffles. “I'm an idiot. Please forgive me.”

You thought back on what her mother had said about how life wasn't bad if you actually did what Hedwig wanted. You looked at her. She really did look like an innocent school girl, sitting on her knees in her school uniform with her hands clasped together, begging for forgiveness with tears streaming down her face. You start to feel bad for her. She is an only child to a pair of parents who went through a weird, macabre relationship. Of course she would want someone to love her and stay with her forever. You have feelings for her, you can't kill them, even if you really want to. Maybe this was what her mother felt, that she really loved Hedwig’s father that much, that she couldn't leave him … and because she knew that he would never let her leave. 

If you stay, people won't get hurt. And maybe, just maybe, you can change her. 

“I … I forgive you …”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

➤𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 || Stanley Gleeful ||

A/n: no one asked for this,but had to write something for a reverse! Falls Stan

Stanley Gleeful was a greedy man, the people that really knew him might say he is a psychopath, mean and deceitful but you didn't see him as any of those things.

He didn't think that his charms would work that well on you. The man was honestly just trying to rob you of your money with you being tourist, it should have been easy.

You fell for his honeyed words easily enough so why did enjoy being around you so much. You were just some random broad, Stan should hate the way you smiled at him, how you giggled when he preformed one of his little tricks.

He really shouldn't take satisfaction in killing that piece of shit you were with though he had to admit how lax you were about it until you let slip how abusive the man was.

Maybe he loved you, maybe it was an obsession but Stan was going to show that you were his and his alone to all these bastards, to anyone that would dare to step in his office.

"Be a good girl for me." Stan muttered against your neck as his hand glided up your thigh pushing up your skirt. God he would love nothing more than to rip your clothes off.

A whimper escaped your lips feeling his fingers brush your warmth through your panties, teasing you.

"Stan."

Lips against your neck, his other hand held you firmly in place. "You're gonna look so good draped in nothin but my amulet doll face....I'm gonna fuck ya so hard you're gonna forget my name."

Breath hitching, your eyes slipped closed as you let your nails dig into his desk as he pushed your panties aside slowly teased your slit.

"Now, now darlin. Don't old back for little old me. I want those fuckers to hear what I am doing to you."

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 2: He's not yours to keep

genre: more angst than fluff, but I swear fluff is coming up next!

word count: 5562

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you are trying to make sense of all this mess, but it's time to learn that, sometimes, things are just messy and chaotic and you have to learn to look for the silver linings.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: I am absolutely over the moon with the response I've gotten on this series and I'm really thankful for all the love and support <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

You don’t usually dream. 

Well, actually, if you tell Spencer that, he will say that you’re wrong– you do dream, you just don’t remember it. It’s common, not really recalling the scenes your brain conjure, Spencer would say; it can be due to a series of factors including high levels of stress and poor sleep. He would then tell you to stay home for a day, read a good book, and drink one of his fancy teas Penelope got for him a long time ago. 

But the thing is, Spencer can’t really tell you any of it. 

Not when you seem to be avoiding him even inside his own home. 

It starts after you wake up still in his armchair, feeling exhausted and disgustingly sticky, you finally have a couple of moments to yourself. Spencer is still sleeping, and you’re actually surprised to see him stretched out on the couch– his tie is throw on his coffee table, the purple colour suddenly too bright in the dim apartment, but otherwise, still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. You don’t understand why he didn’t change into pyjamas, but then again, you don’t understand much of anything right now. 

So you go through the facts. 

One by one, you list them in your mind– and little by little it dawns on you just how bad this really is. It’s hard, conceptualising that this is reality; that you really do have a psychopath targeting you. It’s the kind of thing that you only saw in those TV shows you loved to binge on late night, the kind of thing you read on the newspaper, happening to other people, but never really you. Except, it is happening to you, and you are not sure what to do next. Do you just sit and wait for her to make a move? Do you continue to live your life normally? How? How are you supposed to ignore the fact that a, as Agent Hotchner had described her, ‘prolific serial killer’ might know who are?

“Oh my god,” You whisper to yourself, head falling in your hands. The watch on your wrist, an old, analogue thing your mom had given you before you left New York, is pointing to a time you would never have been awake before. 5:23 in the morning. The sun is not even up yet and you have hours before you have to open the store, but then again, you have to clean the mess that was left behind due to your rushed departure from it. You wince, disgusted at the thought of having to clean old vomit from the floor, and disgusted with the bitter taste it left behind. Right now, you are a shell of a human being and you need to get yourself back together. 

You follow a familiar routine of recovery. It’s something you’ve done before and something you will surely have to do again, and it all starts with a simple list. 

Firstly, you need to get up. You need to stretch your legs, throw them to the side, and stand. You need to walk, remind your self that you can still make your own path even if it’s only to the bathroom down the hall. 

Then, you need to brush your teeth. The bitter taste stuck to your mouth makes you wince with memories that you want to bury. 

Showering would be your third step, but this is not your home. This is not your space, and these are not your things. 

A pettier side of you, one that is bothered and angry and irritated in a superficial level, wants to march back out to the living room, as loudly as you can, and shake Spencer away. You want to wake him up at the crack of dawn and make him share your torment, because in some level, even if you try to push against it, you blame him. Deep inside, you know that there is a big difference between the two– between blaming him and it being his fault. One is purposeful, conscious; it’s a decision you take and lay on his head. If you blame him, you commit yourself to hate him. The latter, however, is a fact. It’s irrefutable and immutable as the fact that you need air to live. It is his fault, but it was not his goal. 

“He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault,” You whisper to yourself, pushing yourself off the sink to try and figure out his shower. It is his house, that’s a fact. But you also deserve a nice, warm shower, and that is another fact. He pushed you to come stay with him, so you need to also push yourself to feel comfortable in this space that feels so foreign to your senses. “He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault.”

The words become your mantra. He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault. Somewhere in you, you know you have what it takes to forgive, but you just don’t have what it’s needed to forget. By repeating those words, you allow your brain to slowly process this situation as what it is– something that happened because of him, but not by him. As much as you want someone to blame, someone to scream at, Spencer Reid just isn’t that person. 

It takes you a moment to realise you don’t really have a towel or any of your products here, and using Spencer’s shampoo just feels… odd. Like an invasion of his space almost. “Oh thank god for you, Spencer,” You sighed, happy to see the pairing of shampoo and conditioner sitting perfectly on the corner. His hair had been one of the first things you noticed about him, all chestnut and shaggy and longish, but you are aware that not every man knows the basic of self-care. There is something about the way his smell takes over the bathroom, floating with the evaporation of the warm water hitting your skin, makes you smile. You feel closer to Spencer than you’ve ever been, and that is when your sense of danger hits. Your heart starts speeding, and your breathing is suddenly really shallow, and you’re trying to come out of the shower, to breathe in cold air, but all you get is humid mist and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe at all, you can’t–

“Spencer!” You gasp, eyes wide in desperation once your legs feel like they might just give out. Scrambling to hold yourself up, your hands knock over some things in the counter, making more noise on top of the running shower. “SPENCER!” 

“What? What? What– oh my god,” The door slams against the wall and back, almost hitting him on the side when he crouched down next to your naked, curled up body. It’s quite unnatural for you to witness, him jumping into action so fast, like he is trained to make these decisions in a split second. But then you remember that he actually is trained to make these quick choices– like grabbing the towel before anything else, covering you without a single quip about your nakedness; like sitting you up and putting your back against the wall; like turning off the shower and sitting back down right next to you, breathing deeply and loudly. It’s unconscious, how you let your breathing fall in line with his, and it takes a moment to realise he’s doing this on purpose. “Y/N, are you okay?” 

“No,” You whisper, shaking from either the cold or the nerves or both. There are goosebumps all over your legs, the towel not covering you much from the top of your thighs down. “Spencer, I’m not okay. I’m… Until yesterday, you were just the adorable guy who shared my love for books. Y-You’d come into the store smiling and we’d talk and talk and– and now I have a serial killer possibly tracking me. How am I supposed to be okay? I’m so scared… oh god, I’m so scared, Spencer…” The one thing you are proud, amidst your utter embarrassment, is that you are not crying anymore. You still sound a bit rough, throat tired and hurting, and there is no energy left in you and he can hear that, you know he can, because when your voice echoes in the silent bathroom, kicking from wall to wall, you hear it too– the exhaustion and the numbness and the emptiness left behind. 

“I-I’m still that guy,” He stutters, head falling down in shame but voice still twinged with something resembling hope. “I love books. I love talking to you about books, I love going to your store first thing in the morning. I’m still this guy, I just… I just happen to work for the FBI.”

“Yeah, but I… I think that after having my life turned upside down because of a serial killer who has a crush on you, I’m just not that same girl.”

That is the last time you talk to him that day.

—————————————

Actually, that was the last time you talked to him that entire week. 

After he dropped you at the store that day and you were forced to face the embarrassing remnants of your lowest moment in life, moping old vomit from the floor, that feeling of turmoil in your chest died down. It settled. And it hardened. 

He tried making conversation on the walk back to his, but you’re clearly not up for it, so his voice slowed down, getting lower and lower, until it stopped altogether. This time, you shower before bed and make a beeline to the armchair again, letting Spencer’s begs and pleas for you to sleep on the bed fall in deft ears.

For five days, you two don’t talk. 

It’s a dance of chaos, how you step around each other at the apartment, and seeing him biting his words back or catching a glimpse of the bags under his eyes makes you feel guilty; of course it does. But you know that you can’t help him right now. Even if you were to forgive him, to force your mercy onto the situation, it wouldn’t be genuine. It would give him a false sense of relief while you’d forever be uncomfortable next to him, and you don’t want that. You don’t want to feel on edge next to Spencer, you don’t want to feel nauseous and scared when you’re with him. You want to talk about books and coffee and favourite places to order take out from. Instead, all you get to do is talk about her.

It would be a lie to say you don’t feel slightly jealous with the way that his mind seems to be so wrapped around Cat Adams. The imposed talking ban is hard on you both, that much you know, but the more Spencer let it happen, the more he let it stretch out and continue, the more you feel like maybe he doesn’t care that much. Maybe what is hard for him is the awkward tension trapped in his own apartment, rather than the pain of seeing each other so close yet not being able to laugh like you used to. And you know– you know how ridiculous your thought are, how childish you’re acting, but you can’t really blame yourself for being so on edge lately, not when your emotions are so zip and zapping through your body like thunder and lightening. 

There are exceptions, though. In this case three exceptions, three moments in a day in which he brakes the ban, and you, for once, allow yourself some weakness. 

“Good morning,” Is moment one. He says that every day, when he blinks himself awake on the couch. Ever since you’ve been there, a total of six days now, Spencer has slept on the couch, right next to the armchair you’ve claimed as your own. For these, you meet his eyes and nod, as if saying same to you.

Breakfast is quiet. He makes coffee and you make eggs, because despite you being there under forced circumstances, you are not going to be ungrateful and so you pay him back by getting groceries and cooking most meals. Which leads you to exception number two– the moment when he drops you at the bookstore.

You two walk there at 8 and he’s gone by 8:07, giving you enough time to mumble a “Be safe,” and give him his lunch for the day. He tried telling you that you didn’t have to cook for him, but you don’t really listen. As pathetic as it seems, this is the one way you’ve found to keep what you two had before, alive. 

The third exception is the one that truly breaks your heart, again and again. It’s when he gets home, and he looks exhausted, and his hands fidget with the files he holds close to his chest. You are the first thing he looks for, and you almost melt at the way his shoulders visibly relax when he spots you– always ready for bed, always in the armchair. He stopped trying to come get you at the bookstore at night once you’ve agreed to let the officers walk you home. The spare key he added to your keychain should hold a bigger meaning than it does, though it feels like it does hold a bigger weight. A means to an end, you tell yourself every time you unlock his front door. This is just a means to an end. “Thank you,” he will then say, before he even moves to the kitchen to see whatever it was on the plate you had made and set in the microwave for him. “And good night.” By then, you’re already semi-asleep and you don’t really say anything. 

You never thought you would miss these forbidden exceptions when they’re gone. 

You know that travel is a big part of Spencer’s job, but with all that is going on, you never really considered the fact that he might need to leave for a few days. At least not until he calls you, right before you lock the store. The irregularity of it all has you scrambling to pick it up. “Spencer?” You barely whisper, voice cracking in half as little by little, you freeze up. The sensation is like ice running through your veins, burning it’s way to your heart until it makes it stop. “Spencer? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” He quickly answers, voice rushed in a way that makes you relax. He always talks fast and you find it incredibly endearing, even during these times apart. “I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m calling because we got a case.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Y/N, that means they need us in Ohio. Today.” He seems almost hesitant to tell you he needs to leave the state. 

And you are as hesitant to accept it. “Oh,” You mumble, suddenly needing to making sure the officer assigned to you is still outside and ready to go. “Okay. Do… Do you need clothes or something?” 

Spencer’s chuckle almost makes it all okay. Almost. “No, thank you. I just– I want you to be comfortable, okay? Feel free to sleep in my bed and do anything you want to do, I don’t mind! Feel at home! Just… be comfortable.” 

For a second you nod, forgetting he can’t see you right now. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You started biting your nails when you were twelve and middle school was kicking your ass. To this day, right now, you still bite them when you’re nervous. 

“It’s good hearing your voice.” 

Going home and knowing he won’t be there is not as comforting as you thought it could be. The two of you are not speaking and the constant walking on egg shells does get tiring, so you try to rationalise this as something that is just not that bad. Maybe Spencer going on his mysterious trips is not that bad anymore. Before, your curiosity was your downfall– you worried he had gotten sick or worse. However, you don’t think knowing the truth is much better. The nature of his job is incredibly dangerous, and you don’t even know much about it. Now, you still worry, that much hasn’t changed. What has changed, though, is that getting sick would be considered lucky. Right now, you worried about the ‘or worse’. 

Your mom’s voice fills the empty space for a while. She texted you a couple of days ago and you just now got around to calling. “Sweetheart, how do we switch to video again? I want to see your face.” Alarm bells sound off in your mind and you immediately shut down the idea. “Sorry mom, I can’t right now. I’ll video call you tomorrow, okay? I’m cooking dinner right now.” Her worry is that of a mother, comforting like a blanket and familiar like a home. It is not, though, the worry you want. 

For obvious reasons, you don’t tell her what’s going on, much rather preferring to tell her about the mundane things that keep you going. “And I sold out of the book!” You say, a short-lived excitement running through you. “It’s quite exciting, mom– since I opened the shop I have never sold out of anything! This is a first!”

“That’s amazing, sweetie!” She says, and you can’t help but wonder how Spencer would’ve reacted to the news if he was there. It’s only then that you realise you’re halfway through making him a plate for when he comes home, except he won’t be back until the case is complete and you gulp, too aware of the common noises you hear around you. 

This is when you realise how much you miss you Spencer. And how much, even if unconsciously, he makes you feel comfortable and safe. You thought it was the apartment, but now, by yourself, laying on the armchair yet again, you feel vulnerable and exposed. Footsteps can be heard from time to time, neighbours getting home or leaving for the night, and every time, without a fault, you hold your breath and wait. Maybe the door will open and she will be there, or maybe it will be another delivery. God, it could be anything– a letter, flowers, another box. Knowing that Cat Adams had such easy access to Spencer’s apartment is enough to get you up and running to his room. 

Green. The walls are green, muted and cozy, and you smile even when your eyes sting with tears. There is a hole in your heart right now and it’s Spencer shaped. “God,” You groan, rubbing your tears clean so aggressively that it hurts. “When did things get so fucked up?” 

There’s no real answer to that, and you if you think any longer about this, your brain might just implode. For now, all you need is to sleep, but that won’t happen for a while; not with the way your heart speeds up at every crackle coming from his old, metal heather. Still, the chill air of Autumn seeps in through the walls, and you shiver. I want you to be comfortable, Spencer had said before leaving, and you might be crossing some boundaries right now, but you need him close to feel comfortable. You might not be able to get him, but the next best thing you have right now is one of his sweaters, and you have no qualms about opening his wardrobe and grabbing the first thing you find. Ironically enough, it’s an FBI Academy hoodie, though you can’t really imagine Spencer and all his formal glory in a hoodie. You put it on, nonetheless, shutting the door with your foot and just as you turn around, your eyes catch sight of something. Something big, and beige, and bone chilling. 

The box. 

In the heat of the moment, you simply thought he had throw it away. Hell, it would’ve made sense to throw it away! What the fuck was that box doing there…? With a shaky breath, you open the wardrobe door again, hoping, praying, that you were actually hallucinating and that what you saw was nothing but a shoe box or a bag. “God, please, be a bag, be a bag…” Safe to say, your words are in vain. “Fuck, Spencer, what is wrong with you?”

You’re shaking when you pull the box out of its hiding place, breathing shallow and fast. Reason escapes you as you quickly open it, not worried about how it was or even about putting it back in place; if it was up to you, this box would’ve been gone a long time ago. Clearly, it had not been up to you. “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” 

Expectations are a tricky thing to deal with. When it comes to your life, you never expected anything big. You know your limitation better than anyone and the largest you’ve dreamt before was the store. You didn’t expect an FBI agent. You didn’t expect a serial killer. And you certainly didn’t expect a box full of sex toys. “What the…” You don’t want to touch them, not with your bare hands, but it looks like there are tens of toys in there, varying in shapes and sizes and colours. It makes you wonder… last he told you, her games are psychological and manipulative. From what you are seeing, though, this is incredibly physical. This is about touch and intimacy and… fuck. This is about connection. You don’t have to be a profiler to know that, not when you are so secretive about your own toys, hidden in the back of your besides drawer away from unwanted eyes. It’s a private thing, and only people you trusted, people you let into your life, knew about them. 

Before you know what you’re doing, you rush to find your phone. It’s somewhere in the house, and you need to find it, you need to call him. “Pick up,” You whisper when you finally find it in the living room, under your favourite blanket on the chair. Even your fingers are shaking, vision a bit blurred from the adrenaline rushing through you– you feel like you’re in danger, and you don’t know what to do. “Spence, pick up, pick up, please pick up–“

“Hello?” You almost cry when you hear his raspy voice on the other side. It doesn’t make you feel any better to think that you might just have woken him up.

“Spencer,” You whine, embarrass with how needy you sound. The nice officer that brought you home is standing outside the door, and you could’ve gone to him– could’ve opened the door, asked him to stay inside, talk to him a little. Or you could’ve called Penelope. She had given you her number with promises that more often then not, she stayed behind to work from the BAU office. There is no place safer than my office, she had promised you, but how do you tell her that the problem is not your environment, it’s not where you are or what you’re doing… how do you tell her that the problem is you? She might not understand it so you don’t even dare try to explain it. You don’t dare to give her and the team this part of yourself too and you shut your mouth with a firm hand over your lips. 

Memories of a life you left behind flash behind your eyes, and you whimper, hugging your knees to your chest while you hear him desperately calling for you. As far as you can, you kick that godforsaken box away from you. “Y/N?! Y/N, say something, please! Are you okay? Y/N!”

“I’m here,” You whisper, pushing your hair away from your face. “I’m here.’ 

“What’s going on?” 

“Spencer, I–” A moment of regret and hesitation makes you pause. What can he even do all the way from Ohio? “I want to go home.” 

You’re not his priority. 

You’ll never be his priority. 

There is no point to this.

“…did something happen?” This is the Spencer you know– voice soft and guarded– and for a second it feels like you two are getting to know each other all over again. “Did officer Kaper make you uncomfortable? I’ll ask for a change of guard, I’ll–“

“N-No,” You cut him off with a shaky exhale. Your head falls on your free hand, finger tangled with your messy hair, and you tug on it. Sharply, the tingly pain on your scalp grounds you for a second, brings you back to this situation you created. “No, Spence, no no no, I just want to go home, I need to go home, I–“ 

“Y/N, breathe,” He coaches you as gently as he can, voice stable and strong, everything you seem to be lacking. “You’re going to set yourself off in a panic again if you don’t breathe. You’re safe in my apartment, okay? I know it’s not the same as being home, I know, but you’re safe there!”

“You’re not here, Spence!” 

There is a moment of silence for both of you. “You’re not here and you didn’t throw that fucking box away,” You whisper, keeping the moment something in between just the two of you. It’s enough that you are falling apart like this in front of Spencer, you don’t need officer Kaper bursting in the door to witness this too.

“You found the box,” He sighs. This is the first time you notice just how tired he sounds.

“I found the box,” You confirm, sniffling in a stubborn attempt to not start crying all over again. 

“It’s evidence. I can’t throw it away, Y/N.”

“Why is it here?”

“I’ve been working on the case on my free time and it just made sense to keep it at home…” 

“Spence, I want to go home. I don’t feel safe,” You admit, shaking your head. “I don’t feel safe here when you’re not here, Spence, I want to go home.” 

“I thought you hated me.”

“Spencer…” He has a point, though, and you know it. This is the first time you two speak in days, the first time you experience this type of comfort again, but it’s still not enough. He’s still not here, next to you, watching over you. He’s still not with you. “Spencer, I’m sorry.” 

“Silly girl, why are you apologising?” He asks, chuckling on the other side and you can picture him– you can see him shaking his head, hair falling around his pretty face like a perfect picture frame when his eyes, pure honey with specks of green, search for yours. Yeah… you can imagine it to perfection, almost like you are the one with eidetic memory. “This is all my fault. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Y/N and I’m trying to protect you, so I need you to stay there, okay? I need you to stay in my apartment, please.” 

You don’t know what to tell him. Your eyes wander around the room, looking at all the details he left behind without even noticing. There is a copy of Dostoevsky on the bed side table. I hate Russian literature, you remember telling him once. He was in the shop, bringing you coffee, when you caught a glimpse of a book you certainly didn’t sell him. And I’m appalled you’ve been buying books somewhere else. The way he laughed then, like his biggest problem in the world was explaining to you that this had been a gift from a friend and that he would never betray your trust like this. What do you hate so much about it?, he had asked, leaning over the counter and into you, eager to debate this topic he loved so much. I hate that it’s all about suffering. Even the moments of realisation and self-improvement, they are all through suffering and misery. And of course he had a retort to that, fingers twitching with his enthusiasm. But it’s contextual, you see! Those were written in time of civil unrest and political chaos, and it makes sense to have characters and plot lines that revolve around suffering when that is all you know from the world around you. To this day, your answer paralyses you. I’m a believer in silver linings and happy endings. And not because I’m naive or ignorant, but because the world around me has made me believe that there must be something better out there. Isn’t that nicer?

“Y/N, please tell me you’ll stay there, I need you to stay there.” 

His words almost escape you, but you catch them in the very last minute. It gives you a glimpse into a side of him he has yet to show you, and it absolutely shatters your heart in bits. I need you to stay there, he had said. Not you need to stay there, but I need you to stay there. Suddenly, you realise that this– all of this, the relocation, the involvement of the FBI, the dropping off and picking up– is not just for you. 

“I’ll stay here,” Whispering with him like this helps. “I’ll stay. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“Don’t be. I’m happy you called.” 

“I’ll let you go back to sleep, but Spence?” 

“Yeah?”

“Be safe. I need you back here.”

“I’ll be home in no time.” 

For a second, you trust him. You trust everything will be okay, that you can make everything okay until he gets back, and then you’ll pass the responsibility onto him. For a second, you trust him, but you also trust yourself. 

Everything will be okay. 

Everything will be okay. 

Everything will be okay. 

You fall asleep like this; wearing his hoodie and hugging your phone, nose buried on his pillow in hopes to dream of him. The sun wakes you up, and there are birds chirping at your window. Despite the heaviness you feel in you and dooming headache you know will settle soon, the romantic in you believes that today will be a good day. That today will be an okay day.

“Miss Y/L/N? It’s officer Kaper.” 

The knock doesn’t scare you anymore. On days one through three it had you jumping on air, heart about to stop from how fast it was beating. Days four and five were easier, less scary and more anxious, waiting for the punctual 9AM knock. From day six onwards, it was a welcome start to your day, knowing that someone is looking after you. 

You check the fisheye like Spencer told you to, and then you open the door only when you recognise the face on the other side. “Good morning, Officer,” You smile, nodding at him a bit stiffly. The two of you had been formally introduced by JJ, but it didn’t make this any less awkward for you. “Would you like some coffee?” 

“Sure,” He nods, smiling as he comes inside with his usual stack of mail. Everyday, without fail, someone picks up your mail and brings it to Officer Kaper. “Here’s your mail for the day, ma’am.” 

“How was the night shift?” It’s almost like a scripted conversation, these back and forth questions you throw at each other, and you’re finding that you hate this. You hate the stiff conversations and the self-imposed bans. But this is day two, and in just more two days, Spencer would be home. And you would talk to him, just like you used to before, just like you did over the phone. Nothing will change; you’re not going home any time soon and Cat Adams isn’t going to just magically disappear. It’s time to accept it and learn how to live with it, as hard as that sounds. 

Sifting through your mail has to be your favourite part of the day. It’s normal, slightly boring, and a peek into the routine you used to have and love. No one ever sends you letters, so it’s just bills. “Water, electricity, marketing, marketing,” The coffee is brewing in the background and Officer Kaper is telling you about his daughter. She’s a tiny girl, just two and very, very shy, but apparently, she loves stories. “I might have a book for her,” You get distracted from the letters for a second, smiling at the kind officer. “I’ll bring it to you later tonight!” 

When you look back again, it’s the one on top. 

The envelope is white, like any other letter, and it has no thing in the back but your name and address scribbled in red, a big heart right next to it. “Uh, Officer, this is… this is weird.” You’ve been instructed to let someone know if you received anything unlabelled or unexpected. This letter is certainly unexpected. “It has no return address.” 

“May I open it?” He asks and you nod. He opens it with a knife, pulling a small piece of paper inside. “Okay, it seems like a normal letter. There is no signature of any kind.”

“What does it say?” You’re nervous now, walking around Officer Kaper to read over his shoulder. “Oh my god.” 

“Does this mean anything to you?” 

Nodding, you’re dialling Spencer’s number already. “It means I’m fucked.” 

On the table, laid a message you’d never forget.

He’s not yours to keep. 

---------------------------------------

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[erideights]

Little pieces here and there (2)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: one, three, four, five

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Flirting, suggestive flirting, heavy pinning

A/N: GUYS THIS CHAPTER HAS ME ON THE FLOOR, I HOPE YOU ENJOY, THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE and if you like it let me know to start preparing part 3 ♡ (sorry for any grammatical mistake!)

"The One Piece will never be yours!" He shouted angrily, that -now- dwarf with a red nose, giant hands and feet, when he was defeated. Just like in a cartoon for kids.

"You're just a sad, lonely little boy wearing another man's hat!" She could not understand how it was possible that this intimidating, psychopathic, eccentric clown had turn around so quickly into this little thing that was so... dare she say pathetic, but she didn't wanna be too cruel to him.

The moment Luffy declared his intentions again, Buggy began to look around him, desperate for a way to escape, maybe one of his crew members who would miraculously come to the rescue, or an unexpected ally.  Like (Y/N).

"Wo wo wo wo, no no no no, wait wait!"

He opened his mouth and begged, probably to suggest some kind of pact, to promise (Y/N) a place among his crew like he did with Luffy before, but before he could say anything else, the rubber boy already threw him into the sky.

And that was the last time she thought she would see Buggy The Clown. Little did she know, she was wrong.

Oh, so wrong.

Let's say that the days to come were anything but calm. From the Kuro Incident™, at least they won Usopp's friendship and the Going Merry, one of the cutest ships she has ever seen, to be fair.

And then they arrived at the Baratie, where they met the oh, so attentive Sanji, Zoro was about to die, and Nami... Nami left with the fishmen. Although (Y/N) was on Luffy and Sanji's side when they claimed something bad was actually happening, because she wouldn't have chosen to leave with them just like that, without a hidden, ugly reason behind. Didn't fit in with the idea she had of the ginger.

"I know someone who knows where to find her," says her "captain" when they all discuss their next step.

"Hello boys!" Buggy's head coughs and exclaims in the most forced, sarcastic way possible. Imagine threatening to kill those people after kidnapping them less than a week ago, and now your life depends on them. Low blow, if someone asked her. "Sweetheart." He then smirked devilishly when he saw (Y/N) a little further back, resting her side on the kitchen counter. Surprised to see him and the way he calls her, she raises an eyebrow and gives a small, amused smile. "Hello Buggy."

"Arg, Doll! I'm so happy to see a beautiful face like yours around here." The clown shouts when (Y/N) comes out on deck after several hours organizing the pantries with Sanji. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye with a little smile on her lips when she leaves a snack for Usopp and goes towards the bow of the ship or, in fewer words = in the opposite direction to where her mere existence is spiritually needed. The clown is already tired of giving Usopp directions after all morning arguing where to go, so infatuated and hypnotized by the mysterious aura that surrounds the woman, he doesn’t give up, and his head floats in the direction of the girl, following her, resting right by her side as she sits on the ground, legs falling over the ship's railing and out to the sea.

"Pretty sure you didn't hear me back there" because the idea of someone ignoring him was unthinkable. A war crime. An insult to God itself. He was still Buggy The Clown, The Flashy Fool, even without his crew. Or his ship. Or his body. Fucking hell, what did he have left apart from the head? "I was saying I'm glad I'm not only surrounded by idiots. Having your beautiful face around here makes standing them much easier." He flirts, winking an eye, which (Y/N) doesn't fully get but finds kinda interesting. "We had a moment the other day, right? It wasn't just my imagination, I know it."

"Yeah, we totally had a moment" She agrees, clearly being sarcastic to everyone but him.  "You kidnapped us, you called me pretty, you searched me, I threatened you, you liked it..." she lists, lying her back on the deck, arms raised, own head resting on her hands, enjoying the breeze, the sun, and the smell of the salty water. 

"I loved it," he corrects her after emitting a little grunt of satisfaction, vividly remembering that scene. What would he not give to go back and enjoy it a little bit more before the rest of her crew ruined his entire day -week- so blatantly and unnecessarily over the top.

"You're welcome. Any time." She answers after an amused giggle, eyes closed.

"Don't tempt me."

"Now tell me," Buggy resumes the conversation after about 30 seconds of silence. He clearly doesn't know how to enjoy it. He is that type of person for whom silence not only makes him uncomfortable, but also terrifies him. Theatre kid. "What's a woman like you doing with a bunch of insufferable kids like them? I know they're trying to organize their boy band and go on adventures around the world, but you... you should look for someone more suitable to your needs, capable of giving you different stimuli. More mature." He adds in the end with a low, seductive tone of voice, shamelessly feeding on the image of the curve of her body now that she's not paying visual attention to him.

"Hmhm. Maybe I'll look for them." She answers nonchalantly, just because. She finds really entertaining this type of tug-flirting-war. Even if he's the only one that flirts and she just gives him opportunities to do so.

"You don't have to look too far." He was so cliché, how cute.

"You talk too much to be no more than a floating head."

"I could always put my tongue to better use." Snapping her eyes open, (Y/N) holds her breath for a second, taking in what she just heard = what he just offered. That would be, literally, giving head. In all the glorious sense of the expression. Raising both eyebrows, she turns her face on the ground to observe him, nibbling at her lower lip. She seems to consider it for a few seconds, because no, she cannot deny how interesting and, at the same time, weird, degenerate, the idea is. But before he has the opportunity to keep talking his way into convincing her, she breaks into a cruel smile and decides to cut his mood "You mean like guiding us to the Konomi islands instead of talking with me? You're right, you should get back to work."

He looks at her like he was just betrayed by his second in command, hoping she would agree by the expression on her face seconds ago, the way she looked at him and how she was biting her own lip in that tortuous way that pushed him to want -need- to do it by himself.

"Wait, no need to play difficult with me sweetheart, I--" But it's too late, (Y/N) is already standing, grabbing Buggy's head between her hands, and before he could add anything else, she winks at him, kiss one of his cheeks, screams at the top of his lungs "USOPP!! CATCH HIM!" and throws his head like she was playing volleyball, Usopp jumping to be able to reach him, both of them celebrating the pass like children, ignoring Buggy's complaints.

The third time he flirts -tries to- with her, she's back on the deck, helping Zoro and Sanji moving some things around. He begins to scream desperately, and knowing damn well that if no one pays attention to him he won't stop even if that means losing his voice, she approaches, hands on her hips, sighing as she looks at him like someone that is about to regret getting close to a crying, annoying child. "What's wrong with you?" she asks dryly, pressing her lips together. "Ah, my guardian angel. Could you do me the favor of scratching me behind my ear?" Oh. A waaay more harmless request than she expected. Of course, she relents, because she sees nothing wrong with this small favor; she’s quite the empathetic, and in his place she would surely prefer to jump headfirst -ba dum tss- into the sea rather than suffer that itch and not be able to scratch it. After granting his wish, just as she is about to leave, Buggy moves his head much faster than anyone would predict, to catch one of the girl's fingers in his mouth and suck and lick and nibble, in a… God, a sample of what he could do with his tongue somewhere else.

A shiver runs down (Y/N)'s spine, and it reaches a pleasurable end between her legs, causing her to press them together as she inhales deeply.

"Wanna see what else I can do?" He whispers as he releases her. She can hear him over the crash of the waves against the hull of the boat, eyes fixed on his face, will to complain nowhere to be seen. Bold, not in a hundred years she would have expected that. And for a moment, she is tempted. That has been undeniably attractive. And it had a really strong effect on her. "I would gladly show you if you let me, you just have to ask, sugar lips. I bet it's been a damn long time you don't treat yourself--"

"(Y/N)!!" Zoro calls her, instantly exploding the bubble between Buggy and her.

She sighs in relief because only God knows she was close to give up. Then swallows, shakes her head exaggeratedly to shake herself out of his spell, and, licking her lips, gives the clown a mischievous smile, recomposing herself. "Nice try"

"Stop trying to deny the obvious" He tried again for the... 5th time? She /really/ lost count during their journey. Appearing from nowhere, he startled her in the process. He was now in a shelf of the kitchen, at the same height as the girl's face. "The chemistry between us is unbearable, you can see it from miles away." Jumping to approach the edge of the shelf, his eyes look her up and down. "Turns me on how you play hard to get because I don't like easy things either, so I respect your game," he nods, raising an eyebrow "But come on... I know you like me. I've seen how you look at me or bite your lip when I flirt with you, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

This whole thing was really trying her patience. Not because she wanted to fuck him off, but because she knows that all that flirting would end with her giving in and doing something she certainly shouldn't. As of for now, he had gotten her to vaguely consider it, and she had to admit, she was growing some kind of attraction slash fondness slash crush for him, but it wasn't enough to fall to her knees.

He wanted war, tho? He would have it.

"You're right, I like you, but you know, I like my men body and all, capable of grabbing me by the hips and pushing me on theirs, to fuck me and make me scream their name until I lose my voice. To make it difficult for me to walk straight the day after." she whispers, approaching him slowly until they share the same air, her nose touching his red one. (Y/N) closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as her tongue caresses her own lips, almost touching the clown’s ones too. Yes, she likes him, she has some sort of twisted soft spot for men who ranged from intimidating psychopath to the most pathetic human being depending on the day, and Buggy was the perfect example for that. "And you..." she tilts her head to the side, attempting to close the distance between each other and kiss him, but at the last second she withdraws, leaving the poor clown with his eyes closed, waiting for the touch of her dreamy lips. "Unfortunately you're just a head."

"Try again when you get your whole body back!"